THE TRUTH CHAPTER 6 FINALE

 

BLOG 6(finale)

TOPIC 2

CHAPTER 6

THE TRUTH

When I finally clawed my way back to consciousness, the world smelled of rot and diesel. I wasn't in a hospital; I was in a nightmare. I was lying at the bottom of a concrete pit, surrounded by a mountain of flesh. Three hundred bodies—men, women, children—stacked like cordwood. Above, the silhouette of a bulldozer groaned against the open sky, tilting its blade to drop more "refuse" into the hole.

I scrambled out of that mass grave, my lungs burning, and didn't stop running until the orange glow of a massive fire lit up the horizon. They were burning the evidence. They were burning a whole village's worth of souls.

I reached home a broken man, but I emerged from the shower a weapon. I shed my uniform—it felt like a lie. Instead, I pulled on a heavy leather longcoat, Gurkha trousers, and polished Chelsea boots. I placed a Charlie Chaplin hat on my head and lit a cigar, the smoke steadying my nerves.

I sent Steve’s remains and the sniper’s body to the lab, then moved to the hotel. The technicians told me the camera from the massacre was salvaged. My heart hammered. I watched the grainy footage. I saw the killer reach for his mask, the tension building—but the face was a digital blur, a ghost in the machine.

Frustrated, I raced to the hospital. Johnny Sir was mumbling in his sleep, a name catching in his throat, but it was too distorted by the oxygen mask to understand. I felt like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, waiting for the wind to push me over.

A phone call shattered the silence. "You are very close, baby," the voice cooed.

A gunshot rang out just outside the lab. I sprinted out to find a man slumped against the wall—the father of the young boy, Harry, who had survived the hotel. He had been coming to me, a blood-stained knife in his hand, but a sniper had silenced him before he could speak. I bagged the knife for prints and went to find the boy.

I found Harry in his hospital room. I sat by his bed and told him the truth—that he was alone, that his father was gone. I felt a flicker of pity for him. Then, a nurse burst in.

"Detective! Johnny Reynolds is awake!"

I ran to Johnny’s room. He was sitting bolt upright, his eyes wide with a terror I’d never seen in him.

"Albert..." he gasped, his voice a dry rasp. "Go to Harry’s room. He is not safe!"

I didn't wait. I spun on my heel and sprinted back, kicking the door open. But I didn't find a victim. I found a monster.

Harry was standing by the window, my own service weapon held steady in his small hands. He wasn't crying. He was smiling—a cold, vacuum-like grin that made my blood turn to ice.

"Johnny meant the kid isn't safe for you," Harry whispered.

I knelt down. My gun was gone, and I was staring into the eyes of a fourteen-year-old psychopath.

"I killed them all," Harry began, his voice devoid of emotion. "My grandfather first. Then Siria. I told my 'friend' to run just so I could watch the sniper hunt him. Then I killed the sniper. I even killed my grandmother. The police? Just a distraction. That village of 300 you saw? I erased them because they knew too much."

He stepped closer, the gun never wavering. "I killed my father because he was coming to tell you the truth. Every adult you saw—the 'masterminds'—were just hired muscle I used and discarded. You call yourself a detective, Albert? You couldn't even catch a child."

He explained the web: Steve was his pawn to kill the sniper, then he had Steve killed. He was the one who hit me from behind at the rooftop. He was the only one left standing.

"And now," Harry said, thumbing the hammer back. "I'm the only guy left."

"I recorded all of that," a voice boomed from the doorway.

BANG.

A single shot rang out. Harry slumped to the floor, the evil smile finally fading as life left his eyes. I looked up to see a figure standing there, a smoking gun in hand.

I walked back to Johnny’s room with the newcomer. Johnny looked at the man and then at me, the shock on his face mirroring my own. The mystery of the 500 murders was solved, but the horror wasn't over.

The man holstered his weapon and looked at us both with grim eyes.

"Don't get comfortable," he said. "We have more work to do..."

THE END