All I could hear… was the sound of my mother's heart.
It pounded against my ears violently, louder than the thunder that had torn through the silence of the night. I buried my head in her chest, pressing my face so hard against her that I could barely breathe, refusing to let go. Her arms wrapped around me with a desperate persistence… as if she were trying to melt me into her.
The rain was no bearer of good news that night. It wasn't the gentle lullaby I was used to hearing from my bedroom window…
Her body trembled.
I trembled with her.
We were shivering from the cold and the fear…
The man still stood over us.
Not getting closer…
Not leaving…
Just a heavy shadow refusing to disappear.
And with each flash of lightning, the scene would reveal itself for a fraction of a second—but I didn't need the light to see his face.
It had been carved into me since that night.
I see it every time I close my eyes.
I see it even now… behind my eyelids.
I gasped, sobbing, trying to lift my head, but she pressed me even harder into her chest.
Then I heard her.
Her melodic voice… now broken.
"I gave you the money… please… let us go."
He didn't answer. But the sound of a gun being cocked did.
The sound of his footsteps wasn't hurried.
They were slow… deliberate.
As if he was savoring our torment.
They stopped right above us.
Then his voice came… calm…
Devoid of anger.
Closer to a sentence being pronounced… not a threat being issued.
"The money you paid is enough to free your son."
He paused for a moment.
Then added, in an even colder tone:
"But you didn't pay for your own life."
The air froze in my chest.
I felt my mother's arms tighten around me even more…
Until I could feel the bone.
"Please… I brought the ransom as you asked… I didn't bring the police," she whispered again, in despair.
The man let out a resonant laugh, as if he were savoring our desperation, as if the pain in her voice delighted him.
And before I could understand what was happening, that ominous sound echoed.
I didn't hear the gunshot clearly.
Maybe because the thunder struck at the exact same moment.
Maybe because the pounding of my heart was louder than everything.
But I felt her body jolt.
Then…
Weight.
A weight I had never known before.
The beats of her heart that filled my ears—
Quickened.
Stumbled.
Faltered.
One beat.
Two beats.
Nothing.
I waited for the next beat.
It never came.
I felt a warm, thick liquid enveloping me, and the sound of the man's footsteps retreating.
I finally raised my head… when my mother's arms went limp.
And the world was silent.
The rain stopped… because my eyes had begun to pour, and the red blood colored my world.
---
I jolted awake in bed, startled, drenched in sweat.
I took deep breaths, trying to stop my trembling.
And I started counting.
7… 14… 28… 56… 112… 224…
My heart, which had nearly shattered my ribs, began to calm, but the pain in my soul hadn't calmed in twenty years.
Since that night I lost my mother, she transformed into my usual nightmare.
But I don't mind… because I still see her every night. I smell her scent. I feel her touch. Again.
~~I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom. Without delay, I stood under the cold water and started scrubbing my skin.
I tried somehow to wash away the phantom blood… but I didn't succeed.
And the hot water reminded me of the warmth of her blood, so I let the cold water pour instead.~~
I was completely trapped in my head.
But people like me don't have the luxury of life.
I got out of the bathroom to see that dawn had already broken. I got dressed and went down to make my coffee.
I had already begun relying on autopilot, trying to minimize my thoughts as much as possible. But the ringing of my phone cut through the silence.
"What?"
"Detective Clark, you're required for a meeting at eight o'clock sharp in meeting room number nine."
"I'll be there."
I hung up slowly… but I didn't move.
Morning meetings aren't urgent.
They aren't held at eight on the dot. And not in room number nine.
The phone stayed in my hand for two extra seconds… then I looked at the lock screen again.
I hesitated for a moment. I knew who could tell me the reason for this meeting… but after a moment, I decided it wasn't worth it.
It was strange… yes… but not dangerous.
I took a sip of coffee… but it was more bitter than usual. Maybe because of my unscheduled meeting, or the nightmare still haunting me.
Yet, the result was the same. Something in my chest tightened.
That old feeling.
The feeling that precedes bad news.
I put on my coat quickly and left the apartment without finishing the coffee.
I got in my car and drove through the city streets that were beginning to bustle with activity.
Something about the noise of the people brought me peace… even though I don't like being a part of it.
Exactly like a music lover who doesn't want to stand with the orchestra.
The rain had stopped after completing its mission of making my morning a living hell… but the streets were still wet, reflecting the car lights like a broken mirror.
I drove at just under the speed limit… as usual.
But my mind wasn't focused on the road.
Meeting room number nine…
Not the main conference room.
Not a room used for interrogation.
Not the daily briefing room.
It's the small room… only used when the case isn't to be discussed outside its walls.
I tightened my grip on the steering wheel without realizing it.
When was the last time I was called there?
… Two years ago? Maybe.
And it had been years since I'd woken up smelling blood this strongly.
So, for the first time in a while, I surrendered to my pessimism.
I parked my car in the designated lot and entered the building with long strides. I couldn't help but notice the lobby was far too quiet.
Officers avoided looking directly at me.
One of them was about to greet me… then stopped himself.
Something had happened.
Something big.
I stopped in front of the elevator doors… and my reflection in the metal door stared back coldly.
"Calm down… this is just another meeting."
But my heart didn't believe me.
The elevator reached the fourth floor.
The corridor leading to room nine was completely empty.
The room door was closed…
But light seeped out from underneath.
I stopped just before the door.
For some reason… I felt that my life before opening this door would not be the same as my life after.
I raised my hand… and knocked.
"Enter."
I pushed the door open slowly.
The first thing I noticed… the silence.
It wasn't the silence of an ordinary meeting room…
There was something heavy in the air.
Only two men and one woman sat around the table.
The head of the department.
A man in a dark suit I didn't know.
And a woman in her mid-twenties.
And one file in the center of the table.
I closed the door behind me without being asked.
"You're two minutes late, Clark," the department head said without looking at me.
"Traffic," I replied curtly, pulling out a chair to sit.
The stranger smiled. He had been watching me since I entered.
With a steady… but cold stare… measuring every reaction.
He pushed the file towards me with a single finger.
"We need you on this case."
I didn't open it right away.
I asked, trying to figure out who I was dealing with: "Which division is handling it?"
The two men exchanged a quick glance.
Then the stranger said calmly: "There is no division handling it."
The air froze for a moment.
I finally placed my hand on the file and opened it.
The first page was a photo of a corpse.
A woman lying on the floor inside a luxury apartment.
No signs of forced entry.
No signs of struggle.
Just…
A vacant look of terror.
My fingers froze over the paper.
"Cause of death?"
"Cardiac arrest," the department head replied.
Heart?
I looked back at the photo.
Her eyes were open towards the ceiling…
And in her features, there was something wrong.
Something that doesn't happen in natural death.
I turned to the next page.
Additional photos.
Other victims.
A man in his office.
A young man in the subway.
A woman killed outside a restaurant in a crowded area.
Three cases… the same terror.
The same emptiness in the eyes.
The same cause of death.
Cardiac arrest.
"Looks like a string of natural deaths," I said with mild sarcasm.
"It would have been… if it had stopped there," the stranger said.
Then he pushed the final photo towards me.
My breath stopped.
The location… is dark.
Rainy.
An asphalt ground reflecting the light.
A woman crouched down, clutching a child.
I didn't feel the chair behind me when I leaned back.
The photo was old… grainy… taken from a security camera.
But I didn't need clarity.
I recognized the coat.
I recognized the corner.
I recognized the shadow standing before her.
And I recognized the date written at the bottom of the photo.
Twenty years ago.
The stranger said calmly: "We have strong evidence suggesting a connection between these incidents and the murder of Eva Clark, twenty years ago."
The sound of my heartbeat rose in my ears.
"Welcome back to your first case… Detective."