17 July
The sun rose.
And so did Oliver.
He sat up slowly on his bed, staring blankly ahead as pale morning light crept through the curtains of his room.
Today was the last day.
He had to find Mr. X.
He had to prove that he existed.
At any cost.
⸻
But before anything else—
He had to meet Tom.
He had to tell him about Lucy.
⸻
After taking a shower, Oliver left immediately. No breakfast. No pause. He grabbed his keys, stepped into his car, and drove toward the police station.
The road felt strangely empty.
His thoughts weren't.
⸻
What happened last night…
The blackout.
The rope.
The horseshoe.
The time gaps.
It was proof.
Something was wrong with him.
Maybe he really was hallucinating.
Maybe the dementia was real.
Maybe—
He tightened his grip on the steering wheel.
No.
None of that mattered right now.
Tom mattered.
⸻
And if he failed…
If he couldn't catch Mr. X—
Then he would confess.
Whether it was true or not.
He would take the blame himself.
Because Tom had trusted him.
Because he had promised him.
And even in the worst possible outcome—
At least Tom would be free.
Strangely enough—
That thought gave him relief.
Real relief.
⸻
Finally, the police station came into view.
Oliver parked quickly and stepped out.
Inside, he showed his badge and license to the officer at the front desk.
"I need to see Tom Marley."
After a short exchange, permission was granted.
A cop escorted him through the halls in silence.
⸻
Eventually, they arrived.
The cell looked larger than the previous one. Oliver remembered the officer mentioning that Tom now had a cellmate.
The moment he saw the bars—
"Tom!" Oliver called out immediately.
Tom reacted at once.
He got up from his bed and walked toward the bars without hesitation.
But he looked different.
Tired.
Mentally exhausted.
Like he hadn't slept properly in days.
⸻
And behind him—
Someone else sat on the floor.
Only his back was visible at first.
Then Oliver's voice reached him.
The boy slowly turned his head.
Franzzle.
And the moment Oliver saw his eyes—
A chill ran through him.
Cold.
Instinctive.
Wrong.
⸻
"What is he doing here?" Oliver asked sharply. "He's your cellmate?"
"Yes," Tom replied quickly. "And don't mind him."
Oliver frowned immediately.
"Wait. I'll talk to the officers. I'll get your cell changed right away—"
"No."
Tom cut him off.
"There's no need."
His voice sounded strained.
Then—
"First tell me about Lucy."
Oliver froze slightly.
Tom stepped closer to the bars.
"I heard she went into labor yesterday," he said. "Is it true?"
A pause.
"Of course it isn't, right?"
His breathing slowed.
"Yeah… it can't be true."
Another pause.
"Because if it was…"
His eyes locked onto Oliver's.
"You would've told me."
Silence.
"Right?"
Oliver didn't answer.
He was too shocked by one thing—
How did Tom know?
Then his gaze shifted briefly toward Franzzle.
The boy sat silently in the background.
Watching.
⸻
"Tell me, Oliver," Tom said again, slower this time. "This isn't true."
Oliver lowered his eyes.
That alone was enough.
Tom's expression tightened instantly.
"Why aren't you saying anything?" he snapped. "Huh?! Tell me it isn't true!"
"Tom… listen…"
Oliver's voice felt weak.
"What you heard about Lucy…"
He swallowed.
"It happened yesterday."
⸻
For a moment—
Tom stopped breathing.
The world around him dulled.
The bars.
The walls.
The voices.
Everything faded beneath one thought:
Lucy.
His chest tightened painfully.
And suddenly—
He understood why Oliver looked like this.
Why he avoided his eyes.
Why he stayed silent.
⸻
Franzzle finally spoke.
"Look," he said softly, "I told you. I told you not to trust him."
A faint smile formed on his face.
"Now think about what I told you."
"Shut up, you bastard!" Oliver snapped immediately.
Then he looked back at Tom.
Tom looked overwhelmed.
Not angry.
Not yet.
Just… broken under too many thoughts at once.
"Listen, Tom," Oliver said quickly. "Actually, I—"
"How's the baby?"
Tom's voice cut through the room.
Cold.
Flat.
His eyes looked empty now.
Completely emotionless.
Oliver hesitated.
He didn't want to say it.
But hiding it now would only make things worse.
"Lucy is alright," he said quietly.
Then—
"But… the child died shortly after birth."
⸻
Silence.
⸻
Something inside Tom collapsed.
Not loudly.
Not visibly.
Just—
Gone.
He imagined it for a second.
A child he never saw.
A life that existed only long enough to disappear.
And while all of that happened—
He was here.
Trapped.
Powerless.
Unable to do anything.
⸻
Then suddenly—
Tom smiled.
It looked wrong.
Forced.
Like someone trying to place emotion onto a face that no longer remembered how.
⸻
Oliver's chest tightened.
"Tom… I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I know you can't forgive me, but please try to understand—there was nothing I could do. There was no way I could've saved the baby—"
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
Tom interrupted quietly.
Oliver stopped.
Tom's eyes remained fixed on him.
"I'm the father," he said. "She was my wife."
A pause.
"Why didn't you come to me?"
Oliver said nothing.
Because there was no answer that would fix this.
The silence stretched.
Heavy.
Unbearable.
⸻
Then Tom laughed softly.
"Oh…"
His smile widened slightly.
"Now I understand."
A hollow chuckle escaped him.
"Yeah… yeah, I understand everything now."
His eyes darkened.
"I was so dumb."
He looked directly at Oliver.
"How did I not see it?"
"You were there."
His voice sharpened.
"You were there that night."
"I was drunk."
Another step closer.
"I was the perfect bait for you."
Oliver felt trapped.
Every word pushed him deeper into suspicion.
And no matter what he said—
Nothing would change that.
Still—
"Listen, Tom," he said quietly. "I don't have anything I can say right now."
A pause.
"But I promise you…"
His voice steadied.
"I will get you out."
Tom didn't react.
"I can't answer the questions you're asking me."
Another pause.
"But please… wait a little longer."
Oliver's eyes hardened slightly.
"You'll get out."
"I promise."
Maybe Tom believed him.
Maybe he didn't.
It didn't mattered.
At this point—
Oliver only needed to say it.
⸻
Then suddenly—
Oliver turned toward Franzzle.
"Hey. You."
Franzzle blinked innocently.
"Me?"
"Yes, you."
Oliver stepped closer.
"I know you're not behind this."
His voice lowered.
"Someone is making you do this, right?"
Franzzle remained silent.
"Tell me what happened that day at school," Oliver continued. "You were in the washroom before the bullies arrived."
Another step forward.
"Tell me."
A pause.
"I know you probably won't."
Oliver's eyes sharpened.
"But I want you to understand something."
"No matter who he is…"
His jaw tightened.
"This time, he's not going to get things the way he wants."
Silence filled the cell.
Then—
Franzzle took a slow breath.
And finally spoke.
"I want you to understand something too."
His tone remained calm.
Too calm.
"You don't know what you're up against."
Oliver's expression hardened.
"You're wrong," Franzzle whispered.
"So wrong."
A faint smile appeared again.
"You underestimated him from the very beginning."
The air in the room suddenly felt heavier.
"What you're saying…"
Franzzle's eyes locked onto Oliver's.
"What you're doing…"
His smile widened slightly.
"Even what you're thinking…"
A pause.
"It's all happening because…"
His voice dropped into almost a whisper.
"He wanted it to."
⸻
Oliver stood there silently.
But inside—
Something snapped.
And without another word—
He turned and walked away.
As Oliver left—
Silence filled the cell once more.
Heavy.
Unmoving.
Tom remained seated near the bars for a while before slowly returning to his bed. Franzzle stayed where he was, sitting quietly on the floor.
Neither of them spoke.
Neither of them moved.
And with every passing second, the air inside the cell began to feel rawer somehow—thicker, harder to breathe.
Like something invisible had already entered the room.
⸻
Finally—
Tom broke the silence.
"You and Oliver…" he said quietly. "That person you were talking about…"
A pause.
"Who is he?"
Franzzle looked directly into his eyes.
The stare wasn't threatening.
It wasn't frightening.
It simply did what it was meant to do.
It made Tom feel small.
Franzzle tilted his head slightly.
"Does it even matter?"
Tom said nothing.
For a moment, he simply stared ahead blankly.
Then—
A small, empty smile appeared on his face.
"No," he whispered.
"It doesn't."
Franzzle smiled back.
And silence returned again.
⸻
Seconds became minutes.
Minutes became hours.
Neither of them spoke anymore.
There was nothing left to say.
⸻
Eventually—
Franzzle spoke again.
"Tom," he said softly, "you know what you have to do, right?"
Tom remained still.
Then slowly—
He nodded.
⸻
Franzzle stood up.
His movements were calm.
Almost gentle.
Then he looked toward Tom one last time.
"Tell me something," he asked quietly.
"Are you satisfied with your life?"
Tom lowered his eyes.
A faint laugh escaped him.
"No."
A pause.
"Not at all."
Franzzle's smile deepened slightly.
"We really are alike," he murmured.
His gaze drifted somewhere distant.
"We figured out how to live…"
A brief silence followed.
"But it was already too late."
⸻
Then suddenly—
Franzzle reached into his pocket.
And pulled something out.
A sharp piece of glass.
Its edge caught the dim light faintly.
Tom looked at it.
But his expression didn't change.
No fear.
No surprise.
Nothing.
After barely a few seconds—
He lowered his gaze again.
⸻
Then suddenly—
Franzzle screamed.
"HEY!"
His voice exploded through the corridor.
"YOU ASSHOLE COPS, COME HERE!"
Again.
And again.
"COME SEE WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN!"
Footsteps immediately echoed from the distance.
Fast.
Panicked.
Approaching.
⸻
Franzzle slowly raised the shard of glass toward his throat.
But before doing anything—
He looked at Tom one final time.
And smiled.
Small.
Almost peaceful.
⸻
Then—
Slash.
After that—
Everything became noise.
Shouting.
Running footsteps.
Blood.
Panic.
Grief.
Emptiness.
⸻
The scene shifted.
⸻
Oliver drove silently through the empty road.
The clock inside the car showed nearly two in the afternoon.
Dark clouds had begun gathering in the distance, slowly swallowing the sky.
A storm was coming.
Oliver could feel it.
⸻
His hands tightened around the steering wheel.
Franzzle's words continued echoing inside his head.
"You underestimated him from the beginning."
"Everything is happening because he wanted it to."
The more Oliver thought about it—
The worse it became.
⸻
Tom's face.
Lucy.
The dead child.
The suspicion in Tom's eyes.
Everything felt like it was collapsing around him.
And worst of all—
He couldn't even defend himself anymore.
Because part of him had started believing it too.
What if i really did it?
The thought surfaced again.
Unwanted.
Persistent.
The blackout.
The missing hours.
The objects in his room.
The growing gaps in his memory.
His breathing became heavier.
⸻
Then another thought appeared.
Quiet.
But stronger.
⸻
No.
His grip tightened.
If I was truly the killer…
His eyes narrowed slightly.
Then why would things keep coming in this direction?
A pause.
Why manipulate Franzzle?
Why target Tom?
Why create fear?
All of this were to much to be a coincidence.
The thoughts slowly aligned together.
Not clearly.
Not completely.
But enough.
Enough to give him something he had almost lost entirely—
Hope.
Very small.
Very fragile.
But still there.
⸻
Finally, Oliver's car stopped in front of his house.
He stepped out immediately and rushed toward the door.
Unlocked it.
Entered quickly.
Then locked it again behind him.
He walked further inside—
Turned toward the living room—
And stopped.
Mira and Jacob were already there.
Waiting.
Oliver stopped the moment he saw them.
Mira and Jacob were already sitting in the living room, waiting silently.
For a second—
Nobody moved.
Then Mira spoke first.
"Welcome back."
Jacob leaned slightly forward.
"We need to talk."
Oliver nodded slowly.
Sweat clung faintly to his face despite the cool air in the room. Without saying anything else, he walked toward the chair beside Jacob and sat down heavily.
Silence followed.
A few seconds only—
But it felt endless.
⸻
Finally, Oliver spoke.
"First of all…" he muttered, looking toward Mira. "Where were you yesterday?"
Mira frowned slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"You didn't come here," Oliver said. "We were supposed to discuss the people on your list."
Mira looked genuinely confused.
"I did come yesterday," she replied. "But neither of you were here. The house was empty."
Oliver's expression stiffened slightly.
"And after that," she continued, "I tried calling you till evening."
A pause.
"You never answered."
Oliver looked away for a moment before speaking again.
"…Fine."
Then immediately:
"So what about your list? Did you find anything?"
Mira slowly shook her head.
"No."
The word hit Oliver harder than expected.
His shoulders dropped slightly.
"Then what now?" he muttered.
His breathing sharpened.
"We did everything we could."
Still nothing.
"No one on the list was Mr. X."
His voice grew frustrated.
"We're out of time and we've made no progress at all."
His fists tightened.
"Damn it…"
Then louder:
"Damn it all."
He grabbed his head with both hands.
Mira looked concerned.
Jacob remained silent.
The storm outside rumbled faintly in the distance.
Then—
Jacob finally spoke.
"Maybe," he said carefully, "I found something."
Both Oliver and Mira looked at him instantly.
Oliver straightened.
"What do you mean?" he asked quickly. "You found something? What is it?"
Jacob cleared his throat lightly.
"Before that," he said, "I want to ask both of you something."
A pause.
"Have either of you heard the surname 'Ford' before?"
The room fell silent again.
Mira and Oliver exchanged a quick glance.
Then Mira spoke.
"Yeah."
Jacob looked at her immediately.
"Yesterday, I went to Aisha Ford's mansion."
A faint smile appeared on Jacob's face.
"So?" he asked. "Did anything seem suspicious?"
"Not exactly," Mira answered slowly. "But…"
She paused.
"One thing has been bothering me."
Jacob leaned forward slightly.
"Her adopted son."
"James Ford."
Jacob's expression changed slightly.
"What about him?"
Mira frowned.
"When I asked Aisha about Robert, she told me both she and James had gone for a checkup together."
A pause.
"But in Robert's patient list…"
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"There was only Aisha's name."
Silence.
"No James at all."
Jacob lowered his gaze briefly.
Then spoke.
"I went to Franzzle's school today."
Both of them looked toward him.
"And while checking the student records…"
He exhaled slowly.
"I found James Ford there too."
Mira blinked.
"Wait…"
Her expression sharpened.
"That means James and Franzzle studied in the same school?"
Jacob nodded.
"Yes."
A pause followed.
Then his voice lowered slightly.
"But that's not the strangest part."
The storm outside suddenly growled louder.
"The day Franzzle killed those three students…"
Jacob looked at both of them carefully.
"…was James's first day at school."
Silence.
A long one.
Mira slowly looked at Jacob.
"What does that even mean?"
Jacob shook his head lightly.
"Don't ask me."
Both of them turned toward Oliver.
He hadn't spoken once during all of this.
He had been thinking.
Quietly.
Deeply.
Then suddenly—
A small smile appeared on his face.
And he looked up.
"Now that you mention it…"
His voice sounded distant.
"The night Robert died…"
A pause.
"He mentioned James while we were drinking."
Jacob narrowed his eyes.
"What did he say?"
Oliver shook his head slowly.
"Nothing useful."
Then—
"But he did say one thing."
The room grew still again.
"He said James looked a lot like an old friend of mine."
Jacob frowned.
"And who's that?"
Oliver looked away.
"That doesn't matter right now."
Then he stood up.
"Because now…"
His eyes sharpened slightly.
"We finally have a suspect."
Almost immediately—
Thunder exploded outside.
The storm had fully arrived.
Rain began crashing violently against the windows.
Mira crossed her arms slightly.
"But none of this directly proves he's the murderer."
Oliver looked at her calmly.
"Yeah."
A pause.
"You're right."
Then his voice lowered.
"But this is far too much to be coincidence."
Mira said nothing after that.
The silence itself became agreement.
Oliver grabbed his coat.
"Let's go to Aisha's mansion."
The three of them began moving toward the door.
Then suddenly—
The landline phone rang.
Sharp.
Violent.
The sound cut through the room instantly.
Oliver stopped.
Turned back.
And slowly walked toward it.
The ringing continued.
Again.
Again.
Again.
He picked up the receiver.
Pressed the cold metal against his ear.
Jacob and Mira watched him silently.
Then—
A voice spoke from the other side.
And instantly—
Oliver's eyes widened.
The color drained from his face.
The receiver slipped from his hand and crashed onto the floor.
His body staggered slightly—
Almost collapsing.
But Jacob caught him immediately.
"Oliver!"
Mira stood up at once.
"What happened?!"
Oliver's breathing became heavy.
Uneven.
His lips trembled slightly before the words finally escaped.
"Tom…"
His voice cracked.
"Tom escaped from the station."
Chapter ends
To be continued