Criminal Mind: Mystery Interactive Thriller Book

The Murderer

I saw Saturday's messages were from my friend Cinthya: "Dear Charly, I understand that you're doing very well. Call me and tell me about this hot guy that inspires you, who is about to be kissed to death." How could I kiss him to death? If he is dead then it isn't because of kisses...what an appropriate message.

The second message, Saturday 6:00 p.m.: "Friend I am going to wear your red blouse today. I hope this doesn't bother you. Relax; your parents called; I told them that you finished your studies, kisses." This was on Saturday, but what did I do all day Saturday? I picked up the cell phone and called the voicemail. I listened to the first message saved on Friday at 11:00 p.m. from the number 399-0788: "Charly, great job! He's a hotty! You always get the best. Let me know if you're coming tonight, ciao."

So this is what happened: I have been gone since Friday until today, Sunday, at noon. How is it possible that I don't remember and I wake up next to a dead person? That's why he's so stiff, perhaps. When and how did he die? I slowly approached him; I uncovered him; he had more than five holes in his chest; the bed was completely saturated with blood that had already dried. No, this wasn't from a knife, or bullets—he had definitely been stabbed. I looked around him and I didn't find anything. But under the pillow where I laid, there was an ice pick covered in blood. So they had used this to kill him....I completely uncovered him. He was naked with stiff hands; it seemed as if he was holding something; his member was almost erect. Based on his pose, I assumed that whoever killed him did it while on top of him. I saw his bloody fingers and a piece of skin in his nails. I didn't understand anything; I looked for my clothes and went to get dressed in the bathroom. I saw myself in the mirror, there was no blood on my body, but I found scratches on my hips and thighs while carefully checking myself...Without a doubt, those were from nails that were dug into my skin which created a line that ran down my legs. I closed my eyes and my mind switched to replay mode, images started popping up in my mind: he was yelling, his nails were digging into me, I was screaming, enjoying one orgasm after another, my body twisting, and I kept resting my head on his chest. That was it, that's all I remember. So, did I kill him?...Yes, I killed him. I covered my face with my hands; I couldn't believe it; I cried bitterly, stuck to the wall, in a corner, the one farthest away from the cadaver.

A half hour passed and my sobs were now under control. The telephone rang loudly and woke me up. I looked for where the sound was coming from, towards the coffee table on the side of the living room. I crawled towards it and it said "Sonia calling" on the screen; after a few seconds the voice mail came on: "Hi, sweetheart, I hope that your business trip hasn't been too tiresome, but later I'm coming over there to relieve you of your stress, kisses."

I jumped up. Would someone come to the apartment? For sure, it was his girlfriend and I had to get out of here. But the dead body, the fingerprints, his nails, oh my God—I can't ask for help, I have to fix this myself. I was already in a state of absolute panic; I was a murderer and I didn't even know how or when, but I had done it. I ran to the kitchen and searched the drawers for a knife; there was one shaped like a chainsaw. I walked towards the bed, picked up a sheet from the floor and wrapped myself up in it. I turned on the electric knife and began to cut off one of his hands. As he had just bled to death, only a little bit of blood gushed out. Next, I did the same with the other body part: I cut off his member and cleaned his legs. There should not have been traces of evidence from me, no liquid, semen or whatever they call it. I stuck his hands, member and the icepick in a trash bag. I looked for other clues such as cups, cigarette butts or hair. It took me about an hour to clean; I covered the dead body and left the apartment. Luckily, just at that moment, the concierge was eating lunch and so nobody had seen me. I put on a cap and some of his glasses that I found and pulled my hair completely up so that nobody would recognize my hair color or that it was long. I walked on the street to go to the pub where that man had picked me up. I knew that I had come in a car, so it had to be there.

I walked six blocks, which seemed like an eternity because I was so worked up by the fear. As soon as I turned the corner I saw my car there in the bar parking lot; there were two tickets and a note on it that said: "Move your car by Monday or it will be towed," signed Freddy. He was the owner of the pub; he knew me well and thanks to him my car was still there. He was like my big brother, although he was only 28 years old. We have spent a lot of time together visiting the bar ever since my father first brought me here as a child.

Part2: Choice 1 - Turn yourself into the police.

Charlotte felt that the guilt would no longer allow her to live so she turned herself in. She did the right thing and claimed she suffered a bout of amnesia.

Part3: Choice 2: Don't say anything.

Charlotte was so confused and scared. She should have better planned out what to do and then escape. 

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