Chapter 6

"I'm right, aren't I? It was you," he said, surprise lacing his voice. 

What the hell is he talking about?

"This," he said, his voice softening to a whisper as he pointed at the picture of Blake on the screen, "was your brother." 

It felt like I had stopped breathing. 

"I could do nothing to save him," he went on. "He had already bled out excessively by the time the medics arrived." 

Tears dropped down my cheeks and I vigorously shook my head in denial. "It was you. You killed him."

He blinked and then his eyes grew wide. His mouth hung open and he began to shake his head, slowly at first and then rapidly. 

"What? No, no, no. Of course not. What are you saying? Why would I—" 

"Shut up," I said, cutting him off, "Just shut the hell up. I saw you. I saw your face. It was you. You and him." I pointed at the picture of his accomplice on the screen. 

He seemed to be frozen. 

"You both killed him," I said. "You ruined my family and our lives." 

He gradually overcame the shock on his face. He tried to say something but then stopped, as if he was at a loss of words. 

Then he sighed. Long and deep. 

"You are mistaken," he said finally, looking me in the eye. "You have gotten everything mixed up in your head. I'm not one of them." 

My lower lip trembled. My fingers loosened their grip around the knife. 

I did not want to listen to his explanation. He was playing mind games with me. He was the murderer. I remembered his face. 

"I was passing by the park when I saw two masked men assaulting you and your brother. Your brother was already lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood. I rushed towards you guys, screaming, and the two masked men fled immediately. You had fallen to the ground, unconscious. And that's when I called the police," he said. 

What was he saying? That was not what had happened, was it? 

My chest ached with every breath. I could hear the pulsations of my pounding blood in my ears. 

"But—but I saw you," I said, more to myself than to him. 

Why did he sound so genuine? 

"Exactly. You saw me in the last seconds before losing consciousness. I was assessing your injuries and calling the police and the ambulance. I was not one of the masked men," he said, offering me a small smile. 

I can't believe him. He's lying. How can this be the truth? 

"If you don't believe me, why don't you crosscheck with the police? They will have it in their records that I was the stranger who called. How do you not already know that, though?" he said. 

"Why would a stranger risk his life and run to save someone else?" I asked. "Your story sounds like a movie script." 

He pulled out the nearest chair and sat down heavily, his eyes lingering on the floor. 

"He would if he had already lost someone in a similar scenario," he said. 

The knife dropped from my hand, falling to the ground with a clinking noise. 

My stomach twisted when I heard him sniff. He was crying. 

"Why don't you search up Liza Landon on the net?" he said. 

My hands refused to move. 

Has everything I've believed in till now a lie? Is he speaking the truth? 

"Go ahead," he urged, rubbing his eyes and looking up with a small smile. 

With trembling hands, I took out my phone from the pocket and searched up Liza Landon. 

A ton of news articles came up in results. 

I clicked on the first one. 

Liza Landon, 16, was found dead in the local park this evening. The police believe that she was mugged. Autopsy report are being awaited to know the cause of death. 

At the bottom of the page was a picture of Liza. An innocent, happy girl. 

"She was my sister," he said suddenly. 

I jumped a little at his presence near me. 

When had he come this close? 

He pushed his phone towards me. There was a picture of Liza and him on the screen. 

He's telling the truth. 

"They mugged her and took away all her belongings. But the thing is that she was asthmatic. Because of shock, she had a severe asthma attack. And she didn't have her inhaler with her because they had taken away her handbag. She died," he said, his voice breaking a little towards the end. 

"I'm sorry," I said, not knowing what else to say. 

My brain was being reprogrammed. My beliefs had been a lie. My assumptions were wrong. 

"I don't care if you still don't believe me. There's nothing else that I can do to change your mind. But just think logically for once and analyse your thoughts again. If I really was your culprit, then I wouldn't be unarmed and telling you my sob story right now. I would have just finished you off and been on my way. Especially if I had found you despite this disguise of yours," he said. 

I had no answer to that. He was right. 

All the missing pieces of puzzle fit into place—his attitude, his behaviour, his habits, and his confusion. 

I had been mistaken badly. I should have been thanking him for saving my life, but I had instead accused him of being a murderer. 

"Was it the same two people?" I asked, recalling his earlier reaction to the news. 

He nodded with a tired look in his eyes. 

"I'm sorry," I said again, "for everything." 

"So, you believe me now?" He raised an eyebrow. "I just want to confirm once. You know, I don't want you to point a knife at me again. I might have looked unfazed, but it scared the crap out of me."

My cheeks warmed up as the realisation of my behavior and actions caught up to me. From his viewpoint, I must have embarrassed myself so much. 

He began to laugh at my discomfort. "It's all catching up to you now, isn't it? Gosh, were you rude!" 

Much to my surprise, I found myself biting my tongue and then laughing a little along with him. His laughter was infectious. 

"I'm so sorry," I said after a while when he had calmed down.

He smiled warmly. "Considering the big misunderstanding that you were living with, your actions were justified. No hard feelings. I'm sorry for your loss." 

"Thank you," I said, sucking in a sharp breath. 

He nodded and then looked up at the television. "One down. One more to go." 

"I hope he meets the same fate," I murmured. 

"Me too," he said. 

Our eyes met and a speck of calmness settled within me.

Someone finally understands me. 

"I'm Kol," he said, extending his hand forward. "Kol Landon." 

"Zuri," I said, shaking his hand. "Quite formal, aren't you?" 

"Just taking it slow. Who knows when you'll take out your knife again?" His eyes twinkled. 

I groaned. "Let it go already." 

He shook his head in all seriousness. "Not so soon." 

Despite myself, I smiled. In all my plans and made-up scenarios, I had never imagined that a situation like this would ever spring up and that the outcome would be this satisfying.