The Whistler In The Night

Chapter 38

The days since Scarlet's death had been an unending nightmare. I barely left her grave, sitting there each day, hoping for some comfort, some sign of forgiveness—anything. The air was damp and heavy around me, pressing in as if it could choke the grief from my chest. I stared at the carved letters of her name, tracing each line in my mind, remembering every moment we'd spent together, now haunting me as if they were etched into my soul.

It was late afternoon when I felt it, a shadow stretching over me, darker than the clouds that loomed in the sky. I didn't need to look up to know who it was—L. He stood there, silent, his face twisted into a cruel grin as he moved closer. I felt my blood turn to ice, and my hand instinctively tightened around the gun I carried with me, knowing he'd come for me sooner or later. Every fiber of my being told me to run, but I wouldn't. Not this time.

As he stepped up beside me, he lowered himself close, his face barely inches from mine, and placed a hand on my shoulder. I couldn't move, my mind locked between rage and fear. He leaned in and whispered, his voice a low hiss, "Evan, I killed her. You didn't do it, so don't waste your guilt on that. You're not to blame." He let out a quiet, sinister laugh, and I felt my entire body tense, every word tearing through me. He was mocking me, reveling in the horror he had crafted, in the loss he had inflicted.

Something snapped inside me. I couldn't hold it back anymore—the grief, the rage, everything. I raised my gun, trembling with anger. "Fuck you," I growled, and fired. The first shot tore through the silence, echoing against the graves. I fired again, and again, every bullet carrying with it the agony he'd put me through. Seven shots in total. I emptied the chamber, pouring every ounce of my rage into him, watching him stumble, blood blooming across his chest, spreading like the darkness he'd brought into my life.

L fell to the ground, his body hitting the cold earth with a finality I desperately wanted to believe in. Blood was everywhere, pooling around him, soaking into the dirt. I stood over him, breathing hard, staring at his still form as my chest heaved. I'd killed him—this time, it was real. The blood was proof, the silence proof. But as I looked down at him, his face still held that mocking smirk, even in death. He'd left me with his last words, his final act of torment: the truth.

I turned away, unable to look at him any longer, and walked back to the car, barely aware of what I was doing. I drove without thinking, the road blurring in front of me until I ended up at the beach. The sky was gray, waves crashing softly against the shore, indifferent to the storm raging inside me. I sat down by the water, feeling emptiness settle over me, knowing he was right. I'd killed him, but nothing had changed. Scarlet was gone, and he had taken her from me.

I stared out at the sea, letting the quiet of the waves wash over me, my mind a storm of everything I'd lost and everything I'd done. He was dead, but the truth remained, haunting me just like he had.