Chapter 10: The House Of Mirrors
1031 Words
CHAPTER TEN
The House of Mirrors
The words haunted Zara throughout the journey.
The House of Mirrors.
She whispered the name repeatedly, hoping it would awaken a memory.
It didn't.
The tiny slip of paper hidden inside Professor Ibrahim's wooden crucifix was now the only clue she possessed. There was no address, no map, no explanation—only a name that sounded less like a place and more like a warning.
Father Benjamin watched her from across the monastery's damaged library.
"You've been staring at that note for an hour."
"I'm trying to remember where I've heard it before."
"And?"
"Nothing."
The old priest sighed.
"Perhaps it isn't meant to be remembered."
---
By morning, news of the monastery attack dominated the nation.
Television stations condemned the violence.
Government officials promised swift investigations.
Religious leaders called for peace.
Yet something disturbed Zara.
Every report described Professor Ibrahim Hassan as an "unknown elderly victim."
Not one journalist mentioned his name.
Not one newspaper admitted he had ever existed.
It was as though history itself had been rewritten overnight.
She turned to Father Benjamin.
"They've erased him."
The priest nodded sadly.
"The Circle doesn't merely silence people."
"It removes them from memory."
---
Hundreds of kilometres away, Professor Ibrahim sat opposite the elderly man in the white suit.
The room was magnificent.
Rare books.
Masterpiece paintings.
Antique furniture.
Nothing reflected cruelty.
Everything reflected refinement.
The old man poured another cup of tea.
"You always preferred bitter tea."
Professor Ibrahim ignored the cup.
"What do you want?"
The old man smiled.
"The same thing I wanted forty years ago."
"The truth."
"No."
Professor Ibrahim's voice hardened.
"You want control."
The old man chuckled.
"Control is merely organised truth."
"No."
"It is organised fear."
For the first time, irritation crossed the old man's face.
"You still believe people deserve freedom."
"They do."
"They deserve guidance."
"They deserve truth."
"They deserve choice."
"They deserve peace."
"They deserve honesty."
Each answer from Professor Ibrahim came without hesitation.
The old man leaned back.
"And what has honesty accomplished?"
"Wars continue."
"Families break apart."
"Governments collapse."
"Churches divide."
He spread his hands.
"We simply removed unnecessary choices."
Professor Ibrahim lowered his head.
"No."
"You removed conscience."
---
Meanwhile, Inspector David Eze finally discovered the truth about the place where he had been recovering.
He wasn't in a hospital.
He was inside an estate disguised as a private medical facility.
Every corridor contained hidden cameras.
Every exit was electronically locked.
Every employee answered to the Circle.
Yet no one treated him like a prisoner.
He was free to walk.
Free to eat.
Free to read.
Free to recover.
Only one thing remained impossible.
Leaving.
As he wandered through a quiet hallway, he noticed a framed quotation hanging on the wall.
«"People surrender freedom willingly when convinced it is an act of love."»
His heart pounded.
That sounded exactly like Professor Nwoke.
But beneath the quotation appeared another name.
Founder of the Circle
David frowned.
Impossible.
Professor Nwoke had never founded the Circle.
Had someone stolen his words?
Or...
Had the Circle manipulated his research long before he understood its true purpose?
---
Back at the monastery, Zara continued reading the journal.
Another envelope appeared between its pages.
Across the front, Professor Nwoke had written:
CASE FOUR
She opened it carefully.
THE TEACHER WHO STOLE DREAMS
"His name was Mr. Felix Adewale."
He was celebrated as one of the strictest teachers in his state.
Parents admired him.
Students feared him.
His favourite sentence was always the same.
"Everything I do is because I love you."
Whenever a child failed, he humiliated them before the class.
Whenever a student expressed a dream different from his expectations, he crushed it.
Artists were forced into science.
Writers were mocked.
Quiet children were labelled useless.
Curious minds learned to remain silent.
For thirty-five years, society praised him for producing disciplined students.
Yet when Professor Nwoke interviewed those same students decades later, a heartbreaking pattern emerged.
Many had become successful professionals.
Doctors.
Lawyers.
Engineers.
Bankers.
But very few were happy.
One former student wept during the interview.
"I spent my whole life becoming the person my teacher wanted."
"I never discovered the person God created me to be."
Professor Nwoke ended the case with another unforgettable lesson.
«"Authority without compassion creates obedience. Love with wisdom creates purpose."»
Zara closed the journal.
The professor wasn't attacking discipline.
He was exposing domination disguised as care.
She whispered to herself,
"How many lives have been redirected by people who believed they knew what was best?"
---
Late that evening, one of the youngest monks rushed into the room.
"Father Benjamin!"
The priest stood immediately.
"What happened?"
"A visitor."
The priest frowned.
"We've buried enough surprises."
The monk swallowed.
"She insists she knew Professor Nwoke."
Moments later, a woman in her late sixties entered the monastery.
Her posture was graceful despite obvious exhaustion.
Her silver hair framed a face marked by years of sorrow.
She carried a weathered leather suitcase.
"My name," she said softly, "is Dr. Esther Bello."
Father Benjamin staggered backwards.
"No..."
Zara looked between them.
"You know her?"
The priest's eyes filled with tears.
"Elias told me Esther died twenty years ago."
The woman smiled sadly.
"I allowed the world to believe that."
She placed the suitcase on the table.
"I've spent two decades hiding."
She slowly opened it.
Inside were dozens of notebooks.
Research papers.
Photographs.
Audio tapes.
And one sealed file marked in bold red letters:
THE HOUSE OF MIRRORS
Before anyone could speak, a phone buried inside the suitcase began to ring.
The three of them exchanged uneasy glances.
Dr. Esther's face turned pale.
"That phone..."
"I threw it away nineteen years ago."
It continued ringing.
Slowly.
Relentlessly.
No one moved.
Finally, Zara reached for it.
The ringing stopped the instant her fingers touched it.
The screen lit up by itself.
Only four words appeared in bright white letters against a black background.
«"WELCOME TO THE MIRROR."»
At that exact moment, every light in the monastery went out.
Darkness swallowed the room.
Then, from somewhere inside the building...
A familiar voice whispered calmly:
"Look carefully."
"The enemy has finally arrived."
End of Chapter Ten
- Writer
