Flower of Carnage (18+) || BeckFreen [Completed]

Chapter 34

"There's a corpse in my girl's house! How the hell do you expect me to calm down?" Becky's voice reverberated through the mayor's office, her frustration palpable as she fought against the mayor's attempts to prevent her from calling her father.

In the midst of the chaos, Becky turned to me with fire in her eyes. She wanted to confront the mayor, to make him understand the manipulation at play. They orchestrated this scenario, anticipating my return to frame me for a crime I didn't commit. The motive became clear as they exploited my isolation in that house. The use of Peony left me questioning their intentions—were they planning to implicate Becky as well?

"Becky, hold on!" I intervened.

"You're trying to gaslight us, Ms. Armstrong. Her stepmother explicitly instructed us not to demolish the house, anticipating your return," the mayor explained. "We even witnessed her following you yesterday. Right?" He glanced at his subordinates, who nodded in agreement.

"Quit spinning tales," Becky snapped, ready to grab the mayor's collar, but I restrained her.

"We're not making up stories; perhaps it's you who's fabricating a narrative." The mayor smirked. "Did you kill her stepmother?"

My brow furrowed in disbelief. I was with Becky the entire time, except before she arrived at my house. Who tipped her off about my house's location? She was also the one who detected the scent of the flowers. Yet, I knew she was innocent, devoid of any motive.

"Ms. Becky Armstrong?" The police barged in, fixing their stern gaze on Becky. "You're under arrest for the murder of a District 10 resident. Come with us."

Becky shook her head, casting a pleading look my way, silently affirming her innocence.

I understood, Becky. But I needed to play their game, unravel their motives.

As the police handcuffed Becky, my gaze remained fixed on her, watching her being dragged away.

"Finally, the Armstrong problem is solved. Mr. Armstrong will be very proud of me," the mayor chuckled.

I glared at him. "Damn you!"

"Didn't you know?" the mayor sneered. "Mr. Armstrong was seeking reasons to disown Becky. She holds no power. Yes, within the institute, she's the King. Outside? Nothing."

"Where can I see her?" I demanded.

"The only way to see her is to commit a murder yourself," the mayor laughed, referring to the District 10 Asylum, a place more akin to a hellhole than an asylum.

"Is that so?" I grabbed the scissors on his table and plunged them into his neck. His unarmed subordinates recoiled in shock.

As the mayor crumpled to the floor, his men stared at me in fear. I confronted them, "The mayor didn't trust you; that's how I knew you were unarmed. Lead me to the asylum if you wish to avoid a similar fate."

***

Walking through the Asylum's eerie corridors, a wave of realizations washed over me. Everyone here was a shade of madness. We all belonged in this abyss. In a world where death was inevitable, why not hasten it?

Initially motivated by a pursuit of wealth, my encounter with Becky revealed a deeper desire—to liberate others from their demons. Yet, in my quest to free them, I unleashed my own. I became the devil I never wished to be, sacrificing too much of myself.

Becky was right—I was insane, the devil. And it was all for her. Now, I was willing to sacrifice even my life to free her from this Asylum and shield her from her family's wrath.

I understood Becky's abilities, but if her capture was orchestrated by her father, the higher-ups were likely involved. They would swiftly eliminate her if they got their hands on her. My concern deepened, fearing the atrocities they might subject her to, especially in this patriarchal society.

"Freen Sarocha, why is she here?" a man confronted his companions upon seeing me. "She's not permitted."

"She killed the mayor," one of them stammered, wiping his eyes. "She deserves to be here!"

His emotional response struck me as odd. The mayor had never treated them kindly, yet they mourned his death. It was ironic—his callousness hadn't prepared them for the reality of death.

"What?" the man gasped. "How could you let that happen?" He interrogated a companion in hushed tones, a conversation I couldn't decipher. Their secrecy didn't concern me anymore; my only focus was seeing Becky.

"I want to go inside," I declared.

"Not possible, Ms. Chankimha. There's someone being tortured in there," the man explained, bowing his head nervously.

"Why are you bowing to me? I'm from the lower class." I crossed my arms. "Let me in, even if it means subjecting myself to torture."

"I'm afraid I can't," he continued bowing.

"Pablo, who brought this woman inside?" A familiar voice interrupted, and my eyes widened as I recognized his face.