Chapter 82: Where is Luca’s body?
The door creaked open.
Clara stood there, one hand on the frame, her expression unreadable. Marisol turned, startled, clutching the cracked phone behind her back.
“You have to come,” Clara said quietly.
Marisol blinked. “Come… where?”
“You’re not sleeping here,” Clara replied. “I’ve got a place for you.”
Still unsure, Marisol grabbed her small bag and followed. The corridor stretched out in front of them, the soft hum of Craig’s unseen circuits echoing faintly through the walls.
“That room still needs to be cleaned up,” Clara said as they passed a half-open door. At the same moment, Rebecca appeared from the hallway, heading toward her own room.
“Have you eaten, ma’am?” Clara asked, polite but tentative.
Rebecca stopped and turned, her eyes sharp. “Since when do you care about me?”
Clara’s face stiffened. Before she could answer, Rebecca turned away and closed her door behind her with a soft, final click.
Clara stood there for a moment, the rejection hanging in the air like dust. Then she continued toward the basement door, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor.
“You’ll be sleeping here,” she said flatly as she pushed the door open.
Marisol peered down the narrow stairway. The air grew colder with each step, heavy with damp earth and old paint. The space at the bottom wasn’t terrible — just unexpected. A small bed, an oil heater, a desk with a broken lamp.
Before Marisol could say a word, Clara added, “Make yourself comfortable,” and left.
The door closed with a hollow thud.
Marisol stared around the dim room, confusion curling in her chest. It wasn’t what she expected. Not at all.
The next morning, miles away, the hum of tires on asphalt filled the air.
Sofia sat in the passenger seat of Rami’s car, a tablet resting on her lap. Her eyes scanned the digital report, the glow reflecting in her glasses. “Simon Marek,” she murmured, half to herself. “Convicted of felony assault… restraining order from his ex-girlfriend.”
Rami glanced sideways at her. “For what?”
“Violence,” Sofia said simply.
They drove on in silence for a while, the road narrowing as the city fell away into quiet suburbs. The car finally stopped in front of a small, weathered house at the edge of a sleepy neighborhood. Paint peeled off the shutters. A swing creaked in the wind.
Rami stepped out first, adjusting his jacket, eyes sweeping the area. “You sure we shouldn’t call the police for this one?”
Sofia shook her head. “Let’s handle it first. Then we’ll decide.”
They walked up the short path and knocked. For a moment, there was no sound—only the rustle of leaves. Then, slowly, the door opened.
A woman stood there, her face drawn and pale, eyes wary.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
Sofia held up her ID. “We’re looking for Simon Marek. Do you know him?”
The woman’s expression changed instantly — fear flashing across her face. She shook her head. “I don’t want to hear his name. Not again.”
She tried to close the door, but Rami caught it with his foot.
“Please, ma’am,” he said, his tone steady but urgent. “Have you seen him recently? We’re not here to cause trouble.”
She hesitated, glancing between them. Then, after a deep, trembling breath, she whispered, “He’s dead.”
Sofia’s brow furrowed. “Dead?”
The woman nodded slowly. “Simon was killed in jail. Months ago.”
For a heartbeat, none of them moved. The silence between them was thick, suffocating — the kind that only comes when the truth shifts the ground beneath your feet.
Rami looked at Sofia, and she looked back. Both thinking the same thing.
If Simon was dead…
Then who signed for Luca’s body?
Rami and Sofia walked back to the car in silence, the weight of what they’d just heard pressing down on them like the gray afternoon sky.
Rami started the engine, eyes fixed on the road ahead. Neither spoke for several seconds.
Sofia finally broke the silence. “If Simon Marek is dead… then who the hell signed out Luca’s body?”
Rami shook his head slowly, his knuckles tightening on the wheel. “I don’t know. But whoever it was… it means he’s not working alone.”
Sofia looked out the window, her reflection pale in the glass. “We should call the authorities, have them check every transfer record. I want to know who authorized it.”
Rami nodded. “We will. But not yet. Let the hospital run their part. If we push too hard now, we’ll tip someone off.”
Sofia turned to him. “Then what do we do?”
Rami hesitated, then said, “You were thinking about going back to the mansion, weren’t you?”
She nodded. “I just… have a bad feeling. I need to warn them. The new family should know what kind of place they’ve moved into.”
Rami shook his head. “No. Not yet. They’re new, Sofia. We start talking about bodies missing from the morgue, you’ll spook them. Let’s find proof first.”
Sofia looked unconvinced but finally sighed. “Fine. For now.”
The car rolled down the street, vanishing into the fading light.
Behind them, in the quiet house, the woman who had given them the news stood by the window. The curtains fluttered faintly beside her. She watched their car disappear, her lips trembling as she whispered to someone unseen in the dim room behind her.
“They’re gone,” she said softly.
A shadow moved just beyond the doorway, silent and tall.
Back at the mansion, night settled heavy and still.
Marisol lay awake in her small basement room, the air close and faintly metallic. She turned over, trying to force her eyes shut — until a sharp, rhythmic sound jolted her upright.
Metal against metal.
A tool. Somewhere nearby.
Her breath caught. She listened again. The sound stopped.
“Craig?” she whispered. “Is… there someone here?”
Craig’s voice came from the monitor, calm and flat. “Only you, Marisol.”
She frowned, glancing around the room. “Then what was that noise?”
No answer. Just the faint hum of the lights.
She pushed herself up, heart pounding, and opened the door. The corridor outside was dark, the floorboards groaning under her bare feet. She stepped carefully toward the faint sound — a rustling, a scrape.