I look around, checking anyone watching me, and I wear the gloves and shoe cover before ordering the door to open. But the door doesn't open automatically, I push the door, and it's still locked.

What is happening? Why is the door not opening?

I try again and fail to open the door with my lucid dreaming power. I touch the electronic screen of the lock to wake the keypad. It shows an eight-asterisk symbol to enter the eight-digit passcode. I now order, "Whatever passcode I feed in, the door should unlock," and enter 12345678. A female voice comes up, saying, "Incorrect passcode, four chances left."

Shit!

I move back and pace the road in frustration that I'm able to control like before.

How can I lose my controlling power? Did I fall into a deep sleep and unable to gain any control using lucid dreaming?

I stop pacing and take a deep breath. Whether lucid dreaming or deep sleep, I'm going to unlock the door, then find the reason behind his killing spree, and I'm going to escape the dream world.

Maybe finding out the reason is my gateway!

I go back to the door, noting down the electronics lock brand and model to check online for the manufacturing details and working manual. This lock allows five chances to enter the passcode before being locked up outside. Now that I have only four chances to try, I must come up with a quick solution.

When it comes to an eight-digit passcode, ninety percent of the people go for special date of their life. And DDMMYYYY is the usual method. I take out the workbook from my bag and check his profile for his date of birth.

I go back to the front of his house and try his DOB as the passcode, and I again receive the incorrect passcode alert. I re-enter his birthday in reverse, again the same response. With only two chances left, I take the notebook from my bag in which I drew the map of his murder in the city and check for his first-ever kill and try that date as the passcode. When this one also goes wrong, I try for the date he tried to kill me.

A short alerting sound goes off. I guess I messed up this time. As I'm about to run, I hear a clicking sound. I slowly slide the handle and try to pushing the door opens. Letting out the breath I have been holding, I enter the house.

I close the door behind me, and since it's a daytime, there is enough amount of light sweeping in through the windows. I look around the house. Despite the house being old, the owner or Guru himself has remodeled the house with the latest amenities. It's a single floor 2BHK house, and anyone who enters the house could think of an ordinary person living in this place. Everything is clean and skillfully placed. Or maybe a person with OCD living here.

Today's newspaper was in the center of the coffee table, neatly folded after a one time read. I take the newspaper to check whether any news related to the serial killing case has been reported. There is a news article about the ongoing investigation, but he hadn't marked or cut out the news clip. I rummage in the rack under the top of the coffee table, for any clues, I could see a phone book and notepad, but it has nothing related to the people he killed. I move to the TV mount showcase and search in the drawers, but nothing comes up.

I find a wooden bookshelf at the right corner of the living room containing books of personal development, famous people's biography and autobiography, Competitive exam books, novels, classics, and the bottom rack with old newspapers.

I pull out the newspapers which were published on the date next to the murders, and again they were as new as read-only once, no marked highlights or no paper cuts. I take out the crime genre novels from the novels rack and check for the same, but nothing like any reference was marked in there.

Do serial killers take reference from crime thrillers? Possibly no.

Guru can't be an idiot to leave his clues lying in his living room, for anyone who waltzes in to notice. I check the pictures hanging on the wall and lift them to see if anything is hidden behind them, when I fail to find anything, I replace them matching the impression on the wall.

What if he has hidden something behind the wall?

I slowly tap on the wall to feel and hear any chances of cardboard setup is there before the brick structure, but no, every surface seems to be constructed by brick only. I further move to the first bedroom door and open it to find the room filled with gym equipment and a wardrobe at the opposite wall of the door. I open the wardrobe doors to find only a first aid box placed in the middle rack.

I close the door of the gym room and open the next door, which is his bedroom. Even his bedroom is perfect. Sheets are neatly tucked, no crumple on the sheet, or any piece of cloth is lying on the floor.

How can he be so perfect and be a serial killer?

I check below the bed and the drawers in the nightstand, I find a set of keys, few documents but nothing suspicious related to the murders. I move to the wardrobe and try to open but find it to be locked. I retrieve the keys from the drawer and try the one that matches the size of the keyhole and unlock the wardrobe. The top rack is full of dresses, and the bottom rack is filled with bedsheets, towels, sweaters, and suitcases.

I kneel on the floor and rummage between them, and again I come out empty-handed. Defeated, I try to stand up, but my head hits against the top rack. I rub my forehead and notice blood on the gloves. Fuck. I lock the wardrobe with one hand and check for the damage in the dressing mirror. I don't use or touch anything with my right hand as the gloves have the bloodstain as I don't want to leave any marks.

I couldn't find anything on him, but even his property wants my blood.

I leave the wardrobe keys back in the drawer and go to the gym room for the first aid box. Taking one bandage would not make much difference, as he must be using them to serve his wound that I caused. I open the wardrobe and take out a bandage from the first aid box with my left hand, and the box slides a little from its original position.

After applying the bandage by looking at the mirror on the wall, I close the lid of the first aid box and notice a small gap below the box, and it looks slightly slanted. I lift the box to find a small button under it. I place the box on the seat of the cycling machine and press the button.

I hear a click sound as the rack and the rear side cardboard of the wardrobe start sliding to the left. I gape at the unexpected happening in front of my eyes. I lean forward and look at the now hollow space. The light from the window helps me to find only a few steps in the staircase that leading down, but mostly it is dark.

I turn on my mobile flashlight and step into the wardrobe, and suddenly the stairs light up. The staircase is very narrow without a railing to hold. I carefully ascend down, sliding my hand against the wall and staying close by it. If a person is claustrophobic, he or she could have got a panic attack by now. When I step on the last bottom of the staircase, the entire basement lights up.

Now, I get a feel of entering a serial killer's house. No. Den or Bunker.

At the center of the basement, a glass box is placed over a showpiece stand. I go near it and look at the item inside the glass box. The gun resembling the one Guru used for shooting at me the other night is luxuriously placed inside the box. It must be the murder weapon. A few steps away from the gun stand, a desktop top computer is placed on a table with a rolling chair before it.

On the right-side wall, an image that looks like a girl is formed by collaging pictures. But the face appears blurry to me. I squint my eyes, but still, the picture looks blurry to me. I turn straight and see the wall in front of me. It is filled with a map like the one I graphed. It just has more details with pictures of all the eight of us, our addresses, and our everyday routine.

I already know that he is the killer, but I still could not find the thing for I reached here-the reason behind the killing he does. I stare at the computer for a few seconds and then turn it on by sitting on the rolling chair. The screen comes alive, and the windows ask for a password. I press the enter button, but it asks me to enter the correct password. I try the doorlock passcode and the buffer circles for a while before allowing me into the desktop.

The desktop has only five icons - My computer, File Explorer, Browser, Word Processor, and a folder named Records. I double click the folder, and it reveals eight subfolders named after the previous victims and me. A chill run through my spine as I double click on the folder with my name. It's full of image files, and I change the view into the extra-large view and scroll down the folder. Seeing the contents of the image, I stand up in utter shock, making the rolling chair slide backward.

"Tsk Tsk Tsk Tsk" I hear someone clicking their tongue, and a voice, "I'm Impressed."