As the words tumbled out like stones, they drew down both Narguile’s eyes to the floor, just as well as the strength from his shoulders.

  Phillip’s reaction was palpable —a mixture of disbelief and shock that seemed to ripple through him. For a moment, time itself appeared to halt within those balcony confines as the old man processed the gravity of what had just been said. The jovial twinkle that once danced in his eyes gave way to a more deep-etched concern as he struggled to answer.

  “It can’t be just that.” The old man’s lips trembled slightly as he muttered, refusing to stop believing in the inherent goodness of the rough-around-the-edges kid he had grown to care for like his own offspring. “You’re not a cold-blooded killer. I know you too well to believe that.”

  >> “Tell me the whole story, Narguile. What happened?”

  Phillip’s voice carried a firm resolve, steadying against the tremors that such alarming news had undoubtedly set off within him. His words were not merely a call for clarity; they bore the silent but heavy promise of support. Realizing this helped Narguile to finally start untangling everything outspokenly.

  “Lieta wasn’t home when I got back from work last night.” He began, his voice tinged with remembrance of the chaos that still clung to his mind like cobwebs, muddled further back when urgency and adrenaline took full control. “It was just Aria and Toast, waiting here alone.”

  >> “She wasn’t picking up her phone either.”

  At this detail, Phillip’s brow furrowed. Given how both their families were so closely woven together, he could immediately sense the irregularity in Lieta’s absence, especially considering that Narguile usually returned well after nightfall.

  “And why was she out so late?” The old man couldn’t help but ask, curiosity sharpened by concern.

  “Funny thing… She doesn’t really know.” Narguile added with an unfocused gaze and a halfhearted smile. “I asked her today, and she couldn’t answer.”

  >> “Something about a strange compulsion, an overpowering thought she couldn’t shake off…”

  >> “...As if fate itself was manipulating her like a puppet on strings.”

  Phillip leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees as he absorbed Narguile's account. His eyes narrowed slightly, a reflection of the gears turning behind his weathered facade. It was a troubling picture being painted, and not once had Lieta given him any reason to question her character, but...

  “You don’t think she might be keeping something from you, son?”

  The question emerged tinged with reluctance, betraying Phillip's internal tug-of-war between doubt and trust. Yet the idea that something so out of character could occur without explanation gnawed at him uncomfortably. If it were anyone else, skepticism might have easily led to conclusions of deceit or some substance-induced haze leading to irresponsible behavior.

  But this was Lieta they were talking about —the same young girl who held such a special place in his heart that she had asked him and Virginia to stand as godparents to her and Narguile’s daughter in their wedding. It didn’t sit well with him, she wasn’t one to weave tales or succumb to vices carelessly, as outlandish as everything was shaping out to be.

  “No, I believe her.” Narguile eventually answered, closing his eyes with a long sigh. “Because I felt the exact same thing too.”

  >> “I don’t know where it came from, but it was there. This… Pull.” As he talked, he felt the already deep tone of his voice straining at times under the burden of recollection. It was clear that this wasn’t simply a passing sensation, but something more profound, and disturbingly real. “It wasn’t like being possessed” The young adult clarified, his eyes showing a grieving uncertainty, of not knowing exactly which words to employ. “I didn’t lose control, or stray from my own consciousness.”

  >> “But something urged me to run in search of Lieta.”

  Narguile paused for a brief moment, reflecting on the peculiarity of his motivation.

  “One might think it normal for someone to act on instinct, given the circumstances.” He commented thoughtfully. “But this… Impulse, was anything but that. It wasn’t normal. I knew exactly where I had to go. No questions asked, no room for self-doubt or second-guessing.”

  The air between them grew heavy with tension as Narguile recounted a scenario too bizarre for fiction. It strayed too heavily from everything Phillip had ever experienced in his life, but he knew of the boy’s honesty, and instead leaned forward with deepening concern.

  “And where did this… Compulsion lead you?” The old man asked. “What was it that you found at this place you were driven to?”

  Phillip’s question lingered in the air for what felt like an extended period of time as Narguile struggled to put every memory in place. It was around this point that his primitive drive took control, turning everything into a rage-induced haze.

  “It was an alley, conveniently close.” Narguile clarified, although the location wasn’t really of consequence. If anything, it was a small oddity when compared to the greater mysteries. “Just a couple of streets away from here at most.”

  >> “As of what I found there… It was just as that damned feeling was telling me.”

  >> “Lieta was thrown on the pavement, screaming for help.” As the otherwise loving husband and father continued, the shift in his voice wasn’t a subtle one. His countenance became raw, as he was brought to grit his teeth by recollection alone. “I lost it, when I saw this… Motherfucker hovering over her.” His fist tightened, straining the bandages placed over his knuckles, faintly stained by dried blood, and still searing with a distant ache. Even after many hours of consequences, it was hard to picture himself acting any different from how he did back then. “It’d be easy to blame it on those weird compulsions, don’t you think?” Narguile asked with a mocking smile, one directed at himself. “But no…”

  >> “It was all me, I was unable to stop. Even when Lieta begged me to, I couldn’t. Not until his skull had caved in.”

  As Narguile laid bare the darkest moment of his life, Phillip felt his chest sinking. There was no trace of boastfulness in the young man; it was clear that he recognized his actions tread perilously close to an abyss separating man from monster. Yet alongside this acknowledgment lay a haunting absence of repentance. The visceral understanding that if presented with the same scene once more, his response would remain unchanged.

  Trying to dispel the oppressive atmosphere that had enveloped them, Phillip cleared his throat while his hand instinctively moved towards the resting glass of bourbon for another sip before ultimately deciding not to. It was more important to try and clear some of the dread that had fallen on Narguile’s shoulders, and so he swallowed the discomfort to steer their conversation into another concern he had.

  “And who was this man that assaulted Lieta?” It was certainly an important question. While the neighborhood around their run-down apartment building housed its fair share of petty thieves and beggars, the old man had a hard time imagining any of the already-known faces committing such a heinous thing. “Was it someone you had seen before around here?”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  Narguile lifted his gaze from his own hands with an unfocused resignation and a partly broken spirit. His memories regarding the guy himself remained an indistinct blur inside his head —unreliable at best.

  “Not anyone I recognized.” The dark-haired young man replied, crossing his arms with a bitter expression. Narguile had a knack for navigating the streets, so both men didn’t need to vociferate their conclusion that this one particular thug wasn’t a local one. “Looked like a low-life. Dirty clothes, awful smell. He didn’t seem all that old, but I’m not too sure. His face didn’t last all that long with everything in place for me to say that with certainty.”

  >> “Didn’t strike me as the homeless type though.” He added narrowing his eyes, focusing as to recall every detail, however vague. “Dunno. A gut feeling.”

  It was liberating to be able to let everything out without minding his words for a change, but nonetheless, Narguile paused for a moment as he took the opportunity to quench his dry throat. Grasping the neglected glass of bourbon, he braced for another sip —a decision immediately followed by regret. He hadn’t gotten used to the flavor of the amber spirit just yet, prompting a subtle grimace he attempted to conceal despite how foul and rancid it felt on his taste buds.

  “Tragically enough, it was Lieta who got a clearer sight of the creep.” He continued after placing what little remained of the whiskey back onto the table. Compared to when Phillip had first arrived, his demeanor now seemed considerably lighter. Sharing his burden had granted Narguile a measure of relief. “We talked about it a while ago, she had some odd things to say too.”

  >> “Something about his… Eyes. She told me they were… Vacant, empty. As if he wasn’t really seeing anything in front of him. Like he was unable to hear her screams or even my approach until it was too late.”

  “Vacant eyes, you say?” As he echoed Narguile’s words, Phillip leaned further in the chair as he rubbed his chin in contemplation. They were reaching another esoteric dead-end, and even when he had heard many tales tinged with eeriness in his many years, perhaps it’d be better to ground their conversation back into the tangible. “And did any of you two see anyone around the alley?”

  >> “A witness, as a detective would say?”

  The old man’s voice was calm, but there was a hint of worry in there too. This was certainly another piece of information that could turn critical when dealing with the aftermath of this outburst of violence.

  “On the place itself? No, there wasn’t.” Narguile swiftly answered, certain amidst the chaos of his recollection —it was a conviction born from an unsettling assurance, for he knew that if anyone else had been present, they too might have fallen victim to his unrestrained fury. “But just before I arrived home… There was someone strange.”

  >> “A man tucked away in a passage across our street. Never seen him before either.” Narguile’s voice took on an edge as he described this figure. Something about it all just kept bothering him. “Slicked-back greasy hair. Dark sunglasses despite the late hour. A worn down suit that must have been as old as he was, and a fucking ugly tie to boot.”

  >> “He had a knife gripped tightly in one hand; precariously balancing a baby with the other, unbothered by the pouring rain.”

  Narguile left unsaid how the guy lowered his glasses just enough for their eyes to briefly meet; an encounter that unsettled him back then, but one he didn’t make much of.

  “And why do you think he’s important?” Phillip asked back, struggling to make a connection between this stranger and the tumultuous events that unfolded next.

  “Well, that’s one more thing Lieta and I have in common.” It suggested perhaps more than mere coincidence. Another piece that didn’t fit anywhere in the puzzle. “She saw him earlier that day too.”

  After that final piece hung in the air beyond what was comfortable, Phillip let out a resigned sigh. The whole array of today's revelations were already starting weighing on him, and while the old man couldn't sweep everything under the rug with superficial words of comfort, he still managed to offer Narguile a weak half-smile.

  “You know” He began with a lighthearted huff. “There’s only so much peculiar business an old man can take in one evening before his head starts spinning.”

  >> “I believe you, son. Every word. But what to make of it all…” His voice trailed off, lost momentarily in thought. “I’m afraid to say that’s beyond me.”

  Gathering his strength, he pushed himself up from the chair, feeling the far too familiar protest of the age in his bones as he rose to his feet with a raspy grunt. He looked down at Narguile and placed a reassuring hand on the younger man’s shoulders, freely offering his camaraderie in a gesture that conveyed more than phrases ever could.

  “Listen here.” There was an optimistic lilt to his voice that seemed almost incongruous given their grim discussion. “Things may not be as dire as they seem.” Or at least, that’s what Phillip preferred to think. “Maybe that fella walked away with nothing worse than a bloodied nose and wounded pride.”

  One of Narguile’s eyebrows arched in disbelief. No, that couldn’t be it. He could still hear it… The sounds his head made whenever he made it brutally clash against the concrete. Phillip however, had something to back his claims.

  “Virginia… You know how she is, sharper than a bloodhound. Trust me, she’d have known if there was talk of any… Unfortunate discoveries nearby.”

  >> “Never underestimate an old lady's talent for sniffing out neighborhood gossip.” Despite not sharing his deductions completely, Narguile didn’t have any rebuttal for Phillip’s argument, and so, he simply limited himself to get up and walk beside the joyful old man while trying to mirror his smile. “And my wife? Her nosiness is something else I tell you.”

  The door to Narguile’s apartment was held open once more as his neighbor and confidant prepared to bid farewell, not without offering first a final attempt at soothing his worries.

  “Son, no matter how dire life can seem at times…” He mused, calling upon the wisdom Narguile had relied on many times before. “As long as your heart’s in the place it belongs to —next to Lieta and little Aria, you’ll find what it takes to pull through."

  >> “And never forget.” He added with a warm glance over his shoulder, “Virginia and I are just next door for whenever you need a reminder of your own strength.”

  It was a reassurance that didn’t quite manage to warm the chill that had settled deep within his chest. Even with how lengthy and painstaking their conversation had been, he still held back the most disturbing and inexplicable apparition from last night.

  But how could he burden the old man with the nightmarish creature that haunted him before he lost consciousness?

  He simply watched as the elder man departed, weakly waving goodbye, at least until he paused mid-step as if recalling an afterthought.

  “Oh, and that bourbon? I reckon that you should get rid of it.” The remark caught Narguile by surprise, especially considering how often he had to hear Phillip waxing lyrical about his choice in spirits. Now he realized how the old man had left his glass practically untouched. “It didn’t taste quite right.”

  >> “Must have been a bad batch. I’ll bring you another soon.”

  Left alone once more with only silence for company, Narguile mulled over Phillip’s departing words regarding the whiskey. An innocuous comment that somehow echoed within him. Watching through the doorway as the old man disappeared into the neighboring apartment, he was left with an odd sense of non-closure, just like with Aria’s question in the morning —a story left frustratingly half-told.

  But there was no reason to mull over those thoughts under the door frame. He exhaled deeply and shut out the world with a tempered click of the doorknob, to then start making his way towards that godforsaken bottle that now held more significance than mere distaste. To have an excuse to throw it in the sink wasn’t an unwelcome development, but Narguile would’ve preferred it was a decision taken by his own accord rather than because of those off-putting insinuations that only further spurred his disquiet.

  His path led him through the limited confines of the kitchen, a place where an unexpected softness underfoot halted his progress abruptly. A disconcerting squelching sound crept to his ears as he hesitantly looked down to confront whatever had made it, his breath caught at the sight of Toast lying sprawled in disturbing stillness across the floor tiles.

  Much as he hoped for the silly old coot to be sleeping in an ill-suited spot, there was really no mistaking it. A sinister line of darkened blood trickled from one corner of Toast’s agape mouth, drawing a morbid trail that now loomed ominously close to his shoes.

  Narguile had seen his reflection in the cat’s coppery orbs just hours ago, and now... They were clouded, aiming at different directions, as if each were lost in its own abyss, with outlines of pupils once expressive barely discernible under fur that already had lost some of its luster.

  He couldn’t help but crouch down, and didn’t hesitate to nudge him gently with his hands. His heart was clinging to the slimmest chance that this was nothing more than a tasteless prank on the animal’s part —no, it was begging for it.

  But as he failed to pick up any sign of breathing, hands receiving none of the signature warmth that the feline’s patchwork pelt once offered in abundance; reality settled with freezingly cruel finality, weighing harshly on Narguile's shoulders.