Time: 11:15 AM |
Location: Central
Police Station - Autopsy Wing
Andrew stood behind the reinforced glass, staring into the sterile, brightly lit autopsy room. Inside, a specialist in serial-grade homicides was hovering over what remained of Dr. Heles. The air outside was cold, but the atmosphere inside the station was boiling with tension.
Tring... Tring...
Andrew's phone buzzed aggressively. He snatched it up, his voice hushed but harsh. "Look, I'm telling you, it's an inside job! The victim was practically dissected."
A muffled, stern voice replied from the other end. Andrew's face flushed with irritation. "Yes! Yes! I'm sure! The way he was carved up—only a professional with a surgeon's steady hand could pull that off."
A junior officer standing nearby whispered cautiously, "Sir, please... lower your voice. The examination is still ongoing."
Andrew pulled the phone away and glared at the officer. "Fine! Go, do your job!" As the junior turned to leave, Andrew barked, "Wait! Seize the hospital where Heles worked. Every doctor, nurse, and janitor—I want them under surveillance. Scour every inch of the CCTV footage. Anything suspicious, and I want to be the first to know. Move!"
"Yes, Sir!"
The heavy steel door of the autopsy room creaked open. Andrew stepped in, the smell of chemicals and iron hitting him instantly. The forensic surgeon pointed toward the body with a blood-stained scalpel.
"Investigator, the level of brutality here is... psychological," the surgeon said, his voice grim. "The victim was alive through most of it. His right leg—the tibia and fibula—were shattered by a blunt force before the cutting began. But that's not the strangest part."
Andrew leaned in, his fatigue forgotten. "What could be stranger than this?"
"The heart," the doctor replied, pointing to the chest cavity. "The original heart was removed, yes. But the killer didn't leave him empty. He performed a transplant."
Andrew's eyes widened. "What?"
"The heart inside this body right now isn't Heles' heart. The surgical stitches are fresh, the blood vessel connections are mismatched, and the DNA profile is already flagging a discrepancy. Someone put a different heart inside him before he died."
Andrew's hands trembled slightly as he gripped his notepad. "Oh my God... He wasn't just killing him. He was... mocking him."
"How long until we know whose heart it is?" Andrew asked, his voice shaking.
"We need to cross-reference the hospital's DNA database. It could take 12 to 14 hours... maybe three days if the records are messy."
[Scene Change: St. Jude's General Hospital]
The hospital, once a place of healing, now felt like a mausoleum. Yellow 'Crime Scene' tape was crisscrossed over the main entrance, fluttering in the cold morning wind. The sirens had stopped, but the flashing blue lights of the police cruisers still pulsed against the white walls, creating a rhythmic, haunting glow.
Inside the staff lounge, the atmosphere was suffocating. Heles' colleagues sat in a circle, the silence broken only by the occasional sob. A head nurse stared at a half-empty cup of coffee, her hands shaking.
"He was the best of us," a young resident whispered, his voice cracking. "Who would do this to him?"
They were grieving for a 'brilliant' surgeon, completely blind to the monster who had been selling organs behind their backs. Two police officers moved between them, their boots clicking loudly on the tiled floor. One officer was questioning a nurse, his tone cold and mechanical.
"Did Dr. Heles have any enemies? Any patients who were... unsatisfied?"
The nurse looked up, her eyes red. "Everyone loved him. He saved lives."
[Outside the Hospital Gates]
A crowd had gathered behind the barricades. Reporters were jostling for a scoop, and curious onlookers whispered theories of a 'Serial Psycho'.
But in the corner of the sidewalk, leaning against a lamp post, an elderly woman stood perfectly still. She was the mother of the young man Heles had murdered—the boy whose heart had been stolen just to be sold to the highest bidder.
While the city panicked, a faint, serene smile played on her wrinkled lips. Her eyes weren't fixed on the chaos, but on the sky. She clutched her wooden prayer beads tightly, her thumb moving over each one with a sense of peace she hadn't felt in weeks.
"Justice doesn't need a courtroom,"
Now I can die in peace
she whispered to herself.
She looked at the hospital one last time. She didn't need a DNA report to know whose heart was now inside that dead butcher. She could feel it. The restless spirit of her son had finally found a home, even if it was inside the ribs of his murderer.
As the wind blew, she turned and walked away into the crowd, her footsteps light, leaving behind a hospital filled with lies and a police force chasing a shadow.
[Chapter 8 End]