Alexander's Master Plan

The sterile quiet of the hospital was broken only by the faint hum of machinery and the soft shuffle of feet echoing through the corridors. Inside Newton's cabin, the air was still. The dim light from the bedside lamp cast long, uneven shadows across the room. Newton lay motionless on the hospital bed, his body a mosaic of bandages and stitches.

Somewhere in his mind, the pain began to break through the fog of sedation. At first, it was a distant throb, a dull ache that seemed to pulse with the rhythm of his heartbeat. Then, like a floodgate had been opened, the pain surged—sharp, fiery tendrils shooting through his arms and legs.

"Mom… Mom!" Newton's voice was hoarse, cracking as he cried out. His hands twitched against the bedsheets, and his eyes fluttered open, unfocused and glazed.

In the corridor outside, Hasib and Nafisa had drifted into a light sleep, their exhaustion overtaking the worry that had consumed them for hours. But Newton's cries pierced the fragile bubble of rest like a dagger.

Hasib jolted awake, his head snapping up. "Newton!" he gasped, jumping to his feet. Nafisa stirred next to him, her eyes wide with alarm as she registered the panic in Newton's voice.

"Something's wrong," Nafisa said, her voice trembling as she followed Hasib into the cabin.

They found Newton writhing on the bed, his face contorted in pain. He kept calling out, his voice raw and filled with fear. "Mom! It hurts! Please, it hurts so much!"

Hasib turned to Nafisa. "I'll get the doctor. You call the nurse!" Without waiting for a reply, he bolted down the hallway toward Dr. Nishat's chamber.

Dr. Nishat was seated at her desk, poring over a chart when Hasib burst into the room. The urgency on his face made her rise immediately.

"Newton's in pain!" Hasib exclaimed; his voice tight with panic.

Dr. Nishat didn't hesitate. Grabbing her stethoscope and a small case from her desk, she strode out of the room, her heels clicking sharply against the floor. At the same time, Nafisa arrived with a nurse in tow, and the group hurried back to Newton's cabin.

Inside, Newton's cries had quieted to low, agonized moans. His body was tense, his fingers clutching at the sheets as if they could somehow anchor him against the pain.

"Step outside," Dr. Nishat instructed Hasib and Nafisa, her tone firm but calm. "I need space to work."

Nafisa hesitated, glancing at Newton with concern, but Hasib gently took her arm and guided her out of the room.

Dr. Nishat worked quickly, and her movements were efficient and precise. "Give me the injection," she said to the nurse, holding out her hand.

The nurse handed her the syringe, and Dr. Nishat injected it into Newton's IV line. "This will help ease the pain," she murmured, her voice softening for a moment as she adjusted the IV drip.

Newton's tense body began to relax as the medication took effect, his breathing evening out. Dr. Nishat's eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than necessary, her expression unreadable.

After ensuring that Newton was stable, Dr. Nishat stepped out of the cabin. Hasib and Nafisa were waiting anxiously just outside.

"He's stable now," Dr. Nishat informed them. "But I need to ask—has the payment for his operation been transferred to the hospital's bank account?"

Hasib blinked, caught off guard by the question. "I… I'm not sure. I'll go check with the counter."

"Good," Dr. Nishat said. Then, turning to Nafisa, she added, "We're running low on some supplies. Can you buy these medicines from the shop on the ground floor?" She handed Nafisa a list of items.

"Of course," Nafisa replied, taking the list and heading toward the stairs with Hasib.

As Hasib and Nafisa descended the stairs, Dr. Nishat lingered outside the cabin. She turned toward the small window, her eyes locking onto Newton's unconscious form. There was a strange, almost wistful look in her eyes as she gazed at him, her fingers absently brushing against the edge of her coat.

After a moment, she stepped back inside the cabin, the door clicking softly shut behind her.

Inside, the room was eerily quiet. The faint beeping of the heart monitor was the only sound. Dr. Nishat walked to the bedside, her footsteps unnaturally loud in the stillness. She stood there for a long moment, staring down at Newton's face.

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached out, her fingers brushing against his. There was a softness in her touch, a tenderness that seemed almost out of place.

"Why?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Why did it have to be you?"

Her other hand moved to her pocket, and with a sudden, almost mechanical motion, she pulled out a gleaming knife. The overhead light caught the blade, making it glint like a shard of ice.

"I'm sorry," she murmured, her voice cracking. "I'm so sorry."

In a single, fluid motion, she plunged the knife into Newton's chest.

The first thrust was followed by another and another, each strike delivered with a desperate, frantic energy. Blood spattered across the pristine white sheets, splashing onto the wall with each thrust. Newton's body convulsed weakly; his unconscious mind was unable to process the attack.

Dr. Nishat's breathing was ragged, her face pale and slick with sweat. She stabbed him six times in total, each strike seeming to take a piece of her with it. When it was over, she dropped the knife onto the floor with a dull clang, her shoulders heaving as she staggered backward.

Her apron, now stained with blood, slid off her shoulders and joined the knife on the floor. For a moment, she simply stood there, her hands trembling and her eyes wide with a mixture of horror and regret. Then, without a word, she turned and fled the room, disappearing into the shadows of the hospital.

Five minutes later, Nafisa returned, carrying a small bag of medicines. She paused outside the cabin, hesitating as a strange sense of unease washed over her.

"I should put these inside," she murmured to herself, pushing open the door.

The sight that greeted her was like something out of a nightmare. Blood was everywhere—on the bed, the walls, the floor. Newton lay motionless, his face a twisted, unrecognizable mess of wounds.

Nafisa's scream tore through the quiet hospital, echoing down the empty corridors as she stumbled backward, dropping the bag of medicines. Her vision blurred, and the room spun around her before everything went black.

The low hum of the hospital lights did little to ease the tension in Hasib's mind as he stood at the reception desk on the ground floor, jotting down the bank account details on a piece of paper. His hand trembled slightly; his thoughts clouded with worry for Newton. The sterile environment of the hospital felt oppressively quiet, each moment dragging into eternity.

As he slipped the paper into his pocket, he pulled out his phone, intending to call Newton's parents and inform them about the situation. Just as he was about to dial, a piercing scream shattered the silence.

The sound echoed through the hospital, carrying with it a weight of terror that sent a chill down Hasib's spine. He froze, his phone slipping from his hand and landing on the counter with a dull thud.

"What was that?" he whispered to himself, his voice barely audible over the growing commotion.

Around him, doctors and nurses rushed toward the stairwell, their faces pale with fear and confusion. The air buzzed with panicked voices, snatches of conversation reaching Hasib's ears.

"Someone call the police!"

"There's blood everywhere!"

"Upstairs, on the second floor!"

Hasib's heart pounded as he followed the crowd, his legs feeling like lead with each step he took. The noise, the panic—it all seemed to blur together, creating a sense of dread that clawed at his chest.

When he reached the second floor, the scene before him was chaos. A cluster of medical staff had gathered outside a cabin, their frantic whispers and shouts overlapping into a cacophony of fear.

Hasib pushed through the crowd, his breaths shallow as he caught snippets of their words.

"It's horrifying…"

"I've never seen anything like this."

"Who could've done this?"

His steps faltered as he approached the door. Something in his gut told him he didn't want to see what lay inside, but he couldn't stop himself. Slowly, he stepped through the doorway, and the sight that greeted him froze him in place.

The cabin was a blood-soaked nightmare. The once-sterile white walls were now streaked with crimson, splatters of blood painting grotesque patterns across the room. The floor was slick with a dark, viscous pool that spread out from the bed where Newton lay motionless.

Newton's body was unrecognizable. Deep gashes marred his face and torso, the brutal knife wounds rendering his features into a horrifying mask of pain and violence. His chest, now still, bore the unmistakable marks of a savage attack.

Hasib's vision blurred, his brain refusing to process what his eyes were seeing. His breathing slowed, his body feeling disconnected as if he were floating outside himself. For a few seconds, time seemed to stop.

Then, a sudden jolt of awareness hit him like a lightning strike. He staggered backward, gasping for air as reality came crashing down.

"Newton…" he whispered, his voice trembling with disbelief.

His eyes darted around the room, and that's when he saw her—Nafisa. She lay crumpled on the floor near the bed, her face pale and her body motionless. Panic surged through him as he stumbled toward her.

"Help! Somebody help!" he shouted, his voice raw with desperation.

Three doctors rushed into the room, their faces grim as they helped Hasib lift Nafisa's limp form onto a stretcher.

"She's breathing," one of them said, relief tinging his voice. "But she's in shock. We need to get her to another cabin immediately."

As they wheeled Nafisa out of the room, Hasib followed close behind, his hands shaking. His mind was a storm of thoughts—Newton's gruesome death, Nafisa's fragile state, the unanswered questions screaming for resolution.

Outside the hospital, the sky mirrored Hasib's turmoil. Thick, dark clouds had gathered, swirling ominously as if the heavens themselves were bracing for something sinister.

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the world in stark white, followed by a deafening crack of thunder that seemed to shake the ground.

The storm grew more intense, each lightning strike brighter than the last. One particularly powerful bolt split the sky, its light piercing through the windows of a distant structure. But this wasn't an ordinary building—it was a palace.

The palace stood in stark contrast to the storm raging outside. Its towering walls were made of dark, jagged stone, giving it the appearance of something carved from the shadows themselves. The windows, tall and narrow, glowed faintly with an eerie light, like the eyes of a predatory beast.

Inside, the air was heavy and oppressive. The grand hall was vast, its high ceiling supported by columns that seemed to stretch endlessly upward. The walls were adorned with ancient tapestries, their images distorted and grotesque in the dim light.

At the center of the hall sat a massive throne, carved from blackened wood and inlaid with gold. It was a seat of power, of dominance, and on it sat a man whose presence seemed to fill the entire room.

Alexander.

The shadows clung to him like a second skin, obscuring much of his face, but what could be seen was terrifying. His eyes glowed faintly, a predatory gleam that pierced through the darkness. His lips curled into a smile—no, not a smile. A sneer. A laugh bubbled from his throat, low and menacing at first, but it grew louder, filling the cavernous hall with its chilling echo.

"HA HA HA!"

The sound was manic, uncontrolled as if Alexander were reveling in some dark, terrible secret. His laughter rose to a fever pitch, shaking the very walls of the palace.

A sudden movement in the shadows interrupted his mirth. A figure stepped forward, her silhouette framed by the flickering light of a nearby torch.

Sohana.

She was as striking as ever, her beauty almost otherworldly. She wore a black saree that clung to her curves like a second skin, the fabric shimmering faintly with each step she took. The low drape of the saree revealed the gentle curve of her hips and the hollow of her navel, which seemed to catch the light like a forbidden secret.

Her lips painted a deep crimson, curled into a devilish smile as she approached Alexander. The glint in her eyes matched the storm raging outside—wild, untamed, and full of danger.

Without a word, she placed her hand on Alexander's shoulder, her long, manicured nails pressing lightly into his flesh. The touch was possessive, almost claiming.

Alexander turned his head slightly, his sneer softening into something darker, something more intimate.

"You've done well, Sohana," he said, his voice a low, rumbling growl.

Her smile widened, and she leaned in close, her lips brushing against his ear as she whispered something inaudible.

The storm outside roared louder, the thunder and lightning seeming to bow to the power that emanated from within the palace.

To be continued.....