ɪɢɴɪᴛᴇ ᴅᴇꜱɪʀᴇꜱ

Chapter - 8 Where is she?

Ryan quickly got into his car and drove to the police station. Tears streamed down his face as he thought about Stephanie's disappearance. He rushed into the station, his eyes red from crying.

A policeman approached him, concern etched on his face. "Sir, what's wrong?" he asked.

Ryan took a deep breath, trying to compose himself. "My wife, Stephanie, is missing," he said, his voice shaking. "I last saw her this morning. She said she was going to buy groceries, but she never came back. I've tried calling her, but she's not answering."

The policeman nodded sympathetically. "Don't worry, sir. We'll do everything we can to find your wife."

Ryan nodded, feeling a glimmer of hope. But as he left the police station, he couldn't shake off the feeling that something was off. Sometimes, a flash of a smile would cross his face, a smile that seemed almost... sinister. It was as if he was hiding something, but what?

Ryan trudged back to his home, his eyes brimming with tears. He collapsed onto the couch, burying his face in his hands. His mobile phone lay nearby, and he picked it up, scrolling through photos of Stephanie.

As he swiped through the images, a mix of sadness and nostalgia washed over him. But then, his expression changed. His eyes narrowed, and a cruel glint appeared in his eyes. He came across their wedding photo, and for a moment, he stared at it with a mixture of emotions.

Then, with a swift motion, he deleted the photo. A sly smile spread across his face, and he muttered to himself, "Oh god, you are such an idiot, baby girl." His smile grew wider, and he let out a loud, menacing laugh.

The cruelty in his eyes was unmistakable, and his smile seemed to hint at a darker truth. He lay down on the couch, put on some music, and fell into a deep sleep, his expression still twisted into that eerie, joker-like smile.

Ryan woke up from a nap to the sound of his phone buzzing. He picked it up, and Christopher's voice was on the other end. "What did you do with her?" Christopher asked.

Ryan let out a loud, menacing laugh. "Oh, you want to know about her? I know you don't love her. I know what you want ." With that, he hung up the phone.

A curious expression crossed Ryan's face as he lay back down on the couch, staring at the ceiling. His gaze drifted to the table, where a key caught his eye. He slowly got up, walked over to the table, and picked up the key.

Ryan took the key to his bedroom drawer, inserted it, and closed the drawer. He then walked back to the kitchen, where he picked up a sharp, gleaming knife. The detailing on the knife was meticulous, and its sharpness seemed to gleam in the light.

As Ryan held the knife, his eyes took on a sharp, shiny quality, hinting at mysterious thoughts. A gust of wind blew in from outside, rustling the window and curtains. Ryan's face broke into a smile, and he let out a low, ominous laugh.

Ryan's gaze remained fixed on the knife, his mind consumed by mysterious thoughts. Suddenly, he shifted his attention to the kitchen counter, where he picked up an egg. He cracked it open and poured its contents into a bowl. With a spoon, he began to stir the egg, his movements slow and deliberate.

Just as he was lost in the rhythmic motion, a knock at the door broke the silence. Ryan's mind snapped back to reality, and he looked towards the door. He walked over to it, his movements measured, and opened it.

On the other side of the door stood his friend, wearing a concerned expression. Ryan's face fell, and he wore a disappointed look. But beneath the surface, he was laughing, a sly smile spreading across his face.

Megan, Ryan's friend, sat down beside him on the couch. "Hey, Ryan, what's going on? Where's Stephanie? What happened to her?" Megan asked a flurry of questions, concern etched on his face.

Ryan's expression turned distant, his voice a monotone. "I don't know. I loved her. That's all I know. I loved her with all my heart, with every part of me. I gave her everything."

Megan placed a calming hand on Ryan's shoulder. "Ryan, calm down. It's okay. We'll find her. Don't worry." Megan's voice was soothing, but Ryan's gaze remained unfocused.

Just then, Megan glanced at his watch. "I'm so sorry, Ryan, but I have to go to work. I just came by to check on you and see if you'd heard from Stephanie." With that, Megan stood up and headed for the door.

As Megan left, Ryan's expression shifted. He looked around the room, his eyes settling on the frying pan on the stove. It was still on, the oil sizzling and popping. Ryan's gaze seemed to glaze over as he walked towards the stove.

In a detached manner, Ryan picked up the frying pan and began to scramble the contents. The sound of sizzling oil and the smell of burning food filled the air. Ryan's eyes seemed to be staring into nothingness, his movements mechanical.

Ryan scooped the scrambled eggs onto a plate and placed it on the dining table, his movements mechanical. He pulled out his phone and dialed his assistant manager's number, his voice detached. "Hey, I'm taking a leave today. Please manage the office. I'll be back in two or three days," he said, without waiting for a response. He hung up, his expression unreadable.

He picked up the plate of scrambled eggs, added a fork and spoon, and walked to the bedroom. He retrieved a key from the dresser, a key that looked old and worn. He began to walk towards the store room, singing a haunting melody with scary lyrics, and he swung his hand and danced towards the store room.

The store room door creaked open, revealing a narrow passageway. Ryan walked to the corner of the room, where a small keyhole was hidden. He inserted the key and turned it, revealing a secret room beneath the store room. The door creaked open, revealing a set of steep stairs leading down into darkness.

Ryan's eyes gleamed with an otherworldly intensity as he began to make his way down the stairs. The air grew colder with each step, and the silence was oppressive. At the bottom of the stairs, Ryan found himself in a small, dimly lit room. The walls were lined with strange symbols, and the air was thick with the scent of incense.

As Ryan reached the bottom of the stairs, he spotted an old, broken chair in the corner of the room. The wooden frame looked worn and fragile, as if it might collapse at any moment. Ryan pulled the chair out from the corner, and the creaking sound of the old wood and the scraping of the legs. The sound was haunting, like a cry from beyond the grave.