Chapter 3 — The Midnight Message

The man in room 601 sent a voice message, his voice as loud as if he was screaming: "Everyone shut up! Report to the police first. Anyone near the first floor should see how the door is locked." This scream finally pulled the chaos back a bit. Someone below replied: "It was reported a long time ago! 110 said it would take half an hour." Half an hour. I leaned against the bedroom door frame, the light from the phone screen shining on my face. Half an hour is enough for a previously prepared killer to go from the second floor to the top floor, testing each household. A message popped up. Coming from Ms. Tran, the profile photo is still a photo of her wearing sunglasses and raising her hand in a V shape.

"Don't panic, everyone. I've already called the police. The police officer said he'll be there soon."

There's also a small sun expression at the end of the sentence. I looked at that text, my back molars clenched. After the incident happened, the first person jumped out and said he did this and did that. Brush yourself off. It was as if the door was locked not because she asked to open it, not because she instigated Tieu Nha. Wait until something really happens, she will always be the one who "reacts quickly". Four Voices' pampering sounds make me nauseous. But in the group, it was like they were holding on to the straw that saved their lives.

"Did Ms. Tran tell you? That's great, that's great!"

“Still trustworthy Ms. Tran!”

"Miss Tran, you're on the first floor, did you hear any movement? Is the killer still there?"

Ms. Tran replied to a voice message in a split second, opening with her lazy, sleepy tone.

"Oh my gosh, I'm in my room, the door is locked. I said it's not that serious, everyone don't scare yourself. It's okay if the police come."

I laughed coldly. The door lock is made by someone else for her, the risk is that the whole building bears it for her. She just needs to snuggle under the covers, send a few voice messages, and she can continue to be her kind big sister. But I didn't say anything in the group. I turned down the volume on my phone, threw it on the nightstand, and sat back on the bed with my arms crossed. Watch plays. Outside the window, faint sounds of police sirens came from far and near, tearing apart the stillness of the early morning. Someone in the group immediately sent: "Police car! I see a police car entering the area!" Then there was a new message from Tieu Nha, more than two hours since it first appeared: "I overslept just now, what happened?" Immediately after that, the guy on the fifth floor directly replied to a voice message: "What's wrong with you? If you don't say anything, you'll think you're being killed by a murderer." The police siren stopped outside the area. The frequency of messages in the group has decreased, but some people still send them continuously.

"Are the police upstairs yet?" "Have you seen anyone in uniform?" "How is the second floor, has anyone gone to see?"

I don't intend to continue watching. Before morning, this play will probably have someone officially come to an end. I was about to turn off the phone and throw it away when a private message notification suddenly appeared on the top of the screen. Comes from Tieu Ly. My eyelids twitched and opened. Two lines, very short: "Are you there? Are you safe with me?"

“I'm going up now, I want to get to you.”

My laziness while lying on the bed watching plays disappeared in the blink of an eye. I jumped up, looked at that line twice, and typed quickly with my fingers: "Don't come here. It's not safe with me either, stay where you are and wait for the police." Almost at the same time I pressed send, he replied: "I've reached the tenth floor."

"The fire door is locked and can't be opened. Did you lock it?"

My back tensed and I instinctively raised my head to look towards the main door. But very quickly, I thought about the fireproof door in the corner of the hallway outside the main door that I personally welded. I only locked that door from the outside, so I couldn't push it open from the stairs. He's really risen. From the second floor to the tenth floor, a total of eight floors. The murderer could still be wandering around the building, but he dared to climb up the stairs. Just because he feels "safe" with me? Am I very close to him? Before tonight, the number of sentences we said to each other was no more than three sentences. I answered with one question: "I don't know. Maybe it's the lock management board. Don't stand in the hallway, find a place to hide." After sending, I pressed the phone to my ear, holding my breath as I listened to the movement outside the door. The hallway was very quiet, but I vaguely heard a light crash from the fireproof door. He's trying to push the door open. A moment later, the phone rang again: "You're home, right? I'm just standing outside the door, can't come in?" My fingers hovered over the keyboard, stiff. If I don't open the door, will he be like the murderer who is prying open the door, standing in front of my door, knocking one by one? But this thought only flashed in the blink of an eye and was suppressed by me. I stood up and went out to the living room, first confirming the bolts on the main door, then locking all the thick latches tightly. Go to the window again, open the curtain a little and look down. Outside the yard of the compound there are rotating police lights. I closed the curtains, went back to the bedroom and picked up the phone. Type four words: “I don't know.”