At the top of the staircase, there were bloodstains—long dried—congealed into sticky clots on the wall.
Upon reaching the second floor, both sides had security doors half-shut. Through the gaps, the interiors looked silent and chaotic.
Carrying the corpse, he stepped up the stairs and quickly reached the fifth floor.
Thud thud!
He knocked on the rusted security door. There was someone inside—a man.
Inside the room.
Hearing the knock, the man reflexively jumped up from the sofa, his expression puzzled.
Who could be knocking?
A zombie?
Though he'd been living carefree and indifferent to it all, zombies still terrified him. But as long as he didn't open the door, nothing would happen.
He walked to the door.
Through the peephole, he saw the person outside. He looked somewhat familiar. Then it clicked—wasn't this the idiot who had just picked up the corpse downstairs?
Knowing who it was, he relaxed, his courage swelling.
"What do you want?"
"Open the door."
"Fuck off, psycho! Are you looking to die?" the man shouted through the door, not scared at all. Even if his loud voice attracted zombies, they'd just stop at the door and gnaw helplessly.
"Open the door. You need to take responsibility for your actions. I hope you'll cooperate," Lam Pham said calmly outside the door, not taking action—yet.
Though he could use force, it wasn't always necessary.
Violence doesn't solve everything. Unless there was no other choice, he wouldn't use it.
"Are you done yet? Get lost! Stop causing trouble here!" the man shouted, furious. He even thought about going to the kitchen to grab a knife and kill this lunatic.
"Open the door."
Lam Pham slapped his hand against the door, his knock louder this time—a small show of threat.
"Damn you! Just you wait, I'm getting a knife from the kitchen and slicing you up, bastard!" the man shouted, storming off to the kitchen to actually grab a cleaver.
It was the apocalypse. What did he have to fear anymore?
Outside the door, Lam Pham frowned. Breaking in wasn't ideal, but given the circumstances, any more delay would just be a waste of time.
What this man had done was unforgivable. The woman in his arms couldn't rest in peace if justice wasn't served.
Building a harmonious society—everyone had a part to play.
With that in mind, he gave up on waiting and took a step back—then raised his leg and kicked.
BANG!
Just as the man emerged from the kitchen with a cleaver, planning to kill Lam Pham, he saw the security door slam open with a thunderous crash, landing on the floor.
His eyes widened in shock.
He held the cleaver high but froze, unsure of what to do next.
"You… You…" he stammered, stupefied. The situation had spiraled out of control—just like seeing a ghost.
A perfectly fine security door—blasted off its hinges?
First thought: must've been a fake. Whoever sold it must've been a scammer.
Lam Pham walked inside. The room was filthy and chaotic, filled with the stench of abuse and tools used to restrain.
He gently laid the woman down, letting her rest against the wall.
"Who the hell are you?" the man asked, stunned, eyes darting to the girl. A chill ran through him.
Lam Pham picked up a rope from the floor—the one previously used to bind—and walked toward the man, preparing to tie him up.
The man was still dazed. By the time he regained his senses, he raised his cleaver with a crazed expression.
"You really want to die, huh?"
He lunged.
SMACK!
A miserable cry.
Lam Pham had slammed his arm into the wall. The cleaver clattered to the ground—he was completely subdued.
"You're going to the police," Lam Pham said coldly.
"You're insane!" the man shouted, struggling, but within seconds, he was tightly bound—completely immobile.
The police?
Police, my ass.
"How am I insane? You know what you've done. Binding you and handing you over—is that a problem?" Lam Pham asked.
He always found it absurd that wrongdoers loved calling others crazy when they got caught.
What kind of twisted mindset was that?
"It's the apocalypse, damn it! You know what that means? Ever seen movies? Read novels? You crazy bastard, can't you wake the hell up?" the man said, realizing this lunatic had both terrifying strength and serious mental issues.
"I know exactly what it means. I don't need you to explain," Lam Pham replied.
The man's chest heaved—he was fuming, nearly exploding.
"You don't get it! Have you seen American movies? Zombie flicks? If you have, you'd know how to survive. You'd know that doing whatever you want feels awesome!"
He was obsessed with the joy of the apocalypse—twisting guilt into some perverted pleasure.
"I've seen them. But are you stupid or something? Novels and movies are fiction. Can't you tell fantasy from reality?" Lam Pham said.
"Let me go!" the man shouted, having lost the argument. All he wanted now was freedom.
He never expected to meet someone even crazier than himself.
Dear god—save me.
Lam Pham tied him to the door handle. Then he searched the apartment and found a set of women's clothes—dirty, but clearly belonging to the girl during her life.
He brushed the dust off and tidied them up.
Returning to the doorway, the girl still lay there, completely exposed.
She had suffered so much—no dignity left.
He could only do what little he could—dress her decently.
Once done, he noticed a key in her pocket.
"What floor did she live on?" he asked the man, his voice filled with restrained fury.
Of all types of people, Lam Pham despised this kind the most.
A man could be poor. He could even visit brothels.
But to force others against their will—especially for lust—that was unforgivable.
"You son of a—"
"The third floor."
The man had wanted to curse, but Lam Pham's eyes were too terrifying. He didn't dare lie.
Lam Pham carried the girl downstairs.
"Fuck! Where did this lunatic come from?" the man muttered, nearly losing his mind. This guy was utterly insane—the worst kind.
Third floor.
Lam Pham opened the door. He didn't know where to bury her, so he brought her home.
To rest—where she belonged.
He laid her on the bed, adjusted her clothes.
"Sister… this is all I can do. You weren't wrong—the world just wasn't kind to you. I hope you can rest."
He wanted her to leave this world—just a little more beautiful.
At the door, he looked back one last time, then slowly closed the security door.
It was just a door.
But for her—it was the final ending.
And maybe, the best one.