The real life of an American police officer: Winning over others with virtue

Chapter 198 The scene
Eric led the way, but when they got close to the dilapidated wooden house, he stopped in the open space in front of the wooden door.

The air was filled with an indescribable mixture of smells: a strong stench of blood, a putrid odor, and an earthy, moldy odor.

There was also a deeper, cloying sweetness, belonging to decay and despair, which was nauseating.

Ordinary people would not be able to associate so many details with smell alone, let alone have such a rich range of physiological and psychological reactions.

This is his enhanced sensory ability, combined with his body's keen reflexes, resulting in associations and judgments naturally generated by his brain after fully receiving and processing olfactory information from the environment.

Eric frowned instinctively. Just from the smell in the air, he could imagine the horrific torture the victims had endured, far beyond what those demons could simply do by stabbing them to death.

"What's wrong, darling?" Tifa's voice came from behind.

Eric looked back and saw Tifa and Steve looking at him.

"Maybe you shouldn't go in?" Eric whispered to Tifa.

“I’m also afraid you’ll have nightmares. I don’t want our hard-won journey to be tainted.”

Tifa blinked, met Eric's gaze, and obediently nodded, whispering:
"Okay, I'll wait for you outside."

Steve was now in a bit of a daze, caught between a rock and a hard place. Not going in would make him seem cowardly, but if he went in, he knew he definitely wouldn't be able to handle the scene.

But seeing the look Eric gave him, he gritted his teeth and nodded.

Eric didn't care and continued to lead the way. Steve took a deep breath, mentally prepared himself, and followed.

Tifa was left alone to watch the two walk toward the wooden door.

The two stopped in front of the wooden door, which Eric pushed open, its creaking sound like the howl of a dying beast.

Eric, who had a big heart, didn't feel anything yet, but Steve felt a thick, pungent stench that seemed to be able to be tasted instantly choking him.

It wasn't a single odor, but a solidified toxic mist composed of stale, sour blood plasma, the sour smell of rotting food, and the sweet, cloying stench of decaying human tissue, pressing heavily on the lungs, making each breath feel like swallowing filth.

Steve opened his eyes wide, but before he could see anything clearly, the unprecedented sensory shock overwhelmed him, and he fled in panic. As soon as he reached the outside, he bent over and began to vomit violently.

Jenny, looking worried, went to greet them.

Eric shook his head inwardly, realizing he had lost another teammate. It was understandable that Steve felt the same way.

On the way, he also learned a pretty good deal about the couple's background.

One is a kindergarten teacher, and the other is an office worker at a tech company in Silicon Valley.

They were all middle-class city dwellers.

City dwellers, let alone the stench, can't stand even the smell of a dry toilet.

Not to mention this kind.

Even he had to hold his breath to slowly get used to the stench.

Eric walked inside, under the watchful eyes of the people behind him.

Upon entering, the scene before him silenced Eric.

As far as the eye can see, the walls are a canvas for atrocities.

Large patches of dark brown, rust-colored splattered blood covered the area, some like splashes of ink, others like fine, dotted sprays.

What's even more disturbing is that a dark handprint, like a mark of despair, is pressed onto the bloodstains.

Eric noticed some scratches and sighed inwardly. Some of the deep scratches had torn through the wallpaper and wood panels, exposing the rotten wood fibers beneath, and even embedded fragments of broken, blackened fingernails deep within the scratches.

There was a piece of torn lace fabric in the corner, its edges stained dark. It wasn't hard to imagine that a victim had been brutally pressed against the wall here.
The gaze continued to extend.

The rough wooden table in the center was covered with crisscrossing knife marks that were deeply embedded in the wood, and the edges still bore traces of the cracks left by the chopping.

Large, dark stains spread from the center of the desktop to the edges, seeping into the texture and forming a thick crust as hard as asphalt.

Several rusty, barbed iron hooks or nails were fixed to the corner of the table, with strands of dark fibers or what appeared to be flesh hanging from the hook tips.

Along the wall, the legs of several chairs were covered in mud and dark grime, and the back of one of the chairs was violently broken off, exposing sharp splinters.

In the corner lay piles of coarse hemp and nylon ropes, worn and almost broken, with dark stains solidified at the knots.

Several thick wooden sticks, covered in hair and suspicious dark slime, with one end even sharpened.

A wood-cutting axe with severe chips and a warped blade, its handle wrapped with bloodstained strips of cloth.

A bundle of rusty wire with barbs was curled up menacingly.

A broken sofa had several strands of hair of different colors and lengths, tangled in dust and dirt.

The dirty sponges and yellowed cotton inside burst out, emitting a strong, fishy, ​​and rotten smell.

Eric sneered inwardly. This was what the demons meant by 'just finishing off'?
"They really are a bunch of devils." Eric took out his phone and started taking pictures, which would be sent to the FBI.

Only then will the FBI get involved.

With the demons, the place of such cruelty, the large number of victims, and the presence of a cult, the FBI couldn't possibly miss such a bombshell.

Because fame and fortune are powerful driving forces.

Eric had reason to believe that the FBI would be very dedicated in helping him complete the mission.

Eric captured these shocking scenes in photograph after photograph, until finally he stopped in a corner, his gaze drawn to a broken wooden crate there.

The box was half-open; he lifted his foot and opened it, revealing a box filled with something that made his blood freeze.

A worn-out, broken, cheap watch; a plastic photo frame with unfamiliar smiling faces; a faded tourist attraction ticket; a silk scarf stained with dried blood; sunglasses with scratched lenses.
Each piece once belonged to a vibrant life, to an expectant tourist.

They piled up here, like silent tombstones, inscribed with their final identities and names.

Looking at these things, due to his profiling skills and enhanced sensory abilities, Eric couldn't help but see corresponding images in his mind. He let out a breath, suppressed his surging thoughts, and continued to take photos and collect evidence with his phone.

He then chose to leave. If he stayed any longer, Eric suspected he would see the ghosts floating around and hear the silent wails.

Once outside, Eric felt a sense of relief wash over him. Indeed, ordinary people simply cannot comprehend or understand the thoughts and feelings of a demon.

Even he was unwilling and unable to truly understand.

“Darling, you look terrible,” Tifa’s worried voice rang in my ears.

"Are you okay?"

Eric looked over, and Jenny, Steve, and Tifa were all looking at him.

“I’m fine,” Eric said, shaking his head as he walked down the steps and handed his phone to Tifa.

"What's inside should be enough to get the FBI to take over this matter."

(End of this chapter)