Chapter 10: The Unseen Shadow
Pranav sat in his dimly lit office, revisiting the final draft of the case file. The case was closed, or at least, it was supposed to be. Ashok had confessed to his manipulation, how he made pawns of his victims and orchestrated their deaths. Yet, something gnawed at Pranav’s mind.
He couldn’t shake the image of the photo he had seen in Amaravati’s house—the two children on the wall, one clearly Ashok, the other scribbled out. Amaravati had only spoken about Ashok during her emotional breakdown, confessing her love for two men and the pain of abandonment. But she had never once mentioned a second child. That photo, though, was real. There was a second child, but who was he, and why had his existence been erased?
The case was officially over, but these unanswered questions buzzed in Pranav’s head. And then there were Ashok’s final words: “You didn’t solve two cases at once; you reopened a new one—vengeance.” Those words haunted Pranav, refusing to let him rest.
The Courtroom Confession
The courtroom was packed. Every seat was filled as people waited for Ashok’s final confession. Pranav sat in the front row, feeling the weight of the investigation bearing down on him. Ashok walked into the courtroom, shackled but wearing that familiar, twisted smirk. When he took the stand, the room fell silent. All eyes were on him.
The prosecutor began by recounting the evidence: the call logs, the staged murders, the role of the doctor, and Ashok’s involvement. Then came the question everyone had been waiting for.
“Mr. Ashok,” the prosecutor’s voice rang through the silent room, “You’ve confessed to your crimes. Now, for the record, tell us how you committed these murders.”
Ashok scanned the room, his eyes lingering on Pranav for a moment, before settling back on the prosecutor. He leaned forward, his voice calm but chilling.
“I didn’t kill them all with my own hands,” he started. “I didn’t need to. My pawns did most of the work for me. But the first two? Those were real, personal.”
The prosecutor raised an eyebrow. “The first two victims—your stepfather’s daughters. Why were they your targets?”
Ashok smirked, clearly enjoying the tension in the room. “Because they were everything I despised. Amaravati loved them, coddled them, but to me, they were a symbol of everything that went wrong. They were never supposed to exist. They were a reminder that my mother loved someone else before me. I hated them for it. They needed to be erased.”
The court murmured in shock. Pranav could feel the weight of Ashok’s words like a physical force.
“Their murders weren’t tests,” Ashok continued, his tone dark and methodical. “They were deliberate. They were my revenge against my mother, for betraying me by bringing them into our lives. And I made sure they died slowly, knowing full well that Amaravati would live with the guilt.”
The prosecutor cleared his throat, pushing on with the questioning. “And what about the others? What about Shruti and the doctor?”
Ashok’s expression darkened. “Shruti was never meant to die. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I killed her to cover my tracks. The doctor? He was my tool, nothing more. But when he got sloppy, I had to end him too.”
Ashok leaned back in his chair, that twisted smile creeping back onto his face. “They were a necessary part of the game. I manipulated people into doing my bidding. I didn’t need to get my hands dirty. I just knew how to push the right buttons.”
The courtroom fell into uneasy silence. The judge slammed his gavel, sentencing Ashok to life imprisonment. As he was led away, Ashok glanced at Pranav, his smirk never fading.
The Jailhouse Encounter
The day after Ashok was taken into custody, Pranav found himself unable to let go of that lingering mystery. He needed answers. He drove to the prison, determined to confront Ashok again, to learn the truth about the other child—the scribbled figure in the photo.
As Pranav was led through the prison halls, the atmosphere grew heavier. The clanking of metal doors, the distant sounds of shouting, and the oppressive weight of the place made every step feel like a descent into darkness.
Ashok was sitting calmly in his cell, his hands resting on the metal table in front of him, the same smug grin on his face as always. When Pranav entered, Ashok looked up, amused.
“So, you’re back,” Ashok said, leaning forward slightly. “I knew you couldn’t let it go.”
Pranav sat down, staring Ashok in the eyes. “Who was the other child in the photo? Who was your brother?”
Ashok laughed, a low, menacing sound that echoed through the small room. “You still don’t get it, do you?”
Pranav clenched his fists, trying to keep his calm. “I want the truth.”
Ashok leaned back in his chair, his eyes gleaming with malice. “The truth? The truth is, you’re not ready for it. You think you’ve won, but this isn’t over, Pranav. My brother—if you can even call him that—is out there, watching. Always watching.”
Pranav’s heart raced. He felt the cold weight of Ashok’s words settle into his bones.
Ashok’s smile twisted into something darker. “You didn’t solve two cases at once; you reopened something far worse. And trust me, you’re not ready for what’s coming.”
Pranav stood up abruptly, his mind racing with questions. He turned to leave, but Ashok’s voice called out behind him.
“This isn’t just the end, Pranav! This is where it all begins!”
Back to Maranallur
Pranav raced back to Maranallur, his thoughts spiraling. The drive felt longer than ever before, the road stretching endlessly under the weight of Ashok’s final words. When he finally arrived, the house stood as quiet and desolate as before. But something felt different. Darker.
Pranav entered, his footsteps echoing in the stillness. The hallway was as he had left it, but the torn photo caught his eye again. The part of the photo that had been scribbled out was now completely torn off, gone as though it had never existed.
Moving deeper into the house, Pranav’s pulse quickened. When he entered the main room, the sight before him stopped him cold.
Amaravati’s body lay lifeless on the floor, her throat slit in the same brutal manner as the other victims. Her hands were bound, and her eyes, once full of sorrow, were now empty. On a nearby table, a small camera recorded the scene in silence. But what chilled Pranav to the core was the writing on the wall behind her body.
Scrawled in large, bloody letters were the words: “It’s watching. Always watching.”
Pranav’s stomach churned. His mind flashed back to Ashok’s final taunt in the jail: “You didn’t solve two cases at once; you reopened a new one—vengeance.”
This wasn’t over. The real killer was still out there. Ashok’s brother—or whoever had been watching from the shadows—was still out there, waiting, planning. The game was far from finished.
As Pranav stood in the house, the weight of what was to come pressed down on him. He had thought he had put an end to the murders, but now he realized the horror had only just begun.
The words on the wall seemed to pulse with an ominous warning: “Always watching.”
Pranav knew this was only the start of something far darker and far more dangerous. He had unraveled part of the mystery, but the real battle was still ahead.