Chapter 3Delivery on New Year's Eve

The streets were deserted and bleak, lit only by the dim yellow glow of streetlights. Inside my head, thoughts spun in utter chaos.

The freezing wind poured down my collar like sharp knives. Even though the black hoodie was thick, it did nothing to block the chilling dread creeping through my chest.

I sped along on my electric bike, tearing down the road toward the suburbs as fast as the engine would take me.

There were still nearly two hours left until midnight.

That creepy, strict time requirement kept circling endlessly in my head.

In my past life, I had arrived right at midnight. Back then, the victim was already dead, though her blood was still warm.

If the customer insisted on a midnight delivery, did that mean the actual time of death was supposed to happen somewhere between 11 p.m. and midnight?

The killer needed that specific window to commit the crime, so that I, the perfect scapegoat, could show up right on the dot at midnight to become the ideal eyewitness and prime suspect.

What if I arrived early, then?

If I got there by 11 p.m., could I disrupt the murderer's schedule, catch them in the act, or even stop this whole tragedy from happening?

The moment the thought crossed my mind, I slammed on the brakes. The tires let out an ear-splitting screech against the asphalt.

I couldn't let history repeat itself.

I had to take control of the situation.

Pulling out my phone, my fingers trembled violently as I dialed 911.

"Hello, 911? I need to report a crime! Someone is about to commit a murder in Room 206 at the Sunshine Resort! Please get there fast! I'm... I'm just a passerby, but I overheard someone planning it on a phone call, saying they were gonna kill that woman!"

My voice sounded slightly warped from sheer panic, but that only ended up making it sound all the more believable.

Hanging up the phone, I steeled my resolve, twisted the throttle all the way down, and pushed the speed to its absolute limit.

The electric bike shot down the silent highway, engine whining at full blast.

Just five minutes past eleven, I pulled up to the main entrance of Sunshine Resort.

Sunshine Resort stood isolated halfway up the hillside, brightly lit yet enveloped in an eerie, dead silence.

I parked the bike, grabbed the delivery bag, took a deep breath, and stepped straight into the lobby.

However, I didn't dare go straight upstairs.

My past life had taught me that Room 206 was nothing but a fatal trap. The second I set foot in there, that murder charge was going to stick to me, no matter whether the victim was dead or alive.

The lobby was dead quiet, with only the front desk illuminated.

A skinny desk clerk in a black uniform and face mask was leaning down, scrolling through his phone. Hearing my footsteps, he raised his head, revealing a pale, gaunt face.

He wore a dark-framed mask, and his eyes held a gloomy look. Seeing my all-black attire, he seemed to freeze for a moment.

In a flash of inspiration, I strode over, pulled a fresh hundred-dollar bill out of my pocket, and placed it on the counter right alongside the takeout bag.

"Hey man, I need a quick favor."

I lowered my voice, trying my best to act natural, though letting a bit of panic slip through.

"This is a delivery for Room 206. I have an urgent emergency and need to run, so could you please take it up for me?

"Just tell them the delivery guy handed it off to you. Here's a hundred bucks for the trouble. We're both out here grinding on New Year's Eve while everyone else is out partying, right?"

We're both just trying to make a living tonight.

The clerk stared at the hundred-dollar bill for a solid two seconds, then looked back up at me.

"Room 206?" his voice was quiet and raspy.

"Yeah, 206," I confirmed with a nod.

Without asking any further questions, he picked up the cash, shoved it into his pocket, grabbed the takeout bag, walked around the counter, and headed straight for the elevator.

His silhouette was extremely thin, and his footsteps made no sound as he walked, moving almost like a ghost.

Watching the floor indicator jump from "1" to "2" and finally stop, I let out a massive sigh of relief.

As long as I didn't show up in front of that door and step foot inside the crime scene, that trap could never catch me.

Quickly pulling out my phone, I tapped "Delivered".

Yet, the exact instant I hit confirm, that cold customer number called me again.

This time, the voice-altered voice was no longer calm and icy. It erupted into a roaring, violent fury, "Are you trying to get yourself killed?! Who told you to mark it as delivered? It's only 11:10 p.m.!"