The morning sunlight slipped through the thin curtains of the bedroom, casting golden gleams that danced across the room. The air felt fresh yet warm, carrying faint scents from the garden outside, mingled with the lingering musky aroma of the passion from the night before.
Michael awoke with a lightness in his chest, his body humming with the satisfaction that comes only after hours immersed in fervent domestic battles of ardor with Jeanne.
The world outside seemed to mirror his bright and vibrant mood. The sky was a clear, unblemished blue, and the chirping of sparrows beyond sounded like the heavenly hymn he had long sought from the lost sheep he had swiftly guided into the God's embrace.
Beside him, Jeanne lay amid the rumpled sheets, her naked form a tangible testament to their night of unbridled passion. Her blonde hair spilled across the pillow, framing her beautiful face, which slumbered deeply and peacefully after the myriad pleasures she had experienced the evening prior.
Her body bore the traces of their desires faint red marks from fervent kisses and his sacred seed from the remnants of passion that had dried, glistening softly in the morning light, with her slender ankles still bound by the chain of handcuffs.
Michael propped himself up on one elbow, gazing at his wife with a possessive blend of ownership.
Carefully, so as not to wake her, he reached for the key on the bedside table and unlocked the cuffs from her feet, the small click barely audible amid Jeanne's gentle breaths.
He couldn't suppress a small smile as he recalled the forced moans of pleasure that had escaped her lips last night and the many new positions he had explored with her.
Deciding to let her rest, he scooped her up and carried her to the bathroom, to cleanse the remnants of their intense domestic skirmish from the previous day.
The warm water from the shower cascaded over their bodies, washing away the remnants of their passionate domestic battle from the previous night.
Feeling the warm water and the mischievous hands toying with her unresisting form, Jeanne stirred slightly, emitting a stuttered murmur.
"I-I'm exhausted... let me rest."
Michael chuckled upon hearing that, igniting a renewed desire to sully her defenseless body once more, his fingers playfully tracing the curves of Jeanne's hips beneath the flowing water.
"Ughh..."
After a few moments savoring Jeanne's weary protests, he dried her body, carried her back to the bedroom, and dressed her in soft pink pajamas adorned with cheerful strawberry motifs, without underwear, of course.
He didn't forget to reattach the handcuffs to her ankles and tuck her in comfortably before leaving the room.
Glancing at the clock beside the bed, Michael was mildly surprised to see it was already nine in the morning. For someone who prided himself on his discipline, sleeping in was a rare occurrence.
Peering briefly out the window of his home, he could see the streets buzzing with the routine activity of corporate slaves in crisp suits and polished shoes, hurrying to their offices with faces that had long lost any hope that today would differ from the usual drudgery.
Michael watched them for a moment from the window with a disdainful snort; he despised those corporate slaves who had surrendered their hopes for the future. Such lost dogs were seldom his targets, for there was nothing compelling about their monotonous heavenly hymns.
Diverting his attention from those dogs, he decided to prepare a light breakfast.
In the kitchen, he set to work crafting simple fresh pancakes, lightly cooked and served with a pat of soft butter and drizzles of lavender honey. He sliced some ripe figs and brewed coffee whose aroma filled the air.
He also prepared a portion for his beloved wife.
Once the breakfast was ready, he carried the tray to the bedroom and placed it on the table beside where Jeanne still slept soundly.
He leaned down, kissing her forehead tenderly, then her lips, lingering long enough to feel the warmth of her breath. Jeanne shifted slightly but did not wake, and Michael left her to her sweet dreams, closing the door softly.
If not for the chain of handcuffs binding her ankles, this might have been a tale of a romantic husband and wife.
But alas, this was no flowery romantic story.
In the living room, he sank into the plush leather sofa and turned on the television, his fingers lazily flipping through channels. News, commercials, and reruns of old sitcoms flickered by, none capturing his interest until he landed on a local news broadcast.
The news was presented by a female presenter with sharp cheekbones and a distinctly Gallic grace.
[Good morning, viewers. This is a live report from our studio in Paris. Early this morning, we received horrifying news from the suburb of Évry.]
[Another murder case occurred last night. From the investigators' statements at the crime scene, the suspect is believed to be the serial killer known as the 'Inverted Cross.']
[Investigators are still conducting their probe and pursuing the serial murder suspect. After investigating the victim's identity, the victim was identified as Calvin Pierre, a 62-year-old senior priest, found dead in his own home in the Évry suburb. His body was wrapped in plastic sheeting on the living room table, with a stab wound to the left chest that pierced straight through to the heart.]
[Investigators also discovered an inverted cross mark on the victim's living room wall, similar to the signs left by the suspected perpetrator in six murder cases over the past few months in the city of Évry. The police have collaborated with private investigators to solve this serial murder case and bring the culprit behind bars.]
[Now, for further analysis, we have a special guest today, Detective Georges Maigret from the Maigret Private Detective Agency.]
[For a brief introduction for those unfamiliar, Detective Maigret is an experienced figure with a track record of solving major murder cases like last year's Montmartre scandal, and he has been the lead investigator in cases suspected to be connected to the serial killer known as the 'Inverted Cross.']
[Good morning, Detective. Thank you for joining us in this interview on the serial murder case. Could you tell us what we know so far about this murder?]
[Good morning, thank you for the invitation. From our investigation last night after receiving an emergency call from the victim's neighbor who inadvertently saw an unknown person leaving the victim's house, along with faint screams we believe were the victim's last before their life was taken by the perpetrator, we know that the killer is the serial murderer known as the 'Inverted Cross' due to several factors such as the victim's body wrapped in plastic sheeting on the table, the type and traces of anesthetic injection on the neck, the kind of knife used by the perpetrator in previous victims' deaths, and the signature inverted cross of this serial killer.]
After hearing the detective's analysis before her, the female presenter leaned forward after quickly glancing at the notes in her hand, speaking with a tone full of curiosity.
[Detective Maigret, with the addition of last night's serial murder case suspected to be committed by the killer nicknamed the 'Inverted Cross,' we can confirm that the registered victim count for this serial killer has reached sixty-six. Is there any clarity on clues regarding the suspect's identity?]
Maigret's expression turned profoundly grim upon hearing the recorded victim list mentioned by the female presenter.
[We are currently working closely with the Directorate General for Internal Security (DGSI). Our new findings indicate that this killer may be a follower of a deviant Christian ideology. This conclusion is drawn from evidence linking them to the disappearance of the late Priest Calvin's adopted child three months ago. We are confident we will soon find a breakthrough and capture this vile devil.]
The female presenter's lips curved into a strange smile, knowing this interview was a jackpot they could milk for the next few days.
[A vile devil and follower of a deviant Christian ideology? Are you suggesting there's a devil among us who adheres to Christian ideology?]
Hearing the absurd question posed by the female presenter, Maigret shifted awkwardly, a bead of cold sweat glistening on his forehead. He knew he had messed up by letting his emotions override his mouth and slipping up. He forced a small laugh, wiping the sweat away with a swift motion.
[Of course, there's no literal devil. I was merely cursing this narcissistic killer who preys on the vulnerable like children, women, the elderly. And we call them a follower of a deviant Christian ideology because no true adherent to Christian teachings would commit such serial murders.]
The female presenter opened her mouth to respond, but before she could speak, Michael turned off the television with a swift motion on the remote.
"Devil?"
He muttered softly, his voice laced with profound irritation.
"How utterly unoriginal. How utterly cheap."
The moniker irked him, not because it held any truth, but because it lacked the creativity he so prided himself on.
Why must every masterpiece he crafted be linked to some tawdry creature from a nonexistent hell? Did guiding lost sheep into the God's embrace more swiftly equate him to such a vulgar entity as the Devil?
It infuriated him to be perpetually equated with such a being.
He had even been gracious enough not to hasten the lost sheep who bestowed upon him that dreadful name like 'Inverted Cross' into the God's embrace, yet now they sought to liken him to a vulgar creature like the Devil!
If his beloved wife Jeanne called him that, he might accept it, for she was his wife, but them? He could already envision how their heavenly hymns would grate upon his ears.
After switching off the television in a fit of annoyance, Michael devoured his breakfast with relish. He returned to the bedroom, where he found Jeanne now awake.
His wife sat on the edge of the bed, gazing blankly out the window. Morning light filtered through the dark curtain veils, casting faint patterns on her pallid face, while her left hand clutched the breakfast plate tightly.
"Good morning, my dear."
Michael gently roused her from her trance, causing Jeanne to blink in surprise, her eyes widening momentarily before she averted her gaze from him once more.
Michael ignored her reaction and moved to the wardrobe, selecting his usual attire, a black turtleneck paired with a casual dark brown suit and matching trousers. While gazing into the mirror, he tilted his head proudly and combed his disheveled blond hair into neat curtain bangs.
"Aren't you proud to have a husband as handsome as this?"
He inquired while combing his hair, glancing at Jeanne from the corner of his eye.
Jeanne responded with a disdainful snort. "Where are you off to?"
Michael disregarded the scornful snort, approaching the bed and sitting beside her on the edge of the mattress.
"How unusual for you to ask, my dear? Do you want to come along? Feel what it's like for a bird to fly free from its cage?"
Upon hearing the absurd question, Jeanne stared at the chain handcuffs around her ankles and shifted her feet, causing the binding chain to rattle softly, before replying coldly.
"I just pity the other innocent woman you'll violate next."
Michael burst into laughter after hear that, his voice echoing through the room. As he caressed the cold chain with his fingers, he whispered beside her ear after inhaling the sweet scent around her smooth neck.
"Rest easy my dear; I won't stray outside, and perhaps I'll set you free if you're a good wife and wait for me to return."
He kissed Jeanne's lips after that, before rising to reach the bedroom door.
"See you later, my dear. I'll buy you some new tempting clothes."
The door closed behind him, leaving Jeanne alone. Her body trembled violently as she moved her right hand, which clutched the breakfast fork she had hidden earlier.
Gripping the breakfast fork tightly in her right hand, she cursed her own weakness, tears streaming down as she regretted not seizing the rare opportunity she had to tear into the throat of that bastard devil.
Was she truly this weak and foolish?
Or... had she grown too comfortable in that bastard devil's embrace?
***
Outside the house, Michael strode along the bright city sidewalk, the sun illuminating modern buildings and lush trees.
He passed clusters of hopeless corporate slaves, young mothers carrying their groceries, naive youths whose eyes still brimmed with hopeful visions of a bright future, and even a strange tourist wearing long feathered cape in this scorching heat.
He walked with a smile, recalling Jeanne's demeanor and gaze from earlier.
"Soon, you'll be entirely mine, my dear."
He murmured to himself with a sinister peculiar grin.
"I'm curious about your reaction once you learn your father has been murdered... it must feel like your one remaining beacon of hope shattering into pieces. Haha..."
"But rest assured... I'll always be by your side, my dear."
Navigating through the city's crowds, though not a metropolis like Paris, it was still cumbersome, Michael had to be cautious to avoid direct gazes from the surveillance cameras perched at every corner.
While evading the cameras' stares perfectly was impossible, he could still camouflage himself within the surrounding throngs to avoid suspicion.
Of course, there were alternatives like slipping through narrow alleys between buildings, but those were far from perfect, as they would only make him more conspicuous, and he knew hidden surveillance cameras had been installed there as well.
Especially after his deeds over the past few months, the city had become a den of rabid hounds sniffing out every suspicious trace left behind, so he could only stroll casually with hiss head held high and blending seamlessly with the flow of passersby.
After walking for a while, he stopped at the roadside newsstand run by an old man in a French national football team blue uniform.
The elderly vendor inside the kiosk greeted him familiarly.
"Good morning, Monsieur Angel! Looks like I lost the bet this time; City really won the EPL yesterday."
"I told you so, didn't I? That oil investment will make City dominate the EPL for years to come."
"I'm looking forward to your lunch treat today, old timer."
"Hey, hey, I'm already old; you still want the remnants of my life to pay for your damn expensive meals?"
"Hahahahaha..."
For a few moments, Michael chatted briefly about the weather and football news he knew the old news vendor adored, and after obtaining the newspaper he wanted, he waved goodbye with a friendly smile before continuing his journey.
This was a routine he often performed in the mornings; whenever he encountered acquaintances on the street, he would greet them warmly to blend in better.
He always believed in the adage that a good shepherd must always mingle with the sheeps.
After some time, he finally arrived at his destination.
His destination this morning was a simple coffee shop across from a fairly renowned private detective agency.
As he entered through the door, which chimed with a bell, the aroma of robusta coffee immediately welcomed him.
"Yo, Marc. The usual."
Michael approached his acquaintance barista behind the counter, who laughed while nodding.
"How much money did you win yesterday after City's victory to make your face so happy like that?"
"Does my face really look that happy?"
Michael asked jokingly while stroking his chin, glancing at his reflection in the aluminum glass on the counter.
"Your happy face is practically emitting rose filters. I'm worried my female customers will stop coming if you stop coming too."
While preparing his espresso, Marc gestured with his eyes toward several young women currently staring at him.
Michael could only smile and shrug at their reactions, and after a moment, his expression soured slightly in displeasure.
"Sigh... yesterday I truly tasted the ecstasy of ascending to heaven and the agony of plummeting to hell in quick succession."
"Huh? Seems like I missed something. Did your girlfriend dump you after realizing there's no point in dating a pretty face like yours?"
Raising his eyebrows curiously at his mood shift, Marc tried to lighten the atmosphere with his cheap joke.
"Worse. You must have rushed to work without catching the news?"
"My ears are open."
Upon hearing his casual response, Michael sighed while tightening his grip on the counter's edge, causing Marc's relaxed demeanor to vanish.
"Last night, I got word that Priest Calvin was murdered by that bastard Inverted Cross."
"This..."
Crack!
Ignoring the sound of the shattering glass spilling the finished coffee and Marc's defensive posture and hidden fear in his gaze as he glanced around in panic, Michael continued speaking through gritted teeth.
"Not only was Sister Jeanne targeted by that sick evil bastard, but even a kind old priest like Calvin became a victim! What are those government dogs doing to let—... ah, sorry Marc, it seems my childish inability to contain my anger has made things awkward and messy."
"Ah... no. I just didn't know how to react to such bad news... Any latest updates?"
Marc awkwardly cleaned the glass shards from his counter and prepared a new glass and coffee beans while gazing awkwardly at Michael who was apologizing.
"I don't know... I'm really sorry for the mess, Marc. I've been preoccupied since this morning and just wanted to drink coffee in peace. I'll cover the cost of the glass right away; just add it to the bill later."
"It's fine; it was my fault too for overreacting."
The situation truly grew awkward after that; even Marc, who usually chatted cheerfully with his many gloomy clients, couldn't say a word until the order was ready.
After thanking and apologizing once more to that unfortunate man, Michael took his order,an espresso and a croissant, after paying and headed to his chosen table.
As usual, he selected the corner table that afforded him a broad view of the coffee shop's comings and goings and a clear sight of the private detective agency office across the street. Moreover, this table wasn't clearly monitored by the shop's surveillance cameras due to the distance and angle, which didn't focus on it.
As he sat in the chair, he pulled out a small notebook tucked behind the newspaper he had bought earlier.
He opened the notebook, filled with writings in a foreign language that would be difficult for those lacking knowledge in languages beyond French to comprehend, and after flipping through to page seventy-three, he finally reached the entry detailing someone's profile named Georges Maigret.
[Name: Georges Maigret
Place & Date of Birth: Lyon, March 12, 1968
Age: 44 years
Occupation: Private Detective
Personality: Quite cautious but his recklessness emerges under sufficient pressure; paranoid about betrayal due to his past with his wife who left him for a younger man; bold when cornered and prone to radical actions
Favorite Drinks and Foods: Double shot black espresso (acute caffeine addiction) and butter croissants, always two
Coffee Routine: 11:45 a.m. sharp, every workday
Lunch Break: 1:00–2:00 p.m., eats at the neighboring bistro
.
.
.
Additional Notes: Rarely deviates from schedule; dislikes crowds, often alone during breaks]
This was information on the lost sheep he would soon guide more swiftly into the God's embrace this time. He had gathered this data weeks earlier after orchestrating several incidents around this man.
Georges Maigret was no stranger to him. The man was the detective featured in the morning interview, the one who had branded Michael a "vile devil" before countless viewers watching from their homes.
He had been targeting this man for weeks, as Maigret seemed to be closing in on his scent. While this wasn't a problem for Michael, but being cornered by the DGSI's hounds would be a genuine inconvenience for him now. Thus, he resolved to silence any trail Maigret might have sniffed out.
While awaiting his sheep to fall into his grasp, Michael continued sipping the remnants of his espresso.
His eyes occasionally flicked to his watch, its hands creeping toward 10:45. An internal alarm pulsed in his mind, reminding him of the time.
His small notebook, neatly tucked within the folds of the newspaper, recorded Georges Maigret's routine with precision.
[10:45, double shot espresso, two butter croissants, without fail.]
Soon, the man should arrive here to place his order.
Yet, after half an hour of waiting for the detective who never appeared, Michael sensed something was amiss.
From his vantage point inside the coffee shop, the private detective agency across the street remained eerily still, its glass door clearly visible from his position. Despite it being well past 11:00, there was no movement in or out, though the lights inside blazed brightly.
This was new. After over weeks he surveillance Maigret from various locations, he knew Maigret had never missed his coffee ritual. Even if urgent matters detained him, a courier from this shop would deliver his order to his office.
But today? Nothing. Silence.
A rare unease crept up Michael's spine, a sensation he seldom experienced. He felt as though something eluded him, a gap in information he deemed impossible.
Something was wrong.
His mind which always trained to calculate every possibility worked harder now.
Have I been found out? Or was I simply careless in studying Maigret's routine?
No… I meticulously observed that man's habits and personality. Even if someone detained him at the office, he'd send for coffee to feed his caffeine addiction.
Has he learned to brew his own coffee now? Could my plan truly fail for such an absurd reason?
Or should I visit his office to assess the situation? No… that's too risky…
Should I back off for today? This minor setback is still acceptable.
He decided to trust his instincts, which urged him to withdraw from this troubling situation. He folded his newspaper with a casual motion preparing to rise and leave.
But just as he was about to stand, a sharp and unfamiliar sensation pierced his mind. He suddenly realized someone had approached him undetected, bypassing his field of observation, causing his instincts to scream for him to grab the fork on the table, but he barely restrained himself.
"Excuse me…"
A low clear and firm voice of a man cut through the air reaching his ears.
With measured movements, he picked up his newspaper while pretending to straighten it as he turned slowly towards the source of the voice beside him, his face breaking into the friendly smile he had perfected through practice.
Before him stood a young man, likely in his late twenties, with neatly combed blond hair and a prominent nose and a strong jawline that reflected his Italian heritage.. He wore a black suit with striking yellow buttons, an odd and unconventional choice for this city.
Michael instantly noted the detail; no local would opt for such an eccentric style.
His first thought was that this man was a tourist. But he quickly dismissed it. Becaise his posture, his chest puffed with confidence and his sharp gaze were not those of a traveler lost in a foreign city.
A true tourist would hesitate, appear confused, or at least carry a digital or printed map. This man? He moved with the certainty that his destination stood right before him.
Michael's mind raced in seconds. He maintained his smile, his voice steady and relaxed.
"Yes, can I help you?"
The man leaned forward slightly, his smile polite but laced with a barely concealed arrogance and pride in his eyes.
"Do you know any popular tourist spots around here?"
The question rang like a siren in Michael's head, screaming that this man was highly suspicious.
No tourist would approach someone in a secluded corner of a coffee shop, especially with such a clichéd question unprepared.
Michael knew his corner table was strategic, he could monitor the entrance, the large window beside him offered a direct view of Maigret's office, and the only path to his table was from the front.
If someone approached from the side, they'd have to navigate the narrow space between crowded tables and chairs, a movement he would certainly notice. But this man? He appeared out of nowhere, slipping through Michael's ever-watchful field of vision. That was impossible unless this man knew him and had found a flaw in his observational range.
Moreover, there was no reason to believe this man hadn't deliberately sought him out, as he passed several other patrons he could have asked such a trivial question to them before he approach him. So, why must him?
Michael held his breath, weighing every possibility in his mind.
The Directorate General for Internal Security? Maigret had mentioned them in the morning interview, but he hadn't expected them to move this quickly.
And if this man was indeed from the DGSI, it would align with expectations that he could bypass and exploit a weakness in his observational field that he himself might not have noticed.
They were trained that way.
Though his mind worked furiously, he kept his smile, his eyes scanning the man once more, noting every detail from the gleam of the yellow buttons to his unburdened posture.
"Tourist spots, huh?"
"You seem like you already know where to go, braving this corner of the city."
He deliberately answered to corner the man to observing his reaction.
"Haha…"
The man forced a small laugh, but his eyes which didn't join in betrayed the façade, making Michael doubt whether he was truly from the DGSI.
"Just asking for fun."
Michael didn't flinch at the man's awkwardness, his hand still holding the newspaper, but his mind racing.
The situation grew stranger as the lost sheep he'd been waiting for failed to appear. Instead, this odd man deliberately appears before him piqued his curiosity. The man's attempt to feign friendliness was so clumsy that Michael could easily discern his stubborn personality, far from that of a congenial stranger.
From his gaze and posture, Michael could see the man had no genuine desire to converse with him. It felt more like he was forced to feign friendliness, yet his rigid and obstinate nature couldn't fully mask the subtle rebellion in his eyes.
If this man was indeed from the rigorously trained DGSI, Michael would expect more... calmness and depth of mind akin to his own.
So… it's likely this man or those behind him caused today's plan to fail, and Maigret is probably with them now, leaking whatever he's sniffed out about him.
"Hey…?!"
Michael shifted his gaze from Maigret's office across the street back to the man before him who seemed to lose patience with his brows furrowing.
What a rookie…
Michael flashed an apologetic smile, trying to ignore the growing unease as this strange blond man stood before him. His face remained friendly, though his mind spun, cataloging every detail about the man.
"Sorry, I was thinking of tourist spots suitable for you. If you're interested, the Évry Cathedral is a must-visit in this city due to its rich history. I happen to have some free time; want me to guide you? Of course, not for free, haha…"
He let his laughter hang, closely observing every micro-movement on the man's face.
There was a slight twitch at the corner of the blond man's eye when the word "cathedral" slipped from his lips. It was fleeting, almost imperceptible, but enough for Michael to note.
Is there something about the cathedral that triggered that reaction?
How intriguing…
But… the strange feeling that something was unfolding beyond his knowledge kept making him frown.
"No need, I can go there myself. Any other interesting places before I leave?"
The man waved his hand with a quick stiff gesture, as if dismissing Michael's jest about payment.
Michael tilted his head, trying to ignore the persistent unease, his smile widening slightly. "If you're bold, try visiting the church on the other side of city. But be careful... morning news mentioned a priest there was a victim of the serial killer dubbed the 'Inverted Cross.'"
Once again, Michael caught a twitch in the man's eyes, this time more pronounced. His right-hand fingers also moved, trembling faintly but noticeably, especially when Michael mentioned the serial killer and his moniker. Yet, what amplified the strange and wrong feeling he'd been suppressing wasn't the reaction itself but what was absent.
Locals and even outsiders upon hearing of the serial killer nicknamed the 'Inverted Cross,' would tense up, glance around anxiously, or at least adopt a defensive posture, a natural sign of fear.
But this man? He stood tall, his chest puffed with near-arrogant confidence, as if the serial killer were a mere nuisance, like children playing in a park.
"Alright, thanks for the suggestions. See you again."
The strange blond man turned and strode out of the coffee shop with overly measured steps after waving and uttering those odd parting words.
He blended into the sea of pedestrians on the sidewalk, his figure vanishing among the crowd in seconds.
Michael narrowed his eyes, tracking his movements until his shadow completely disappeared.
"'See you again,' huh…"
Who says "see you again" to a stranger unless they're certain they'll meet again?
Michael rose from his seat, leaving the cold espresso cup and neatly folded newspaper. His plan to "escort" Maigret to the God's embrace was now shelved.
The encounter with the strange blond man, coupled with the possibility that Maigret was now in the hands of an unknown party, turned the unease he'd suppressed into something undeniably strange and wrong.
After meeting that blond man, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off with his surroundings.
Could he truly feel threatened by the confidence and arrogance of a clear rookie, making him paranoid and misinterpreting his environment?
Or had he been drugged or exposed to a hallucinogen without realizing it?
Though he deemed it unlikely, he wouldn't dismiss the possibility that really happen and something was indeed wrong, something he might have overlooked in his assessments.
Thus, he resolved to trust his instincts. If they screamed that something was strange and wrong… there must be something he missed.
He should visit the cathedral he'd never entered before to see why that man reacted that way to its mention.
He stepped out of the coffee shop, deciding to head home earlier today.
As he walked home, he took a detour, avoiding his usual route.
But the farther he walked along the familiar streets leading to his house, the more his instincts confirmed something was wrong.
Every time he passed buildings and houses he crossed daily, they felt strange and unfamiliar, as if he were in a place he knew yet simultaneously didn't.
It was utterly strange and contradictory.
This was the first time he'd felt such an unclear and unsettling sensation.
The feeling grew stronger until he reached his home.
When he finally stood before his front door, he paused. His hand which already reaching for the handle froze in midair.
Something was off with the familiar handle… its texture felt foreign, and the metal's coldness was unlike usual.
He frowned and scanning the door with his eyes. There were no new scratches or signs of forced entry, yet his instincts screamed that this wasn't his home. But after careful inspection, it undeniably was…
What is happening?
This bizarre situation made his heart race.
Ignoring the strange and uncomfortable feeling, he slowly pushed open the door to his house.
---
A/N: I've scattered many clues in this chapter. If you can guess what's strange and wrong with what Michael is experiencing, I'll truly bow in respect and pat your head.