August 17, 2008
The sun rose gently over the town, the sky clear, the wind fresh, the birds singing their morning chorus. As always, the paper boy rode his cycle through the streets, tossing newspapers onto doorsteps, the rhythm of routine carrying him forward.
The morning seemed calm. But beneath it, the town was already drowning in darkness.
One resident bent down, picked up the paper, and unfolded it. The headline screamed across the front page:
🗞️Tragedy in the Night
'Inspector Ashok and Lawyer Geetha were killed yesterday in their own home—by the hands of their son, Bhairava.
Authorities confirmed that a video had surfaced online, revealing Bhairava as the "Angel Hunter," the serial killer police had been searching for over the past month.
Inspector Ashok, who had recently solved two brutal murders, now lay among the victims—slain by the very killer he had pursued. And that killer was none other than his own son.'
This was the day after Bhairava's arrest. Every newspaper carried the story.
From the largest dailies like The Daily News, News Hunt, and The Daily Prophecy, to the smallest local sheets, the headlines were the same:
🗞️The murderer got caught
🗞️Police department fooled
🗞️Angel Hunter's true identity
🗞️Dark day in Azhagi town
Almost everyone in Azhagi town had a newspaper in their hands that morning. Every headline carried the same story, and every household was reading about Bhairava. For those who hadn't picked up the paper, the television filled the silence—every channel running the same breaking news.
"A tragic incident has shaken Azhagi town. Inspector Ashok and Lawyer Geetha were killed by their own son, Bhairava now revealed as the Angel Hunter who was serial killer."
"The serial killer police searched for over a month was right in front of them, yet no one recognized him."
"Bhairava, a recent college graduate with dreams of becoming a journalist, now accused of becoming the Angel Hunter."
Everywhere homes, shops, hospitals, tea stalls -televisions played the same breaking news. People leaned closer, eyes wide, listening to the anchors repeat the story in different voices but with the same words.
Rumors spread quickly, whispered through Azhagi town from one house to another, from tea stalls to crowded buses.
"I heard his sister died two months ago fell from a high building."
"No, I think he staged her death. Maybe he was the one behind it all along."
"Did you see the video last night? It was brutal. He broadcasted the murder of his parents live online."
Some claimed his sister's death two months earlier was also murder. Others insisted about the brutal video.
The news channels didn't stop there. A video had surfaced online the night before, shared across countless sites. Some channels replayed it, though only the audio was broadcast due to its sensitivity.
The voice was unmistakable.
"Hi, my name is Bhairava, and I am the Angel Hunter who has been killing in the town recently. Angel Hunter, such a fancy name. Whoever gave it, thank you. Today, I am going to hunt two angels in front of you. Meet Michael and Uriel."
The words echoed through living rooms, shops, hospilats and crowded streets. Aarya, Divin, Aarav, Ananya, and most of Bhairava's college mates watched in disbelief. The public listened in silence some horrified, some whispering, some refusing to believe.
Meanwhile, in the cabin, Narasimma, the head officer of police sat alone. The television played the breaking news, Bhairava's voice echoing through the room then he switched off the television, his face tight with frustration.
On the table in front of him lay the crime scene photographs. He picked them up one by one—images of Ashok and Geetha, their bodies marked, blood stains captured in detail. On the wall behind them in the photos hung the reference pictures of Michael and Uriel. Narasimma studied each photo carefully, his eyes clouded with disbelief and sadness.
Ashok had been his friend. Now he was gone. Murdered. And the one accused of killing him was his own son, Bhairava. Narasimma's chest tightened; he could not accept it, no matter how many times the evidence stared back at him.
The door opened. Another officer stepped inside and said quietly, "Everything is ready."
Narasimma placed the photographs back on the table, straightened his posture, and left the cabin with the officer. Together, they walked down the corridor to the investigation room.
The room was surrounded by one-way glass. From outside, Narasimma could see Bhairava sitting inside. Another cop sat across from him, trying to get him to speak, but Bhairava remained silent.
Narasimma opened the door and stepped inside. He gestured for the cop to leave. Then he pulled out the chair and sat directly in front of Bhairava.
The silence in the room was heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the ceiling fan. Bhairava's hands were cuffed, resting on the table, his eyes fixed on them without moving. His face was blank, unreadable.
Narasimma leaned forward, his voice low but firm. "Bhairava… look at me."
No response. Bhairava didn't lift his head.
Narasimma's jaw tightened. He had seen criminals stay silent before, but this was different. This was Ashok's son, the boy he had watched grow up.
"Your father was my friend," Narasimma said, his tone heavy with grief. "I need to understand why. Why did you do this?"
Bhairava didn't flinch. Narasimma leaned closer, his tone sharper. "I know you well. Tell me, was someone threatening you to do it?"
Still no answer. Frustration boiled inside Narasimma. He slammed his hand against the table and shouted, "Say something! If you don't, I can't help you!"
Slowly, Bhairava lifted his head. His eyes turned toward the one-way mirror, where the other officers stood watching. His gaze was cold, piercing, and it unsettled them. Then Bhairava smiled to their shock.
Narasimma's temper snapped. "Damn it! Don't play games with me. I don't want to treat you like any other criminal."
Bhairava turned back, chuckled softly. The sound pushed Narasimma over the edge. He struck Bhairava hard across the face. The blow sent him sliding from the chair, crashing to the floor.
"Are you mocking me?" Narasimma roared.
The other officers rushed in, grabbing Narasimma, holding him back. Bhairava pressed his palm against the floor, steadying himself. His voice was calm, chilling: "I killed them."
The room froze. Narasimma and the officers stared in shock. Narasimma broke free from the officers and rushed forward, grabbing Bhairava by the collar. "What did you say?"
Bhairava met his gaze, his eyes cold and unblinking. "I killed them both."
Narasimma's voice cracked as he shouted. "Why? Why did you do this?"
But Bhairava calmly pushed his hand away. His tone was steady, almost detached. "They deserved it."
Narasimma staggered back, stunned. "What?"
He had never seen Bhairava like this—the cold eyes, the arrogance, the attitude. It was as if he had become completely different person.
Bhairava bent down, lifted the fallen chair, placed it neatly by the table, and sat again. His gaze locked on Narasimma. "You want to know why I did this? Go find out yourself."
Narasimma stood speechless. Bhairava leaned forward, his voice cutting through the silence. "After all. That's your job, isn't it?"
Narasimma stood frozen, speechless. Outside the room, two officers whispered among themselves. One stepped closer and leaned in, murmuring something into his ear. Narasimma straightened, his voice firm. "Put him in the cell."
Without another word, he turned and left the investigation room. Moments later, he called for one of the officers. "Is everyone here?"
The officer nodded. "Yes, sir. We're still reaching out to a few, but most have arrived."
Narasimma stepped out into the corridor. There were Bhairava's college mates Aarya, Divin, Aarav and several others who knew him waiting. Their faces were pale, anxious, filled with questions they dared not ask aloud.
Aarya broke from the group, her voice trembling as she approached. "Sir… can I see Bhairava once?"
Narasimma's expression hardened. He shook his head. "No. You are not allowed to see him."
Aarav stepped forward, his voice rising in anger. "Sir, why did you bring us all here? We have so much work to do!"
Narasimma's face hardened. "We need to investigate you," he replied firmly.
Devi moved closer, her tone defensive. "But we haven't even seen him since college. We even don't know what's happening here."
Narasimma's patience snapped. His voice thundered across the hall. "Enough! Shut up. We are working for you, and you are not cooperating with us. Go sit down. We will call you one by one for questioning."
The group fell silent, exchanging uneasy glances. Narasimma turned sharply and walked into another room. His mind was heavy, his jaw tight.
Inside, the investigation room waited. Narasimma was determined to question each of them one by one. Piece by piece, he would uncover the truth about Bhairava, and finally understand what had really happened.