Chapter 11: The Orchestrated End

The rain poured down like the heavens had broken open, drowning the midnight silence with thunder and anguish. Pranav and Thameem pulled up in front of Lakshmi’s mother’s house, the wipers working furiously to clear the deluge. They jumped out and ran toward the house, the path slippery beneath their feet.

Thameem jabbed the calling bell repeatedly, rainwater dripping from his brow. No one answered. He kept pressing until, finally, the door creaked open.

Subashini stood in the doorway, eyes heavy with sleep and irritation.

“Officers?” she said, stunned. “Do you know what time it is? This isn’t your house. This is unacceptable.”

Before she could close the door, Pranav and Thameem stepped in without hesitation.

“Subashini, please,” came the tired voice of her mother from the hallway. “Let them in.”

The hall lights flickered on, revealing a modest space filled with old photographs, warm rugs, and years of memories. Subashini’s mother walked out, clearly disturbed by the commotion. Her face shifted from confusion to frustration.

But before she could speak, Pranav raised his hand gently.

“Aunty, please. We wouldn’t have come like this unless it was important.”

He reached into his folder and laid out photographs on the coffee table — one of Lakshmi at the crime scene, another taken just before her cremation, and the last when she was still alive, months earlier.

Subashini squinted at them. Her mother leaned closer.

“To wake us at this hour just to show us… these?” Subashini began angrily.

“No,” Pranav interrupted. “Look closely. Do you find anything unusual? Anything that contradicts what you said about your sister’s condition?”

Subashini examined the pictures again, blinking in confusion. “No. Nothing.”

Pranav looked straight at her. “Exactly. That’s the problem.”

He leaned forward. “You said your sister had bruises. That her body had been beaten. But in none of these photos do I see even a single mark.”

Subashini fell silent.

Then Pranav pulled out another document — the forensic report from Raghavan’s arrest.

“Aunty, this report shows Raghavan was under the influence of alcohol. You said he never drank.”

Her mother looked shocked. “I… I truly didn’t know.”

“I believe you,” Pranav said gently. “But I also believe your other daughter knows a lot more than she’s telling.”

“I don’t know anything,” Subashini muttered, her voice shaking now.

“Don’t you?” Pranav asked, pulling out two charge sheets. “Both complaints. Domestic violence. One by you. One by Lakshmi. Both withdrawn. Both with exactly the same statement. Word for word.”

His voice hardened. “You expected us not to notice that?”

The thunder outside cracked so loud the windows shivered.

Subashini’s face went pale.

“You can keep lying. But the truth doesn’t stay buried.”

Silence stretched. Her mother looked from Subashini to the officers, her lips trembling.

Then finally, Subashini broke.

Tears streamed down her face. She sank onto the couch.

“Raghavan didn’t kill her,” she whispered. “He’s innocent.”

The room went still. Her mother gasped, her hands flying to her mouth.

“She took her own life,” Subashini said, almost inaudibly. “But it wasn’t spontaneous. It was planned. For over a year.”

Pranav’s expression didn’t change. He just listened, and let the storm inside the house do what it must.

“She was dying long before she died. Raghavan’s family… they were monsters. I don’t even know if he himself knew how bad it had gotten. But his parents, his sister… they treated Lakshmi like she was nothing. And when they learned she couldn’t carry a child—when the doctors said her uterus had to be removed—they changed her gynecologist. They changed me.”

She paused, choking back a sob. “I was her doctor. I was her sister. And they took both roles away from me.”

“She came to me one day and said she wanted to end it. Not her marriage—her life. She had made up her mind. And I…” Subashini looked up with a twisted, broken smile, “I made up mine.”

“I told her, if you’re going to die, at least let him suffer. Let him feel your pain. And she agreed. My sister trusted me blindly. So I planned it.”

Her mother sat, stunned and shaking.

“I began isolating her. Made sure only I saw her. I sent fake letters to our parents. Registered complaints of abuse. I knew how to build a narrative. I’m a doctor. I know how to kill without pain. On that day… I gave her two injections.”

She paused. Her voice dropped lower.

“One was Potassium Chloride — it would stop her heart in exactly an hour. The second was Propofol — a strong anesthetic. It would keep her relaxed, numb… painless.”

Pranav felt something sink inside him.

“I told her where to strike her head — the pterion — the weakest part of the skull. A blow there could easily cause fracture, even death. She waited until Raghavan returned home. But by then, I’d already drugged his drink with alcohol. He had no idea what he was walking into. No idea it was the last time he’d see her alive.”

Thunder rolled again. The house shuddered.

Subashini whispered, “We never sent her for postmortem. We cremated her quickly. Before the drugs could be detected. Before any suspicion could arise. The police… everyone believed it was a drunken act of rage. Because we made them believe it.”

She looked up now, hollow-eyed. “Seventeen years. He served for a crime he never committed. Seventeen years I gave to my sister. Seventeen years of punishment I gave to the man I thought was the cause.”

Her mother broke down, sobbing. “You killed her… You let her die…”

Subashini didn’t cry anymore. She had already wept it all out.

Pranav stood. “Mitra, Murali,” he said into his walkie. “Bring the vehicle. We’re arresting Dr. Subashini.”

⸻

The next morning, Dr. Subashini was sentenced to life imprisonment. Raghavan, after 17 years in prison, was finally released.

The Commissioner personally accompanied Pranav to the prison gates. They stood in silence as Raghavan stepped out — older, thinner, eyes worn by time.

“I have nowhere to go,” he had whispered.

The Commissioner nodded. “You’ll stay in the guest house for now.”

Later that evening, Raghavan sat in a small room overlooking a quiet garden. He sat in a corner, staring at nothing. He didn’t cry. He didn’t speak. He just… sat.

In the garden below, Pranav and the Commissioner sat in silence.

“I can’t imagine,” the Commissioner finally said, his voice breaking, “what 17 years of silence must feel like.”

Pranav nodded slowly, staring up at the window.

“This job teaches us many things,” he said. “But the greatest lesson… is that pain doesn’t always scream. Sometimes, it just sits in a corner and stays there for years.”

The Commissioner wiped his eyes. “You did good, Pranav. You brought light to a place buried in darkness.”

Pranav looked out into the night. The rain had stopped. But its memory lingered — on the leaves, the windows, and in the hearts of those who carried unspeakable truths.

Some wounds may heal.

Others… simply stay.

A seventeen-year-old murder conviction is reopened — not because of new evidence, but because something about it still haunts the city’s highest officer. When the Commissioner quietly assigns Inspector Pranav and his newly-formed Cold Case Unit to re-investigate the death of Lakshmi, a woman believed to be brutally murdered by her husband, it sets off a chain of revelations no one was prepared for.

What begins as a straightforward review spirals into a disturbing exploration of manipulated truths, clinical precision, and emotional deception. As Pranav, and team peel back layers of the past, they begin to question everything — from the original motive to the very nature of the crime itself.

Was this truly a murder… or a perfectly constructed illusion?

Some crimes are chaotic.

This one was calculated.

And every piece of it… was by design.

-DARK SCRIBE

THE END