The flower room in winter is full of flowers, which is particularly warm and beautiful.

Mr. Jefferson sat alone, without black-rimmed glasses or his trademark long trench coat, dressed in loungewear that made his slightly cold countenance mild.

He held the scissors and cut the objects in his hands with the gentlest technique, as if he were caressing a lover.

It seemed to be very resilient and not easy to cut, but Mr. Jefferson was patient.

Once, twice...

The thing was cut so fine that it seemed to be flowing downward, and it all gathered in the fragrant earth.

Mr. Jefferson took a small shovel again, and slowly stirred the object with the soil, put in an agave plant, and spread a layer of topsoil.

An hour later, it was done.

Mr. Jefferson took off his gloves, washed his hands, and changed his clothes.

In one corner of the flower room, an old-fashioned rattan chair is placed.

The fragrance in the flower room was overflowing, but because it was not breathable, Mr. Jefferson could not help but feel a little tired and depressed.

He pulled out his cigarette, lit it with the blue flame on the lighter, and took a deep breath.

The red sparks flickered and flickered in the dimly lit flower room, causing Mr. Jefferson's face to flicker and darken in the shadows, and the outline to become more resolute.

Suddenly, a gray smoke enveloped the seemingly non-existent mist in the flower room, enveloping Mr. Jefferson completely.

Mr. Jefferson reached into his underwear pocket and pulled an envelope out of his underwear pocket and opened it.

Inside the envelope is a photograph.

A picture of him!

In the photo, he also did not wear glasses.

He stood behind an unfamiliar window, his arms outstretched, about to close the curtains, his whole face faintly excited in the dim light.

The person taking the photograph was apparently somewhere in the opposite building, directly opposite him.

Other than that, there was no other explicit message, and even so, he was well aware of the secret hidden behind the photo.

That's what he, James Smith, looked like after he killed him!

That's right, he's a homicidal maniac, because he can't suppress the urge to kill, and every once in a while he can't control his emotions without killing someone.

When did this desire begin?

He couldn't remember it anymore, maybe it was the moment when his father abandoned him without any affection, or the moment when his mother often forgot to prepare meals because she was busy with work? Or the moment when he was alone at home and was broken into the homeless XX?

I can't remember, I really can't remember...

Fortunately, fate may be unfair, but he never succumbs to fate.

He studied hard and worked hard.

Soon, he succeeded.

He was appreciated by the company's major shareholders and became an executive and shareholder of a well-known film and television company.

Complementing his successful career is his happy family.

His wife, his high school classmate and first love, was an elegant and wise woman who gave up her New York bar license for him and followed him to Los Angeles.

Their daughter is simply the most perfect child in the world, not only in appearance and flawless in appearance, but also in character and learning, which makes him proud.

Except for one point, when he was dealing with those "things", he was discovered by his young but intelligent daughter, and insisted on being his assistant.

But it doesn't matter, the important thing is that his daughter has grown up as healthy and promising as he was back then.

But now all this may be ruined by a photo!

How can this be?

Never!

He had to do something before this stalker did something to hurt his family!

Thinking of this, his heart settled down a lot.

The lighter in his hand burst out of the blue flames, although there was no wind in the flower room, he was still afraid that the flames would be extinguished, and the portrait in the photo disappeared little by little in the flickering light of the fire, and finally fell on the soil.

Dirt is really the best thing in this world, it can contain all the ugly.

Back in the bedroom, he gently stroked his wife's hair and found that she had slept deeply.

Mr. Jefferson bowed his head and kissed his wife on the forehead, and his heart became more and more peaceful.

His wife and daughter, this is his spiritual home that he carefully cared for...