All I could hear… was my mother's heartbeat.
It pounded in my ears—louder than the thunder that tore through the silence of the night.
I buried my face in her chest, pressing myself against her so tightly I could barely breathe, refusing to let go.
Her arms wrapped around me with desperate force… as if she was trying to melt me into her.
That night, the rain was no blessing.
It wasn't the gentle lullaby I used to hear from my bedroom window…
Her body trembled.
And I trembled with her.
We were shaking—from the cold… and from fear.
The man was still standing over us.
Not coming closer…
Not leaving either.
Just a heavy shadow that refused to disappear.
With every flash of lightning, the world was revealed for a split second—
but I didn't need the light to see his face.
It had already carved itself into me that night.
I see it every time I close my eyes.
I still see it… even now.
I gasped, sobbing, trying to lift my head—
but she pressed me tighter against her chest.
Then I heard her voice.
Gentle… broken.
"I gave you the money… please… just let us go."
He didn't answer.
But the sound of a gun being loaded did.
His footsteps weren't rushed.
They were slow… deliberate.
As if he was enjoying this.
Enjoying our fear.
He stopped right above us.
Then he spoke—calmly.
No anger in his voice.
It sounded less like a threat…
and more like a verdict being delivered.
"The money you paid is enough to buy your son's freedom."
A brief pause.
Then, colder:
"But you didn't pay for your own life."
The air froze in my chest.
Her arms tightened around me even more—
until it almost hurt.
"Please… I brought everything you asked for… I didn't go to the police…" she whispered again, her voice collapsing under the weight of desperation.
He let out a hollow laugh—
as if he could taste our despair…
as if her pain amused him.
And before I could understand what was happening—
that cursed sound rang out.
I didn't hear the gunshot clearly.
Maybe the thunder struck at the same moment.
Maybe my heartbeat was louder than everything else.
But I felt her body jolt.
And then…
weight.
A weight I had never known before.
Her heartbeat—
the one that filled my ears—
sped up.
stumbled.
faltered.
One beat.
Two.
…Nothing.
I waited for the next one.
It never came.
Something warm… thick… spread over me.
And I heard his footsteps fading away.
I finally lifted my head… when her arms loosened.
The world was silent.
The rain had stopped—
because my eyes had begun to pour instead.
Red became the color of my world.
---
I jolted awake in bed, drenched in sweat.
I took deep breaths, trying to steady the tremor running through me…
and started counting.
Seven… fourteen… twenty-eight… fifty-six… one-twelve… two-twenty-four…
My heart, which had nearly shattered my ribs, began to calm down…
but the pain in my soul hadn't eased in twenty years.
Since that night—
the night I lost my mother…
the night that became my recurring nightmare.
And yet… I don't mind it.
Because I still see her every night.
I can still smell her…
still feel her touch…
all over again.
---
I got out of bed and headed to the bathroom.
Without hesitation, I stepped under the cold water, scrubbing my skin harshly.
I tried to wash away the phantom blood somehow…
but I couldn't.
Hot water only reminded me of the warmth of her blood—
so I let the cold pour over me instead.
I was completely trapped inside my own head.
But people like me don't get the luxury of breaking down.
---
By the time I stepped out, morning had already come.
I got dressed and went downstairs to make coffee.
I had long since started running on autopilot… trying to think as little as possible.
But the ringing of my phone shattered the quiet.
"What?"
"Detective Clark, you're required at a meeting at eight sharp. Conference Room Nine."
"I'll be there."
I hung up slowly… but didn't move.
Morning meetings aren't urgent.
They don't happen exactly at eight.
And never in Room Nine.
I stared at my phone for a couple more seconds… then glanced at the lock screen again.
I hesitated.
I knew who I could ask about this meeting…
but decided it wasn't worth it.
It was strange… yes.
But not dangerous.
I took a sip of coffee—
it was more bitter than usual.
Maybe because of the meeting.
Maybe because of the nightmare still clinging to me.
Either way…
something tightened in my chest.
That old feeling.
The one that comes before bad news.
---
I put on my coat and left the apartment without finishing my coffee.
I drove through the city as it slowly came to life.
The noise of people gave me a strange sense of calm…
even though I never wanted to be part of it.
Like a music lover who hates standing among the orchestra.
The rain had stopped after doing its job—turning my morning into hell.
But the streets were still wet, reflecting the headlights like shattered glass.
I drove near the speed limit—like always.
But my mind wasn't on the road.
Room Nine.
It wasn't the main conference room.
Not an interrogation room.
Not for daily briefings.
It was the small one…
used only when a case couldn't leave those walls.
My grip tightened on the steering wheel without me noticing.
When was the last time I was called there?
…Two years ago?
And it had been years since I woke up with the smell of blood this strong.
So for the first time in a long while…
I let myself be pessimistic.
---
I parked and entered the building in long strides.
The lobby was quieter than it should've been.
Officers avoided looking at me.
One of them almost greeted me… then backed off.
Something had happened.
Something big.
I stopped in front of the elevator.
My reflection in the metal door stared back at me coldly.
"Relax… it's just another meeting."
My heart didn't believe me.
---
Fourth floor.
The hallway leading to Room Nine was completely empty.
The door was closed…
but light seeped from beneath it.
My steps slowed just before reaching it.
For some reason…
I felt like my life before opening that door
wouldn't be the same as after it.
I raised my hand… and knocked.
"Come in."
I pushed the door open slowly.
The first thing I noticed… was the silence.
Not the silence of an ordinary meeting room—
something heavier filled the air.
Two men.
And a woman.
The department head.
A man in a dark suit I didn't recognize.
A woman in her mid-twenties.
And a single file in the center of the table.
I closed the door behind me without being told.
"You're two minutes late, Clark," the chief said without looking at me.
"Traffic," I replied shortly, pulling a chair.
The stranger smiled.
He had been watching me since I entered—
a steady, cold gaze… measuring every reaction.
He pushed the file toward me with one finger.
"We need you on this case."
I didn't open it right away.
"Which department is handling it?"
The two men exchanged a glance.
Then the stranger said calmly:
"No department is."
The air froze for a moment.
I finally placed my hand on the file… and opened it.
The first page was a photograph of a body.
A woman lying on the floor of a luxury apartment.
No signs of forced entry.
No signs of struggle.
Just…
a hollow look of terror.
My fingers froze over the page.
"Cause of death?"
"Cardiac arrest," the chief answered.
A heart…?
I looked again.
Her eyes were wide open, staring at the ceiling—
and something about her expression was wrong.
Something that doesn't belong to a natural death.
I turned the page.
More photos.
More victims.
A man in his office.
A young man in the subway.
A woman outside a crowded restaurant.
Three cases.
Same terror.
Same emptiness in the eyes.
Same cause of death.
Cardiac arrest.
"Looks like a series of natural deaths," I said with faint sarcasm.
"It would be… if it stopped there," the stranger replied.
Then he slid the final photo toward me.
My breath caught.
Dark.
Rain.
Wet asphalt reflecting light.
A woman kneeling… holding a child.
I didn't feel the chair behind me as I leaned back.
The image was old. Blurry. From a surveillance camera.
But I didn't need clarity.
I knew the coat.
The angle.
The shadow standing in front of her.
And the date beneath the image.
Twenty years ago.
The stranger spoke calmly:
"We have strong evidence linking these incidents… to the murder of Eva Clark twenty years ago."
My heartbeat roared in my ears.
"Welcome back to your first case… Detective."