Lighter And Cigarette

There was a soft knock on the door before a nurse in a crisp white uniform peeked inside.

"Excuse me," she said, gently but firmly."There's no smoking allowed in the hospital."

"Ah… yeah, yeah. Got it," came a half-hearted voice from the corner.

Billy slowly opened his eyes, his lids heavy like wet cloth.

The first thing he saw was an unfamiliar white ceiling and the sterile smell of disinfectant hanging in the air.

Definitely not Uncle David's house…

"A hospital?"

"You're awake, I see," the nurse said as she stepped inside, holding a medical chart in one hand.

"You're in pretty good shape—nothing to worry about. Just a few bruises on your neck. One more night and you're good to go."

Billy nodded faintly. She smiled and turned to leave the room.

But then—

A man stepped in, quiet as a shadow.

Gray suit, white shirt with the top two buttons undone, a vintage watch on his wrist, and a long trench coat straight out of a noir film.

He stopped at the foot of the bed. A faint, lazy smile tugged at his lips.

"Hey, kid," he said, voice casual with a hint of mischief.

"You're Silas 'Bill' Granger, right?"

"…Yeah," Billy replied, his voice barely audible.

"Name's Ethan Freeman.Private investigator."

"I'm looking into the missing persons case out in Blackwell."

"And, well—turns out someone saw you and your two little friends hanging around near the area where the sixth victim went missing…"

He spun an unlit cigarette between his fingers as he spoke.

"I went to your house first…"

"And let's just say… what I saw there explained a whole lot."

"I'm sorry about your mom, Silas."

"The local police are still trying to find your father."

"Then I followed the trail… ended up at your uncle's house that night."

"When I got there… I couldn't tell if that thing on the floor was a person or just a rug soaked in blood."

Ethan leaned back against the side of the bed.

"Looks like you went through hell, kid."

"You looked like a tomato under a semi-truck."

"As for your uncle… if he's still alive, I bet he feels more like dog food than a man."

"Sorry if that sounds disrespectful to the dead… but let's be honest—he did things so vile even his own nephew couldn't stomach him."

Ethan let out a soft sigh, then his tone grew more serious.

"I already sent everything to the sheriff and local PD—photos, documents, the basement… which, honestly, I'd rather not talk about."

"Lucky for you, Silas, you're not in trouble."

"You just need to give a statement."

"But that's not why I'm here."

He stepped a bit closer, face tightening.

Then he sat in the chair beside the bed—uninvited.

"I'm here… because I need to know what you saw that night."

"All of it. Just tell me straight. I'm a good listener."

So Billy told him.

He told him about the man in nothing but an apron.About the sixth victim—her condition, her eyes.About the direction the killer took.

Ethan's expression shifted as he listened, his fingers twitching faintly.

"Thank you, Silas," he said at last.

He slid his notebook back into his coat and rose from the chair.

"You've given me everything I needed."

He nodded once in gratitude.

"It's going to help a lot."

Billy gave a slow nod in return.

"As for where you'll stay after you're discharged…"Ethan tilted his head slightly, studying the boy.

"I think it's best if you come stay with me for a while. Safer that way. You'll be under watch, too."

"Don't worry. I've got spare rooms. None of them have hidden panels."

Billy furrowed his brow slightly, unsure.He was still exhausted and didn't fully trust anyone, but somehow… he could tell this man wasn't like Uncle David.

Ethan's voice was calm. Respectful. Honest.No traces of manipulation. No hunger beneath the words.

There was a bit of dry wit, sure—but it felt… safe.Something Billy hadn't felt in a long time.

Then suddenly—loud footsteps thudded down the hallway outside the room.

The door burst open.

"Billy!"

Jenna's voice came first.

Miles followed right behind her, panting, his forehead slick with sweat.

They rushed in like kids finding their lost friend at an amusement park.

"Jesus—you're still alive!" Miles gasped.

"I didn't think all of this would happen so fast. I should've dragged you to my place that night."

"Damn it—I thought that psycho uncle of yours would've done something… horrible!"

Jenna blurted, sinking to the floor beside the bed.

Her eyes were filled with relief, like a weight had finally lifted.

"I'm sorry, Billy… I'm sorry you had to go through that alone."

She gripped his hand tightly.

Seeing them made Billy feel—if only for a moment—like things might be okay.

"It's not your fault," he said, voice hoarse.

Miles stared at him in silence for a second before flopping down onto the room's small couch.

"Well, you look… slightly better than I expected," he muttered.

"Better than being a corpse," Billy replied with a faint smile.

Ethan leaned against the wall, watching the three of them quietly.

"You've got good friends, Silas," he said.

Jenna turned to look at him. "Who are you?"

"Ethan Freeman," he said with a polite smile."Private inves—"

"Yeah, yeah, we get it," Jenna interrupted, her tone sharp as usual."With that outfit? You practically scream 'detective,' old man."

Ethan flushed a little but kept his cool.

Miles squinted at him. "So you're the one who helped Billy?"

Ethan shrugged. "Not exactly. He helped himself."

"But right now, he needs to stay somewhere safe—with someone he can trust."

"I'm offering my place. Of course—unless you two object."

Jenna and Miles looked at each other.

"You sure about this… Billy?" Miles whispered in his ear, voice low and tense.

"You're not gonna get screwed over again, right?"

Billy gave a weak smile.

"I think I can trust him.""He's not like Uncle David… The vibe is completely different."

"And… he saved me."

"If he wanted to hurt me, I wouldn't be lying in this hospital bed."

He paused, then added with a soft chuckle,"His scent's all tobacco and cheap aftershave—not some pretentious cologne."

Jenna and Miles exchanged a glance. Then, in unison:

"If that's the case…"

"We're coming to visit every day," Jenna said.

"Yeah. You're not getting rid of your loser friends that easily," Miles added, trying to sound serious—but the smirk betrayed him.

Billy nodded once more.

For the first time in days… the world didn't feel so cold.

"I'll come pick you up tomorrow, Mr. Granger," Ethan said, tipping his fedora before stepping out.

As he walked down the hall, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an old photo.

It was a picture of a teenage boy—about Billy's age.Bright smile, holding a small birthday cake.

Ethan stared at it for a moment, his voice low as he spoke into the past.

"Wait for me, Tommy."

He stepped out into the misty air still heavy with last night's rain.Lit a cigarette. Took a long drag.

His eyes fixed on the road ahead, thoughts rearranging themselves.

"The first victim… vanished two months ago."

"Second and third… disappeared together. Mid last month."

"Fourth… late in the month. Week three."

"Fifth—just last Friday."

"And the sixth… early yesterday morning."

He counted beats in his head.

Pulled out a battered notebook.

"Victim ages range from fourteen to twenty…"

"No known connection between them."

"And… all of them vanished on a Thursday, Friday, or Saturday night."

"The intervals are getting shorter…"

He clenched his jaw.

"No signs left behind—except… pieces."

"Why leave anything at all?"

He picked up a second cigarette, stared at it—but didn't light it.

"Was it rage… or something else?"

"Whatever it is, we don't have enough yet."

He packed up his things and walked slowly to the car.

"If Silas was right… the killer's still hunting."

"And that means—victim number seven is coming."

"Soon."

"I'll check the forest tomorrow…"

Ethan sighed. Beneath the brim of his hat, his eyes were tired and heavy with worry.

"It's been almost three weeks…"

He murmured to himself as he looked again at the photo—the corners worn from being handled too many times.

"But this time… I've got a lead."

"Hang on a little longer, kid."

He started the car. The engine coughed to life, tires crunching over gravel.

Today, he had a new target.

Victims two and three. Twins—Kyle and Cole Ramsey.Fifteen. Same age as Tommy when he disappeared.

Their home was in a gated community on the outskirts—electric fences, security booths, fake smiles from the "community manager."

A suburban dreamland for middle-class families afraid of the outside world.

…The world they feared.But the one that took their children—came from inside.

And how long had it been since he left the force?

Three months? Maybe longer.

Since the day he laid down his badge. His gun. Everything.

And chose to chase one case.

A case no one wanted.A case no one reported.

Tommy's case.

A boy who used to laugh every morning.Who used to ask, "When will you be home?"Who once wrote a Father's Day card in smudged black ink.

If only I'd come home ten minutes earlier that night…

Maybe he'd be sitting in this car with me.

"Christ… I really fucked up…"

His fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter.His reflection in the rearview mirror looked hollow—like someone who hadn't had a dream that wasn't a nightmare in months.

...

Soon, the car reached the gate of the housing estate.

A surveillance camera scanned his plates. A voice crackled through the speaker.

"May I ask your business here?"

Ethan pressed the call button.

"Ethan Freeman. Private investigator. I have an appointment with the twins' mother."

Less than thirty seconds later, the gate slid open.

He drove in slowly, cautious.

Each house looked frozen in time.Manicured lawns. Locked front doors. Curtains drawn tight.

No voices. No children. Not even a barking dog.

Every passerby kept their heads down.No eye contact.

No smiles.

House No. 34/5. Pale cream paint.Flawless grass.

A ceramic boy statue holding a "Welcome" sign out front.

Ethan cut the engine and looked toward the house.

At the second-story window, something shifted behind the curtain.

The fabric parted just slightly—And he saw them.

A pair of eyes.

A woman staring straight at him.

Unblinking.

Expressionless.

Motionless.

He stared back for a moment, then stepped out of the car and approached the house.

...

He rang the doorbell.

There was silence for a moment.

Then—slow, dragging footsteps behind the door.

Like whoever was inside was reluctant to reach it.

Locks clicked, one by one, before the door creaked open.

A woman in her mid-forties stood there. Her face still youthful—but pale.

Her eyes were bloodshot. She'd clearly been crying for days.

Dark bags hung under her eyes like bruises.

Her hand on the door trembled faintly.

"You… you're Mr. Freeman?"

Ethan took off his hat and nodded politely.

"Yes, ma'am. Thank you for seeing me. And… I'm very sorry for your loss."

She didn't respond. Just stepped aside in silence.

He entered the house.

The Ramsey living room was neat, almost staged.

An antique wall clock ticked out of sync.

Velvet chairs. A modern coffee table.Everything pristine—like a model home.

But at the dining table… three place settings.

For someone who now lived alone.

"Please… have a seat," she said quietly.

Ethan sat down, notebook still in hand.

She took the seat across from him—just a table between them.

"Thank you, Mrs. Ramsey. I know this must be difficult… talking about it again."

She nodded slowly.

"It is… but I don't want anyone else to disappear."

She smiled—A smile that made Ethan's throat go dry.

"Did anything unusual happen that day? The day they vanished?"

She lowered her gaze.

"They went cycling after breakfast. Like every day."

"I saw them through the kitchen window… until they turned the corner."

She paused—like filtering her words.

"Everything seemed… normal. Didn't it?"

Ethan nodded.

"Then… I heard something."

"A screech. Like tires skidding."

"I thought maybe the bike broke, or a tire popped. So I went outside."

"But when I got there… they were gone."

"And so was the sound."

She said "the sound" with weight. Like it meant more.

"No bike chains. No footsteps. No calls for help. Just… gone."

...

Ethan studied her again, his eyes narrowing.

"Mrs. Ramsey… forgive me. But are you certain no one entered the house? No strange noises?"

She shook her head slowly.

"Everything was quiet. Maybe… too quiet."

Too quiet.

He jotted that down.

"Your husband… is he around?" Ethan asked gently.

She looked at him, gaze steady.

"My husband passed away two years ago."

"That must've been hard…"

"The first few months, yes," she said, with a faint smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.

"But I managed."

Ethan nodded. Then she spoke again—her voice… subtly different.

"Mr. Freeman…"

"Yes?"

"When my husband died, I still had my boys."

"But now… they're gone too. And I'm all that's left."

"You don't know what it feels like to eat alone at every meal…"

She paused.

Her eyes met his.

There was more than grief in that stare.There was a plea.

"When I was a little girl… I was never alone."

"And it made me… needy, I guess."

"My husband used to say that, too."

"When I was sad, he'd be there. He'd hold me. He'd comfort me."

"But now, there's no one left to do that."

"…"

"I'm lonely, Mr. Freeman," she whispered.

"…Could you stay and… comfort me?"