A Lie That Breathes
682 Words
The elderly man disappeared before the nurses reached the room.
One moment he stood outside the glass.
The next…
Only an empty corridor remained.
⸻
Aiden’s breathing steadied after several minutes.
The heart monitor returned to its slow, rhythmic pulse.
A nurse adjusted the blanket over his legs.
“You’re experiencing acute stress.”
“I’m fine.”
“You collapsed.”
“I’m still fine.”
She gave him the look nurses reserved for stubborn patients.
“You’ll be kept overnight.”
“No.”
“You don’t have a choice.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
She left before he could argue.
The door clicked shut.
Silence returned.
Julian remained by the window.
Neither man spoke.
Eventually…
Aiden broke the silence.
“Did you really find that watch?”
Julian looked at him.
“What do you mean?”
“The police searched everything.”
“They said they did.”
“So where did you get it?”
Julian hesitated.
Long enough.
“I didn’t.”
Aiden frowned.
“It was delivered to me.”
“What?”
“This morning.”
“In an envelope?”
Julian nodded once.
“Same handwriting?”
“…Yes.”
For the first time since they’d met…
Neither of them looked suspicious.
They looked frightened.
⸻
Across the city…
Evelyn unlocked the door to her home.
The sign on the frosted glass read:
HART INVESTIGATIONS
Half the letters had begun peeling away.
Inside…
A single desk.
Two chairs.
Three filing cabinets.
A coffee machine older than the building itself.
Nothing impressive.
Except one wall.
Floor to ceiling.
Covered.
Photographs.
Maps.
Strings.
Notes.
Timelines.
Train schedules.
Victims.
Witnesses.
Missing evidence.
Every inch of the wall revolved around one thing.
Train 27.
Pinned dead centre…
A newspaper clipping.
CASE OFFICIALLY CLOSED
Someone had stabbed a drawing pin straight through the word “closed.”
She dropped the café receipt onto her desk.
Then looked at the wall.
“M…”
Her eyes travelled slowly across every photograph.
Every witness.
Every investigator.
Every victim.
Then stopped.
“Would it be Marcus”?!!.
“Detective Marcus Hale”?!!.
She stared.
“No, it can’t be”!!!
“Too obvious, it can’t be him, I don’t see his involvement in this”.
She moved on.
Another photograph.
Michael Rowan.
Lead engineer.
Dead (suicide).
Another.
Maria Ellis.
Emergency dispatcher.
Transferred overseas and was later reported dead (suicide).
Another.
Martin Doyle.
Forensic accountant.
Missing and later committed suicide.
Her eyes narrowed.
Three names.
Three M’s.
Three possibilities.
Her phone rang.
Marcus.
She answered.
“You found something.”
“You always assume I have.”
“You called.”
A sigh.
“You need to come down here.”
“Why?”
“We’ve got a problem.”
“What kind?”
“A survivor.”
Silence.
Evelyn closed her eyes.
“Marcus…”
“The morgue.”
She frowned.
“What about it?”
“The body’s gone.”
⸻
At the hospital…
Aiden stood by the window despite the doctor’s orders.
He couldn’t sit still.
Not anymore.
Julian examined the silver ticket beneath the room’s overhead light.
“No fingerprints.”
Aiden laughed quietly.
“There never are?”
Julian looked up sharply.
“What?”
Aiden froze.
“I…”
“You’ve seen another ticket before.”
“I didn’t mean…”
“You said ‘never.’”
Aiden stared at the floor.
His voice barely rose above a whisper.
“I don’t know why I said that.”
Julian didn’t answer.
Instead…
He carefully slid the ticket back into its evidence sleeve.
Then he noticed something.
Tiny.
Almost invisible.
Along the edge of the silver surface…
A series of shallow scratches.
Not damage.
Letters.
Someone had carved into the metal using something incredibly sharp.
Julian tilted the ticket toward the light.
Aiden stepped closer.
Together…
They read the words.
DON’T BELIEVE THE STORIES YOU HEAR.
Neither man spoke.
Because they were both thinking the same thing.
The fourth survivor had died yesterday.
His body was now missing.
⸻
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