Am I really a killer? Do I truly have the capacity to take someone's life? These thoughts are consuming me from the inside. I can't sleep. I can't eat. Even working feels like dragging myself through a swamp of guilt and confusion. Every single day, the image of Sara's case gnaws at my mind like a parasite. My heart sinks every morning I wake up, as if bracing for some unknown horror I might've committed. I'm terrified. What if I wake up at a crime scene with no memory again? What if I've already killed someone and I just don't remember?
I can't go to the police. What would I even say? "Hi, I think I might be a killer but I'm not sure"? I can't talk to Sam either. I don't even know what's real anymore. All I can do is live with this sickening fear that one day I'll wake up covered in blood and not know if I'm a victim or the monster.
"Bell rings."
"Hey, can I get a tea latte?" a customer says.
Rahul blinked hard, jolting back into reality.
"Yeah... coming right up," he muttered, trying to compose himself.
He moved mechanically behind the counter, boiling water, measuring tea leaves, and adding frothy milk but his hands were trembling.
The city outside reflected the torment within him. It was a rainy day not the kind of romantic drizzle that brings lovers closer, but a brutal, relentless downpour. The clouds above were pitch black, as if the heavens themselves were mourning something. The rain wasn't just falling it was crashing, as though the sky had burst open, spilling sorrow from the heavens.
It felt like the gods were furious washing down their rage upon the earth, trying desperately to cleanse the sins of humanity. But no matter how heavy the rain fell, it wouldn't be enough to wash away the thick, clotted blood that stained the city's soul. Not the kind that painted alleys and dreams alike.
Rahul was wiping down the counter when he caught a glimpse of something a shadow. A tall, still figure standing just outside the fogged-up glass door of the café.
His breath caught. It was him. The man in black. The one he called "The Boss."
Rahul rushed outside, heart pounding like a war drum but instead of the dark figure he expected, he found Officer Osbon standing beneath a dripping umbrella.
The officer grinned at Rahul's expression. "Hello, Mr. Rahul. Why did you run out like that? Did you see a ghost?"
Rahul fumbled for an answer, trying to hide the anxiety in his voice. "No, no. I just thought... sometimes animals stand around near the café when it rains. Didn't want them sneaking in." He chuckled awkwardly.
Osbon raised an eyebrow. "Do I look like an animal to you?"
"No, officer. Of course not," Rahul replied, forcing a smile.
"Haha! I'm just messing with you, kid. Chill." The officer laughed heartily.
He adjusted his coat. "Actually, I came here to talk about Sara's case."
Rahul nodded. "Sure. You can come in. It's quiet today anyway."
They stepped into the warm café and sat at a corner table. Rahul made coffee for the officer, trying to mask his nerves.
"I don't really need coffee," Osbon said, waving him off.
"No, no. I insist," Rahul replied. His voice was firm too firm. He needed something to ground himself.
They began talking. "So," Osbon began, "I'm Officer Osbon. I felt bad after what happened to Sara. But when you told me about the man in black... to be honest, I thought you were insane."
Rahul didn't react. He stared into his cup, waiting.
"But," Osbon continued, lowering his voice, "after the third death this year, things have changed. The department is tense. We can't afford another body. And I'm starting to think there's truth in your story."
Rahul's eyes widened. "Sir, did you find the Boss?"
"The who?"
"I named the guy in black 'The Boss,'" Rahul explained.
Osbon chuckled. "Cool name. So, I think this 'Boss' is connected to the murders?"
"I know it," Rahul whispered.
Osbon sighed. "Look, the department doesn't believe in mysterious strangers. There's no solid evidence linking this 'Boss' to any of the deaths. Normally, serial killers follow a pattern. One area. One gender. One age group. Something to help us track them."
He leaned back. "This case? Two men and one woman. All around the same age, yes. But no personal connections. It could just be coincidence. See, normal criminals have motives. Anger, revenge, robbery. That makes them easy to track. But serial killers? They're different. No motive. Just chaos. That makes them unpredictable and harder to catch."
Rahul nodded slowly. "I get it. But how can I help?"
Osbon pulled a card from his coat pocket and slid it across the table.
"Give me anything you find on this 'Boss.' Any detail. Even something small might help."
Rahul took the card and looked down at it.
"He wears all black," he said. "His height is close to yours. But I've never seen his face. He always stays in the shadows."
"Not much to go on," Osbon admitted. "But it's something. I'll work with it. Here's my number. If you get anything and I mean anything let me know. The department might not be with you, but I am."
"Thank you, Officer," Rahul said quietly.
Osbon stood, gave him a nod, and walked toward the door. As he stepped outside into the downpour, he turned back with a quick wave.
"Stay bye, Rahul."
And then he was gone.
Rahul sat alone at the table, the sound of rain hammering the roof like gunshots. The coffee had gone cold. The café was silent, but his mind was a storm.
There was a connection between the Boss and his dreams. There had to be. The shadowy figure. The hallucinations. The murders. It was all converging on him like some twisted puzzle.
He would find out the truth. He had to.
Even if it meant confronting the darkest parts of himself.
Even if it meant losing his mind completely.
The rain kept falling.
And somewhere, in the shadows of the city, the Boss was watching.
Waiting.