The Ghost Who Knew The Killer

The killer, on the run for years, suddenly posted a confession online.

He wrote that he had a terminal illness and didn’t have much time left.

He wanted to apologize to the last victim, the young woman who died tragically by his hand.

“There were twenty-three victims,” the post read. “Twenty-two of them were hardened criminals. Wicked scum.”

“Only the last one, the young woman, was innocent.”

“I was misled and killed an innocent person. I regret it deeply.”

“I hope that whoever reads this can help me find her body.”

“She deserves to be buried properly, to finally rest in peace.”

The post didn’t gain much traction; most people were skeptical.

Some said the poster was clearly desperate for attention.

Others cursed him for exploiting tragedy for clicks.

Only one person replied.

“Lily Ashton, stop the act. I know it’s you.”

1

All these years, Owen Archer’s profile picture hadn’t changed.

It was still the photo I’d taken of him back then.

But his username was now a couple’s name, matching Daisy’s.

It seemed they were still going strong.

As I watched, a few more snide comments appeared below.

The killer, frustrated, started explaining himself.

“I’m really not lying. The last person I killed was a young woman.”

“She looked so young, barely twenty.”

“She was about to get married, but she died by my hand because of a terrible mistake.”

“God, the regret is suffocating.”

“I shouldn’t have listened to those rumors. I shouldn’t have killed an innocent life over a misunderstanding.”

To convince the public, he detailed the time, place, and the full process of the murder.

How he broke her legs so she couldn’t run.

How he made her suffer the prolonged agony.

“It was deep winter, and the ground was frozen solid.”

“Disposing of her body was difficult, so I had to take extreme measures.”

“Her organs were washed into the river, and the bones were scattered nearby.”

“That area is wasteland, nobody goes there. If you look now, you should still be able to find them.”

“I’m dying, and I don’t have the strength. I can only beg for your help.”

“I know I deserve to die, but I just want her soul to find peace.”

Such a complete and detailed account of the crime was undeniable proof.

The tide in the comments section began to turn.

The post’s heat level exploded.

People were frantically tagging online police, digging for any useful information.

Some voluntarily organized a “Bone Search Squad” to give the poor girl a proper burial.

Amidst the diverse reactions, Owen’s comments stood out, defiant and off-key.

He stubbornly posted the same messages over and over again under the killer’s thread.

“Lily Ashton, stop the act. I know it’s you.”

“We’re grown-ups now. Your little games won’t fool me.”

“You were the one who left me first. Nothing you do will ever make me forgive you!”

“Also, Daisy and I are getting married soon.”

“I hope you’ll stop this desperate attempt to break us up.”

Watching that string of comments, I could almost feel his anger.

Owen thought I was trying to lure him back, to rekindle our past.

He believed I had deliberately disguised myself as a killer to post this, just to get his attention.

But what he didn’t know was that I…

…was the twenty-third body.