The Man Behind the Glass
615 Words
The shrill alarm swallowed every sound in the corridor.
Doctors rushed past Kian as if he were invisible.
"Charge to two hundred!"
"Clear!"
His father's body jerked violently.
Nothing.
The monitor continued its relentless scream.
BEEEEEEEEEP.
Kian didn't move.
He couldn't.
For the first time in years...
He was afraid.
Not of bullets.
Not of death.
But of becoming a man with nothing left to protect.
Another shock.
Another desperate attempt.
Then—
Beep.
A single heartbeat echoed through the room.
Another followed.
The long, continuous scream broke into an uneven rhythm.
The doctors exhaled.
"Pulse is back."
"We've stabilized him."
The words should have brought relief.
Instead, Kian's attention remained fixed on the voice recorder clenched in his fist.
"Your father survived because I allowed it."
Allowed it.
Whoever sent the message wasn't merely threatening him.
He was claiming ownership over his father's life.
"Kian."
Inspector Raghav stepped into the corridor.
Mid-fifties.
Calm eyes.
A man who had spent thirty years studying murder.
"We need to talk."
"I don't."
"You will."
Kian turned to leave.
"You killed six men."
He stopped.
"I don't know what you're talking about."
Raghav smiled faintly.
"I never said they were dead."
Silence.
"So you do know."
The inspector walked beside him.
"Those six men weren't professionals."
"I know."
"They were expendable."
"I know."
"They were meant to distract you."
"I know."
Raghav stopped walking.
For the first time, surprise crossed his face.
"You knew?"
"I knew the moment I found this."
Kian handed him the black envelope.
The inspector examined it carefully.
"No fingerprints."
"No DNA."
"No security footage."
Kian finished the sentence before he could.
The inspector looked at him.
"You've dealt with people like this before."
"No."
Kian's eyes darkened.
"But my father has."
The hospital's surveillance room overlooked every corridor.
Twenty-four screens.
Twenty-four different angles.
The technician replayed the footage from fifteen minutes earlier.
"There."
Kian pointed.
The man with the umbrella.
Gray suit.
Walking slowly toward Room 1708.
The footage froze.
The screen flickered.
Then...
Static.
Five full seconds.
When the image returned—
The corridor was empty.
The man was gone.
The flowers had never appeared.
The technician frowned.
"That's impossible."
"Why?"
"Because nothing entered the room."
He rewound the footage again.
Same result.
No visitor.
No flowers.
No envelope.
Kian slowly opened his hand.
The black envelope was still there.
Cold.
Real.
Heavy.
Yet the cameras insisted it had never existed.
That night, Kian returned to the family estate.
The mansion stood on a hill overlooking the city.
Thousands admired it.
Kian hated it.
Every room reminded him of someone trying too hard to appear perfect.
A servant rushed toward him.
"Sir, Mr. Verma is waiting in the study."
Rajiv Verma.
His father's oldest friend.
Or so everyone believed.
Kian entered without knocking.
The old man looked up from a chessboard.
"You look tired."
"My father almost died."
"And yet you're asking the wrong questions."
Kian narrowed his eyes.
"You knew."
Rajiv picked up a black king.
"No."
He placed it gently on the board.
"I expected this."
Kian's heartbeat slowed.
"What does that mean?"
Rajiv leaned back.
"Twenty-eight years ago..."
"...your father made a decision."
"A decision powerful men have been trying to erase ever since."
"And now..."
He looked directly into Kian's eyes.
"...they've finally come to collect."
Before Kian could ask another question—
The mansion exploded.
The study windows shattered inward.
Glass rained across the room.
The chessboard flipped into the air.
Flames erupted outside.
Someone screamed.
Then the mansion's lights died.
Darkness swallowed everything.
From somewhere within the burning estate...
A calm voice echoed through the halls.
"Kian Dev."
"I've come to finish what your father started."
- Writer
