Carl lingered in the corridor after the meeting, watching the rain hammer against the window panes. The harsh fluorescent lights cast a sickly glow, throwing his reflection against the glass. He heard footsteps behind him - Alexander emerging from the meeting room, his tie loosened and his usual composure notably absent.
"Superintendent," Carl murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "A word?"
Alexander glanced about the corridor where a few clerks still shuffled past, their footsteps echoing against the linoleum. With a curt nod, he beckoned Carl to follow.
They found themselves in a secluded corner at the corridor's end, beneath a flickering emergency light. Alexander's hand moved instinctively to his pocket - reaching for cigarettes he couldn't smoke in this non-smoking building. His fingers trembled slightly.
"About Tiger Shadow-" Carl began.
"Quiet!" Alexander's hand shot up, cutting him off. In the dim light, Carl noticed how ashen the superintendent's face had become.
"It's dangerous," Alexander whispered, his eyes darting about as if the walls themselves might be listening. "Everyone who gets involved with Tiger Shadow meets a nasty end. Everyone, do you understand?"
"But Superintendent, we can't just-"
The words died in Carl's throat as Alexander seized his collar, shoving him against the wall with unexpected force. The cold plaster pressed through Carl's shirt, and he found himself staring into the face of a man he barely recognised. Gone was the composed superior he knew; in his place stood someone gripped by raw, primal fear.
"Listen carefully, Detective," Alexander hissed, his breath coming in short bursts. "If you want to stay alive - and I mean truly stay alive - there are things you simply don't touch. This isn't a bloody game!"
Carl caught the scent of stale tobacco and expensive aftershave, noticed how Alexander's entire frame trembled. The superintendent released him abruptly, as if suddenly aware of his own actions. With deliberate slowness, he reached out to straighten Carl's tie, smoothing the wrinkles from his lapels. The gesture carried an almost paternal weight.
"Twenty years ago," Alexander's voice had grown hoarse, his gaze distant, "I knew a chap called Charlie." He paused, weighing each word. "Brilliant detective. Natural instinct for the job. If he were still around, he'd be sitting in the Chief's chair now, not Sam."
The corridor had fallen silent save for the steady drumming of rain and the low hum of the air conditioning. Somewhere in the distance, the squeak of a cleaner's trolley echoed off the walls.
"He was working a case," Alexander continued, absently fiddling with his cuff links. "Something to do with Tiger Shadow. Should've been handled by a Commissioner, but..." He gave a bitter laugh. "Charlie was always too bloody stubborn to believe in evil. Went behind the Commissioner's back, started his own investigation."
"And?" Carl prompted, his throat dry.
"Lost his mind, didn't he?" Alexander's voice turned to steel. "Completely. I watched it happen. A good man, just..." He trailed off, his eyes glazing over.
"What happened to Charlie?" Carl pressed. "And there's something I've been meaning to ask - what exactly are these Commissioners?"
Alexander exhaled slowly, the sound nearly lost beneath the intensifying rain. His fingers drummed an unconscious rhythm against the wall.
"Charlie?" He shook his head, gaze flickering. "Nobody really knows. Some say he's locked away in some psychiatric facility. Others say..." He waved his hand dismissively. "As for the Commissioners..." His expression darkened, as if recalling something best left buried. "I don't know what they are, and I don't want to know. Just understand this - they're not like us. The cases they handle..." He swallowed hard. "Let's just say there's a reason they keep to the shadows."
The emergency light above them sputtered, casting strange patterns on the wall. Alexander turned to leave, his coat swishing through the stale air. His footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Then he stopped, though he didn't turn back.
"Detective," his voice carried an odd weight, "do you ever wonder if our world is quite what we think it is?"
Before Carl could respond, Alexander had vanished around the corner. Carl stood motionless, feeling the air grow thick around him. The emergency light continued its erratic dance, throwing distorted shadows across the institutional walls.
At the hospital's special care unit, two officers stood guard outside the ward. Carl flashed his warrant card and followed Dr. Jane inside. The sharp tang of antiseptic mingled with something else - the distinctive chemical sweetness of sedatives.
Devin sat on the bed, staring into nothing. Rain peppered the windows, and the ward's fluorescent lights cast everything in a harsh, unforgiving white.
"Devin?" Carl kept his voice soft. The patient remained motionless, seemingly unaware of their presence. His eyes were vacant, like windows in an abandoned house.
"Has he been like this throughout?" Carl turned to Dr. Jane.
She was a striking woman in her early thirties, her dark hair pulled back in a precise bun, gold-rimmed spectacles perched on her nose. She adjusted her glasses with a practiced gesture, her expression grave.
"Since admission," she confirmed. "The trauma appears to have caused severe reactive dissociation. He's completely withdrawn from any form of normal interaction."
Carl studied Devin, feeling an uncomfortable chill creep up his spine.
"From a clinical perspective, this presentation is highly unusual," Jane continued, her slender fingers tapping against her clipboard. "It's not consistent with typical cognitive disorders. Rather, it's more like..." She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. "Well, if one were being fanciful, one might say it resembles a curse."
Carl turned sharply. "A curse?"
"Speaking metaphorically, of course," she amended, shaking her head. "Our understanding of mental illness still has vast unexplored territories. But..." Professional certainty gave way to something else in her eyes - a rare glimpse of doubt. "I've never encountered anything quite like this. It's as if his body's here, but everything else... everything that made him who he was... has simply vanished."
"What exactly is Tiger Shadow?" Carl muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
As he left the hospital, the clouds hung lower, threatening more rain. He was heading towards the car park when he spotted Dani in the reception area.
She stood by a plastic chair, her eyes red-rimmed and swollen. Clear signs of recent tears.
"How is he?" Her voice was rough from crying.
"Not well," Carl replied quietly.
Dani twisted her hands together, clearly wrestling with something. After a moment's hesitation, she spoke: "Officer... there's something I think you should know. Something that might be relevant."
"Why tell me now?"
"I wasn't certain before if it mattered, but seeing Devin like this..." Her voice caught, fresh tears threatening.
Carl gave her shoulder a gentle pat. "Take your time."
She drew a shaky breath, dabbing at her eyes. "That night, Thomas stumbled into the pub, looking rather beaten up. When Devin saw the state of him, he rushed him upstairs straightaway. When he came back down, he ran into Mr Shimura, who'd just finished his shift..."
"Shimura Yu?" Carl pressed.
"Yes," she nodded. "The moment Mr Shimura saw Thomas in that state, his face... well, you'd have thought he'd seen a ghost. Thomas even asked him, 'What are you afraid of?'" Dani's voice dropped to barely above a whisper. "Mr Shimura claimed he wasn't frightened, but I saw his legs shaking. He was quite peculiar that night - he's usually rather timid, but this was different. He seemed... elsewhere. And there was something else..."
"Go on."
"He kept muttering something under his breath."
"What was it?"
Carl found himself leaning in, his voice matching her hushed tone.
"He killed someone."
The words hit Carl like a physical blow. He recalled his interview with Shimura Yu, how the man had mentioned a murder on the fifth floor of Ritchie Apartments.
He immediately pulled out his phone, dialling Kim's number. "Get me everything on the Ritchie Apartments' fifth floor management. I need to ask them some questions." He thanked Dani hurriedly and strode towards the car park. The rain had intensified, overwhelming his windscreen wipers, but he started the engine anyway, disappearing into the grey curtain of water.
The rain drummed against the window of the porter's lodge at Ritchie Apartments. Old John was absorbed in his daily crossword when the door burst open, making him start violently. His aged hands trembled as he hastily gathered the scattered papers.
"Officer," he stammered, "Chief Kim said you'd be coming. I've dug out all the tenant records." He gestured towards a stack of weathered ledgers on the desk.
Carl noticed the old man's nervousness - even the innocent tend to get jittery around police.
"Tell me about the occupant of 503."
"503?" Old John pushed his cracked spectacles up his nose. "That'd be Miss Winnie now. Lovely young lady, quite fashionable, always pleasant..."
"The previous tenant," Carl interrupted, "before Winnie."
A peculiar change came over Old John's expression. He glanced towards the rain-streaked window, as if gathering his thoughts. "Ah, that girl Anko..." His voice dropped. "Odd sort, she was. Black hair, pale as anything, always wearing this peculiar uniform. Like something from a private school, but..." He frowned, searching for the right words. "Something wasn't quite right about it."
"What do you mean?"
"Hard to put my finger on," Old John rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "The uniform - it wasn't really a uniform at all, more like... a costume, if you follow. Never mixed with anyone, never spoke to a soul. Sometimes on my night shifts, I'd see her light on at all hours, but never heard a peep."
Carl watched the old man's unease grow as he spoke.
"When did she leave?"
"Last month," Old John shook his head. "Bit odd, that. Saw her come in one day, right as rain. Next day, this cousin of hers shows up with a suitcase."
"Cousin?" Carl's eyes narrowed. "Describe them."
Old John's face went a shade paler. "Tall chap... silver hair. But the eyes..." He swallowed hard. "That's what got me. Cold, they were. Like looking at something... well, something not quite alive."
Kim produced a photograph from his file. "This man?"
"That's him, right enough," Old John nodded shakily.
"Did you see Anko leave?" Carl pressed.
"No... never saw her again after that day."
"What?" Kim's voice sharpened. "A tenant vanishes and you didn't think to investigate?"
Old John seemed to shrink in his chair. "That fellow... something not right about him. And that girl..." He hesitated. "Always something strange about her. Sometimes it felt like... well, like she wasn't quite real."
"Was anything left in the room?"
"They cleared it properly, but..." Old John lowered his voice conspiratorially. "Found half a notebook in the rubbish. Full of the oddest things - numbers and symbols. One symbol in particular gave me the creeps. Like some sort of twisted..."
"Where is it now?" Carl cut in.
"Binned it," Old John seemed relieved. "Those symbols... just looking at them made my skin crawl."
In the security room, they reviewed the CCTV footage. The first clip showed a tall, slim girl entering the building, her movements oddly rigid. She never appeared in any subsequent footage. The second clip showed Thomas returning the keys, his expression chilling.
Carl immediately rang the station. "I need the exact time Shimura witnessed the murder."
The answer made his pupils contract - the timing of Shimura's sighting fell precisely between the girl's disappearance and Thomas's appearance.
At that moment, Kim's phone buzzed. His expression turned grave as he listened. "Thomas has been spotted on Winchester Street."
Carl was already moving. They rushed out into the increasingly heavy rain, the droplets hammering against the windows like a warning they couldn't quite decipher.
Winchester Street had become a maze of puddles. Police sirens wailed in the distance, their blue lights piercing the grey murk. Officers in high-vis jackets were dispersing the gathering crowd, their fluorescent yellow stark against the gloom.
Carl stopped one of the constables setting up the cordon. The young officer snapped to attention, immediately recognising him.
"Sir, Thomas was here moments ago, but..." The constable hesitated, his expression apologetic. "We lost him." He gestured towards the far end of the street.
Carl followed the indicated direction, his gaze sharp. This was uncomfortably close to Clark's residence - far too close. He noticed the forensics team huddled by the kerb, their expressions grim.
As he approached, the metallic tang of blood hit his nostrils. Several cat carcasses lay scattered across the pavement, all grey tabbies. Their bodies were contorted in impossible angles, as if wrung by some tremendous force. The manner of death matched exactly with those found in the back alleys and basements.
Clark's classical Georgian house stood opposite, its windows black despite the hour. Carl keyed his radio, noting fresh scratch marks on the ornate railings of the front steps.
"Identify yourself," a woman's voice came through, professional and measured.
"Detective Carl. I've been here before."
The door opened with a deliberate slowness. Carl stepped into the hallway, where the sharp smell of disinfectant hung heavy in the air. The wooden staircase creaked beneath his feet as he made his way to the first floor.
He paused at the bedroom doorway, taking in the scene. Elizabeth sat propped against the headboard, her face ashen. A deep blue blanket was wrapped around her shoulders, her fingers worrying at its edge. A tall figure in an impeccably tailored grey coat stood by the bed, his hat brim pulled low but not quite concealing his distinctive silver hair.
Alexander stood in the corner, his usual commanding presence notably diminished. A middle-aged nurse methodically arranged medical supplies, her movements practiced and detached.
"Detective Carl!" Elizabeth's voice quavered with evident relief.
"What's happened?" Carl stepped into the room, acutely aware of the tension in the air.
"Just a bit of a turn," Alexander cut in swiftly. "Mrs Elizabeth had rather a shock."
Carl noticed Elizabeth's gaze darting about the room, her breathing quick and shallow. "Mrs Elizabeth, how's Mr Clark? He must be terribly worried."
Elizabeth's eyes reddened, though she struggled to maintain composure. "Thank you for asking, Detective. He's... he's not well at all."
The man in the grey coat turned, and Carl felt the temperature in the room plummet. Those silver eyes were like ancient mercury - cold and penetrating, as if they could see straight through to one's soul. The golden chrysanthemum embroidered on his sleeve caught the light, each stitch executed with an almost obsessive precision.
"This is Commissioner Kevin," Alexander made the introduction, his voice carrying an unusual note of deference.
Kevin extended his hand, offering a smile that was technically perfect yet somehow deeply unsettling. "A pleasure." His voice was smooth as silk and just as cold.
Carl shook the proffered hand, noting its unnatural chill.
"I believe I have all I require," Kevin announced, each word measured with surgical precision. "Thank you for your cooperation, Mrs Elizabeth."
After Kevin and Alexander departed, Elizabeth seemed to deflate, tears finally spilling over. "Clark... he had a dreadful asthma attack yesterday. He's still in hospital." Her voice caught. "I'm so terribly worried about him."
Carl settled into the chair by the bedside, maintaining a professional yet reassuring distance. "Take your time, Mrs Elizabeth. Could you tell me what happened this morning?"
Elizabeth's fingers traced the edge of the blanket. "I woke rather early - just at dawn. I happened to look at that sycamore tree," she gestured towards the window, "and there was a man standing in it, staring directly at me."
"Could you describe him?"
"Silver hair," her voice trembled. "And his eyes... like something feral."
The nurse continued her tasks, seemingly indifferent to the conversation.
"And then?"
"I heard the most dreadful caterwauling," Elizabeth continued, her gaze fixed on the sycamore outside. "Suddenly, there were several cats. They... they attacked him, and then they all just... fell." She turned to Carl. "I called Rebecca straight away."
"Mrs Elizabeth may have been somewhat confused by the half-light," the nurse interjected matter-of-factly. "It was terribly early, after all."
"Then the sirens started," Elizabeth finished. "The police arrived shortly after."
Carl's phone buzzed - Alexander.
"Excuse me," Carl rose. "I need to take this."
"Carl, Commissioner Kevin wishes to speak with you. Now." The superintendent's tone was clipped.
Downstairs, Kevin stood in a shadowed alcove. The rain had ceased, but the air remained thick with moisture.
"What did Mrs Elizabeth tell you?" Kevin's voice was gentle but carried an unmistakable note of authority.
Carl recounted the incident with the sycamore tree, keeping his tone professionally neutral.
"This investigation," Kevin said slowly, "needs to cease."
"I beg your pardon?" Carl felt a surge of indignation.
"Precisely what I said. We'll be taking over," Kevin's silver eyes fixed on Carl. "Your involvement is no longer required."
"Is that a suggestion or an order?"
"Both."
"And if I choose to continue?" Carl's jaw tightened.
Kevin regarded him in silence for a moment. "Detective Carl, consider this carefully - without your life, all other considerations become rather academic." He turned and vanished around the corner.
Carl found Alexander about to step into his car. "Whose decision is this? Yours or the Chief's?"
"Mine, the Chief's, and those above us," Alexander's expression was grave. "That's all there is to it. All relevant materials have been transferred to the Commissioner. Whatever remains is no longer our concern." He slipped into his car and drove away.
Carl stood motionless, watching the forensics team loading the dead cats into black body bags. The metallic scent of blood still lingered in the damp air. He looked up at the leaden sky, feeling an overwhelming sense of powerlessness.
The rain had started again, a fine, persistent drizzle that seemed to blur the edges of reality itself. Somewhere in the distance, a church bell tolled, its sound muffled by the thick atmosphere, as if even it were trying to tell him something he couldn't quite understand.