Dr. Rafiq's smirk wavered for the first time. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. A flicker of something—shock, regret, or maybe fear—crossed his face.
"Why do you think I'm not the culprit?" he asked, his voice quieter than before, as if testing Isarish's conviction.
Isarish chuckled, stepping closer, his presence dominating the space between them. His gaze, sharp as ever, locked onto the doctor's.
"Isn't it obvious?" Isarish said, tilting his head slightly. "You came to the clinic alone, knowing full well that I could've taken you down right then and there. A real mastermind—a real killer—would never take such a foolish risk, not when the hostages were still in play. You knew I wouldn't kill you, because you wanted me to find this place. But more importantly…" He exhaled slowly, watching Rafiq's face closely, "...the bodies."
Dr. Rafiq's fingers twitched, his nails pressing into his palms.
"The corpses bore deep strangulation marks," Isarish continued. "The bruising suggested a grip much stronger than yours. Your hands aren't that big, nor do they have the strength to crush a grown man's throat so effortlessly. That means someone else did the killing. Someone with larger hands. Someone close to you."
Rayhan's eyes widened, his grip on his gun tightening. "His son…"
A slow, chilling smile spread across Isarish's face. "Bingo."
A strained silence followed. The officers shifted uneasily, waiting for Rafiq's response. The doctor, however, remained still. Too still. His shoulders were stiff, his chest barely rising with breath.
"Shall I continue?" Isarish said, his tone mocking yet deadly. "Or do you want to confess now?"
Dr. Rafiq chuckled, but the sound was hollow. "Indulge me, Isarish," he whispered.
Isarish didn't hesitate. "Your clinic gave away more than you thought," he said, pacing in front of him. "That large leather coat in your office—it was far too big for you, wasn't it? At first, I thought it was just an odd piece of clothing, but then I realized something strange. When you visited me, you smelled of old leather, but there was another scent mixed in—something familiar, something distinct. Cat fur."
Alice's breath caught in her throat. "Cat fur…?"
Isarish nodded. "You and your son live together, don't you? And I'd bet my life that your home has a cat. Fur sticks to fabric, especially in a house with pets. That same fur was on the coat in your office. That means your son wore it recently."
Dr. Rafiq's face was unreadable, but his silence was damning.
"Then I asked myself," Isarish continued, his voice almost teasing, "why would a doctor—who's always clean, precise, and meticulous—have an oversized coat in his office, covered in pet hair? And why would that coat smell exactly like the same scent I noticed when you visited me?" He leaned in, whispering the next words like a death sentence. "Because your son was there that night. He was in your clinic, wearing that coat, watching us. And when I left, he followed me, didn't he?"
The room fell into a suffocating silence. The officers held their breath. Rayhan's fingers twitched on the trigger.
Dr. Rafiq finally let out a slow, heavy sigh. "You really are terrifying," he muttered. "No wonder you're still alive after all this."
"Where is he?" Isarish pressed, his tone dropping to something colder.
Rafiq closed his eyes for a moment, as if wrestling with something deep inside. When he opened them again, his gaze was steady. "My son… he was never meant to be a killer," he said softly. "But sometimes, love makes monsters of us all."
Alice clenched her fists. "Where is he?!"
Dr. Rafiq hesitated before speaking.
"He's watching us," he whispered.
The realization hit like a shockwave.
Isarish spun around instantly, scanning the dark corners of the warehouse, his instincts screaming. The hostages had been a distraction. The criminals had been pawns. The real killer had been here all along, hiding in the shadows.
The hairs on Isarish's neck stood up.
"ABOVE!" he shouted.
But the warning came a second too late.
A blur of movement. A figure dropping from the rafters.
it was him!!!!
A deep, guttural laugh echoed through the warehouse, freezing everyone in place. From the shadows, a massive, naked man stepped forward, his broad frame illuminated by the dim, flickering light. His huge naked body was horrible. His face twisted in manic delight as his wild eyes locked onto Isarish.
"You're here, Mr. Isa!" he bellowed, his voice trembling with excitement. "Father! I told you; God was right! He lured him into this trap!" His lips curled into a grotesque grin. "I'm jealous, Mr. Isa. Truly, I am."
With unsettling ease, he moved behind Dr. Rafiq, resting a heavy hand on his trembling father's shoulder. The doctor's face was pale, his breath uneven.
"You know," the man continued, his voice almost childlike in its reverence, "I was just the hand... the hand of God. His blessing guided me!" His laughter rang through the warehouse, thick with madness.
Dr. Rafiq's eyes welled with tears. "Please," he whispered, voice barely audible, "my son, don't do this."
The monstrous man tilted his head, watching his father with something akin to pity. Then, without warning, he drove a rusted scalpel straight into Dr. Rafiq's throat.
A strangled gasp. A spray of crimson. The doctor collapsed, his hands weakly grasping at the wound before falling limp. The warehouse stood in stunned silence.
The man exhaled shakily, his smile never fading. "I'm happy now," he murmured.
Then, as officers raised their weapons, he turned his gaze back to Isarish. His expression shifted—serene, almost holy.
"The blessing of God," he whispered, "said hello to you, Veer."
And before anyone could react, he plunged the blade into his own heart.
His laughter faded into silence.