People felt afraid because they had a bad premonition.
A killer was frightening because a killer killed people. The victims felt they would be killed, and that was why they were afraid. But once they were actually killed, there would be no fear left to speak of.
A premonition of something that had yet to come—that was fear.
The second row up from the bottom of the wall was filled with photos of Li Sansi's younger brother. The baby grew little by little, becoming ever more adorable. His every movement was endearing.
Li Sansi had taken countless photos of his younger brother, his gaze hidden inside the camera's dark chamber. Apart from him, only Aunt Xia seemed to have noticed anything.
Gao Ming's gaze shifted. He licked his dry lips, his pupils contracting slightly.
The last photo in the second row was not of the younger brother, but of Aunt Xia. The pale-skinned woman was chopping vegetables in the kitchen. As the knife cut a white radish down the middle, she seemed to think of something terrifying. Looking panicked, she ran out of the kitchen and looked toward the crib, staring at the baby's plump little arms.
The younger brother laughed and babbled, and Li Sansi's camera recorded that moment.
His father was still rushing from place to place to campaign for the abolition of the death penalty, hoping to improve the law and make the city more orderly and humane. Aunt Xia stayed home alone with the two children. Caring for a baby was exhausting, and her nerves had grown fragile. She often lost control of her wandering thoughts, her mind constantly filling with terrifying images.
Those terrible things had not happened. They were merely premonitions, judgments the brain produced by combining past experiences with all kinds of information.