Wine and Gun

"Attacked him." Albarino helped him fill it up knowingly, with that smile still hanging from the corner of his mouth, "Stress reaction, very clever reason, pianist."

A lot happened in the next second - like Herstal lunging at him like a lithe leopard, they met somewhere in this blood-smelling deep space, collided, fell on the floor splattered with crimson liquid Like falling into a river of blood.

Albarino swore he did hear the splash, like a fish out of the water, while blood was slowly soaking through his coat. When Herstal was sturdy about his neck, he bent his knees and hit the opponent's stomach, and Herstal hissed unsteadily because of a deliberately created wound on the opponent's body.

——Of course, this blow didn’t stop Herstal from stabbing the butterfly knife in Albarino’s shoulder.

The blade of the knife is narrow and sharp, the location of the injury is not very important, the wound is not very deep, it is really painful at the moment. Herstal held Albarino in place with that knife, his whole body, and the hand he had caught Albarino's neck, as they had talked about before, figuratively that butterfly.

"That's what you want to see?" Herstal hissed in his ear, his voice grim. "Killing? Crazy? When you put a person in this situation, just to—"

"I." Albarino answered panting, one of his hands gropingly grasped Herstal's hand holding the knife, breaking his fingers from the handle one by one. Deliberately repressed essence, burning soul, wherever your power can reach."

Herstal let go of the knife and punched him in the face.

A small grunt from Albarino's throat was worth remembering. Herstal could see the blood splashing out and slowly sliding down. Albarino's teeth must have broken his lips. How that drop of blood fell into the overflowing pool of blood and stirred up a few stars of thick red is almost a picture that can be traced from memory alone.

Then they all heard the sound of the police breaking the door, and the sound of messy footsteps was galloping deep into the ground. Herstal let go of Albarino's neck and was pushed into his arms by the other's arm.

He had no intention of resisting at this moment, and felt Albarino's lips scrawled across his mouth, where they all tasted the heavy smell of blood. When the police finally burst in fully armed, Albarino's uninjured hand was already in his hair.

"It's alright," the other party picked up the mask of the chief forensic officer of the Westland City Forensic Medicine Bureau, and his voice was mixed with a vague hypocritical tenderness, "Relax, it's alright."

Hestal wasn't really all right—in every sense of the word, first of all, he couldn't act like he was really all right, and he hated that from the bottom of his heart.

He is now forced to sit in an ambulance as the wounds apparently weren't serious enough to take him straight to hospital. Bart Hardy didn't know where to find an umbrella, and stood with an umbrella at the entrance of the ambulance carriage. The police came and went to cast more or less worried glances at the poor victim, even Officer Hardy himself. : And he even just saw the scene of the murder that Herstal made in that basement.

"Er," Hardy said, his voice hesitant, apparently embarrassing the whole session by asking someone he already knew, "did he—did you—?"

"You want to ask, did the killer Qiáng Ni sexually assault me?" Herstal asked directly, seeing Hardy wincing visibly. "If we're talking about specific forms of insertion, I don't think so."

He didn't bother to inject too much vulnerability and uncertainty into this conversation, and they all knew he wasn't that kind of person. Hardy calmed down, then chose to tell the truth: "This is... unusual, the killer Qiáng Ni is not someone who has the patience to endure that long."

Clearly, Elliott Evans wasn't exactly a patient man, judging by Herstal's utterly ruined trousers. He is now wearing a patient suit from the ambulance, and all his previous clothes have been carefully removed by the officers in the evidence bag. Hestal knew he might never see them again, and of course he didn't really want to see them again.

"He's not a very patient man," agreed Herstal, carefully adjusting the mix of fear and vulnerability on his face, hoping not to arouse too much suspicion from Hardy, "but I believe I persuaded me. he."

Hardy looked at him like he was some rare animal.

Hestal raised the corner of his mouth, revealing a bleak smile without a smile: "He has dyslexia - I guess, it's psychological."

When Eliot put his hand on the skin of Herstal's abdomen, he still felt a physical nausea.

Elliott's fingers trembled as he struggled with his belt buckle. Herstal watched his face, and in the young man's face he caught a glimpse of utter madness and a peculiar worry. He thought about it, then asked, "Have you and those who were here before, have done this?"

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