41. Between Madness and Order

Shattered sunlight filtered through the lush branches of the large tree in the front yard, scattering flecks of gold across the faces of the two men. One side was as bright as day, the other shrouded in the gloom of night.

“Mr. Holden, I’m curious—does the FBI really have this much free time? Don’t you have cases to work on?”

Dean eyed the man warily. Had there been a mistake with the DNA test?

“Buddy, could you lose the hostility?” Holden shrugged. “I just came over to give you a heads-up. Your Colt M1911A1 is still at the LVPD. Bring your citation and medal, and you can pick it up anytime.”

“And by the way, your speech just now was incredible.” Holden grinned, clearly impressed. “Got my blood pumping—I almost wanted to quit my job and go chase my dreams.”

“You flatter me.”

“Not at all, but I do have a question.” He suddenly shook his head, eyes locking onto Dean’s as he stepped closer.

“If I’m not mistaken, you’ve shown courage more than once. Besides the incident at Lake Mead, there was another time…”

“What are you getting at? I don’t understand.” Dean instinctively crossed his arms in a defensive posture.

“I have a thing for suspicious cases,” Holden said, rubbing his nose. “Take for example a week ago: the billionaire James Lowe who fell to his death. Everyone thinks he was heartbroken over his dead son, that grief and alcohol drove him to suicide.”

“But people who make their fortunes in casinos and restaurants usually have hearts of stone. Suicide seems highly unlikely.” Holden scrutinized Dean’s expression, but found only blank confusion. “So I asked the hotel front desk about it…and guess what I found? Nineteenth floor, tsk tsk…”

Dean sighed inwardly. This man was tenacious as a ghost.

But he’d reviewed the video he’d recorded from a god’s-eye view several times. He’d left no trace of a crime.

“Holden, I don’t have time for your riddles. I’m leaving.”

“James Lowe died on the twentieth floor, but you stayed on the nineteenth that night! There’s no such thing as coincidence.”

Holden hurried after him, following him to the parking lot.

“Last time it was Bob Lowe, now it’s his father James Lowe… Why do you keep threatening me with bizarre accusations?”

Dean turned the key, unlocked his Ford, and slipped into the driver’s seat.

Holden, with no sense of decorum, plopped himself on the hood.

“The killer was flawless—no trace on cameras, no slip past the bodyguards. But my gut tells me you’re involved.”

“Did I hear you right? An FBI agent talking about gut feelings? Are cops so mighty they no longer need evidence?”

Dean slammed his hand on the horn.

The blaring sound echoed through the garage.

But Holden didn’t budge, steady as an old hound, eyes fixed on Dean through the windshield. “In all my years, my intuition has helped me crack dozens of cold cases—and saved my life. My specialty is criminal psychology; for me, psychological factors are more telling than hard evidence.”

Dean drew a deep breath. His patience was at its end.

Maybe he should find a chance to quietly get rid of this leech?

“Holden Ford, did I ever cross you? Why are you so hell-bent on sending a good citizen like me to prison?”

“No, you’re wrong, Dean—completely wrong.” Holden suddenly grinned, an exaggerated arc stretching across his pale face.

The sunlight washed over him, and his smile was tinged with a kind of madness, the air of a man on the edge.

Dean gripped the steering wheel tighter. The next words turned everything he thought he knew upside down.

“I never intended to send you to prison. There’s a reason behind your actions—Bob abused you… Isn’t it only natural to seek revenge? Well, there’s no direct evidence pointing to you.”

“As for his father James, I found a clue. A hidden account related to his company made payments to the families of the three Lake Mead gunmen. My instinct tells me James Lowe orchestrated that massacre for his dead son!”

But Dean’s brow only furrowed deeper.

How could an FBI agent say something so outrageous to his face—as if revenge killing was understandable?

What kind of nonsense was this?

“You did a cleaner job than I could have imagined. The three gunmen and James are all dead,” Holden pressed his face close to the window, sighing, “There’s no way to investigate further.”

“Don’t try to pin this on me,” Dean said calmly.

Holden seemed not to hear, lost in his own world.

“Dean, you and I are a lot alike—willing to break the rules to get what we want.”

“You’re wrong. I’m a normal person. I have nothing in common with you,” Dean replied seriously.

“You have talent…but your methods are dangerous. Let me guess—when you eliminate a threat without leaving a trace, you feel exhilarated.”

Dean’s face remained expressionless.

“You think you haven’t made a single mistake, because you’ve benefited, hurt no innocents, and gained a powerful sense of accomplishment. But you haven’t noticed—you’re forming a habit.”

“The next time someone offends you, even if it’s just with words, you’ll instinctively consider—should I kill him?”

Holden’s words paused, his eyes seeming to pierce Dean’s soul.

“If I’m not mistaken, you’re already thinking about dealing with me. Your temper is growing cold and violent—inclined to force.”

Dean grinned as if he were hearing a joke.

“Interesting theory. Go on—how do I become a killer next?”

He opened the passenger door, and Holden slid in naturally.

The car pulled out of the garage and onto the street, rolling slowly down the road.

“I admit, killing is the simplest, fastest way to solve a problem—but it’s addictive. Blood, fear, pain, the screams—they awaken darkness in the human heart.”

“Right now, you think you’re only killing those who deserve it. But as you grow more accustomed to blood on your hands, can you really keep to your principles?”

“Don’t use me as your example. I told you, you’re barking up the wrong tree.”

Dean stared indifferently out the window.

“Then treat it as a story.” Holden shrugged. “I’ve seen plenty of cases like this. Ordinary people kill by accident, but it’s as if they’ve discovered a new world. A dark urge takes root. They repeat the act—once, again, and again.”

“Over and over…” Holden’s voice grew urgent. “Like an addict, the more they kill, the greater the craving. Ordinary murder no longer satisfies, so they escalate to extreme, ritualized crimes. With clever minds and extraordinary drive, they become serial killers—monsters.”

“I’m perfectly sane.” Dean’s lips curled in a mocking smile.

What kind of pseudo-psychology was this? A few words and he was condemned as a future monster?

Holden spotted his expression.

“Don’t you see the similarities? You’re proactive, resourceful, and possess means nobody can fathom. Most importantly, you’ve already opened Pandora’s box—more than once.”

“Even highly trained cops need counseling after shooting someone.”

“But you—you’ve killed several people in a row. You’re drifting off course. You could become a criminal genius—mad and brilliant!”

“Could you stop with the absurd hypotheticals?”

“Don’t rush to deny it. Ever heard the saying, ‘Genius always skirts the edge between madness and order; all great things are born there’?”

“Between madness and order?”

As if on cue, a tangle of intersecting streets appeared—a crossroads ahead of Dean’s Ford.

“See? You’re standing at such a crossroads. Two choices—step back, forget everything that’s happened, live quietly from now on: university, a job, a wife, kids—a life of order and routine. But that’s the path to mediocrity.”

Dean dismissed the thought. With the system, how could he settle for an ordinary life?

“Or you could step forward, stick to your own way—righteous, picking targets, using violence and killing… Unleash your skills, your gifts, your brilliant mind. And then…you’ll slowly lose yourself.”

Dean tapped the steering wheel with his index finger.

He was already doing this.

He’d assassinated James Lowe.

He’d hunted for criminal targets in Las Vegas, striking them, honing his combat skills.

But so far, he’d achieved nothing.

And he would not lose himself.

He had the system as a guide, and every event it triggered was—

Wait.

Suddenly Dean remembered a detail from the Lake Mead incident—a detail he’d never considered, or had subconsciously ignored.

When the three gunmen went on their rampage, the system had offered him two starkly different choices—

One: kill the three gunmen.

Two: use the chaos to kill innocent bystanders.

Dean’s eyes narrowed.

What did that mean?

The system had no sense of good or evil—no bias or position. If it kept offering him both righteous and evil choices in future incidents, tempting him again and again—

Would he be able to hold firm?

“For a genius, the difference between good and evil is a single thought. One wrong step, and you’ll fall into the abyss of crime, doomed forever.”

Holden Ford noticed the change in his expression, a flash of insight in his eyes as he spoke slowly.

“Do you know horse racing? Imagine a promising colt—fast but wild, with a bad temper, even attacking its own kind.”

“The trainer has a choice: geld him, making him easier to manage, but stripping away his spark, his unique spirit.”

“So instead, the trainer puts on blinders, so when the horse runs, he’s not distracted by the world around him. He gives everything on the track and gains the potential to become a champion.”

“I, Holden Ford, expert in psychology and crime, am willing to be those blinders—to guide you, to help you run more steadily, safely, without veering off the track or breaking the law.”

“I’ll help you maintain the balance between madness and order, so you won’t lose your edge and become ordinary, nor go astray and ruin your future.”

“I have only one request: sometimes, let me conduct a few psychological experiments with you.”

Screech—

Dean slammed the brakes, stopping by the side of the road.

He opened the door and shoved Holden out.

The elegant FBI agent almost hit the pavement face-first.

But still, he clung to the window stubbornly.

“What do you want? To be my shrink, my life coach? I’ll say it again: Bob, James—they have nothing to do with me. I’m just an ordinary high school student.” Dean’s gaze was sharp as a hawk’s.

“Dean, if you’re fascinated by crime, mysteries, killing—why not take the right path? I can recommend you to the LVPD. Start as a volunteer, and I’ll personally teach you how to use your talents legally and properly!”

Dean’s heart skipped, but his tone remained stubborn.

“I don’t need anyone telling me how to live my life, and I have no interest in being your lab rat.”

Vroom!

The car roared back to life, speeding away with Dean inside.

“I’ll be waiting for you at the LVPD—my door is always open!” Holden Ford waved after the fleeing car, a confident smile on his lips.

The seed had been sown. Sooner or later, it would take root and grow.

“Don’t keep me waiting too long.”