[BL, MTL] Wine and Gun

Chapter 128: Aesthetic Victory (4)

Herstal looked down at Albarino, and he could read a certain emotion in the other person's eyes, an unspoken hint-after knowing each other for such a long time, how much did he think about Albarino's thoughts? Some experience, too-he read what might be called an honest joy, an unspoken answer.

There was a short silence, neither of them speaking, only Strider was still struggling slightly: in fact, he couldn't exert any strength to his whole lower body, if the man who was as limp as mud was shaking his body clumsily upper body. When Herstal looked at him, he saw a distinct panic in those helpless and stupid eyes.

This can at least explain a simple truth: now, many years later, everything is controlled by Herstal.

So Herstal bent slightly and grabbed the collar of Albarino's shirt.

His hands were full of dried and not-dried blood, and the gap between his fingers was sticky, with an unpleasant fishy smell. This time, the gradually blackened blood on his fingers rubbed against Alba. On Lino's white shirt, like a bright arrow, marked the location of his throat for every bystander who might see the man.

Albarino was pulled to his feet by him, and Herstal's hand was strong enough that Albarino had to grab Herstal's wrist to avoid suffocating him from the tightening tie.

His fingers were on the skin of Herstal's wrist, and through the fabric of the shirt and the hard metal of the cuff buttons, there was still a subtle warmth. In the next second, one of Albarino's fingers gently penetrated into Herstal's shirt cuff, and his callused fingertips gently rubbed against the skin of Herstal's wrist bone.

Herstal seemed to swallow it, and after a while, he said dryly: "After getting to know you, I did many things that I would never do at the crime scene before."

"For example?" Albarino blinked his eyes with a smile, his tone was so ordinary that he seemed to be discussing things like desserts after a meal, which are not worth mentioning but can bring people a subtle sense of pleasure, "show me Let's go."

Herstal sneered, his various mocking sneers and expressions were enough to fill a bookshelf in different categories, and it is difficult for ordinary people to read his true emotions from these almost indifferent expressions: except perhaps Albarino, As he said, he was already somewhat accomplished in the subject.

So Albarino knew that the other party actually agreed, and Herstal exerted force on his hand, and Albarino was dragged up by him to a certain height. This cannot be said to be because Herstal forced him. It is absolutely impossible for an adult man of Albarino's height to be dragged to such a height by others with one hand, so it can only be said that , Albarino knew exactly what he was going to do-

And quite willing to cooperate.

In this way, Albarino also stepped onto the stern of this abstract wooden boat, and the wooden planks creaked slightly under his feet. The logs that were sawed off were transported to this church in batches by him and assembled bit by bit. But at that time they were just raw materials and had no other meaning-just like the blank canvas bodies in his eyes-their meaning was given by Herstal Amallet and written on it by those bloodstains, which is Those subtle rhymes that the policeman couldn't understand, a wordless, strange singing.

Herstal pressed his shoulders and pushed him back onto the sacrificial table, and he knocked off the things on the table. Albarino heard the crisp sound of some kind of metal object falling to the ground: that might be St. Jue, is the Eucharist box, an object filled with the blood and flesh of Christ in the religious sense, just like this boat full of blood and flesh.

It was only when the back of his head touched the altar's tabletop that Albarino smelled the scent of wine that gradually drifted away: apparently the wine originally contained in the silver sacrificial vessel was slowly flowing on the floor of the church . The scene inevitably reminded him of a rainy night last summer when he lay half dead on the floor of his house, and the Westland pianist smashed a bottle of wine in front of him.