The Last Voice
715 Words
The first time I heard my father beg...
...he wasn't begging for his life.
He was begging for mine.
The voice message was twenty-three seconds long.
I had listened to it two hundred and fourteen times.
"Kian... don't come home."
A loud crash.
Someone shouting.
Then my father's voice again, lower this time.
"If you love me... stay away."
The recording ended with a single gunshot.
Nothing after that.
No goodbye.
No explanation.
Just silence.
Three days later.
Rain washed the city, but not its sins.
I stood outside St. Gabriel Medical Center wearing a black shirt soaked with blood that wasn't mine.
A police barricade blocked the entrance.
Reporters crowded behind yellow tape.
Camera flashes exploded the moment they saw me.
"Mr. Dev! Is it true six men died at Riverside Port?"
"Were you involved?"
"Did your father's company order the killings?"
"Is your father conscious?"
Questions.
Always questions.
No one ever cared about answers.
I walked straight through them.
A young constable stepped in front of me.
"Sir, you can't—"
An older inspector grabbed the boy's shoulder.
"Move."
"But—"
"I said move."
The constable obeyed.
Fear spreads faster than respect.
Inside the hospital, every pair of eyes followed me.
Nurses stopped talking.
Patients looked away.
A little girl holding an IV stand stared openly.
"Mom," she whispered.
"Is that the bad man from TV?"
Her mother pulled her closer.
"Don't look."
I smiled at the child.
She hid behind her mother.
Good.
Children should fear monsters.
It keeps them alive.
Room 1708.
Private intensive care.
My father lay surrounded by machines that breathed louder than he did.
His face was almost unrecognizable.
Bandages covered half his head.
Bruises darkened his neck.
The man who had built an empire now needed a machine to breathe.
I pulled a chair beside his bed.
"You always hated hospitals."
No answer.
"I remember."
Still nothing.
"When I was ten, I broke my arm."
A faint smile crossed my face.
"You sent your assistant because you had a board meeting."
Silence.
"I told everyone you were saving the company."
Another silence.
"I lied for you."
The heart monitor continued its steady rhythm.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
"I've been lying for you my whole life."
For the first time in three days...
My voice cracked.
"I don't even know if you'd do the same."
A warm hand rested on my shoulder.
My younger sister.
Maya.
"You need sleep."
"I'm fine."
"You haven't eaten."
"I'm fine."
"You killed people."
...
"I'm fine."
She closed her eyes.
"No," she whispered.
"You're not."
When Maya left, I noticed something strange.
The flowers beside the bed had been changed.
White lilies.
My father hated lilies.
He once fired an event manager for decorating a banquet with them.
I frowned.
No visitor card.
No sender's name.
Only a tiny black envelope hidden beneath the vase.
Inside...
One playing card.
The King of Hearts.
On the back, written in silver ink—
Wrong son.
I stared at the words.
Wrong son?
The hospital door opened.
A nurse entered.
"I'm sorry, sir. Visiting hours are over."
"Who brought these flowers?"
She blinked.
"What flowers?"
I slowly looked back.
The vase...
was gone.
Only the black envelope remained in my hand.
The nurse frowned.
"Sir... are you alright?"
Before I could answer—
My father's heart monitor erupted into a violent alarm.
BEEEEEEEEEP.
Doctors rushed into the room.
Someone shoved me backward.
"He's crashing!"
"Clear the room!"
A crash cart rolled past.
Defibrillator.
Syringes.
Shouting.
I stood frozen outside the glass doors as the team fought to restart the only heart that had ever mattered to me.
Then...
I noticed a man at the end of the corridor.
Gray suit.
Umbrella.
Face hidden beneath its shadow.
He looked directly at me.
Raised two fingers to his forehead.
A casual salute.
Then he smiled.
Not with triumph.
With recognition.
As if we'd finally met after years of waiting.
He turned and disappeared into the crowded hallway.
I looked down.
Something had been slipped into my coat pocket.
Another voice recorder.
I pressed play.
A calm male voice spoke.
"Your father survived because I allowed it."
A pause.
"Come alone tomorrow night."
Another pause.
"If you want to know why your father chose me over you."
- Writer
