The Midnight Delivery Order

At midnight, my electric scooter was parked right outside the gate of Glory Residence. I was holding a freshly made spicy crab. Steam was rising through the bag, warming my fingertips. Glory Residence is an upscale neighborhood in River City. Its outer walls are clad in creamy white marble, and the bronze lions by the door are polished to a shine. Whenever I deliver here, I'm extra careful—worried about damaging any decoration, since the compensation might cost me half a month's wages. I pressed the doorbell for Building 3, Unit 1801. The buzzer rang twice, then the door opened. A woman stood at the door wearing a white nightgown, her long hair draped over her shoulders, her complexion as pale as a blank sheet of rice paper. She didn't take the spicy crab from my hand; instead, she handed me a black garbage bag first, then slipped some cash into my palm. When her fingertips touched mine, they were as cold as ice straight from the fridge. "Please help me throw this away, and do it quickly." Her voice was soft but carried a firm edge—there was no room for refusal. I opened my mouth, about to wave it off and say I didn't need the money—helping customers throw out trash was a regular thing—but before I could say a word, the door slammed shut with a bang. I stood there, holding the cash, stunned for a few seconds before realizing this money felt suspicious. The community trash bins are by the east gate. I took a longer route to get there, and just as I tossed the bag into the recycling bin, my phone rang. It was an unknown number. When I answered, a man's voice sounded urgent: "You're the delivery man, right? I'll give you five hundred if you bring back the garbage from apartment 1801 just now!" Five hundred bucks is half a day's delivery pay. I didn't hesitate, crouching down in the trash to search—the black garbage bag stood out, and I found it quickly. When my fingers touched the bag, I could feel something hard inside. Back at the door of 1801, it wasn't the woman who opened it, but a man in a suit, his tie perfectly knotted. He grabbed the garbage bag without even looking at me, then pulled cash from his wallet and tossed it on the ground—some twenties, some hundreds. As I bent down to pick up the money, I vaguely heard a slap from inside, followed by a woman's muffled sobbing. My heart clenched; I had a feeling something was wrong inside, but I'm just a delivery man—shouldn't get involved. I grabbed the money and left quickly. The next night, same time, I got an order from apartment 1801 again—still Spicy Crab. The woman in the white nightgown opened the door again. I immediately spotted several red marks on her neck—like fingernail scratches. She stared at me with eyes full of sorrow and a coldness I couldn't place. I want to apologize for what happened yesterday—I took her money and then brought the garbage back, but she didn't listen at all. She handed me another black garbage bag, along with cash, just like yesterday. I was nervous, my fingers shaking a bit as I took the bag. After going downstairs, I couldn't help but secretly untie the knot.