Chapter 17
207words
Two vengeful spirits had orchestrated the perfect psychological trap. The illusions they'd created had worked flawlessly.
Following the principle that "true despair comes only after tasting hope," they completed their revenge.
Steven pounded desperately against the sealed coffin lid as his oxygen slowly depleted.
Linda hummed "Happy Birthday" beside the coffin, Steven's muffled screams providing perfect accompaniment.
Moonlight gleamed on wet stone as ravens cawed overhead—nature itself celebrating their vengeance.
Days later, the FBI discovered Steven's corpse in the coffin.
The case was classified as "suicide induced by extreme paranoia," as only Steven's fingerprints were found on the coffin, inside and out.
After the rain cleared, Thompson and Rogers stood before the sealed coffin. That morning, Margaret—the last Kane—had died from a mysterious parasitic infection.
"What kind of force is behind all this?" young agent Rogers wondered aloud.
Old Thompson said nothing, just stared at the name "Linda" in the case file.
Finally, he crossed out the name with his pen and tugged his hat lower.
"Justice takes many forms, young man,"
he said quietly.
"There's human justice, divine justice, God's justice."
"...And then there's demon justice."
