Fog rolled over Crescent Lake like a slow, living thing, swallowing the shoreline and the branches of the old willow trees. Rustam pulled his coat tighter, the damp chill cold crawling under his sleeves, and followed the faint lights of the squad cars. Marcus trailed behind, flashlight cutting thin beams through the mist.
The boy lay near the water, half-hidden in the reeds, motionless. His small form seemed uncomfortably still against the shifting shadows. Rustam's stomach tightened.
Marcus knelt, torch hovering over his wrist.
"God, look at this..."
He muttered.
Rustam crouched beside him. Under the beam of the flashlight, a thin red thread shined unnaturally against pale skin. It wasn't just looped or tied, it had been sewn into the wrist, forming a perfect "R."
Marcus's hand hovered above it, trembling slightly.
"It's precise...surgical. Almost like someone did this on purpose."
Marcus said.
Rustam didn't speak at first. He stared at the red "R," every instinct screaming that the city's old nightmare had returned. The thread was clean, neat, deliberate. Whoever had done this had skill, patience, and intent.
A young officer came up, eyes wide.
"Sir, it's sewn...into his skin. Like...like a stitch. Not just tied or carved"
The officer said. Rustam exhaled slowly.
"Richard's mark."
Rustam said. Marcus traced a gloved finger over that thread.
"It's him..or someone trying to be him. But the way it's done.. it's quieter than before..almost precise."
Marcus said.
Rustam looked around at the fog, the shadows, the stillness of the lake. The willow branches swayed, but the movement felt deliberate, like the night itself was holding its breath.
"Quiet, yes. Too quiet. That's what scares me"
Rustam said. Another officer spoke up.
"There's a paper crane, Sir. Near the boy. Wet, half in reeds. Like he carried it"
Marcus's eyes narrowed.
"The kid played with cranes. But the killer left it there. It's part of the… message. Signature."
Marcus said.
Rustam's mind raced. He had seen Richard's work before...the carved letters, the precision, the way each crime whispered his presence. And now… this. The sewn R. It was unmistakable. And it was horrifying.
He turned to Marcus.
"We need photos. Every angle. Record the thread, the crane, everything. The way it's placed. Someone did this deliberately. Someone who wants us to see."
Rustam said to the officer.
"I've never seen anything like this. A thread… sewn. Into skin. It's… personal. It's Terrifying."
Marcus said.
Rustam's eyes swept the foggy shore. He could almost imagine Richard walking the edge of the lake, watching, waiting, letting fear do half his work. The night seemed alive with the same menace.
Both Rustam and Marcus now went to interrogate the people living nearby regarding this incident.
"Did anyone see anyone?"
Marcus asked, his voice low. A neighbor, shivering in a shawl, stepped forward.
"I… I saw a tall figure by the benches earlier. Didn't think much… just thought it was a fisherman."
The neighbouring lady in the shawl spoke.
"But… it moved wrong. Fast. Like it knew the boy would be here."
The lady spoke, her hands trembling.
Rustam said nothing. He only watched the fog, the reeds, the dark water. Every small sound became a clue. Footsteps in mud, a faint scrape of branches, the distant splash of water. The world was whispering, and he had to listen.
"The thread… the R… it's him. It has to be. Or someone who studied him."
Marcus said. Rustam nodded slowly.
"Yes. And the mistake would be thinking it's anything else. We treat this like Richard, act like Richard is back. Because whoever did this wants exactly that reaction."
Rustam said.
The techs worked quietly, photographing, bagging evidence, cataloging each detail. Rustam let his gaze return to the thread, the small crimson R glinting in the flashlight. It felt alive, mocking, deliberate.
The boy's body was carried away with care, every movement precise. Rustam and Marcus followed in silence, the fog pressing against them like a living thing. Every instinct in Rustam screamed the same thing: the city had named a monster before. And now, it had returned in full, bloody clarity.
By the time they reached the squad cars, the fog had thickened into walls. Rustam stayed by the lake a moment longer, staring at the willow, at the reeds, at the still water.
The thread, the R, the crane... all small pieces of a message he couldn't yet read. But he knew one thing for certain: the nightmare was back.
-----
Back at the grandmother's residence, Evan sat up on the couch and hugged his knees sobbing.
"That boy, at the Crescent Lake..he..he..used to bully me."
Evan whispered.
"Every day...calling me names, pushing me around..I was too scared to tell anyone. I hated going to school. I..I.. can't forget about him.."
Evan continued, the tears flowing down his cheeks.
Grandmother's hands gripped at the sides of her armrest, her face goes pale with worry. Eda frowns and lowers her voice a bit just for her grandmother to hear.
"Maybe he must've been shaken and disturbed after hearing of the recent happening."
Eda said, the grandmother nodded. Eda got up and hugged Evan, rubbing his back to comfort him.
"It's alright now. You're okay."
Eda said. The hug was gentle and protective, an unspoken promise that he wasn't alone anymore.
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End of chp 06