The House of Horror

Chapter 29 _ Investigations With The Tower's Security Personnel Inside The Public Prosecutor's Office

Minutes later, she turned abruptly to the tap and turned off the water completely. She hurried back to the guard's room. She bent down to gather the scattered remains of the cassette player on the floor—metal and plastic shards that resembled the remains of a dead body. Her fingers trembled as she picked up each piece, both hasty and nervous. Without hesitation, she approached the narrow window and flung the debris outside. The shattered pieces landed by the great gate, scattered like exposed secrets, and settled on the threshold where passersby trod.

She stopped, breathing heavily, then slowly raised her head. Her eyes swept across the garden, fixed on the dark hole that marred the lush green lawn—the grave where the body of Sid, the doorman, now lay beneath the earth. Miranda's gaze froze, her chest rising and falling erratically. At the edge of the grave, sunlight glinted off the cold steel of the axe and shovel, abandoned as if they had never left the scene of the crime.

Step by step, she moved toward the grave. Her steps are heavy, as if the earth clings to her ankles, refusing to let her go. Yet she reaches him, bends down, and reaches out. Her palms encircle the axe and shovel; their metal handles bite her skin, bearing not only the weight of iron but also the burden of memory—darkness, inevitable, unyielding.

She tightens her grip, then returns to the room. With meticulous care, she hangs the tools on their hooks along the wall, restoring order as if nothing had happened. An illusion of normalcy masks the underlying chaos.

She goes out again, her eyes scanning the room. It seems tidy now, as if no shadows had lurked just hours before. But this delicate calm is fragile, a thin mask stretched over the storm raging within.

Miranda returns to the villa's main door, her steps quickening slightly. She slips inside and closes it behind her. The heavy door echoes through the hall—a sound that has become all too familiar lately. A heavy, oppressive sound... hinting that something even darker awaited her.

Its heavy echo reverberated through the hall like an alarm bell, reminding everyone in the villa of the oppressive weight that hung over the place. She turned hesitantly, her eyes falling on Amal and Sophia, sitting quietly in the spacious living room. Her expression froze for a moment, and her body trembled with an inexplicable fear, as if she had never expected to see them there.

Forcing a faint smile, her voice barely steady, she tried to sound casual:

Miranda: Good morning.

Amal looked at her calmly, but with a deep weariness and anxiety, before replying in a tone tinged with boredom and worry:

Amal: Good morning… This door is becoming unsettling and frightening, even every time it closes. Miranda takes two hesitant steps forward, smoothing the sides of her dress with trembling hands, then murmurs an explanation:

Miranda: Hussein Bey went out to fetch the carpenter… he’s going to fix it.

Amal nods as if she already knows, her eyes narrowing slightly when she suddenly asks, testing Miranda’s intentions:

Amal: I know that… but tell me, Miranda, why did you ask for the candles?

Miranda swallows hard, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before slowly raising it again, her voice trembling with hidden terror:

Miranda: I wanted to perform a certain ritual… I read about it in a book, a ritual to exorcise the demon from my room… I can’t bear the fear anymore. The demon has started haunting me, even in my sleep.

—Hussein ends the confrontation before it even begins with a cunning, deadly intelligence.

Hussein sits behind the wheel, his hand resting wearily on the steering wheel as if it bears the weight of his life. Beside him sat Ayman, silent, his eyes fixed on the floor, his inner voice churning with questions he dared not ask. Hussein finally broke the silence, his tone dry and tinged with suppressed frustration:

Hussein: Your father... he came back this morning. He stood before me with tired eyes, demanding his money. I couldn't refuse. I gave him everything he asked for. He took the money without saying a word, without even looking at me, and then left. I asked him, "Where are you going?" He replied coldly that he no longer wanted to work as a doorman... and that he had found a new job in a distant city.

Ayman's face twitched for a moment, as if the words had struck him like a slap. He lowered his gaze, dark circles of sadness etching themselves across his features, mixed with the confusion that clouded his eyes. When his voice finally emerged, it was fragile, trembling between hope and despair:

Ayman: Didn't he tell you... which city he went to?

Hussein shook his head slowly, a heavy gesture of helplessness.

Hussein: No, all I know is that he's gone.

Silence filled the car, broken only by ragged breaths and the faint whisper of air seeping through the window. Hussein's words weighed heavily, as if they had suddenly slammed countless doors shut in Ayman's face. The young man shrank back in his seat, his fists clenched, desperately searching for an explanation to pierce the fog—but all he found was an emptiness that swallowed his voice.

Hussein, meanwhile, kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, as if driving in pitch darkness. Guilt gnawed at him for failing to protect the man, for not stopping him, and fear clouded his thoughts—fear of the unknown consequences this mysterious departure might bring.

At that moment, it was no longer just a casual conversation between two men in a car. It became an entry point to a hidden secret, linking them to an absent figure who left behind a void and anxiety, and for his son, an unanswered question that festered within him like a scar that would never heal.

"The security of the tower seems suspicious or trivial, but it's misleading in both cases!"

Detective Mohamed sat behind his wide wooden desk, a lit cigarette flickering between his fingers. The smoke rose in lazy swirls, filling the room with a thick fog that intensified the atmosphere, pressing down on anyone who dared enter. His eyes, despite his weariness, were sharp as a blade, as he studied the files piled before him as if they were unsolved puzzles awaiting their solution.

Suddenly, the door burst open with a firm, military-like force. A security guard appeared on the threshold, saluted, and announced in a clear, measured voice: "Shadi, Ashraf, and Mina—the security guards are waiting outside, sir." The investigator slowly raised his head, exhaling a thick cloud of smoke, and replied coldly, "Where are Malik and his sister?"

The soldier lowered his gaze slightly and answered with restrained annoyance, "They're not in their apartment, sir... the search is ongoing."