Chapter 8 Red Light !!!

Charlie's POV

Everything spiraled into chaos. The scene shifted dramatically as I turned to see Mr. Ress collapsing to the floor, blood pouring from his mouth. Panic surged through me, and I darted toward the door, desperate to escape. But just as I was about to flee, a voice stopped me in my tracks.

I turned around to see a man dressed entirely in black, his face obscured, pointing a gun straight at me. "Kneel down," he ordered, his tone cold and menacing.

"Please, don't kill me," I begged, my heart racing.

"Raise your hands," he commanded, his gun unwavering.

"Please, don't kill me," I pleaded again, my voice trembling.

"Close your eyes," he said.

I shut my eyes tightly, continuing to beg for my life, bracing for the sound of a gunshot. But there was only silence. After what felt like an eternity, I mustered the courage to open my eyes, only to find that he was gone.

Frantically, I raced downstairs to find Percilva. To my horror, she was bound with rope and had a handkerchief stuffed in her mouth.

"Please, sir, don't kill me," she mumbled, her eyes wide with fear.

"Percilva, what happened?" I asked urgently as I untied her.

"Charlie, please, untie me," she pleaded.

After freeing her, I asked, "What's going on?"

"I saw a man dressed entirely in black," she explained. "He was the one who tied me up."

"I saw him too," I said. "I tried to confront him, but he overpowered me and killed the man I was with."

"We need to leave," Percilva insisted.

"We can't just leave like this," I countered. "We're in serious trouble. If the police find his body, it will trace back to us."

"I need to call my gang," I said.

"Okay, go ahead," she agreed.

I called my team, and within ten minutes, they arrived. They entered through the window-three of us in total, part of the group known as 'PSCF,' which stood for 'Perfect, Smart, Computer Fast.' I earned the nickname 'Fast' because of my quick reflexes and ability to act under pressure.

"How did it go?" Perfect asked, his gaze serious.

"A black-clad man killed him," I reported.

"My attempt didn't succeed," I added.

"We need to investigate this black-clad man," Smart said. "But first, we must deal with the corpse. The police will link him to us through the basketball handle that you used."

"Where's the body?" Computer inquired.

We headed upstairs to Mr. Ress's chambers. As we approached, I noticed the basketball handle's injuries on his face, a grim reminder of the violence that had unfolded. The situation was deteriorating rapidly, and our next steps had to be meticulously planned to avoid further complications.

"What should we do?" I asked, my voice tinged with desperation.

Smart quickly assessed the situation. He searched the room, then headed to the kitchen. After a few minutes, he returned with a determined expression. "I have a solution," he said.

"What is it?" I pressed, anxiety evident in my tone.

"There's a furnace," Smart explained.

"But how do we get the body to the furnace?" I inquired, feeling the weight of the predicament.

"There's a trunk," Smart said, pointing.

We dragged the trunk out and tried to fit the body inside. Mr. Ress's legs were too long, so I bent them carefully until the body fit. With a collective effort, we managed to close the trunk. I grasped one of the handles, attempting to move it, but it remained stubbornly still. My strength waned, and my hands were slick with sweat.

My gang joined in, and with their help, we managed to open the door. Smart unlocked it, and I lifted the trunk onto my shoulder, fighting against its weight. My muscles ached, and the strap dug painfully into my palm. Navigating the hallway, I descended the stairs, every step a struggle.

In the kitchen, Smart noticed a hatchet and used it to break up the trunk's lid. We hauled the trunk over to the furnace, where I heaved it upright, struggling against its weight. Smart and I maneuvered the trunk into position, and he began pulling the body out and into the furnace.

I kept glancing around nervously. "Will there be enough coal to burn the body?" I asked, my voice trembling.

Smart stuffed the body into the furnace and covered it with coal. I pushed the lever to start the furnace, and we watched as the flames began to engulf the body.

Suddenly, Smart frowned. "People will smell this," he said. "The odor will attract the police."

He hurriedly searched the basement and found a large, grimy electric exhaust fan mounted high on the wall behind the furnace. He flicked the switch, and the fan roared to life, its blades spinning rapidly.

"There," Smart said, relieved. "The exhaust fan will suck the air out of the basement. The scent will be minimized."

We watched as the fan hummed, pulling the smoke and smell away. The immediate danger of discovery seemed to fade, though the weight of our actions hung heavily in the air. The furnace roared with life, and the exhaust fan worked tirelessly, leaving us to confront the uneasy silence of our own making.