After speaking, Jack casually grabbed a rag and stuffed it into Pete's mouth. As Pete watched in terror, Jack turned off all the lights in the room and then gently closed the door behind him.
The autopsy room fell into complete silence. Aside from Pete's heavy breathing, the only sound was the steady drip of water falling onto his forehead and the space between his brows, making a faint *plop* with each drop.
The sound of the water was faint, yet clearly audible. Pete's breathing grew heavier, but no matter how much he struggled, it was to no avail—the drops of water continued relentlessly, striking his skull with unwavering persistence.
*Plop... plop...*
In the seemingly endless rhythm of the dripping water, Pete gradually lost his sense of time, feeling colder and colder as the minutes ticked by.
The most terrifying thing was that, after what felt like an eternity, the skin between his brows and on his forehead started to go numb. He could no longer feel the impact of the water drops, as his skin became completely desensitized.
Yet, the sound of the drops became increasingly clear, echoing through the room like a demonic chant. Pete grunted desperately through his nose, but it was useless—he couldn't stop the damned sound of the water.
As time slowly passed, Pete's fear grew more and more intense. After an unknown amount of time, his body tensed up, and a foul stench began to permeate the autopsy room—he had lost control of his bowels.
With a creak, the door opened, and the lights flicked back on. Jack, now wearing a gas mask, appeared in Pete's line of sight.
"Tsk, tsk, you really are a naughty boy. How did you manage to get yourself so dirty?"
Jack's voice was muffled by the mask, and as he spoke, he grabbed another hose and began hosing down the mess. The autopsy table was incredibly practical, and soon, the filth was washed away, draining into the nearby sewer.
After cleaning up, Jack wheeled over an IV stand, tinkering with it as he began to chatter.
"Must be hungry, huh? Don't worry, I've got plenty of nutrients ready for you—saline, glucose, vitamins. This is only the first day; we've got many, many more days ahead."
"Mmph... mmph mmph..." Pete began to struggle desperately.
Jack paused for a moment, then removed the rag from Pete's mouth. "What's wrong? Got something to say?"
"What do you want to know? I'll tell you everything, just please don't do this anymore! You psycho, I'll tell you whatever you want to know! Oh God, just let me go..."
With his face obscured by the gas mask, Pete couldn't see Jack's expression, but for some reason, he could clearly sense Jack's hesitation, like a child reluctant to part with a new toy.
"No, no. Someone bet me that water drops could never break through a skull, and I want to prove them wrong."
As Jack spoke, he prepared to shove the rag back into Pete's mouth.
"No! Don't! It was us! We raped her, I admit it was us! It happened on our way back to the camp that day, we just happened to run into that girl, and then..."
"Wrong answer. I don't need you to confess that—I already know who the culprits are."
Jack interrupted him and continued trying to stuff the rag back into his mouth.
"We've done other things too! Stop, don't continue, I'll tell you everything! We've been doing this for three years. That girl escaping was just a fluke..."
Pete began to sob. "Please, stop. It was too dark that night, and too cold outside. No one wanted to chase her. We all knew she was as good as dead..."
"Three years?" Jack finally stopped what he was doing. "Keep talking."
"It all started as an accident. It was at a party, a bunch of teenagers were having a party, and Serge saw it. He brought a few guys to sell them some 'American herbs.'"
"But they were just a bunch of poor kids, none of them could afford the good stuff. Serge was pissed off, and as we were about to leave, he spotted a drunk girl."
"And then?" The autopsy room grew unnervingly quiet. Apart from the conversation between the two, there was only the sound of heavy breathing coming from just outside the door.
Pete, strapped to the autopsy table and in a state of extreme agitation, only wanted to be released from this nightmare as quickly as possible. He didn't even realize there were others listening.
"And then we took her. That was the first time. We were all high and partied with her for two days. On the third day, someone noticed she had run off. Serge eventually drove out to look for her, and when he came back, he said a pack of wolves had taken care of her for us."
Pete, who had neither the training of a special agent nor much education, was so terrified by Jack that he confessed everything in detail, including all the vile acts he and his accomplices had committed.
Over the span of three years, there were nearly twenty victims. He couldn't even remember the exact number. Most of the girls were buried under the frozen ground beneath the portable cabins.
Sometimes, when the weather was too cold and the ground was too frozen for even the excavators to dig, they would leave the bodies in the woods. In the dead of winter, it only took a day or two for starving wild animals to completely dispose of the evidence.
Pete continued recounting his and his accomplices' heinous deeds, while in the hallway outside the open autopsy room door, a crowd had gathered.
Local hunter Cory Lambert, Natalie's father Martin Hanson, Sheriff Ben Shoei, his deputies, Jane, Braxton, and Ellia, who was trying desperately to stifle her sobs, her hand clamped over her mouth.
---
The tribal police department overseeing Wind River Valley was severely underfunded, with their annual budget falling short of even 65% of what was allocated. This left them with only seven full-time officers to patrol the 4,000 square kilometers of the reservation.
They lacked equipment, manpower, and vehicles. The only thing they didn't lack was an abundance of weapons and ammunition in the armory.
Every year, the military would decommission large quantities of AR-series rifles and ammunition, which were then distributed to police departments across the states. Even a remote tribal police department like this one received enough weapons and bullets.
The old sheriff personally opened the armory. Neatly arranged inside the gun cabinets were well-maintained rifles.
Everyone got busy, inspecting the firearms and loading ammunition into the magazines. Typically, to prevent spring failure and feeding malfunctions, the bullets and magazines were stored separately.
Jane took the AR-15 that Jack handed her and rolled her eyes dramatically.
"This is against federal law. I could go to prison for this."
Hearing her grumble, Jack reassured her with a smile, "You'll be up for a promotion, trust me."
Jane wasn't convinced at all. Given the current situation, she was certain that her career as an FBI agent was over. She'd be lucky not to end up in federal prison after all this.
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