The rain fell without pause—steady, as if the sky had grown tired of silence and decided to cry on behalf of everyone.
Isaac sat in the carriage, staring through the window at the narrow cobblestone road leading to the police station. Water traced slow paths down the glass like tears on the face of an old man worn by life. He said nothing. Moved not. His body was there—but he wasn't, not truly.
Inside him, there was a void… No, a tense void, as if something were preparing to emerge.
When he stepped out of the carriage, the rain softened, as if yielding to the hush of this new place.
The police station wasn't what he had imagined. No noise, no shouts—just the dull rhythm of bureaucratic indifference. The grey walls grew uglier the longer you stared.It felt more like a waiting room in a hospital than a house of justice.
"Justice?"He thought, a bitter smirk touching his lips."Justice doesn't live in places like this... It's locked away in drawers marked Confidential."
A silent officer led him into a small room—tight, slanted walls from moisture damage, and a rusty recorder sitting on a splintered wooden desk. Isaac sat, his head heavy, but his eyes—his eyes were sharp, moving quietly over every detail.
He noticed the black file on the table. His name on it.He had become a file. A paper. A number.
That realization hurt more than grief.
An officer in his forties entered—slightly overweight, with eyes dulled by routine, as though he'd rather be home with lukewarm soup than here. He opened a notebook and began in a voice void of all feeling:
– "Full name?"– "Isaac Gray."– "Age?"– "Sixteen."– "Address?"– "7 Meridian Street, Rosemead District."– "Can you tell us where you were the night of the incident?"
Time paused for a second.Not in a dramatic way—but mentally.
Simple questions open complicated doors.
"Don't answer. Not yet."
The voice came—soft, clear. Familiar, despite being new.
"They'll close the case quickly, Isaac. There's no point exposing everything. You don't yet understand the world you've been pushed into."
But Isaac wasn't an empty shell. He thought.
He didn't fully remember… but not completely.Fragments—sounds, flashes—not enough to build a story, but enough to make him question the official version.
He answered calmly, deliberately:– "I was home, I think. I don't remember much."
The officer hesitated briefly, then continued:– "Did you notice anything suspicious? Strange visitors? Threats?"
Isaac paused. Then spoke with cautious precision:– "Nothing concrete. But… my father had been acting strangely lately."
He didn't elaborate. He wanted to watch their reaction.
The officer just wrote it down, no visible interest.
Then, without warning, the door opened again.Another man entered.
He was… different.
Tall. Thin. Wore a grey coat like a moving fog. His steps were nearly silent. His face was sharp, and his eyes—his eyes weren't tired. They watched. Saw too much.
He said quietly:– "Detective Cornwall. I'll ask you only one thing, Isaac… Do you believe in random accidents?"
Isaac looked at him for a long moment.The answer didn't matter. How he answered did.
"Test him," said Eric—his voice now laced with curiosity.
Isaac replied with the faintest of smirks:– "I believe rare things happen. But I think everything has a pattern… even chaos."
The room fell silent.
Cornwall stared at him for a few seconds, then nodded slightly.– "I'll keep a copy of the report," he said to the officer, and walked out.
Once gone, the first officer turned back to Isaac with cold efficiency:– "We reviewed the crime scene. We believe it was a failed burglary. An unknown criminal broke in, stole some items, and your parents were… killed by accident."
Isaac responded with a flat voice:– "By accident? They were killed ritually. Weren't they?"
The officer froze, then muttered:– "You're just a child, Isaac. Don't tire yourself with meaningless details. Go get some rest."
Isaac left the room, but his mind wasn't at rest.Everything inside him screamed that this was no ordinary event.
His father wasn't someone easy to kill. His mother… sensed danger before it arrived.Then there was the blood. The bodies. The symbols. The shadows.
"It's begun, Isaac. The real question isn't who killed them... but why."
Eric's voice again—heavier this time.
And Isaac, despite denial… could no longer pretend this voice was just a symptom.
A different officer approached—older, his face weary, but kinder somehow. He held some documents and spoke in a low voice, as if not wanting others to hear:
"We've completed the formal procedures. The autopsies were performed according to protocol. The bodies will be transferred tomorrow to the farewell center… You may attend the ceremony, if you wish."
Isaac raised his head slowly. His face was blank, but inside him, one question echoed over and over:
"Why did it take this long?"
An ordinary incident? That's what they told him.A tragic home invasion — a phrase repeated like a hollow echo of a polished lie.But no ordinary crime needed this much secrecy. This many questions. This much silence.
A whole week.A week of evasion, vagueness, and refusal.He hadn't even been allowed to see the bodies again after that night.
While he stood there thinking, Eric whispered once more—cool and direct, threading through the folds of Isaac's thoughts:
"You saw the detective's eyes, didn't you? The one who stared too long and asked too little… He suspects. He's seen deaths like this before. But the rest? Either idiots… or complicit."
Isaac didn't answer. But he glanced toward the older officer, then toward the mysterious detective who had already vanished.
Something wasn't being said.
Something was being hidden.
The officer cleared his throat again."We'll send a car to pick you up tomorrow for the funeral, if you wish to attend. It's scheduled at St. Gerald's Cemetery. Five o'clock in the afternoon. We're… sorry for your loss."
"…Yeah," Isaac muttered—barely aware he spoke.His mind was far away.
Tomorrow…
A funeral. Two caskets.Would he even be able to stand there? To face it all?
He looked at his hands. He remembered the blood that still wouldn't wash away—despite all the showers.
Some stains can't be cleaned with water.And some questions… can't be forgotten by empty answers.