"Okay, here we are," Lucas said, pulling the car to a stop.

  Frank looked out the window. The neon sign buzzed in the damp air: ATHENA'S. "You're serious?" Frank sighed, rubbing his temples. "A strip club?"

  "This is the place the murder happened," Ben said, handing Frank the file from the backseat. "Victim was Wilson John. Regular customer. Came with his friend, David Becker."

  Frank took the file without looking at it. He opened the door and stepped out into the night air.

  "The bass thumped against Frank's ribs, but he didn't blink. A drunk patron lunged; Frank side-stepped him without breaking stride."

  "Where are they?" Frank asked.

  "Room 3," Ben said.

  Frank walked to Room 3 and pushed the door open.

  It was a grim scene. Sandra, the stripper, was huddled under a blanket on a small sofa, crying. On the other chair sat Sandy, the rookie cop... also crying.

  "Hey, Sandy," Frank said, his voice cutting through the sobs. "Get out of the room. Let me do the interrogation."

  Sandy looked up, her eyes red and swollen. "Frank... I can't. I just saw the photos. How can humans do that to each other?"

  Frank looked at her, unimpressed. "Hey, Sandy. If you didn't know that before you became an investigator, then go home, Sandy. Go play house. This job eats people like you."

  Sandy gathered her things, sniffing, and hurried out. Frank sat down in the empty chair, facing the stripper. He took a smoke from his pack and lit it.

  "Okay. Now that we are all alone. Let's talk. What happened? Tell me everything."

  Sandra looked at Frank. He was a young man, maybe 28, with nice hair. But his eyes... They were hollow. "I was doing my job," she whispered, trembling. "Wilson came... he threw money at me... and then..." She started crying again.

  "You can keep crying," Frank said, his voice flat. "I don't care. Just talk while you do it."

  Sandy flinched. She stared at him, her mouth slightly open, unable to process the lack of empathy. But then she saw the look in his eyes again.

  "I kept doing my job," she stammered. "Until he told me that he wants me to go with him to his home. But... just as I blinked... there wasn't Wilson. There was a corpse. With its eyes gone. And his forearms... gone. All of them. I screamed and ran."

  Frank processed this. Eyes. Forearms. Instantaneous death. "Okay," Frank said, standing up. "That's very interesting. Anyway. Thanks, Sandra.”

  He stopped before opening the door “Forget what you saw." He sighed.” It’s easier that way.”

  He walked out.

  Ben and Lucas were waiting at the bar. Sandy was there, wiping her eyes, still upset. "But he doesn't have feelings, Lucas!" Sandy was saying. "He told me to go play house. What type of human is that?"

  "That 'type of human' is what gets the job done," Frank said, appearing behind them like a ghost. "And like I said, Sandy, if this type of work isn't for you, then go play with a doll.

  Sandy turned to him, breathless for a moment, her anger overriding her fear. "No. You don't tell me what to do," she said, her voice shaking. "I'm not the insane one, Frank. You are. You're the inhuman one. I've never seen you laugh, or cry, or smile. You're just... nothing."

  Frank was quiet for a second. He almost smiled. "You're right," he said, his voice flat. "I am nothing. Or in other words, I'm a void. So don't look too much into it, Sandy, or it will suck you in."

  Sandy felt her words catch in her throat. She felt like—

  "Anyway," Frank said, turning away from her. "We don't have time for your feelings. Ben, what did you do? Did you review the cameras?"

  "Yes," Ben said.

  "Then let's go see them."

  They went into the security room. Frank scanned it with his eyes and found the security guard, standing like a lost kid in an amusement park. "Ben, did you interrogate him?"

  "Yes," Ben said. "He doesn't know much. He saw the footage and... he's broken. He told me, 'I can't get it out of my head. His face is what I see in my sleep. I just can't.' "

  Frank walked to the office chair and sat. He got out a smoke, but as he went to light it, Sandy grabbed his hand. "I don't like smoke." "And why should I care?"

  "Because I'm a fellow cop," she said, her voice firm. "And I can point out evidence that you might not see. But if you smoke, I won't be able to focus."

  Frank stared at her for a long second, then sighed, putting the cigarette away. "Fine."

  He pressed the play button. Most of them had already seen the photos of the victim. The video was ten times worse. The sound, the action... the pictures were a flower compared to the cemetery of the video. Everyone looked shocked. Tears grew in their eyes.

  Frank didn't blink. His eyes were dissecting the pixels, hunting for a shadow. He rewound the footage and played it again. And again. A little sob escaped Sandy.

  Frank's hand slammed the pause button. He didn't look at her. He just spoke, his voice dead. "Get out."

  "What?" Sandy whispered.

  Frank turned his head, his eyes which seemed all black was locked on her. "If you can't stop yourself from making sounds, then GET. OUT."

  "Hey Frank, calm down, bro," Lucas said, putting a hand up. "The video is harsh on us, so what do you think it is for her?"

  "Then you get out too, Lucas." Frank turned back to the computer screen. He hit play. He hit rewind. He hit play again. And then he froze the frame.

  "There it is." Everyone leaned in. "The hand," Frank said, pointing. "Just as I suspected. It came out of nowhere." He zoomed in, but the image dissolved into pixels. "This is a low-quality video. I can't get more evidence from it. Let's go. We're done here."

  "What next?" Ben said, his eyes on Frank as they walked to the car. "Where is the body?" "Currently in the morgue." "What does the report say?"

  Ben exhaled. "Not much. Multiple injuries. Lost a lot of blood. His eyes... his eyes were in his stomach, h-"

  "His eyes were in his stomach. Were they eaten, digested, or pushed?" Frank cut him off.

  "Most likely pushed. We found significant injuries in his esophagus." Lucas chimed in.

  Frank was quiet for a second. "What's the cause of death?"

  "Well," Ben said, "that's the confusing part. He died of starvation."

  Frank looked up. "Ben, are you sure?"

  "Yes."

  "Then I need to see the body with my own eyes. Let's go to the morgue."

  They drove to the morgue. When they got there, they found the victim's family waiting to take the body. "Hello," Frank said, walking up to the front desk. He flashed his badge “homicide of Wilson john.”

  The doctor looked up. "That will be difficult, Investigator. As you can see, we're releasing him to his family for the buri-"

  Frank didn't wait. He walked straight past the front desk, toward the crying family. He walked right past them to the father. "Mister John?"

  The man looked up, his eyes red. "Yes?"

  "Can you delay the burial for one hour?"

  "What? No! Who are you!?"

  Frank flashed the badge.

  The father's expression turned from grief to disgust. "They said you weren't coming. They said you were... wasted. Wasted to the point you couldn't even tell your own name."

  "They say what they say," Frank said, his voice flat. "I don't care. Look, Mister John. You can bury your son now, but we will never find the murderer. You will never get justice. Or, you can delay the burial for one hour, and I will find the man who did this."

  The father stared at him. "You... you didn't give me a choice." He nodded, defeated. "Okay. One hour, Investigator. But you get me the murderer of my son." "And that," Frank said, "I can guarantee."

  They walked into the room. The four of them.

  But for Frank, there was a fifth.

  The world dissolved. The lights were on, but the room went dark.

  "You don't like darkness, do you, father?"

  He saw her, just as he always did with yellow dress the same, she wore when he last saw her. But the darkness made the yellow nothing that could show happiness it showed death or it showed the void.

  "No," Frank whispered, "I never liked darkness. But now... maybe I became the darkness."

  "Why did you leave me, father? You didn't care about me."

  "No."

  "It was all your fault."

  "And why should I care, Lucy?" Frank's voice was a low snarl. The same one he'd used on Sandy. "Should I be scared? Should I be begging for you to forgive me?"

  His hands clenched.

  "GET. OUT."

  "...Frank?"

  He blinked. The darkness vanished. Ben was staring at him.

  "Frank, where'd you go?" Ben said.

  "Nowhere."

  "You should focus, Investigator Frank," Sandy said, her voice surprisingly steady. She was looking right at him. "With that focus of yours, you should become a baker. Or something."

  He ignored Sandy and looked at the doctor, who pulled back the sheet.

  And then they saw the body.

  For the first time, Ben nearly vomited. Lucas felt his stomach lurch, his eyes blurring. Sandy just made it to the garbage can in time.

  But Frank... Frank was focused on one thing. The marks on the victim's cheeks.

  "Did he come here like that?"

  "Yes," the doctor said, his voice thick with pity.

  "Give me the flashlight, Ben."

  Ben handed him the flashlight. Frank shined it directly on the man's face, tilting his head.

  "There we go," Frank whispered. He pointed to the right cheek. "A cow's head, its nose missing." He moved the beam to the left. "And here... a goat with a human face."

  He clicked the light off and stood up.

  "An artist."

  Frank turned back to the doctor. "The eyes you removed from his stomach. Were they digested?"

  "No."

  "Any other marks on the body?"

  "No. Just that."

  "Okay," Frank said, walking to the door. "That's all we need."

  He walked out of the room, his colleagues scrambling to follow.

  "So?" Lucas said, starting the car. "We got a ritual?"

  "No," Frank said.

  "Then maybe something supernatural? A demon?" Sandy offered from the back seat.

  "No," Frank said again. "We're done today. You can both leave. Lucas, you're driving me to the bar."

  Lucas sighed. "Man, not again..."

  Just as he was about to put the car in gear, his phone rang. He picked it up.

  "Hello? ... What? Where?" Lucas's whole body tensed. "Calm down... calm down and tell me who. The... the priest? ... Okay. Lock your doors. I'm coming now."

  He hung up, his face pale. He looked at Frank. "There was a crime in my neighborhood. The priest of the church on my street was killed."

  "Okay," Frank said, opening the door. "You can just leave me at the bar and then go."

  "No," Lucas said, his voice hard. "This time it's different."

  Frank paused.

  Lucas looked him dead in the eye. "He was burned to death, Frank. But there was no fire in the church."

  Frank sighed and he knew what was coming after these words

  This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  He put the car in gear. "You're coming with me."

  Frank sighed and shut the door. "Oh, not again."

  They arrived at Lucas's house.

  "Open up, it's me!" Lucas yelled, banging on the door. It was locked with three deadbolts. A vault.

  The door opened, and his wife emerged, her face stained with tears.

  "Lucas, he's dead! He was... he was burned alive!"

  Lucas pulled her into a hug to calm her down, but Frank was already looking past them, staring at the church across the street.

  "Doesn't seem on fire," Frank said, his voice flat. "No burn marks. Was there a witness?"

  "Yes," Lucas's wife said, pulling away. "The nun. She's here." She moved from the doorway so Frank could get inside.

  They found the nun in the living room, crying and shaking violently.

  "Another Sandy," Frank sighed. "Just what I needed."

  Lucas and his wife spent a few minutes calming the nun, until her shaking subsided into tremors. Frank waited, impatient.

  "So," he said, "what happened? Tell me everything."

  "I... I was asking him about a belief," the nun whispered. "Something I'd read. And when he was about to answer..."

  She stopped.

  "He was just... on fire. He burst into flames. There was nothing there, just fire!"

  She started to sob. "He tried to run, but he... he was in a box. An invisible box. He was banging violently at the air, screaming... I could see his hands hitting something."

  Frank leaned in.

  "I tried to put the fire out," she choked. "I tried to run to him, but I couldn't move. I was... frozen. Stuck."

  She was crying hard now, but Frank just stared at her, waiting.

  "After... after he stopped... all the crosses in the church, they all... they all caught fire at once. The body... it was held in the air... and then it was put on the altar. And the altar... it caught fire, too..."

  "What belief?" Frank cut her off.

  "W-what?"

  "What belief did you ask him about?"

  "I... I asked him, 'Father, what do we see in the mirror? Is it our reflection, or is it another person?'"

  Frank nodded, his face impassive. "Thought so."

  He turned and walked out of the house. He finally got his smoke out and lit it. Lucas followed him onto the porch.

  "So, what do you think?" Lucas asked.

  "Let's go and see the body."

  They got to the church, which was closed and full of police officers. Frank moved past them.

  "Excuse me, sir," a rookie said, "but you can't go inside. There was a crime commit-"

  Frank showed the badge and he walked past him

  "Harry," Frank said, spotting a familiar face.

  "Investigator Frank himself," Harry said with a grin. "Don't be so cold, I haven't seen you in a month. What gets you here? I'd normally assume you'd be in a bar by now."

  "That was the plan," Frank said. "But this case is different, Harry. I think we finally got a lead."

  "Yeah, I think that too. You should see the body yourself."

  Frank moved through the crowd and went inside. No burn marks were visible, except on the crosses and the altar. The body was coal... but something was different.

  "Lucas, hand me the flashlight."

  Frank held the beam on the corpse's face. "Thought so. Marks again. But this time... different."

  He pointed. "Right cheek, a monkey hanged with its own tail. Left cheek, a goat with no legs and no eyes."

  Frank sighed and clicked the flashlight off. "I think we are done here."

  He went outside, where Lucas was waiting.

  "So, what are you going to do?" Lucas asked.

  "I'm going to the bar."

  "Man, go home. You can't just sleep in a bar every night."

  "I don't really care where I sleep," Frank said. "Also, what are you going to do with that nun?"

  "She'll stay with us for a bit. Until she can get back on her feet."

  Frank shook his head. "Don't lie, Lucas. You don't have the space. You've got six kids, and some of them are teens."

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys.

  "If you want, drop her at my place. Here. She can live there as long as she wants. There's food, and no teenagers."

  Lucas stared at the keys, stunned. "Wow. You can feel pity now."

  Frank snatched the keys back, put them in Lucas's hand, and closed his fingers around them.

  "It's not pity," Frank said. "It's a payback. For driving me to the bar."

  Lucas looked at him, then at the keys. "And here I thought you'd changed."

  Frank lit a smoke, the flame lighting his "Dead eyes" eyes. "I thought so once."

  He turned and started walking.

  "Anyway. Get me to the bar."

  They walked back to the house. Lucas went inside and told the nun about Frank's offer.

  "He... he won't try to touch me?" the nun asked.

  "No," Lucas assured her. "He won't. He doesn't even sleep there. He sleeps at a bar."

  She nodded, gathered her things, and walked out to the car. She stopped in front of Frank.

  "Thank you, Mister Frank. For your kindness."

  He just nodded. He looked at her, and she... she looked strangely familiar. He looked away, crushing a thought he hadn't had in years.

  Lucas dropped him at the bar. He pushed the door open, the bell ringing.

  "Hey, look who's here! Investigator Frank," the bartender called out.

  "Shut up, Michael. I'm here every day."

  "Nothing new?" Michael asked, wiping a glass.

  "No. Just more people dead."

  "You say it like it's normal," Michael sighed. "You ordering the usual?"

  "Yes."

  Frank scanned the room. Same faces. People who didn't have a life, or had one and threw it away. But someone stood out. A teenager, slumped over the bar.

  "Who's the new kid, Michael?"

  "Him? Don't know. He's always here, but usually in the corner. Tonight, he sat at the bar."

  Frank walked over and nudged the kid's shoulder. "Hey. Kid. Wake up."

  "No... just leave me alone."

  Frank nudged him again, harder. "Wake up."

  The kid's head shot up. "Where am I? Oh, no... not again."

  "Hey," Frank said, his voice flat. "You shouldn't be drinking this much at your age. You're wasted."

  "No, no, it's not... I shouldn't be here."

  "Yeah, that's what we all say," Frank said. "Anyway, leave the tequila and go home."

  "I don't have a home."

  Frank paused. "Homeless?"

  "No. I just... I can't go there."

  Frank looked at the kid for a long second, then sat on the stool next to him. "Then we're alike, kid. What's your name?"

  The kid stared at the bar. "Daniel... I think."

  "Frank."

  Frank took a drink while Daniel nursed his tequila. They sat in silence for a moment.

  "You know, Frank," Daniel said, "I love a girl. But I'm not brave enough to tell her."

  Frank looked at the bar. "You're just feeling something. And feelings... they're not real. Not really."

  He took another drink.

  "I didn't have a love story with my wife. I just... knew her. I wanted to marry someone, so I thought she was good for the role." He took another sip.” But I became emotional. I got attached to her. I started to hate work because it got me away from her.”

  “And then she became even more precious. She gave birth to my gem... Lucy."

  He looked at Daniel. "Or I thought so. That was a long time ago, kid. You have a long life in front of you. Don't waste it."

  Daniel stared at him. "Strange coincidence. The girl I love... she's called Lucy."

  He leaned in a little. "Maybe she's your daughter, Frank."

  Frank went cold. He finished his drink in one swallow and signaled for another.

  "Nah. It can't be," he said, his voice flat. "My wife died in an accident. My daughter was with her. We found their blood, but we never found Lucy's body. There was a forest nearby. Maybe an animal ate her."

  He shrugged.

  "I don't know. And I really don't care anymore."

  The sun was starting to rise and Lucas came waking up frank.

  "What do you want this time you found a person drowned in the desert"

  "No, it's the cathedral again the priests are burned "

  "that's interesting how many died?"

  "four"

  "Then let's go Lucas " As frank stood up, he looked at Daniel who had the tequila bottle in his hand he removed the tequila bottle from his hand and then they drove to the cathedral.

  they arrived there they found the priests frightened but frank was moving through until he got inside and then they went to one of the cops and asked him about the place of the witness, he said upstairs.

  "Man, I don't like stairs" frank said but no one replied he looked around no one was with him.

  "Again, so you don't want to leave me alone lucy, you just want to see me in pain you won't see that no more " but this time it wasn't lucy it was nothing.

  "What is going on, LUCAS, where are you man, where have you gone to " frank kept walking until he found a door he opened the door and he was back at the strip club.

  Wilson this time was alive and leaning at the bar watching Sandra but then someone came and punched him in the face.

  "What do you want who are you “Wilson said.

  "Why? why? tell me the reason why are you trying to get away with her"

  He kicked him in the face. “This money could have been given to poor people but you spent it on your nothingness.”

  Wilson tried to run but he was frozen then a person or more like a shadow came from mirror he shattered the mirror and took a piece of the shattered glass

  "let's play Wilson count from 1000 to 0.5 in quarters the moment you lose count I take a piece of your flesh, okay then let's start"

  "1000, 999.75, 999.5, 999."

  "Wrong now let's take the reason here for" he undresses Wilson and he stabbed him in his private part Wilson screamed.

  "Now don't stop counting "

  "1000, 999.75, 999.5, 999.25, 999." he stopped to take his breath.

  "Why did you stop, DID I TELL YOU STOP WHY DID YOU STOP WHY? WHY? WHY?" he took another piece and he put it in his right arm and took another piece.

  And he started cutting him but in a more artistic way. he drew a happy face on his arm.

  "See now you can look at your brother.”

  “happy face and never forget to count. " He announced.

  Wilson screamed for help which was the kick that got frank into the real world.

  "Hey frank where did you go"

  "Nowhere, where did you go?"

  "Nowhere too I was searching for you"

  "Then let's get to the witnesses"

  "Yeah, you are right, oh yes I forget to give you this" Lucas gave frank a cookie frank stared at the cookie and was confused

  "it's from the nun she gave me this to give it you as a thanks "

  frank took the cookie and looked at it "my wife you used to bake cookies" he took the cookie and ate it.

  they continued the stairs

  Frank and Lucas got to the top floor. The place was massive, so they asked one of the nuns for directions.

  "Yes, you mean the nuns who saw the terrible... accident?" she said. "They are in that room." She pointed to a door. "But you can't go inside. They are in seclusion. They are... not well."

  Frank didn't care. He wanted to talk to the evidence. He walked past her and opened the door.

  The nuns were laying on beds. Other nuns were reading from the Bible, their voices low. The witnesses weren't in their full uniforms. They saw Frank, a strange man barging in, and they screamed.

  Frank, trying to get things under control, closed the door behind him. This, obviously, didn't work and made things worse. He sighed.

  "SHUT UP!"

  The room went silent.

  "Just stop screaming," he said, his voice flat and cold. "I'm not here for you. I don't care about you or your body. I just want to hear what you saw. If you want justice for the priests, then stop screaming and talk."

  The nuns were shocked. No one had ever shouted at them. This was the first time. A young man—not homeless, but sharp, with those terrible eyes—was shouting.

  But it wasn't the young man who was shouting.

  Maybe the abyss had a voice for once.

  Lucas opened the door and peeked in. "Oh, I'm so sorry. Let us know whe-"

  He tried to grab Frank's arm. Frank pulled it away.

  "There is no 'us,' Lucas. If you want to wait outside, go. I won't."

  Lucas sighed and got out, closing the door. The startled nuns grabbed pieces of their uniforms to cover their hair. Then, one of them spoke.

  "I was there," she whispered. "We were all praying. One of the priests... he started talking. About 'a king and a kingdom that was destroyed.' And then... then they were all on fire."

  She started sobbing. Another nun continued, her voice trembling. "They were held in the air. Like they were... hanged. And they kept saying, 'Stop! Stop! Stop!'"

  She buried her face in her hands. A third nun spoke. "Then... the crosses... they were thrown at their bodies, piercing them. And... and all the priests were thrown onto the altar. Sounds of music played. And the altar... it caught fire."

  Frank was processing this—the chant, the "kingdom"—when another nun added, "But before all of that... I saw a teen. Maybe 15 years old. He was normal, but... his face..."

  "What about his face?" Frank said.

  "It was nothing."

  "What do you mean, 'nothing'? You mean black?"

  "No," the nun insisted, her eyes wide. "I mean nothing. Like a... like a black hole."

  "Hm. Anything else?"

  "Yes! Yes, he had... a crest. On his jacket. Like a shield, with two letters... N and W."

  Frank, who had been relaxed, suddenly went rigid. He leaned in, his voice low and sharp. "Red letters. A blue shield, with black straps."

  "Yes..." the nun said, "Yes! How did you know?"

  Frank stood up straight, his face a mask. "North Wood School," he whispered.

  He turned and walked to the door. "Okay. That's all I need. You can continue with whatever you were doing."

  He got out of the room. As the door closed, he heard one of them say, "He's like a brick of ice... Doesn't he have feelings?"

  "Maybe," said another. "Maybe we will never know."

  Frank sighed. Lucas, drinking some water, walked over. "So? Anything new?"

  "We got a lead," Frank said, lighting a smoke.

  "Well, that's great. What is it?"

  "North Wood School."

  Lucas's face went pale. "...Wasn't that the school your daughter was in?"

  "Yes." "Okay... okay, then. Let's move, Frank."

  Frank walked through the cathedral, ignoring a priest who looked shocked at the "No Smoking" sign Frank was ignoring.

  They got to the school. Frank moved through it like it was a puzzle he had memorized, piece by piece, until he got to the principal's office.

  "Investigator Frank," the principal said, not looking up. "Please, have a seat. What brings you here today?"

  "I have clues leading to one of the boys here. I need every 15-year-old student in a room in 15 minutes."

  The principal, who already knew Frank's reputation, wasn't surprised. He just did what he was told.

  Sometime later, the students came, one by one. They were interrogated by Frank. Most of them left the room crying, having peed themselves, or with a piece of their sanity gone.

  But one of them was too perfect. He cried at the exact moment Frank applied pressure. Frank had dealt with psychos before. He knew it. It was just too perfect.

  Frank leaned back. "Didn't know the Agency hires 15-year-olds now. You don't have enough people? Or maybe a shortage, since that time?"

  The boy was surprised for a single moment, then the mask was back.

  "You know who I've dealt with before?" Frank said, his voice dropping. "The sister."

  The boy's crying stopped instantly. The trembling ceased. He knew he wasn't with a normal cop. It was time to flee. His eyes darted around the room, searching for a mirror, a window, anything reflective.

  There was nothing. Frank had chosen the room wisely.

  "Wow. Now you're scared," Frank said, leaning forward. "Well, let's see. If you don't talk in the next four seconds, I'm going to take you to my apartment and torture you until you do."

  "You want to know the way? Let's see... maybe I'll take that arm of yours. I'll make it bleed dry. Then, I'll get a larva, put it inside the wound, and I will seal it with surgical glue so it can't escape. But since it can't find blood, it'll start... eating. Eating your arm. You will feel every bite. You will feel it moving under your skin. And you won’t be able to scratch your arm. Or even move it."

  Frank smiled.

  "But don't worry, I won't let your arm die. I'm going to let just enough blood in so you can still feel the pain."

  The boy peed himself. But this time, it wasn't an act.

  The boy was shaking. "I-I can't talk."

  "Yes, yes, I know," Frank said, sounding bored. "You'll be killed in the most terrifying way a human ever saw."

  "How... how do you know this much? Are you a Type 4 in disguise? Am I in a test?"

  "Yes," Frank said. "You're in the test of my patience. And you're starting to fail."

  Frank moved, took out a cigarette, and lit it. Then he pressed the glowing end into the boy's arm. John screamed. Frank held his arm, unfazed, grinding the cigarette into the skin.

  He wasn't watching the wound. He was listening to the room. Waiting.

  The boy screamed again, a high-pitched shriek of agony.

  And then, a voice appeared, seeming to come from the air itself.

  "Why are you in a room without a mirror, John?"

  The trap was sprung. Frank pulled a crumpled, pre-written note from his jacket and shoved it onto the table. It read: "I'm trapped. I'm being tortured. Please come and save me."

  There was a pause. The voice returned. "Then we are coming, John. Stay alive until we come."

  The lights in the entire building died.

  Frank didn't panic. He moved, pressing his back flat against the wall, right behind the door hinges.

  Moments later, the door was kicked open.

  A man in tactical gear swept into the room, his right hand raised. His flashlight beam cut through the darkness, landing instantly on John, tied to the chair, and the white note sitting on the table in front of him.

  The agent took a step forward, his eyes locking on the paper.

  "Run!" John screamed. "It’s a trap!"

  Frank peeled off the wall like a shadow. He grabbed the agent's helmet from behind and jammed the burning cigarette directly into the man's exposed eye.

  The man screamed, thrashing wildly. He stumbled forward, trying to throw Frank off his back, but Frank rode the momentum.

  He drove the agent's face down into the wooden table. Thud.

  At first, the slams were dry, then they became wet.

  He didn't stop until the man stopped moving

  The kid, John, who just saw a Type 4 agent die so easily, was scared to the point that he couldn't move.

  Frank, breathing hard, searched the agent's pocket and found it. A piece of dark, reflective glass.

  "Please... please don't kill me," the boy whispered, his act completely gone. "I'm just a son of a Type 1 and I was looking for a better life. I knew... I knew that killing was wrong, but it was so much fun. It was so much fun to see people die just because they knew too much."

  Frank looked disgusted. “You aren't going to see light again in your whole life.”

  He went near his ears and whispered. “And just like you say in the Agency, ‘atone your sins with the blood of others’...” He smiled. “I shall do so with yours.”

  Frank took the boy, his eyes and hands tied. The other students were terrified of the scene.

  He got the boy in the car. Lucas, surprised, looked at the bound kid. "Is that the killer?"

  "Yes."

  "Then let's take him to the station."

  "No."

  "What?"

  "The Station is compromised, Lucas. If I book him, he disappears in an hour. My basement is the only place they can't see."

  "Man, sometimes you say things that just don't make sense." "Get me to my home, Lucas." Lucas paused.

  "You're... you're finally going home? Wait, the nun. I should call her, let her know you're coming."

  "No need. Just drive me there."

  "Are you crazy, Frank?"

  "Just do as I say, Lucas."

  Lucas drove Frank to his home. Frank walked to the main door with the boy and knocked.

  Sophie, the nun, opened it.

  He saw her, and for a second, that same strange, "out of place" feeling returned. And just as quickly, the abyss ate it.

  "Mister Frank. Welcome back."

  "Yeah, thanks, Sophie." He pushed the bound boy inside.

  Sophie stared at the kid. "Is this your son? And why is he tied like that?"

  "No," Frank said, his voice flat. "That is an agent."

  Sophie looked confused. "An... an agent?"

  "Just bring him food in the basement so he doesn't die." Frank said, ignoring her question

  "You're kidnapping him!" she whispered, horrified. "No, I can't do tha-"

  "This is the murderer of the priest."

  Sophie stopped, her face pale. "What?"

  "You heard me. This is the one who murdered the priests."

  "So, if you want justice for the priest," Frank said, his voice flat, "do as I say."

  Sophie couldn't handle it. She let out a sob and ran to the kitchen, fumbling blindly for a knife.

  She turned around, tears streaming down her face. She screamed—a raw, gut-wrenching sound that didn't have words.

  The boy flinched. He tried to scramble backward, but he was blindfolded. Frank didn't blink.

  She lunged, trying to stab the boy. Frank caught her arm in mid-air. He didn't struggle; he just... held it. Gently, he pried the knife from her trembling hand.

  She collapsed, crying, her words muffled against the floor. "He killed my father... he killed my father..."

  Frank looked down at her. Slowly, a cold smile cut across his face.

  Frank got the boy down to the basement. It was just like the interrogation room. Not a single mirror. No windows. Even the doorknob was old, tarnished brass.

  There was another, thicker door in the back, locked with countless, heavy-duty locks. Every scrap of metal on it was covered in thick black paint, to stop even the faintest reflection.

  It was a prison.

  "Please, mister," the boy (John) said, his voice trembling as Frank started tying him to a chair. "You can't do this to me."

  Frank paused. "Then why did you have fun killing people? Why shouldn't I take pleasure in traumatizing you?"

  He finished the knot.

  "Here," Frank said, his voice almost a whisper, "the Mirror World stops. Here, they can't find you. Do you know why?"

  Frank grabbed the piece of dark glass he'd taken from the dead agent.

  "Because I've got you in a loop."

  He held the glass up, but it reflected nothing. "This room is a blind spot. A trap. In the walls, hidden from you, are two mirrors, perfectly facing each other. An infinite reflection.

  "When 'The Sister' tries to find you... when her 'voice' tries to reach this room... it will get stuck. It will bounce between those two mirrors forever. As far as they're concerned, the signal is just... lost."

  Frank leaned in, and in his eyes the kid saw his reflection. And in it, he was being shredded.

  "And when an agent's signal is lost... they assume you're dead. They'll stop looking. They'll 'release' you."

  He set the piece of glass on a small table, just out of John's reach.

  "And that, kid... is when we can really begin."

  He left, the heavy door booming shut, the bolts sliding into place.

  He put that last piece of the mirror in, completing the Cube.

  "It's complete, my boy," Frank said to himself, standing outside the sealed basement door. "Now, we just wait."

  Days went by.

  The basement was silent, except for the boy screaming until he couldn't breathe. The voices from the "Glass World" would echo in the concrete, searching for "John," but they couldn't find the room.

  Sophie left him for days without food. Then, maybe once or twice a week, she would unlock the heavy door, her face a hard mask. She would leave a tray of food just inside the door and seal it again. He tried talking to her, begging her, but she never answered.

  Maybe she, too, took pleasure in seeing him in pain.

  Until one day, the voices stopped.

  Weeks went by. Then months. No voices came again. The Agency had given up. They thought John was dead.

  And we are back!

  Frank is... complicated. Let me know in the comments what you think of his "interrogation" methods in the basement. Too far? Or a necessary evil?

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