Reluctance hung heavy among them when it came to confining him to a cell, particularly in the wake of the recent arson incident nearby, the tragic loss of two police officers, and the three macabre crime scenes that demanded their immediate attention. The shortage of manpower further complicated matters, rendering constant monitoring an unattainable goal. Faced with these challenges, they chose to repurpose one of the basement rooms – a space both unobtrusive and sanitized. Stripping it of any potential threats, they provided a mattress for comfort and stocked it with his favored peanut butter chocolate bars and bottles of water. While far from an ideal solution, it stood as the most practical compromise available, short of transferring him to a secure mental health facility to address the situation more comprehensively.
In the preceding night, he found solace within the confines of the sealed basement. Attempts at dialogue had yielded no results, and exhaustion had ultimately claimed him. Currently, they allowed him to rest there for the remaining hour until the arrival of the transport summoned by Agent Morsov.
Detective Ilmar, haunted by the memories of recent tragedies, couldn't help but shudder as he uttered the names "Aisha" and "Nura". The impact of their loss became even more poignant when Agent Morsov presented him with photographs of the victims.
However, beyond these moments of painful recollection, his mind remained detached from his surroundings – indifferent to both the environment and the individuals present.
Utter powerlessness, both physical and mental, held him in its unrelenting grip. A sharp flinch ran through his shoulder, a visceral response to the overwhelming sense of despair.
"Monsters..." The word escaped his lips in a whisper, an anguished echo of the haunting thoughts of his wife and daughter. "Monsters..."
In the recesses of his mind, the figures of Sierra and Ramon flashed before him, their disdainful gazes from above etched in his memory. The moment of Agent Morsov pinning him to the table replayed vividly the woman whose malevolence, surpassing any he had encountered in his entire career. Then, the mental imagery swiftly shifted to the horrifying scenes of his wife and daughter's mutilated bodies.
A clenching of teeth and the onset of tears accompanied the surge of unbearable pain. His head and chest throbbed, the anguish reaching intolerable levels. The loss was not to be accepted, and the crushing realization of his inability to ensure the well-being of his loved ones fueled frustration.
'It's not right for my wife and daughter to endure torment and be slain,' he thought vehemently. 'It's not right for those who inflicted such cruelty to roam free, devoid of consequences!'
A surge of emotion overwhelmed him, and he bellowed in agony, slamming his fist against the floor. A jolting pain radiated through his right, now bandaged, hand, as if echoing the depths of his inner turmoil.
Detective Ilmar found himself incapable of remaining seated or lying still. The disturbing images had jolted him out of his stupor, and an undeniable restlessness now gripped him, though he felt confined. Even if he were to regain his freedom, the likelihood of Captain Galiger reinstating him seemed slim. And even in the hypothetical scenario where he resumed his duties, armed with all the resources of the 98th Precinct, how could he possibly uncover the perpetrators behind the heinous murders of his wife and daughter? What actions could he take, and would they make any difference?
A relentless headache and heartache dominated his thoughts and emotions. Despite the torment, he clung to the pain, embracing the hatred that consumed him from within. It was a destructive force, steadily eroding the essence of the man he once was. Yet, paradoxically, it fueled him – not necessarily for revenge, but to reclaim a semblance of vitality, to be more than a mere shell. Perhaps, deep down, there lingered a small, undefined aspiration: the pursuit of justice.
"EHUU!" he moaned, the escalating physical tension reflecting the intensity of his internal struggle. The dim light in the basement flickered ominously, casting shadows that mirrored the turmoil within him.
"ARGHH!" he squirmed in discomfort. Despite the alternative of resting, the prospect was less enticing. Like the previous night, only exhaustion seemed capable of reducing him to a zombie-like state, a temporary respite from the relentless torment of his thoughts.
The light flickered again, accompanied by a buzzing sound, yet he remained oblivious. It repeated for the third time, momentarily shutting off for two seconds, a detail that finally caught Detective Ilmar's attention before abruptly illuminating the space once more. The fluorescent lights, initially growing brighter, ceased functioning altogether.
Detective Ilmar, initially with tightly shut eyes, opened them to the darkness of the malfunctioning lights. He first registered the coldness in his breath and then, upon closer inspection, realized it wasn't a conventional darkness. The basement, rather than being pitch black, appeared as a murky gray. The outlines of the mattress, bars, and bottles were discernible, albeit faintly. Moreover, there was an additional presence in the room.
The Stranger stood, facing a corner, clad in black attire that Detective Ilmar couldn't quite distinguish. Recent experiences and his well-honed deductive abilities triggered survival instincts, prompting him to instinctively retreat.
'Evil!' his mind screamed in response to the ominous presence before him.
He wasn't a man of faith like his wife, but her fervent invocation echoed in the recesses of his mind. 'Ahdharuu alshara!' Beware of Evil! The Stranger stood with a slumped shoulder, its two pale hands jittering at its sides. Towering over him, its head nearly grazed the ceiling.
"Revenge," uttered an aged, slow voice. "Do. You. Want. Revenge?"
Detective Ilmar remained silent. The air hung heavy, more foreboding than even his darkest crime scenes, with one exception – he felt more lucid than he had ever been in his life.
'Do not answer! Do not answer!' Uncertain if this moment or the past few days were real, the impossible occurrences kept repeating, toying with him. It was the echoes of Aisha that he now sought for guidance.
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"Death," the Stranger spoke. "For. The. Murderers. Of. Your. Wife. Of. Your. Daughter. Do. You. Want. Revenge?"
Silence enveloped the room.
The Stranger's figure moved akin to the flickering fluorescent lights before they ceased to function. In a fraction of a second, it shifted left, still with its back to Detective Ilmar, and in the next fraction, it stood by the sprawled feet of the broken man.
Ripples of darkness emanated from the Stranger, captivating Detective Ilmar and engulfing his senses.
The surroundings shifted, transforming the gloomy basement into the apartment where he had found them. The only notable difference – his wife and daughter were alive.
Nura occupied the living room, paired with the malicious woman, while Aisha was in the kitchen with the brute. Despite their captivity, his loved ones held back tears as they followed the warnings to behave. They answered questions, enduring taunts for their captors' amusement. Once the interrogation concluded, the captors transformed into nightmarish monstrosities with canine heads that shattered the vision, plunging Detective Ilmar into maddening rage.
The Stranger stood before him, a silent witness to the torrent of emotions unleashed.
"Y- Y- Yes. Yes. YES!" Detective Ilmar's response echoed in the basement, and a piece of blank parchment fell to the floor – a Demonic Contract.
In blood-red, the sole color in the basement, words of power materialized on the parchment. A few concise sentences formed a seemingly straightforward contract.
"Nibelrous's Rabies" – the words reverberated in Detective Ilmar's mind, conjuring images of vast fields filled with the corpses of thousands of dead wolves.
In return for his "Complete Karma with Michael Mir".
"Sign."
…
3:00, Saturday morning.
The dew-laden air breathed new life into her aging lungs, a sensation she relished. Each breath seemed to be filled with a revitalizing energy. The gentle patter of dewdrops on her habit brought her an odd satisfaction, deepening the purple hue and causing the white fabric to shimmer.
Her journey hadn't taken her far. The convent lay just two turns around a corner, no more than three hundred meters distant. Yet, distances are subjective, and her usual perambulations through alleyways and streets seldom extended beyond a hundred meters.
"Oh, dear..." She came to a sudden halt, finally realizing the singularity of her chosen path on this particular day. From a pocket concealed within her garment, she withdrew a small flip phone, pressed "0," and dialed.
"Everything is fine. Please send two Daughters to my location, strong ones."
"Yes, Mother Superior," a calm female voice responded from the other end.
Mother Superior ended the call, bending to brush the wet hair from MK's face.
"Don't worry, dear. Soon everything will be okay."
...
Within the chamber, illuminated by electrical lamps, there was enough space for a solitary bed and a modest smell cabinet.
Awakening in the chamber, she found herself clad in a serene purple nightgown, a sense of tranquility enveloping her as she lay on the warm bed. As her eyes sharpened, her mind initially remained a blank canvas, then gradually shifted to confusion, eventually giving way to a burgeoning hunger. The gnawing emptiness squeezed at her stomach, leaving a bitter taste in her mouth. When she mustered the strength to raise her chest into a sitting position, the specifics of her location and identity held little interest; her sole focus was on the intense craving for sustenance.
As she stood, the door to the chamber swung open, revealing a young nun carrying a tray laden with red, lumpy stew. The sweet aroma of the dish further weakened her already unsteady legs, causing her to sink back onto the bed. In her hunger-induced haze, she paid no mind to how the young nun knew to arrive promptly upon her awakening.
'Maybe there are cameras in the room?' The thought crossed her mind, and she remained oblivious to it, as if someone else inside her head had spoken. Her anticipation heightened, and any consideration of the nun, the room, or other unanswered questions dissipated the moment the tray landed on her legs.
She grasped the wooden spoon and meticulously devoured the first mouthful. The stew and its assorted chunks slid down into her stomach, offering no perceptible relief to its emptiness.
Another spoonful followed, then a slurp with the third, and by the fourth, she found herself holding the bowl to her wide-open mouth, swiftly finishing its contents in two enthusiastic gulps.
"Would you like more?" The young nun tried to hide her distress, witnessing the peculiar sight of MK eating.
"More?" Confused, MK's voice asked inaudibly. The only indication the young nun had that she said something was the movement of her lips. 'The sweet scent, I can still smell plenty of it,' she thought.
Setting aside the bowl, MK stood up, coming eye to eye with the young woman and stepping closer. "Yes. I want more," she requested with both longing and innocence in her voice.
"It'll soon be dinnertime," something in the way MK looked at her made the young nun retreat as she approached. "Mother Superior said it'd be fine to go to the kitchen if one bowl won't satisfy you. Come with me," she hastily left the room.
The young nun led MK with a forced smile and strides that gave the impression she was attempting to get rid of a stalker. She wasn't sure why the new girl made her feel eerie, and she didn’t dwell on it. Completing her task was more important, and in her year's time in the convent, she came to learn that eeriness is part of the ambiance.
In their wake, the growls of MK's stomach reverberated through the hallways. She felt a pang of hunger, much like the sensation that had gripped her before she finished the stew. A wave of pain prompted her to rub her abdomen, which had started agitating as soon as she left the chamber.
"Sister Nina," greeted an older nun as they entered the kitchen. "You brought an inappropriately dressed, barefoot sick girl to my kitchen?"
"Aunt Bee," Sister Nina, the young nun, halted mid-sentence, turning around in perplexity and dropping her gaze. "Where are your shoes?" The realization struck her that her unease had caused her to overlook MK's appearance, but admitting it seemed too embarrassing. "What happened to you?" she inquired further, noting MK's pale countenance.
The entrance to the kitchen felt like a whirlwind. More sweet scents intensified MK's hunger, yet by the end of their short walk to the kitchen, instead of seeking satiation, her stomach had bloated, threatening to explode.
"I," MK began, but a jet of red and black sludge escaped from her mouth.
Poor Sister Nina stood directly in the trajectory of the jet with nowhere to dodge. Quick-witted Aunt Bee slammed the kitchen door behind her, getting sprayed by the sludge that splattered from Sister Nina after she slipped on the ground.
For a full five seconds, MK unleashed what seemed to be her body weight in sludge. When all that was left drizzled from her chin, she collapsed on her knees and slumped face down into a puddle of sludge.
The kitchen door creaked open, and Aunt Bee peered out. Sister Nina, still visibly shaken, remained seated on the floor, unable to communicate. The new girl Mother Superior had picked up was now unconscious, again.
Aunt Bee sighed and called into her kitchen. "Someone get here with a bucket and a mop."
...
"I didn't expect you to be a more challenging case than the rest of the strays I've found over the years. You're still not the worst of them. I'd not like to scare you with those stories, though. Once you're well, you can inquire about others on your own."
Mother Superior settled beside the bed where MK lay.
"Hungry..." MK rose, sniffing at the lingering sweet scent in the air. It wasn't as inviting as before, but, as she kept repeating, hunger took precedence, and she wasn't feeling picky.
"Yes... you murmured it when I found you and on the way to the convent. It seems to be the only thing on your mind. Regrettably, you don't react well to our dietary restrictions."
MK paid scant attention to Mother Superior's words. Slowly, she extended her arm towards her. In contrast to Sister Nina, Mother Superior took MK's hand.
"What an odd creature you are, dear. If not the flesh of the dead, would you respond better to eating the flesh of the living?"