Jeff The Killer Photos の小説・ストーリー

Shaking, I snatched up my phone, pulled up that second-hand app, and shoved the screen in his face. "What's the deal with this? You posted this picture? And these comments, what's the story?!" There on the screen, words blinking back at us: Adrian 'The Butcher' Kane. Jeffrey took a quick look and burst out laughing. "Come on, it was just a stupid dare I lost with the boys. It was all in good fun!" "All in good fun?" My voice spiked with panic. "You plastered my picture all over the internet, telling everyone our door's wide open? Jeffrey, have you lost your mind?

Jack let the force of his legs explode through his hips, torso, and shoulders, sent the energy through his arms and into the bag. Only when he was completely spent, covered in sweat, did he let himself drop to the mat. But even then, he couldn’t rest. He reached for his phone and shuffled through the photos he’d taken of Ashley’s bizarre paintings. He paused the screen at the painting of himself in the grave, eyes open but unseeing. Blackwell’s other known victims hadn’t been buried alive. They’d been buried in pieces. The FBI had never done a full recovery. The bastard was keeping trophies.

He knew not to use those pictures. “How long has he been threatening you, and how did he even get those pictures? No one knew what went down that night other than us” Her voice wavers, hands ball into fists as she demands an answer. “Jeffrey saw what happened that night… The people… the blood. He took those pictures at that moment. After a year or so, he contacted me, and that's when it started. I thought it was best to give him what he wants until I can find a way to get my hands on those pictures, but he has countless copies as backup. It took years of trying to finally give up and just do what he is asking for. I didn't take Dad's business because he'd demand more if I had”

Theo fired back as his eyes twitched in outrage. "And be ready to expect her to get a high heart attack, probably for her to collapse and die at the scene. You would be awarded for the most dangerous human being for being behind the death of your closest siblings. Try it. It would surely be fun, don't you think?" Jeffery grinned with his blood-stained teeth wide open like a maniac in a horror movie. Damn! I feel like disappearing.

After hanging up the phone, Isabella knew that her family would probably become suspicious, so she contacted Sophia specifically. Leaving the hospital, Isabella drove, and Ethan in the passenger seat received a message from Colin. "The shooter's name is Jeff, 40 years old, a retired soldier who has been working as an extra for years. Colin found the person; he drowned and died. Jeff was diagnosed with leukemia recently, and he has an 18-year-old daughter." So, everything makes sense now. It wasn't a fan at all. Jeff was doing things for the sake of his daughter's future, accepting money and then ending his own life.

In that moment, getting to Victor was all that mattered. The door to Jeff's room—the room directly above the living room—was already unlocked, so she threw it open. Jeff was lying on the floor in a pool of his own blood. His face had been slashed with five straight lines like the claws of some giant creature had ripped into him to the point where he was barely recognizable, but she knew it was him. Blood streamed down either side of his mouth, and there was a massive, gaping hole in his chest where his heart had once been.

Drake cleared his throat and continued, "Now, about your situation. I want to help you seek justice and closure for what happened to your family. Do you have any pictures of the man who ordered the attack on your family? Or any leads, anything that could help us track him down?" Jeff hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly. He reached for a small envelope on the coffee table and pulled out a photograph. The image showed a man in a suit, a sly smile on his face, exuding an air of power and confidence. "This is him," Jeff seid, his voice tinged with bitterness. "He's the one who ordered the hit on my family."

He lunged toward me, trying to cover my mouth, but I shoved him away violently. "What? Feeling guilty now?" I pulled out my phone and raised it high above my head. "You want proof? I have it! These are the bank transfer records! These are the reversal records! "This is the official death certificate from the police! And this one—!" I opened the photo that the entire city had already seen, turned the screen brightness to maximum, and shoved it right in front of Jeff's face. "Jeff, do those five-million-dollar photos look good? They were bought with my father's life!"

"One day, it could be you in the crosshairs. Not because of who you are. Because of who I am." She turned. The morning light cut him in two—half the man who'd buried his face in her shoulder last night, half the expressionless killer at the end of the hall. "What? One day you'll shoot me?" The color drained from his face. "I'd sooner put a bullet in my own head." His voice had dropped to something almost inaudible. He didn't finish the sentence. He didn't need to. Her tears fell. She didn't wipe them. She let him see.