Chapter 87: The Night Everything Broke

Chapter 87: The Night Everything Broke
Melissa’s phone rang. It was her dad.

“Melissa, I just got home. Where are you and your mom? Which station should I go to?” he asked quickly, his voice filled with urgency.

“Dad, we’re at the Joes’ residence with Julia and the police,” Melissa replied.

“Okay, I’ll head there now,” Mr. Wright said as he hung up.

Mrs. Wright sat quietly, a shadow of her former self. Her mind was a storm of questions and guilt. How had it come to this? Victor had always been such a sweet son, a caring brother. How could that same boy turn out to be a murderer? Where had she failed as a mother?

Outside, the detectives were pacing and making different calls, trying to coordinate the search for Victor and Lydia.

Meanwhile, Lydia lay on the bed, tears sliding down her cheeks. The silence was heavy until her soft sniffles caught Victor’s attention. He stood, walked over, and crouched by the couch where Lydia lay.

“Why are you crying?” he asked. His tone was sharp but laced with mock concern. “You said you loved me, that you wanted to marry me. Shouldn’t you be happy to be here with me?” His eyes darkened. “Or have you forgotten you were the one who hurt me by cheating on me?”

His voice grew harsher. Lydia turned her face away, but he grabbed her chin and forced her to look at him. He tried to wipe her tears, but she recoiled. That rejection ignited his rage. He pressed her back into the couch, kissing her all over as she struggled and cried out.

Victor clamped his hand over her mouth to silence her screams. His other hand pulled at her dress. In one brutal motion, he tore her underclothes. Lydia kicked and twisted, but she had no strength left. When she felt something cold force its way between her legs, her body went rigid with shock.

She lay there helpless, tears streaming, her mind spiralling into despair. She thought bitterly about that childish truth-or-dare game when she was nine, and the silly love confession at seven. How had such innocent moments led her into the hands of a psychopath?

When it was over, she lay motionless, her body aching, the couch stained with blood. She had lost something precious—her virginity—to a murderer.

Victor, breathing heavily, collapsed onto a chair and soon drifted into sleep, leaving Lydia broken and trembling.

She stared at him for a long moment, then slowly, carefully began working at the rope around her wrists. Every movement was deliberate; she couldn’t risk waking him. At last, she loosened it enough to slip her hands free. Quietly, she searched the room, found the keys, unlocked the door, and stepped outside.

The night air hit her like a slap. It was pitch dark, the silence broken only by crickets and her shallow breathing. In the distance, she spotted a faint light. Hope flared in her chest. Weak, bleeding, but determined, she began to run.

Each step was agony, but the light drew her forward. She pushed herself harder, whispering silent prayers. She thought of Melissa—her friend, her sister in all but blood. No… Melissa couldn’t have known what Victor truly was. She knew Melissa better than anyone; she was certain her friend had been in the dark all along.

But her thoughts were interrupted by a sound—a shadow moved behind her. Her stomach dropped. She turned her head slightly. It was Victor, chasing her, a sledgehammer gripped in his hand.

Fear surged through her veins. She screamed for help and forced her legs to move faster, but she was too weak. He caught up, grabbed her arm, and tried to drag her back.

“Let go!” she cried, struggling with what strength she had left.

In his fury to silence her, Victor swung the sledge. The blow struck her head. She collapsed instantly.

Victor froze. He bent over her, shaking her.

“Lydia! Lydia, wake up!”

But she lay still. Too still. She wasn’t breathing.

Panic gripped him. He hadn’t meant to kill her. His hands shook as he looked around desperately. And then—sirens.

Red and blue lights cut through the night as police cars approached.

A farmer, who had been awakened by Lydia’s screams, came running from a nearby hut. He pointed furiously toward the dark path. “He went that way!”

Two officers immediately chased Victor down while another stayed with Lydia, kneeling to check her pulse. His expression darkened. She had no signs of life.

Minutes later, the others returned, Victor in handcuffs, thrashing and silent.

The farmer, still shaken, told the officers what he’d heard. “I didn’t see everything—it was too dark. But I heard her scream. When I looked, I saw him hit her. She dropped immediately.”

The ambulance arrived. Lydia’s body was carefully lifted inside and driven to the mortuary. Victor said nothing the entire time, only staring at the ground as officers dragged him into a car.

At the station, his record was pulled up. His name was already on the wanted list for kidnapping Lydia. They called the precinct that had issued the alert and soon got Detective Philip on the phone.

He was still at the Joes’ house with Julia, her aunt, Melissa, Mrs. Wright, and now Mr. Wright, who had just arrived. The detective’s face fell as he listened. He hung up and walked slowly back into the living room. Officer John trailed behind him, his expression grim.

Mr. Wright immediately asked, “What’s going on? Did they find Lydia and Victor? Tell me!”

Detective Philip nodded. “We found them.”

“Thank God!” Lydia’s aunt shouted, leaping from her chair.

But Melissa noticed the detective’s sombre face. “Then why do you look like that?” she asked, her voice trembling.

Philip inhaled deeply, bracing himself. “Lydia was found dead at the scene.”

The room exploded. Mrs. Wright collapsed instantly, unconscious. Julia broke down into hysterical sobs. Melissa stood frozen, her mind refusing to accept what she’d just heard. Could she even cry? Did she deserve to?

Julia’s phone rang—it was her parents. She answered, voice shaking.

“Mom… Dad… They just told us…” Her words broke. “Lydia is dead.” She wept into the phone, her parents crying on the other end.

Mr. Wright stood apart, shaking his head in disbelief.

Philip approached him. “Victor is at the station. He refuses to talk. Do you want to see him?”

“No,” Mr. Wright said firmly. “We’ll go to see Lydia first.”

“You can’t view her before her parents,” Philip cautioned gently.

“Then we’ll wait until Mr. and Mrs. Joe return tomorrow,” Mr. Wright said.

He turned to Julia and her aunt, then sank to his knees. “I am so sorry,” he whispered. His wife, barely steady on her feet, joined him in apology. Melissa watched silently, torn apart inside.

At last, Mr. Wright helped his wife up. He glanced at the detective. “We should take our leave.”

The family stepped out into the night, heavy with grief. Melissa followed, every step weighed down by the unthinkable truth: her best friend—her sister—was gone. And it was her own brother who had taken her away.