Chapter Four: The Man in the Jacket
533 Words
Advait didn’t move.
He stared at the door as the shadow passed. Slow. Careful. A pause. Then silence again.
He took a step toward the door, heart pounding. The hallway outside was narrow—he remembered. No place to hide unless someone moved quickly.
He opened the door in one swift motion.
Empty.
The corridor stretched out in both directions, quiet as a photograph. No echo of footsteps, no voice, no motion. Just the slow tick of the clock downstairs and the whisper of wind through the stairwell.
Still, he could feel it—that faint tug in his gut. Someone had been there. Watching.
He walked down the hall toward the stairs, eyes scanning every corner. The woman at reception was gone. The counter stood empty, a small table fan buzzing lazily behind it. He stepped out the front door, squinting against the sudden brightness.
There—across the road, near the trees.
The same man. Faded army jacket. Lighting another beedi, like time hadn’t moved since their last meeting.
“You followed me,” Advait said, walking straight up to him.
The man didn’t flinch. “You journalists like to think you’re the only ones asking questions.”
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Bhairav,” he said flatly. “Used to be a driver. Now I just wait.”
“For what?”
He looked directly at Advait. “People like you.”
Advait took the torn photo from his pocket and held it up.
“You were with her,” he said. “The day she disappeared.”
Bhairav didn’t even look surprised.
“She asked me to drive her to the old watchtower,” he said. “At the edge of the forest. She said she was meeting someone.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know,” he replied. “But she was nervous. Not like her usual self. Kept looking behind her on the road. Like she knew she was being followed.”
Advait frowned. “The police never found anything at the tower.”
“They didn’t check the right one.”
“What does that mean?”
Bhairav took another drag, then dropped the beedi to the ground, crushing it under his heel.
“There’s an old watchtower beyond the forest. Nobody uses it anymore. Locals say it’s cursed.”
“Do you believe that?”
Bhairav didn’t answer.
He just pulled out a crumpled piece of paper from his coat and handed it to Advait.
It was a map. Hand-drawn. A trail leading from Cloudview Retreat, past the edge of the forest, into the hills. A small mark labeled: Old Tower.
“She left something there,” Bhairav said. “She made me promise not to tell anyone… unless someone came looking for her.”
Advait’s throat tightened. “You waited four years.”
“You’re the first one who asked the right question.”
A wind picked up then, sudden and sharp, carrying the smell of pine and smoke.
“What do I need to know before I go?” Advait asked, folding the map.
Bhairav’s eyes darkened. “Once you cross into those woods, the truth follows you home.”
- Writer
