Chapter - 2: Echoes of the missing

Chapter - 2

The night was thick with silence, save for the distant hoots of an owl and the gentle lapping of the lake's water. The moon cast a silver glow over the park, creating an eerie yet beautiful contrast between the darkness and the light. The air was damp, carrying the scent of wet soil and fallen leaves.

A lone girl drove along the winding road in her sleek, black luxury car, her delicate fingers effortlessly gripping the steering wheel. The soft glow of the dashboard lights illuminated her flawless skin, enhancing the sharp contours of her face.

Her long, wavy hair cascaded over her shoulders, shimmering under the city lights. Dressed in an elegant designer outfit, paired with diamond-studded earrings and a subtle yet striking makeup look, she exuded effortless wealth and sophistication.

As she pulled over and stepped out, her heels clicked against the pavement, her movements graceful and poised. The cool breeze played with a silk scarf draped over her arm as she walked, her confident strides showcasing a presence that turned heads. With every step, she radiates an aura of privilege and power, a woman accustomed to luxury yet lost in her own thoughts.

As she reached the lake's edge, something caught her eye— a dark figure lying motionless near the water. Her breath hitched, and her heartbeat quickened.

Cautiously, she stepped closer, her shoes sinking slightly into the damp earth. As she got a better look, she gasped. A man––bruised, bloodied, barely breathing. His clothes were torn, and his body was covered in wounds as if he had barely survived the attack. Panic surged through her veins, but so did determination.

"Shit.." she muttered, glancing around.

Her hands moved swiftly, searching his pockets. No wallet, no phone, no ID—just emptiness. His damp, slightly torn clothes offered no clues. She hesitated, then looked behind him, but found nothing, her heart pounding seeing his blood stained clothes.

"Who is he? And why would someone do this to him?" she muttered to herself as she looked at the man.

"You better thank your stars that you met me and not your maker," The girl sighed as she tried to hoist him up, "I can't leave you here."

Summoning all her strength, she carefully lifted him, struggling under his weight. It took all her might to drag him to the road. Her breath came in ragged gasps, her muscles burning with effort. She knew she had no choice—she had to take him to the hospital.

Her car was parked a few feet away. With trembling hands, she yanked the door open and turned back to him. She hooked her arms under his shoulders, but his weight pulled her down, nearly knocking her off balance. Gritting her teeth, she shifted, trying to push him onto the seat.

Her designer dress clung to her, dirt smudging the fabric as she braced herself and heaved again. His legs still dangled outside, uncooperative. With one last desperate effort, she grasped his shirt and pulled him fully inside, panting as she slammed the door shut.

Heart racing, breathing heavily, she climbed into the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel as she glanced at him before speeding towards the hospital.

—

A fist slammed onto a wooden desk, sending a wine glass crashing to the floor. The man stood rigid, his muscles tense with frustration. The dimly lit room reeked of cigar smoke and spilled liquor. His men stood at a distance, too afraid to speak unless spoken to.

"So, what's the news?," A man asked, his sharp gaze sweeping over the room. He leaned back, exuding authority, then scoffed, his voice dripping with contempt, "Anything you dimwits have for me? Or am I once again surrounded by incompetence?" His tone was cold, demanding nothing but results.

"We didn't find anything yet, Sir," the leader of the men said with a shaking voice.

"What the fuck do you mean there's no information?" The man growled, his dark eyes flashing with rage.

"Sir.. we searched everywhere, and our men are still searching, We have only clues and nothing else. No one knows where could he have had gone into hiding," one of his men responded hesitantly.

Mr. Khan clenched his jaw, breathing heavily through his nose. Then, his lip curled into a Sinister smile. "If there is no sign of him, then we'll just have to check another source.

His gaze flickered towards the locked room at the far end of the hall. A wicked smirk played on his lips as he made his way towards it. His footsteps echoed ominously as he unlocked the heavy door and stepped inside.

The dimly lit room smelled of damp wood and blood. The girl sat bound to a chair, her wrists raw from struggling against the ropes. Her face was marked with bruises, her hand and lower lip split. She had been here for what felt like an eternity, tormented with questions she didn't have answers to.

Suddenly, cold water splashed across her face, shocking her awake. She gasped, blinking rapidly. Her vision cleared, and she met the cruel gaze of the men standing before her.

She tilted her head back, looking at the man with a mocking smirk. "So, you still haven't found him, huh?" She taunted. "Pathetic."

The man's face twisted in rage. Without hesitation, he grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her head back violently. "Where the fuck is he?" He growled, his breath reeking of whiskey and cigar smoke.

She winced but refused to show weakness. "I. Don't. Know," she spat, her tone dripping with defiance.

He let out a harsh laugh, shaking his head. "You really think this is a fucking game?" He stepped away, running a hand through his thick beard before his eyes landed on a wooden stick resting against the chair. He grabbed it, tapping it against his palm as he turned back to her. "I thought you'd be smart and cooperative, but I guess I overestimated you. Now you're gonna talk, one way or another."

His gaze lingered on her face, cold and calculating, before trailing downward with unsettling slowness. A smirk tugged at his lips, dark amusement flickering in his eyes.

Her pulse quickened. She followed his gaze, dread pooling in her stomach.

"No..no Ibrahim, don't..," she gasped, shaking her head violently. But his smirk only deepened, his intent crystal clear. Her pulse pounded in her ears—as she realized his intentions.

His lips curled into a wicked grin. " Oh, so now you're begging? That's fucking rich." He pointed the stick towards her stomach, pressing the tip just enough for her to feel it. "Tell me where the bastard is, or I'll make sure you regret playing this stupid game with me."

Tears welled up in her eyes, but she gritted her teeth. "I swear, I don't know anything," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Ibrahim rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Lying bitch." He tightened his grip on the stick and raised it high, ready to strike—

"Sir, we have a news,"

Ibrahim's eyes darkened. Whoever had just spoken had better have a damn good reason for interrupting him.

Just then, another man entered the room. He leaned in and whispered something in Ibrahim's ear.

A slow grin spread across Ibrahim's face. He threw the stick and knelt in front of her, brushing her hair. "Well, well… looks like your precious love had a little accident. Fell right into the river, and no one's seen him since."

The girl's breath hitched. Her chest tightened as a tear escaped down her cheek.

Ibrahim wiped it away with a finger, chuckling darkly. "He's gone, baby girl. You should be happy. You're free now."

She shook her head violently, her entire body trembling. "No," she spat. "He will come back and kill you, you bastard."

Ibrahim let out a cruel laugh. "Oh, my dear Bella… so fucking naive. Your lover boy is gone, maybe he became fish food."

Bella's blood boiled. She tried to lunge at him, but he held her back. Her breathing was ragged, her rage uncontainable.

Ibrahim stood up, stretching lazily. "I'll be seeing you around, sweetheart. Enjoy your freedom."

He turned to his men. "Keep an eye on her. And if she tries anything… break her."

—

The bright red EMERGENCY sign glowed above the entrance, its bright light cutting through the darkness.

Harsh fluorescent lights cast a sterile glow over the hospital's pristine white walls. Machines hummed steadily, occasionally interrupted by the distant chutter of nurses. The scent of antiseptic lingered, mingling with the faint aroma of fresh lines. Monitors beeped rhythmically, their screens displaying the vitals.

Suddenly a grown filled in the room and a man stirred, his body aching as though he had been through hell and barely crawled back.

Slowly opening his eyes, the man tried to wake up. His vision blurred, and as he blinked several times, his eyes focused on a figure sitting beside him. A woman–no, a breathtakingly beautiful woman.

Her long, dark hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes held a depth that made his head spin.

The man swallowed, trying to process where the hell he was.

"Who…who are you?" His voice was rough and barely heard.

The woman sat up straight, concerned, flickering in her eyes. "You're awake."

His muscles tensed, an unknown fear crawling up his spine. "Where am I ?"

"In a hospital," she answered, her voice gentle but firm. "I found you near a lake. You were injured—badly."

The man tried to recall something—anything. But his mind was blank, a dark void where his memories should have been. Frustration surged through his veins. "I don't remember anything."

She sighed. "You lost a lot of blood. The doctor said memory loss is possible."

But before the man could say more, a sharp pain shot through his skull, and he groaned, gripping his head. The woman instinctively reached out but hesitated as if unsure whether he would welcome her touch.

"You need to rest," she said softly, her voice carrying both concern and something else—something he couldn't quite place. "I will tell you everything… at last."

Her words hung in the air like a whisper of a secret just out of reach.

His brows furrowed, his mind a foggy mess of confusion. "Who are you?" He managed, his throat dry.

She only smiled—a slow, knowing smile that sent a chill down his spine. " Sleep now. You'll know soon enough."

He wanted to protest, but the pain throbbed persistently in his skull, pulling him towards unconsciousness. His eyelids grew heavy, and despite his unease, he succumbed to the darkness.

The woman watched him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. She stood up and turned towards the door, she glanced back, her gaze lingering on his sleeping form. A strange smirk curled her lips before she finally stepped out.

Her heels clicked softly against the sterile hospital floor as she made her way toward the doctor's cabin. She entered the cabin with calm confidence.

" How is he?" She asked.

The doctor adjusted his glasses. " He's stable for now. But he needs rest. His condition—"

" I want him discharged," she interrupted, her voice firm but still sweet enough.

The doctor frowned. "That's not advisable. He suffered significant head trauma. He needs monitoring—"

"I'll take care of him at home."

There was an eerie certainty in her voice, an authority that made the doctor pause.

He glanced at her, " you understand the risks?" He asked carefully.

A slow nod. "Yes. I will make sure he gets everything he needs. I'll pay for everything too. No need to worry about the hospital bills."

The doctor hesitated, but money always spoke louder than caution. After a brief moment, he exhaled. "I'll arrange for the discharge papers."

"Good."

As she walked away, the smirk returned to her lips. Her fingers traced the edges of her coat pocket. She glanced at the room one last time before disappearing into the hallway.

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