30 Reasons To Read

Episode 8: Tattoe

"On the spot already! Where are you, Officer?"

"I'm inside. It’s clear for now. You can come in, but stay low and alert."

"Got it!" Napolean signaled his team with a sharp gesture before pushing the front door open. The rusty hinges groaned and the door slowly creaked wide, revealing the eerie darkness of the abandoned house's living room. Shadows clung to every corner, as if the house itself were watching them.

All five officers crept inside, their guns raised, gripping them tightly with one hand while the other held their flashlights. Beams of light cut through the gloom, illuminating patches of the grimy, murky spaces. Their eyes darted in every direction, searching for any sign of movement.

Napolean froze as a faint shuffling sound reached his ears. His pulse quickened and he instinctively tightened his grip on his weapon.

“Napolean?” a voice whispered behind him, sending a jolt of tension through his shoulders. He spun around, gun poised, but quickly lowered it when he recognized Officer Dhurai standing upstairs, peering down at Napolean and his team.

"In here." He whispered from the shadows, pointing to a room ahead of him. "Come on up."

Napolean and his team ascended the creaky staircase with caution, their guns poised, until they stood outside the room Dhurai had indicated.

"Ready?" Dhurai asked, glancing back at them. Napolean nodded, fighting back the overwhelming emotions swirling inside him. A tear welled up, but he blinked it away, determined to stay composed. The air felt thick, charged with anticipation.

"Now!" Dhurai yelled, kicking the door open. The team surged forward, guns aimed at every shadowy corner of the room, adrenaline pumping through their veins. But to their great surprise, the room was empty. Confusion rippled through the team. Guns lowered, their faces twisted in disbelief. Napolean's heart sank.

Then, suddenly, Dhurai's voice cut through the silence, his gun raised again. His wide eyes locked onto something in the corner of the room. The team followed his gaze to a small, old wardrobe tucked against the wall. Everyone stiffened once again but Napolean was the first one to take a move.

He moved forward, his steps slow but deliberate. His hand hovered over the wardrobe's handle for a brief moment, his breath catching in his throat. With a swift motion, he yanked it open.

There she was.

Napolean's heart nearly stopped. His wife, bound and gagged, collapsed forward into his arms, her body trembling with exhaustion and fear. Tears streamed down his face as he dropped his gun and held her tightly, his hands shaking as he removed the ropes and gag.

The other officers lowered their weapons, exhaling in collective relief. They exchanged quiet nods of satisfaction, knowing this was the moment they had hoped for.

Napolean gently stroked her hair, his hands resting on her small, swollen belly. She looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, her voice barely a whisper.

"You promised you'd save us," she said, her voice trembling. "I saw that press conference where you swore to the world you wouldn’t give up. Those bastards made me watch every interview of yours. And I knew, no matter what, they couldn’t break you and you’d come for us."

Napolean’s chest tightened and he nodded, pulling her into another fierce embrace. "I’ll always come for you," he whispered, his voice cracking.

The room was still, the weight of the moment settling over them like a warm, bittersweet blanket of relief. They had found her. The nightmare was over. For now, at least.

"You look exhausted. You need to rest, honey," she whispered, guiding him gently to a bed on the other corner of the room. She laid him down with care, watching as his eyes fluttered shut, a small, peaceful smile on his lips. He clutched her hand tightly, unwilling to let go. She brushed his hair back, softly stroking his cheek until he drifted off into slumber.

Her expression shifted suddenly. She turned to Dhurai, urgency in her eyes. Silently, she mouthed, "Come. Quick!"

Dhurai, prepared, rushed to Napolean’s side, syringe in hand. He injected the sedative slowly, carefully. Napolean moaned once before falling into a deep silence. The room held its breath as the tension released and the five staff members exhaled in relief. Doctor Melina AKA Napolean’s wife stood up abruptly, her demeanor shifted from fearful to resolute in an instant, her face hardening with diligence.

"Alright, Neil," she said in a flat tone, to Doctor Neil AKA Officer Dhurai. "I won’t be here for the next two days."

Together, they walked out of the ward as if nothing unusual had just happened, leaving the four nurses AKA Officer Napolean's team behind in the eerie quiet of the room.

Sheethal, the newest nurse of the hospital, broke the silence. "What... what is actually going on here? Why are we putting on this strange act?"

Two other nurses exchanged a weary glance as they exited, muttering under their breath about how ridiculous it felt to keep playing parts in Napolean’s delusions.

Tom, the senior nurse, remained behind, watching Sheethal blink in confusion. "He’s Officer Napolean," Tom began, his voice tinged with both respect and sorrow. "One of the finest officers the city has ever seen. He cleaned up our streets but in the process, he also made some powerful enemies."

Sheethal frowned, still trying to make sense of it all. "So... why this whole charade?"

Tom sighed deeply before continuing, "Two years ago, his pregnant wife was kidnapped by a gang seeking revenge. Napolean, along with Officer Dhurai and their team, worked day and night to find her. They finally tracked her down in a deserted house at the outskirts of the city but when Napolean opened that wardrobe door..." Tom’s voice cracked. "She was dead. The kidnappers killed her just before the police arrived."

Sheethal froze, her heart sinking at the revelation.

"Napolean lost everything that night. His wife, his unborn child. He snapped. Ever since then, he only wakes up once a month, on the 25th, the date his wife died. And every time, we replay the events of that night for him but with a different ending." Tom’s gaze grew distant. "We pretend she survived. It’s the only thing that brings him peace, even for just a moment. It’s our way of repaying him for all he did for this city. He gave up his family to protect us."

A lump formed in Sheethal’s throat. "But... does it help him?"

Tom shrugged sadly. "We don’t know. But we can’t let him relive the real nightmare over and over. This way, at least, he’s spared the truth, even if just for a little while."

Sheethal stared at the ropes and gags they had used for the reenactment, a deep ache building in her chest. "Were the kidnappers ever caught?" she asked quietly.

"Yes. Officer Dhurai and the team got them. During the interrogation, they said Napolean’s wife never stopped believing he’d save her. Even in her final moments, she was convinced he’d come for her and their baby."

Sheethal blinked back tears. "That’s heartbreaking."

"Yeah. It is." Tom placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It’ll get easier, but you’ll never really get used to it."

As Tom left the room, Sheethal stood there, her emotions swirling. She knew all too well the pain of losing a loved one. She bent down to collect the ropes, her fingers trembling as she thought of her own loss, her sister, who had run away years ago with her high school sweetheart, leaving a gaping hole in her life. She wondered where her sister was now, if she was safe and happy.

She placed the props inside the wardrobe and closed it gently. Wiping away a stray tear. She turned to leave, her thoughts lingering on her sister. As she walked out, she failed to notice a small, faded tattoo on Napolean’s right forearm, her sister’s name, etched in ink.

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