help of the monster

[Scene: Prison Room – Martin's Glass Cell | Dim lighting, soft echo from the walls]

Lucas and James walk down the narrow corridor, the security door clicks open. Inside the glass prison cell, Martin is seated calmly, flipping through a book. He doesn't even look up.

Martin (dryly, without glancing):

"Lucas. James.

Back again? What is it this time?

Let me guess—another body in the sand?"

James and Lucas exchange a look.

Martin (still reading):

"You know… I actually appreciate that you kept the shelves.

Some of these are quite rare.

You've got taste, Lucas."

Lucas (bluntly):

"Because despite being a monster, you're useful.

You've studied killers more than anyone alive. That's why."

Martin finally looks up, grinning faintly, brushing dust off his book.

Martin:

"Ah. So it is strategy, not mercy.

Well, let's see the masterpiece, then."

Lucas hands him a photo. A corpse half-buried in sand. Blood mixed with grit. Wide open eyes, mouth half-covered.

Martin (scanning):

"Interesting… no sign of a struggle.

This one wanted it to look clean—almost like an offering.

And look… here, the cut along the ribs… intentionally shallow.

Pain before death. Classic."

James (tense):

"Is it one of your friends?"

Martin (smirking):

"Oh, James. I have so many.

But this? No.

This feels different.

But if I had to guess…"

Martin stands and gestures toward the bookshelves inside his cell.

Martin:

"You'll need two books.

One from the top right—seventh shelf.

And another from the far-left corner, fourth shelf down, middle stack.

That should give you everything on the Sandman killings—1979, Lencho.

A man obsessed with burial. Said the earth 'swallowed truth better than fire.'"

Lucas:

"So you think this killer is inspired by that case?"

Martin:

"I think your man isn't just killing.

He's displaying.

He wants someone to see, to study his work.

He's building a gallery in the sand."

James (gritting teeth):

"Then I'll bury him next."

Martin (chuckling softly):

"I'd like to watch that, James.

Maybe I'll write about it in my next book."

Martin turns back to his chair, casually sipping water like wine. Lucas stares at him, unreadable

[Scene: Prison Cell – Martin's Glass Room | Dim, flickering light]

Lucas returns with the two requested books. Martin flips them open with calm precision, cross-referencing photos and text with the beach crime scene images.

Lucas:

"Alright, here they are. Now talk. What do you see?"

Martin (softly, not looking up):

"I see potential… but I won't solve everything for you.

Where's the thrill in that?"

James (irritated):

"Of course. Gotta keep the suspense alive for your little game, huh?"

Martin (smirks):

"Exactly, James. You're learning.

Mystery is half the art of horror."

Lucas:

"Fine. But at least tell us this—

Do you think the killer used a shovel?"

Martin (nods slightly):

"Yes. A sharp-edged one. Not ordinary. Custom-forged perhaps.

You're chasing someone who loves control—every grain of sand placed on that body was intentional."

James:

"So… like Lencho? That 1979 killer?"

Lucas:

"Lencho was obsessed with watching people suffocate slowly.

He buried them alive.

But this guy… he's different. Cleaner.

There's no survival time. Only display."

James (whispers):

"So he kills… for the show."

Martin (quietly, more serious):

"Yes.

But don't mistake the calm for mercy.

That kind of killer has rage so deep, he masks it with elegance."

James steps forward, lowering his voice.

James:

"Tell me, Martin.

Why do you still hate people? Why do you want to kill them?

You could've disappeared. You didn't have to be this."

Martin goes silent. His hands stop turning pages. His smile fades for a moment. Then—

Martin (darkly):

"Because they never saw me as one of them.

They called themselves 'Exorcists'—said I was cursed, something to be purified.

I remember the fire, James.

They used holy flames to burn me like I was something out of Hell."

He opens his mouth slightly. Teeth still bloodstained from earlier. His voice lowers, more raw.

Martin:

"Do you know what that does to a child?

To be treated like a monster… until one day, you become one.

I didn't start as this.

I was made."

Lucas tightens his jaw, but keeps calm.

Lucas:

"That's no excuse."

Martin (smiling again):

"It's not an excuse. It's an explanation.

And explanations… well, they're the true currency of this world."