Chapter 1: The Hand in the Box

Chennai in December usually exuded a warm haze, but this morning was different. The skies were overcast, heavy with rain that had begun to fall in a steady drizzle, casting a somber pall over the city. As the morning progressed, the clouds threatened a downpour that could drench the streets, but it wasn’t just the weather that cast a shadow over the police station.

Five months had passed since Inspector Pranav and his sub-inspector, Thameem, had cracked two of the most challenging cases in recent memory. The first had been a brutal double homicide in the Crescent Apartments, where two residents were found dead under mysterious circumstances. The investigation had been intense, fraught with media scrutiny and public outrage. Through sheer determination and brilliant deduction, Pranav and his team had unearthed the truth, exposing a tangled web of betrayal and deceit. The case had catapulted them into the spotlight, earning the police department accolades for their quick and intelligent work.

Just weeks later, another nightmare unfolded—the tragic murders of two innocent schoolgirls. Once again, the public clamored for answers, and Pranav and Thameem had risen to the occasion, employing their unique blend of logic and intuition to solve the case in record time. Their success not only restored faith in the police department but also brought the city’s attention to the skilled team that had quietly yet efficiently brought justice. The memories of those cases lingered in the minds of the officers, a mix of pride and horror.

Now, with the accolades still fresh in their minds, both Pranav and Thameem were on the brink of promotion. Their hard work and dedication had not gone unnoticed, and whispers of advancement echoed through the station. But amid the pride and anticipation, an unsettling atmosphere began to settle in.

Thameem arrived at the station around 7:30 a.m., the light drizzle seeping through his jacket. As he stepped inside, he was met with an unusual sight—officers were gathered in clusters, their expressions tense and hushed. The usual morning chatter was replaced by a heavy silence that wrapped around the room like a fog.

“Vinayagam, what’s happening?” Thameem asked, noticing the constable’s pale face as he hovered near the front desk.

“Sir, you need to see this,” Vinayagam replied, his voice barely above a whisper, glancing nervously toward the center of the room.

Thameem followed Vinayagam’s gaze to the desk, where a battered carton box sat ominously, its flaps ajar. A sense of foreboding crept over him as he approached. The box felt out of place in the otherwise familiar surroundings of the station.

“What is it?” Thameem asked, his heart racing.

“It was just… found here this morning,” Vinayagam replied, trembling slightly. “No one knows how it got here or who brought it in.”

Thameem leaned over the desk, his stomach churning at what he saw. Inside the box lay a severed human hand, its skin decayed and greenish, the fingers curled unnaturally as if grasping at something unseen. The sight was grotesque and wrong; it sent a wave of nausea through him.

“Where did this come from?” he demanded, his voice taut with disbelief.

Before Vinayagam could answer, Thameem’s eyes were drawn to a folded piece of paper resting next to the hand. Hesitantly, he reached in and pulled it out, the paper feeling strangely out of place against the horror before him. The elegant handwriting on the slip sent chills down his spine:

“To find the past, look to the hand,

A silent witness in a broken land.

Solve my puzzle, reveal the link,

Or lose yourself, in shadows you sink.”

Thameem’s breath caught in his throat. The riddle felt like a taunt, a message from someone who knew exactly what they were doing. It was clear: this was not just a horrific act but a psychological game, suggesting the perpetrator was somehow connected to their previous cases. The words echoed in his mind, pressing against his consciousness like a weight.

“Sir, what do we do?” Vinayagam asked, his eyes wide with fear.

Thameem swallowed hard, shaking off the rising panic. “Call everyone in for a briefing. We need to figure out if this connects to the previous cases.”

He fumbled for his phone, the urgency of the situation compelling him to call Pranav. The line rang twice, each beep resonating with his mounting anxiety, before the familiar, calm voice answered.

“Hello,” Pranav said, his tone even and steady.

Thameem gripped the phone tighter, the gravity of the moment pressing down on him. “Sir, we have a situation. You need to come to the station—now.”