Chapter 11 - Hell Erupted

In Elizabeth's Juvenile Center. The garden was quiet. Manicured hedges framed the stone pathway, and small lanterns flickered in the dimming light of dusk. This part of the juvenile center was well-maintained, untouched by the usual neglect that plagued such institutions. A place of care, of reverence.

Cain sat on a bench near the fountain, posture relaxed, gaze distant. He had not asked to be here, but then again, he had not needed to.

Footsteps approached, steady, deliberate. The director.

"Cain," the man greeted warmly, standing a respectful distance away. "I trust you're settling in well?"

Cain did not respond immediately. He turned his head slightly, acknowledging the man's presence but offering nothing in return.

The director continued, undeterred. "We're honored to have you with us. I hope you feel the same."

A quiet moment passed. Then, Cain let out a breath, something like amusement, though his expression remained unreadable. He leaned back against the bench, his fingers lightly drumming against the wooden armrest.

The director sat beside him, hands clasped in his lap. "This place," he said, glancing at the perfectly pruned roses, "was meant to be a sanctuary. A place where the lost can find their path again." He smiled, as if speaking to someone far above them rather than to Cain himself. "But I suppose some never lose their way to begin with."

Cain's eyes flickered toward him, unreadable.

The director turned his gaze upward, watching the sky shift to deep indigo. "Life and death," he mused. "People speak of them as opposites, but they are merely two sides of the same coin. One feeding into the other. An endless cycle."

Cain moved then, shifting slightly, a small adjustment, but precise, intentional. When he spoke, his voice was calm, smooth. "That is where you're wrong."

The director's breath hitched.

Cain continued, his words methodical, deliberate. "Life and death are not a cycle. That is the comfort of those who need to believe in meaning." His gaze swept over the garden, the carefully maintained beauty, the illusion of order. "There is no cycle. Only permanence. Some exist. Some cease. The rest is human sentiment."

The director studied him, captivated. "And you?" His voice was almost reverent. "What do you believe yourself to be?"

Cain didn't answer.

He didn't need to.

The director exhaled, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips. "I see," he murmured. "Then you truly are…" He trailed off, lowering his head slightly, almost as if bowing.

Cain glanced away, disinterested, as though the conversation had already lost its worth. His fingers tapped once more against the wooden bench a silent rhythm.

The director straightened, his expression returning to careful composure. "The others do not understand," he admitted. "They cannot." His voice lowered, just above a whisper. "But I do."

Cain stood.

The movement was fluid, effortless. He adjusted the cuffs of his sleeves, then turned toward the path leading back into the building. The director didn't move, just watched, his gaze following Cain like a man watching something divine pass him by.

As Cain walked away, the fountain behind him rippled, the water shifting with the wind.

The director remained seated in the garden, exhaling softly, almost in awe.

Cain did not look back.

Because why would he?

Back to Emma and Alex The old book lay open between them, its brittle pages curling at the edges. The dim office lamp cast long shadows over the words, the ink faded but still legible.

Emma ran her fingertips over the Eye symbol again. "This version… it's different."

Alex frowned, tracing the passage beneath it. Those who seek Heaven must open their hearts and shut their eyes.

He exhaled. "It sounds like some religious nonsense."

Kath, who had been pacing near the window, scoffed. "Religious nonsense doesn't get people murdered." She turned to face them, arms crossed. "Someone went out of their way to hide this book. The question is.. why?"

Emma turned another page, her pulse quickening as she skimmed the text. "The Fallen Angel... it's a maintained version."

Alex's brows furrowed. "Maintained? You mean rewritten?"

"More like altered," Emma murmured, eyes narrowing. "Look at this." She pointed to a passage halfway down the page. "The Eye is not a symbol of judgment but of restraint. It does not watch you, it watches for you."

Alex stiffened. Those were the same words the director had used back at the juvenile center.

A cold unease settled over the room.

Kath pulled out her phone, scrolling rapidly. "We need to cross-check this book with anything we can find. Old records, historical references, anything."

Emma exhaled sharply, rubbing her temples. "But why Jia? I don't get it. Me, Alex, and Mr. Halloway are tied to the cases, to whatever this Eye or Angel is. But Jia?"

Alex had been tapping his fingers against the motel table, deep in thought. He stopped. "First, it was the junkie outside her house, and now she's a target? There's a missing piece somewhere. Maybe we're looking in the wrong place." He hesitated. "And Cain..."

Kath, standing by the window, clenched her arms around herself. The mention of the boy stirred something uncomfortable in her. She didn't know if Cain was a victim or the center of it all, but God, she wanted to believe he was just an innocent kid.

Alex caught the look on her face. His voice was sharp. "There's no room for emotions, Kath. People are dying."

Kath bit her lip, looking down in a mix of shame and determination. She nodded.

Emma's voice was steady. "It's Cain. He's the only connection between Jia and the Eye. He's too important to be left alone." She hesitated. "Or maybe… he's too dangerous."

"Why don't we just rush in and get him from the center?"

Alex shook his head. "We can't. We have no proof. The higher-ups will get in trouble. The press will tear them apart. If we screw this up, they might take the case away from us entirely."

But then

Their answer came to them.

A call.

They were two of Alex's most trusted men who were placed to watch Cain.

Alex picked up instantly.

"What is it? Something wrong?" His gut twisted, hoping for a no.

The officer on the other end sounded shaken. "He—he's gone."

Alex's fingers tightened around the phone. "Gone? How? Elaborate."

The officer hesitated. "We were watching him. He was talking to that creepy director in the garden. Then… he looked in our direction. I don't know how he saw us from that far, but… he knew we were there. As if he expected us to be there." The officer took a sharp breath. "Then he smiled. Like he was waiting for us to realize something. Like he was confirming something for himself."

A silence stretched between them.

The room felt like it was shrinking.

Who is this boy?

Why does a fog of mystery follow him wherever he goes?

Was he the Angel? The Eye?

Or were they all just being played? Again.

They had learned the hard way that nothing in this case was what it seemed. A victim could be an attacker. An attacker could be a victim. The unimportant could be crucial. The crucial could be a distraction.

The puzzle couldn't just be solved by collecting pieces. It had to make sense. It had to follow a pattern. A shape. A logic.

But as Halloway had once said:

"Nothing has ever made sense about this case."

A puzzle that refused to follow logic would remain an unsolvable mystery.

Alex made a decision. "Kath, place more men at Jia's house. Tell them to be on high alert." His jaw tightened. "And we need to figure out what the hell this book really is."

Then he turned to Emma.

"Let's go." His voice was cold. "We're going to that center again. And this time I'll make that director talk. Whether he likes it or not."

The juvenile center was unusually quiet.

Too quiet.

Emma and Alex moved through the hallways, every step feeling heavier than the last. The staff barely reacted to their presence. Some cast wary glances, others avoided them entirely.

They reached the director's office.

He was waiting.

Sitting behind his desk, hands folded, that same knowing smile on his face. As if he had been expecting them.

"Detectives." His voice was smooth, almost amused. "I assume you're here for answers?"

Alex didn't waste time. He pulled out his gun and placed it on the desk. A warning.

"Where is he?"

The director tilted his head. "Who?"

"Cain." Emma's voice was sharp. "He's missing. We know you had something to do with it."

The director exhaled slowly, almost disappointed. "Still asking the wrong questions."

Alex's patience snapped. He grabbed the front of the director's shirt, yanking him forward. "I don't give a damn about your riddles. Start talking, or I'll make sure you never-"

"Alex."

Emma's voice was a warning.

The director didn't flinch. Instead, he chuckled. A quiet, unsettling sound.

"You misunderstand me, detective," he murmured. "I have no reason to hide the truth from you."

Alex let go but stayed close, watching him with cold eyes.

The director adjusted his tie, then leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk.

"The puzzle has left."

Silence.

Emma exchanged a glance with Alex. "What the hell does that mean?"

The director smiled. "Cain. You think he is just a boy, don't you? That he is merely another victim?"

Emma's stomach twisted. "Isn't he?"

The director's gaze was unreadable. "That depends. Do you believe in fate, Detective Lane?"

"Don't play with words." Alex's fingers twitched toward his gun again.

"I'm not." The director leaned back. "You're trying to fit Cain into your story, but he isn't part of your puzzle. He is the puzzle. You think you're investigating a mystery surrounding him, but the truth is, you are caught in his wake. You were always meant to be here. The Eye... The Angel... These are not symbols. They are not myths. They are watching. Waiting. Choosing."

Emma felt a chill crawl down her spine. "Choosing what?"

The director's eyes gleamed. "The ones who will survive."

The words hung in the air.

Alex's patience was razor-thin. "Enough of this cryptic shit. Where is Cain?"

The director exhaled. "Gone. But don't worry. He'll find you when it's time."

Alex's grip tightened on his gun.

Emma placed a hand on his wrist. A silent reminder to stay in control.

Before Alex could speak

The door opened.

They turned

And there she was.

The receptionist.

A calm, eerie expression.

A gun in her hands.

An AK-47.

Then

Gunfire.

The director's smile didn't waver as bullets tore through him. His body jerked, blood splattering against the walls, but even as he collapsed, he was smiling.

Emma and Alex dove for cover as the receptionist turned the rifle toward them.

"Shit!" Alex hissed, pulling out his gun. His ears rang.

Emma steadied herself, breathing hard.

Alex fired first.

The bullet hit.

She staggered.

Then another.

Right to the chest.

She crumpled. Dead.

Silence.

Their breaths were heavy. The office was wrecked. The director was gone.

They rushed out.

And then-

A sound.

A beep.

They turned.

And there he was.

A little boy.

Standing in the hallway.

Small. Frail. An orphan.

He smiled.

"It said I'll descend to heaven where my parents are", he said.

Then-

Tic. Tic. Tic.

Alex's stomach dropped.

His voice was raw. "RUUUUUUN!"

Then-

Boom.

The explosion consumed everything..