Chapter 6: Chapter Four — A Medium’s Notes

Chapter Four — A Medium’s Notes

AMedium’s Note¹

“I really didn’t expect you to come fetch me at this hour.”

Wu Jianxiang had just finished bathing; his cheeks were still damp and his whole body steamed with warm water. Showering at a murder scene was hardly pleasant, but he had no choice. As he stripped off clothes stained bright red, strands of hair at his forehead still trickled blood; the bathroom floor bore a dark rust-colored splatter.

Xia Yongyu’s mangled corpse lay less than ten meters away in the adjacent bedroom. It was now half past one in the morning, and the horrors Wu had just witnessed left him unable to calm down even as the shower rinsed the blood from his skin. He had, before, held victims who died in his arms — but nothing like this.

The small iron spade, sticky with blood, was the instrument of Xia’s instantaneous death. No other person had been in the bedroom, yet the spade had flown past Wu’s side and struck Xia’s throat. Seeing such an event with his own eyes made Wu’s conviction in the existence of malignant spirits unshakeable.

Who would believe him, though?

He thought and thought; there was only one person who might—Captain Gao Qinfú, head of the Criminal Division.

To Wu, Captain Gao was part teacher, part friend, and, in some ways, a paternal guardian. Gao’s attitude toward Wu contrasted with his stricter, restraining guidance of junior officer Zheng Shaode. Gao had once remarked, after investigating a wealthy businessman’s beheading, “Zheng tends to pursue truth so single-mindedly that he becomes stubborn, ignoring human emotion in his zeal to break through.”

“Isn’t finding the real killer a detective’s duty?”
Zheng had protested.

“You’re too like my younger self — a runaway horse. It can get you to the finish fast, but it’ll also take the wrong path if not steered.”

Wu thought of this now. Four-Oh-One had not lost power or water after the murders; he’d even found some slightly tight spare clothing in a wardrobe. Despite the hour, after showering he called Captain Gao and told him to come at once.

While they waited, Wu rifled through Xia’s wallet and found ID, a driver’s license, some cash, and a ring of keys in his jeans pocket. He sat in 401’s living room and copied the personal details into his notebook.

When Gao arrived, had seen the second corpse, and heard Wu’s account of the night, he sat silently for ten minutes before speaking.

“I guess you can imagine how Zheng would reason about this,”
Gao said.

Wu nodded.

“You found both corpses in this room. You were actually at the second death scene.”
Gao’s voice hardened. “You snuck out of the hospital and came here with an unknown man; his blood sprayed all over you; you took that DV tape without permission — you are the most obvious suspect.”

“I know I look bad.”
Wu’s voice was flat.

“I know you, and I know you aren’t the killer. Zheng is too young to accept that some things exceed rational explanation. I’ll cover for you as far as I can. I’ll try to slow the squad’s suspicions. Ideally, we’d let these cases remain unsolved.”
Gao’s tone was low.

“Thank you, captain.”

“No thanks. And suddenly I think this case doesn’t need conventional investigation. Too many clues point to a ghost. First, 401 is a sealed room — if the killer is a spirit, it can move through the room freely. Second, the method matches that of Hong Zechen, the executed ‘Bone-Gnawing Demon’ — not because Hong did it personally again, but because his vengeful spirit might have returned.”

Gao spoke lightly, but Wu felt a chill at the thought of an executed killer’s ghost returning to murder.

“But why would a ghost kill?”
Wu asked.

“That’s the biggest question about the ghost conclusion,”
Gao said. “Is someone summoning spirits to do their bidding? But the victims don’t know one another; they share no apparent link.”

“They do,”
Wu interrupted. “Zhang Zhimei is the common factor.”

“That’s logical. Both men were Zhang Zhimei’s boyfriends. If she’s the common link, might she have sent the spirits?”
Gao mused.

“No. Malignant spirits don’t act on instruction.”
Gao shook his head. “Xia said he tried a method to ‘see ghosts.’ That suggests these people were killed by their own curiosity.”

“So Zhang Zhimei provided the method?”
Wu pressed.

“No.”
Gao answered flatly.

“Why not?”

“If Zhang had given it, Xia would have said so. He only said she held a vital key.”
Gao frowned. “Besides, if Zhang were the mastermind, Jianxiang, the victim could have simply written the truth down; instead, he left a DV tape hinting at something. I suspect Zhang is not the instigator and does not know the method.”

Wu inhaled deeply. “Even so, to reveal the truth behind these spirit murders, we must find Zhang Zhimei.”

Gao nodded once, quietly.

“I’ll go to Xia’s place tonight,”
Wu said.

“Now? Aren’t you going back to the hospital?”

“I can’t sleep,”
Wu said with a faint smile. “And now is not the right time to try sneaking back in.”

“True. But the hospital will send someone to collect you. You must return before that, or the nurses will realize you snuck out.”

“I’ll call to check visiting hours and then slip back in as a visiting relative.”
Wu climbed into Xia’s parked car and started the engine.

The steering wheel felt icy. He checked the address on Xia’s ID one more time, then sped into the dark streets. It was 2:07 a. M. Xia lived near Fuheng 1st Road in Xinxing District — a ten-minute drive.

Headlights cast orange halos; rows of trees swept past in the dark. Wu’s mind reeled through the series of strange events since Mrs. Ge’s rat case: two giant corpse-eating rats, Zhong’s near-skeletonized body, the missing beauty Zhang Zhimei, and now the medium Xia’s throat spraying blood. The images blurred into a nightmare — and he suspected they were only the beginning.

Could he truly trust Gao? Alone, Wu could not escape this trap. By letting his guard down with Xia, he’d been ambushed and couldn’t have foreseen Xia’s eventual death in 401; the building’s cameras captured them entering the fourth floor. In the morning the forensics team would find another recently dead man, and police would quickly review the footage and see a colleague who should have been convalescing in the hospital — evidence that would place Wu under intense suspicion. By noon he’d be a person of interest for interrogation; by afternoon the bureau would have issued a press release.

All because of his curiosity about a DV tape and a late-night trip home.

Captain Gao was the only one Wu could rely on now. He trusted Gao would privately remove the tape showing Wu and Xia entering 401 and would attempt to alter the caretaker’s testimony.

Maybe Gao believed him because, upon taking the Zhong case, he had intuited the terrifying possibility that Hong Zechen’s ghost had returned — and so he was willing to help.

Ghostly killers — what dreadful truth lay behind these two cases? Even if the logical response was to end the investigation upon concluding “spirit,” Wu could not stop himself from driving harder toward Xia’s address.

Was it because of her — Zhang Zhimei?

Wu had no doubt Zhang wasn’t the mastermind. Still, he wanted to stand before her and ask, face to face, whether she had anything to do with these murders. Finding her would clear the doubt in his chest.

He nearly drove into the awning of a convenience store but pulled himself together. The store’s lights were bright; it was close — only about a hundred paces from Xia’s building. He parked under the awning, checked the address under a streetlamp, and, confident in his sense of direction, found the single building in three minutes.

A row of dark gray four-story houses; Xia’s was the second from the right. All windows were black. From what Xia had said, he likely lived alone — yet had enough money to maintain this place. Where did his income come from?

Wu tried Xia’s keys. The third one opened the frosted glass door. Inside, a faint yellow stair light glowed. The staircase led up; the first floor looked like a garage. He closed the door behind him and climbed.

The upstairs layout revealed a spartan modern interior: a few iron chairs, an oval tripod table, a green fan, remote controls on the table, a TV and two VCRs stacked in a cabinet, the digital clock reading AM 2:43. Scattered unlabelled VHS tapes sat atop the VCRs. Large glass sliding windows looked out to the street and a balcony with potted plants. Several panes bore irregular, spiderwebbed cracks as if struck hard.

Wu walked to the other side of the second floor: three rooms, a bathroom adjoining the kitchen, and a darkroom for developing photographs.

Inside the darkroom he flipped on the red lamp. A film-developing bench, a dozen chemical jars, a drying line crossed overhead with metal clips and strips of exposed film. A metal cabinet held SLR cameras and tripods. The walls were plastered with 3×5 and 4×6 prints — street scenes, interiors — often blurry, but each picture featured a pair: a man and a woman. Some photos showed shopping trips or meals; others were intimate: lovers entwined in bed.

Wu realized the truth: Xia’s real trade was blackmail.

The photographed couples’ faces were mostly obscured, but their postures and outfits betrayed wealth — members of high society who feared scandal. Wu even spotted some recognizable public figures. Xia’s comfortable lifestyle came from extortion; “medium” was likely his amateur hobby.

He left the darkroom, switched off the red bulb, and turned on the stair light to go to the third floor. The darkroom door would not close smoothly; its panel was warped, the outer surface scratched with intersecting slashes. The damage looked eerily like the marks at Zhong’s apartment — Xia had been attacked by a malignant spirit at home too. That explained why he’d claimed to be the next victim.

Unlike Zhong, who had fortified his room with carpentry and sealing, Xia had actively investigated previous victims. Despite Xia’s crimes, Wu had to admire his guts.

He hurried upstairs. The third floor held Xia’s bedroom and study. In the bedroom two framed photos on the nightstand: one of Zhang Zhimei, one of Xia himself — both apparently taken at the same time. Wu slipped the photos into his pocket. Zhang’s smile was bright; two small canine teeth showed; her eyes were sensuous. Wu lingered a moment, then forced himself onward.

The study’s bookcase was crammed with occult tomes: Transcendent Psychology, Modern Mediumship, Study of Witchcraft Societies, Personality Profiles of Mediums, Hypnosis and Magic, The Physics of Spirit Contact, Hypnotic Medicine, Telepathic Vision: A New Theory of Ghosts, Techniques of Hypnosis… A PC sat with a screensaver of fish in the deep sea; a DV cam was connected to it.

Wu remembered Xia’s words: “He and I both like cameras.” That was something the two dead men had in common — but if Xia did not know Zhong, how did he gain access to the building’s surveillance footage? Wu was sure he would find answers in this study.

On the desktop, a non-linear video-editing program was minimized. He restored the window and was stunned: the footage in the playback window showed surveillance of the fourth-floor corridor of Zhong’s building — footage taken from the caretaker’s system. How had Xia gotten it?

The timestamp read 2000. 03. 17. 09:25 — one of the archived ten days of security tapes. The file name: 2000_03_17. Mpg. Adjacent were a number of similarly named files, and another set with h appended to the filename — 2000_03_17_h. Mpg, etc. The h files were slightly larger and had more recent modification times.

What did the h mean? Wu opened both 2000_03_17. Mpg and 2000_03_17_h. Mpg and compared them repeatedly, finding no immediate visible difference. Clearly the h files had been processed by editing software, but how?

He thought of Zhong’s one brief exit on March 19 at 6:48 a. M., returning at 7:41 a. M., recorded on the building tape. Perhaps the true times were different, or Zhong had left more than once — maybe Xia had edited out other departures. He opened and checked 2000_03_19. Mpg and its _h counterpart, positioning the playback at the critical moment. The frantic figure at the door matched the known record — Wu could not prove anything yet.

He realized a second possibility: Xia might have removed other departures from the footage entirely. There were 240 hours across ten days of video. Wu had once, during the initial investigation, watched the tapes in real time using six VCRs over four hours. Now the PC and a fast viewer could speed through but it would still take time — already almost five in the morning. Rather than continue, Wu turned his attention to Xia’s notebooks.

The open notebook on Xia’s desk was meticulously dated and orderly. The front page title read “Summary of Strange Events.”

March 13, 2000 — Three days ago, after a strange dream I felt unwell. Tonight my place feels wrong; it’s connected to the dream. That dream — could it become real? I want to be a good medium, but reality has become disgusting.

March 14 — I think the dream is related to Zhimei. I asked her and got nowhere. She says she has headaches; I feel them too. Could she have amnesia? I should persuade her to undergo deep hypnosis to retrieve buried memories.

March 15 — I hypnotized Zhimei tonight. I pieced together that about a month ago she met a photography-loving young man who lived near Kaohsiung High School. She recalled nearby landmarks but not his name.

March 17 — Zhimei disappeared this evening — gone as if vaporized. She’s been avoiding me for two days; then yesterday she vanished entirely. I don’t want to use the word, but ghosts may be real. They appear in my house and scream. I must find Zhimei; perhaps her subconscious holds the truth.

March 18 — The situation is critical. At midnight a starving ghost tried to attack me in the kitchen. Ghosts don’t appear in daylight, but their intent grows clearer. I lack mental strength; I spend days searching for Zhimei. Maybe she’s with an ex-boyfriend. I must find him.

March 19 — I can’t rid myself of this curse. I’ve read all books and found nothing. The magic might relate to “ghost-eye” (the ability to see spirits), but according to witchcraft dictionaries that is an innate psychic power, not learnable. Is my thinking wrong? This curse is terrifying. I will go mad if it continues.

March 20 — I finally found Zhimei’s ex’s address — 401 of that apartment. I hypnotized the caretaker and some tenants but they say they haven’t seen him. My sixth sense insists he’s still inside. The spare key doesn’t work; he must have changed the lock. I phoned repeatedly but got no answer. Is he avoiding calls, or dead inside? I should obtain the building’s surveillance tapes.

March 22 — After examining all the tapes I’m exhausted. He did leave briefly on the 19th and then stayed in; is he still alive? Has he been killed by ghosts? From his expression I sense desperation. He may have sealed himself in and given up. I must not become like him.

March 23 — Waiting is useless. I must act. First, I must confirm whether Zhimei is linked. If his room contains a clue to the magic… He may be an ordinary man who would miss occult signals, but I am a gifted medium. The room will eventually be opened by police; I can alter the surveillance tapes. If I edit the tape to remove any image of myself, and splice hypnotic suggestions into it, I can hypnotize the officer who reviews the footage to reveal clues about the magic. If the clue is Zhimei, I’ll know. I must also arrange for that officer to call me when he finds something.

March 25 — Time is running out. The police came this morning but are slow. If I don’t act within two days I’ll be dead. I must enter 401 and perform a rite to call the dead person’s spirit — only then can I ask whether he knows how to break the curse.

This was the last entry in the “Summary of Strange Events,” dated the afternoon two days before — the day Wu deduced Mrs. Ge’s rat case was linked and Zhong’s body was discovered. Wu closed the notebook, exhausted.

He realized the meaning of the _h files: “h” stood for hypnosis. Xia had inserted hypnotic suggestions into the surveillance footage. That explained why Wu, upon breaking into 401, had immediately gone to Zhong’s bedroom, had pulled at the bedcover before photographing or documenting, why there was a time gap in his memory — and why he had absentmindedly taken the DV tape. He had been acting under post-hypnotic command implanted by those edited tapes.

Human vision can process up to sixty frames per second. By periodically inserting suggestive frames into a video, an editor can embed commands deep into viewers’ subconscious. When a trigger appears, the subconscious executes the programmed actions like resident software.

And more — other puzzles fell into place.

Xia had known Wu was convalescing in the hospital because, under hypnosis, Wu had phoned out and told him. The caretaker had seemed oddly puzzled by Xia because Xia had erased the caretaker’s memory. Wu’s aberrant sleep patterns, his episodes of unconsciousness and dreams that blurred into waking life — these, too, were symptoms of hypnotic influence.

Everyone had been turned into Xia’s puppets.

Angry and horrified, Wu checked his cell phone call log. He saw an outgoing call made yesterday around 6 p. M. To an unfamiliar number with area code 07, lasting 1:17. He pressed redial.

Seconds later, in the silent room, a phone on the bedside table rang. The caller-ID displayed his own mobile number. It was as he feared: Xia had used hypnotic footage to make Wu call and reveal his whereabouts.

Wu’s headache throbbed. He was now fully entangled in the vortex of these spirit murders. Two cases had become dark and personal, and there was still no sign of Zhang Zhimei.

On the computer screen the clock read AM 05:31. Dawn was whitening the sky.