Did You Notice Anything Unusual?

Kavin Peterson leaned back on the sofa, his sharp gaze fixed on Hasib. The words "Time to play the game" echoed in his mind, the weight of them pressing heavily against the atmosphere of the room. The flickering light from the ceiling fan above cast faint shadows across the walls, amplifying the tension that lingered like an invisible fog.

The other officers in the room—Anderson, Brendon, Sangakkara, and two others—exchanged uncertain glances. The intensity in Hasib's voice, the unwavering determination in his posture, and the raw fire in his eyes were impossible to ignore.

Kavin held up a hand, signaling silence from his team. He needed a moment to process what he had just heard.

Two minutes passed, though they felt like an eternity. Kavin's fingers rested lightly on his knee, his brow furrowed in deep thought. The room seemed to hold its breath, the only sound the faint hum of the fan above.

Finally, Kavin looked up, his expression unreadable. "Would you like to tell me how this started?"

Hasib's lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. His confidence was palpable, his demeanor that of a man who had nothing left to lose.

"It started a few months ago," Hasib began, his voice steady. "When I was…" Hasib's voice grew stronger as he recounted the events that had led to this moment.

"I was at home in Kolkata, living a simple life with my family. My dog, Tommy—he's more than a pet; he's family. And Nafisa… we were happy, engaged to be married soon. Life was good."

He paused, his gaze distant for a moment. "But everything changed the night the thief came. He broke into our building, his target… my dog."

Kavin's brow furrowed slightly, but he didn't interrupt.

"The thief wasn't just some random burglar," Hasib continued, his tone darkening. "He was sent by Alexander, the mafia don. Tommy wasn't just a dog to him—he was a commodity. You see, Alexander runs a restaurant where they serve… illegal meat. Dog meat. And he wanted Tommy."

Anderson's face twisted in disgust, but he kept silent, his eyes fixed on Hasib.

"My Security Guard and I stopped him," Hasib said with a faint smile of pride. "We caught the thief and handed him over to the police. We thought it was over."

Hasib's smile faded, replaced by a grim expression. "But Alexander doesn't forget. He doesn't forgive. A few days later, his goons attacked me on the street. They beat me to the ground and left me bleeding in the middle of Kolkata. If it weren't for the police arriving, I might not be here today."

Kavin's fingers tapped against his knee, his sharp mind piecing together the threads of Hasib's story.

"I ended up in the hospital," Hasib said, his voice heavy. "And that's when things took a turn I couldn't have imagined. While I was recovering, I began to plan. Alexander had made this personal, and I wasn't going to let him win."

Brendon shifted in his seat, his youthful face a mixture of curiosity and unease. "So, you decided to fight back?" he asked, his voice breaking the silence.

Hasib nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Yes. But it wasn't just me. I had Nafisa and Newton… we were a team. We called ourselves Do or Die. We were determined to stop Alexander, to bring him to justice."

Sangakkara leaned forward, his thick eyebrows knitting together. "You said Alexander doesn't forget. Doesn't forgive. Do you think he targeted Newton because of you?"

Hasib's jaw tightened, his fists clenching briefly before relaxing. "I don't think. I know. Newton paid the price for standing by me."

Kavin's eyes narrowed, the weight of Hasib's story pressing heavily on him. He had heard countless tales of violence and revenge during his career, but something about Hasib's account felt different—raw, personal, and deeply unsettling.

"You're saying Alexander orchestrated all of this?" Kavin asked, his tone probing. "The theft, the assault, the helicopter attack, and Newton's murder?"

Hasib's gaze met Kavin's, his voice firm. "Yes. Alexander doesn't just destroy lives—he enjoys it. He manipulates, controls, and takes. He's a puppet master, and we're all just pieces in his twisted game."

Kavin's fingers tightened on his knee, his jaw clenching as he processed the enormity of what he was hearing. The name Alexander had haunted Kolkata's law enforcement for over a decade—a phantom who left destruction in his wake but always managed to slip through their grasp.

"And now," Hasib said, his voice dropping to a cold, steely tone, "he's crossed a line he can't come back from."

Kavin leaned back slightly, his sharp eyes studying Hasib's face. The young man's determination was evident, but so was his pain. It was a dangerous combination—one that could either fuel justice or lead to ruin.

The room fell silent again, the weight of Hasib's words hanging in the air. Kavin broke the silence with a measured, calm question.

"Did you notice anything unusual during your time at the hospital?"

The room was still. The quiet hum of the ceiling fan above seemed almost deafening in the weighty silence following Kavin's question. Hasib's expression tightened as he leaned back into the sofa, his gaze drifting toward the wooden showcase in the corner. His eyes flicked briefly to the Holy Bible encased in the cabinet, its black leather cover embossed with gold lettering. Beside it stood a small statuette of a Crusifix cross, delicate but commanding, a symbol of faith that seemed almost out of place in a conversation so steeped in darkness.

Hasib exhaled, the tension visible in the furrow of his brow. "Not at first," he said, his voice quieter now. "Everything seemed normal. The nurses were rushing back and forth, doing their jobs. The doctors were focused on Newton's surgery. I was sitting there… just waiting. But then, after about an hour…"

He paused, his eyes narrowing as the memory came back to him in fragments. "I noticed something strange."

Kavin leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. His eyes, sharp and unyielding, locked onto Hasib. "Strange? How?"

Hasib's voice dropped a notch as if lowering it would make the memory less vivid. "There was a woman," he said. "She walked past me in the corridor. She wasn't wearing a nurse's uniform or a doctor's coat. She was in a black saree."

"Black saree…" Kavin murmured, his jaw tightening slightly.

Hasib nodded. "I remember it clearly. She didn't look like she belonged there. She wasn't rushing like the nurses or tense like the other relatives in the waiting area. She was calm… too calm."

"What did she do?" Kavin pressed, his tone firm but curious.

"She stopped," Hasib said, his expression growing darker. "For just a moment. She stopped and looked at me."

"Looked at you?" Kavin's voice carried an edge now, his fingers pressing together as he processed the information.

"It wasn't a normal look," Hasib said, shaking his head. "It wasn't curiosity or concern. It was… cold. Like she knew something I didn't. Like she was looking through me instead of at me."

Kavin's jaw tightened as he glanced at Anderson, who had been silently observing from his seat. Anderson's expression shifted, his brows knitting together as a thought seemed to strike him.

"Did you see where she went?" Kavin asked, his voice steady but intense.

Hasib nodded slowly. "Yes. She walked down the corridor and stopped near the door to a patient's cabin. But I didn't see her go inside. At the time, I thought maybe she was a relative of one of the patients. I didn't think much of it."

Anderson leaned forward, his voice breaking the brief silence. "Black saree? Kavin! Isn't that the woman you told me about on the phone?"

Kavin's head snapped toward Anderson, his eyes narrowing slightly. "Yes," he said, the word heavy with meaning. "That woman."

Hasib's eyes darted between the two men, confusion giving way to curiosity. "What do you mean, officer?" he asked, his voice tinged with urgency.

Kavin hesitated for a fraction of a second, his expression hardening. "I saw her too."

Hasib's eyebrows shot up, surprise flickering across his face. "Really?"

Kavin's lips pressed into a thin line. "Yes, I did. And I am one hundred percent sure she's not… normal."

Hasib's gaze sharpened, the tension in his posture growing. "What do you mean?"

Kavin leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping rhythmically against his knee as he spoke. "She's not just another bystander or a concerned relative. She's… something else. Mysterious, wicked even. I don't know what she is, but every time I've seen her, she disappears before I can confront her. It's like she's toying with us."

Anderson shifted uncomfortably in his seat, the unease visible in his tight grip on the armrest. "You're saying she's… what? Some kind of ghost?"

"I'm not saying that," Kavin replied, his voice measured but thoughtful. "But there's something unnatural about her. I've never been able to get a clear look at her face, but the black saree… it's unmistakable."

Hasib sat back, his expression unreadable as he processed Kavin's words. The room felt heavier, the air thick with unspoken questions.

Hasib's eyes drifted once more to the Crucifix hanging on the wall. The wooden cross was small but beautifully crafted, its edges smooth and its details intricate. It seemed to glow faintly in the dim light as if radiating a quiet strength. For a brief moment, Hasib wondered if faith alone could protect him from the darkness that seemed to be closing in.

But he didn't speak. Not yet.

Kavin's gaze remained fixed on Hasib, his own mind racing with possibilities. The woman in the black saree had been a shadow in his investigation, a phantom that seemed to appear and vanish without a trace. And now, here she was again, tangled in the threads of Hasib's story. Then, as if reaching a decision, Kavin stood up, his commanding presence immediately drawing the attention of the other officers.

"Gentlemen," Kavin said, his voice firm but calm, "let's go."

Anderson, Brendon, and Sangakkara exchanged quick glances before standing as well, each adjusting their belts or dusting off their uniforms in preparation to leave.

Kavin turned to face Hasib, who was still seated on the sofa. Hasib's posture was relaxed, but there was a flicker of something unreadable in his expression—confidence mingled with weariness.

"Okay, Mr. Hasib," Kavin said, his voice slightly softer now.

"It's Hasib Jackson, sir," Hasib corrected, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Kavin raised an eyebrow, and for the first time since entering the apartment, a small smile curved his lips. "Okay, young man," he replied, his tone carrying a hint of amusement. "We're leaving. This is my number."

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card, extending it toward Hasib. The plain white card bore his name, Inspector Kavin Peterson, and his official number printed in bold.

"If you face any trouble," Kavin added, his eyes locking with Hasib's, "just call me."

Kavin turned and began walking toward the main door, his boots clicking softly against the polished floor. But before he could reach the door, Hasib's voice called out, stopping him in his tracks.

"And my number?" Hasib asked, leaning back slightly and folding his arms over his chest. "You don't have my number!"

Kavin paused, his hand resting lightly on the doorknob. A flicker of something—amusement, perhaps—crossed his face as he turned back. His sharp eyes glinted with mischief as he gave Hasib a confident, almost roguish smile.

"I already have your number," Kavin said smoothly, his voice low but deliberate.

For a moment, Hasib blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected reply. Kavin's sharp gaze lingered on him for just a beat longer, and then, with a slight nod, he turned and pushed the door open.

"Take care, Mr. Jackson," Kavin said over his shoulder, the faintest hint of a smirk still playing on his lips.

The officers followed Kavin out, their movements brisk and professional. The sound of the door closing echoed softly in the room, leaving Hasib alone once more.

He stood there for a moment, staring at the door as if trying to process everything that had just happened. Then, a small grin spread across his face.

"Mr. Jackson," Hasib muttered to himself, his voice tinged with both amusement and pride. He ran a hand through his hair, chuckling softly. "Sounds cool, hmm?"

The room was steeped in a quiet tension, the kind that only midnight could bring. The clock on the wall ticked steadily, its hands glowing faintly in the dim light. Each tick seemed to echo, the sound amplified by the silence that pressed heavily against the small apartment.

To be continued..