I Can Hear a Serial Killer's Voice in My Head

I approach the church, my heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. As I reach for the heavy wooden door, it swings open, and I find myself face to face with the young nun I'd seen during my previous visit. Her eyes widen in surprise.

"Oh! It's you," she says, her voice a mixture of recognition and uncertainty. "I'm sorry, but we're not really open for visitors at the moment."

I hold up my hand, stopping her before she can close the door. "Please, I need to see the old nun. It's important."

The young nun hesitates, her brow furrowing. "I'm not sure that's possible right now. Perhaps if you could come back another time?"

I shake my head, reaching into my pocket. "It's about this letter," I say, producing the envelope. "She's been trying to reach my grandmother. I'm here on her behalf."

The young nun's eyes flicker to the letter, then back to my face. She gently takes the envelope from my hand, her eyes skimming over the contents. After a moment, she nods slowly.

"I see," she says, her voice softening. "Wait here, please. I'll check if she's able to see you."

I nod, trying to hide my impatience as she disappears into the church. The minutes stretch on, feeling like hours. Finally, the young nun returns, her face a mask of professionalism.

"Follow me, please," she says, gesturing for me to enter.

We walk through the quiet corridors of the church, our footsteps echoing in the silence. The young nun leads me to a small room off to the side, knocking gently before opening the door.

"Sister," she calls softly, "you have a visitor."

As we enter, I'm struck by how different the old nun looks from our last encounter. She's lying in a small bed, her face pale and drawn. The vitality I'd seen before seems to have drained away, leaving her looking frail and vulnerable.

"Thank you, Sister Maria," the old nun says, her voice weak but still carrying that undercurrent of authority. "Please, leave us."

As the young nun exits, closing the door behind her, the old nun's eyes fix on me. Despite her weakened state, her gaze is as sharp as ever.

The old nun's eyes study me intently, a mixture of surprise and understanding crossing her weathered face. "It's a genuine surprise to see you here, to know you're part of that family. But after all, it makes sense. The resemblance is... uncanny."

I lean forward, my patience wearing thin. "Please, I need to understand. This is important."

She holds my gaze for a long moment, then nods slowly. "Very well. I suppose it's time. It all goes back to when your father came to see me. I was a young nun then, barely started in my vocation."

I blink, confusion washing over me. "My father? What are you talking about? Why would he come to see you?"

The old nun's eyes grow distant, as if looking into the past. Her voice wavers slightly as she speaks, the weight of old memories clearly taking their toll. "Your father... he came to me seeking help. He was struggling, you see. Struggling with something that he couldn't understand, something that frightened him deeply."

I lean in closer, my heart pounding. "What kind of help? What was he struggling with?"

The nun takes a shaky breath, her frail hands clasping together. "He told me... he told me he was hearing a voice. A voice in his head that wasn't his own. He called it a voice of evil, something dark and twisted that he desperately wanted to be rid of."

The words hit me like a physical blow. I feel the blood drain from my face, my mind reeling with the implications. A voice in his head? Like Bundy? Like the voice that's been with me for years?

I struggle to find words, my mouth opening and closing soundlessly. The room seems to spin around me as I try to process this revelation. My father, the man I've idolized, the reason I became a detective - he had been dealing with the same thing I've been struggling with all these years?

"That's... that's impossible," I finally manage to stammer out. "My father... he never... I mean, how could...?"

The old nun reaches out, her cool hand grasping mine. "I know this is a shock, my child. But your father was a troubled man, carrying a burden he didn't understand. He came to the church seeking solace, seeking a way to silence the voice that tormented him."

I slump back in my chair, my mind whirling with questions. If my father had been dealing with a voice like Bundy, what did that mean for me? Was this some kind of genetic curse? And more importantly, how did this connect to his death, to Choi, to everything else?

I lean forward, my voice urgent. "What happened then? Were you able to help him?"

The old nun shakes her head slowly, her eyes filled with a deep sadness. "No, my child. There was nothing I could do. Your father's struggle was beyond my capabilities, beyond the realm of spiritual guidance."

She pauses, her gaze distant as if reliving the memories. "We sent him to the hospital, hoping medical professionals could provide the help he needed. But he returned with no clear diagnosis, no answers. The pills they prescribed, the psychotherapy sessions... nothing seemed to help."

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I feel a lump forming in my throat, imagining my father's suffering. "And my grandmother? Was she aware of all this?"

The nun nods, her voice soft. "Oh yes. Your grandmother - your father's mother - she was deeply concerned. She came to the church with him, desperate to find a way to help her son. The pain in her eyes... I'll never forget it."

I sit back, trying to process this information. My grandmother's reluctance to discuss the past, her connection to the church - it all starts to make a terrible kind of sense.

"I felt so powerless," the nun continues, her voice barely above a whisper. "I began to doubt my faith, to question God. How could I claim to serve Him if I couldn't help someone in such dire need?"

She takes a shaky breath, and I can see the toll these memories are taking on her. "And then... then someone volunteered to help your father. Someone who claimed to understand what he was going through."

I lean in, a sense of foreboding creeping over me. "Who? Who volunteered?"

The old nun meets my eyes, her gaze heavy with the weight of her words. "It was Choi. Young Choi, who had grown up in our care, who had his own struggles with darkness."

The revelation hits me like a physical blow. Choi. The man at the center of my investigation, the one I've been suspecting all along - he had been involved with my father's struggles from the very beginning?

"Choi?" I repeat, my voice hoarse with disbelief. "But... how? Why?"

The nun sighs deeply. "Choi claimed he had experience with the kind of... voices... your father was hearing. He said he could help in ways that the church, that medical science, couldn't."

I feel my head spinning, trying to connect these new pieces of information with what I already know. "And did he? Help my father, I mean?"

The old nun's eyes grow distant, her voice softening as she continues her story. "At first, it seemed like a miracle. Choi's help... it appeared to work. I don't know how, and to this day, I still question what really happened. But your father...

he stopped coming to see me."

I lean in, my heart racing. "Just like that? He was cured?"

She shakes her head slowly. "I wouldn't say cured. It was more like... a change. A shift. He seemed calmer, more in control.

But there was something else too, something I couldn't quite put my finger on."

"What do you mean?" I press, feeling like I'm on the edge of a crucial revelation.

The nun sighs deeply. "It's hard to explain. He was still your father, and yet... not quite. As if something fundamental had changed within him. But before I could understand what was happening, before I could ask more questions, they both vanished from my life."

"Both?" I echo, though I already know the answer.

"Yes," she confirms. "Your father and Choi. I never saw either of them again after that. It was as if they had disappeared into thin air."

. "But that doesn't make sense. My father... he went on to have a career, to have me. He didn't just vanish."

The old nun nods, a sad smile on her face. "Of course. But from my perspective, from the church's perspective, he did. We heard rumors, whispers of what he was doing, but he never returned to us. And Choi... well, you know what became of him."

I run a hand through my hair, frustration building. "But what happened? What did Choi do to my father? And why did they both cut ties with the church?"

The nun reaches out, her frail hand grasping mine. "That, my child, is the heart of the mystery. The question that has haunted me for years. What happened between your father and Choi during that time? What kind of 'help' did Choi provide? And at what cost?"

The old nun leans back, exhaustion evident on her face. "I'm afraid that's all I know, my child. The rest... the rest is silence. I've reached out to your grandmother over the years, hoping to reconnect, to check on her and perhaps learn more. But she's never responded."

I nod slowly, processing this information. "And the letters you've been sending recently?"

She sighs, a sad smile on her face. "A last attempt, I suppose. Age has a way of making one reflect on past regrets, on unfinished business. I had hoped... well, it doesn't matter now."

I stand, feeling a mix of gratitude and frustration. "Thank you for telling me all this. It's... it's a lot to take in."

The nun reaches out, grasping my hand. "Be careful, my child. The truth you seek... it may be more dangerous than you realize."

I nod, squeezing her hand gently before turning to leave. As I walk out of the church, my mind is whirling with everything I've learned. My father's struggle with a voice in his head, Choi's mysterious intervention, the sudden disappearance of both from the church's life...

And then, as I reach my car, a thought hits me like a bolt of lightning. Lee. What does Lee want?

The pieces start to fall into place in my mind. Lee's strange behavior in prison, his sudden confessions upon release, the way he seemed to be reciting a script...

Could it be that Lee is in the same position my father was all those years ago? Struggling with a voice, seeking help, and falling into Choi's hands?

The implications are staggering. If Choi has been "helping" people with these voices for years, if he's been using the same methods he used on my father...

I fumble for my car keys, my heart racing. I need to see Lee again. I need to understand what's really going on with him, what Choi might have done to him.