Chernobyl’s Revenge

VI

The detectives arrived at the forensic center, and to their surprise, Dr. Abbat was waiting at the entrance. Whatever she had to tell them was clearly urgent and important. They got out of the vehicle and approached the door where she stood.

“Good morning, Doctor.”

“Good morning, Detectives Lockwood and Wright. Follow me, please.”

Without waiting for a reply, Dr. Abbat quickly entered the building, and the detectives followed her. They took the elevator, descended to the basement, and entered the same room as before. This time, however, there were three corpses instead of one. All bore large, Y-shaped incisions on their torsos and abdomens, revealing their internal organs. It was clear the doctor had been in the middle of performing autopsies.

“Detectives, the reports I’ve sent you have been brief, as you might imagine. Mr. Brown is pressuring us to deliver evidence as quickly as possible. I’ve only provided external descriptions of the bodies, but I need you to see this.”

She pulled out an evidence bag containing a rose as red as blood, but something about it seemed off. Its petals were in places where leaves should have been, and its stem looked nothing like that of an ordinary rose. Kreves immediately noticed it was in a bag similar to the one used for the mask.

“As I opened the torso of the first victim, I discovered their lungs had completely collapsed. Strangely, a shape had formed in the right lung, and inside it was this rose.”

“And the bag? Is it the same as the one used for the mask? Does this rose also have traces of radioactive material?” John asked, surprising Kreves, as he had been thinking the same thing.

“Exactly. The mutations you see are due to prolonged exposure to radioactive material. There’s only one place with radiation levels this high, but no one is supposed to live there.”

“You have more to tell us, Doctor. You wouldn’t have called us this early just to show us a rose,” Kreves said irritably. They didn’t have time to waste.

“You’re right, Detective Lockwood. I called you because of these new findings. The killer forces his victims to ingest mercury and hydrochloric acid. That’s what actually kills them—not the cuts or the disfigurements, which he inflicts while they’re still alive. He kills them from the inside…”

Kreves understood what this meant: revenge—a cruel and calculated one. At least now they knew the killer wasn’t choosing victims at random but targeting specific people. Although they didn’t yet have any IDs, Kreves hoped they would soon.

“One more thing, detectives. This killer is incredibly precise with his cuts. They’re so exact that the victims remain alive for an extended period. I suspect the killer has extensive medical knowledge.”

“So, we’re dealing with a lunatic who has access to radioactive material, acids, medical expertise, and somehow manages to avoid being seen by anyone. Oh, and he doesn’t leave a single trace behind,” John said sarcastically, clearly frustrated by how the killer was manipulating them.

At that moment, Miss Abbat entered. Captain Brown had called, and another body had been found. However, that wasn’t all; the captain demanded the detectives return to the station immediately.

Kreves and John said goodbye to Dr. Abbat and followed Miss Abbat out of the building. Kreves was about to leave the autopsy room when Dr. Abbat stopped him.

“This is the complete autopsy report for the bodies, but I’m afraid it doesn’t contain much evidence to help you.”

Kreves took the folder containing the findings and quickly caught up with John and Miss Abbat. They drove as fast as possible through the eerily empty streets of London. The silence wasn’t surprising—after all, a brutal serial killer was on the loose.

Upon arriving at the station, they were met with chaos. Phones were ringing nonstop, and the atmosphere mirrored the terror of the crime scenes. Kreves quickly sought out Captain Brown, who was in his office, frowning and holding a newspaper. When he saw the detectives, the fury in his eyes was evident.

“And this, gentlemen, is how you create panic,” Captain Brown said angrily, holding up the newspaper. On the front page was a letter from the killer. “And it’s not just this paper—every single paper in London has published the same story on the front page.”

The detectives were stunned. The letter was horrifying to read:

———————————————————

Dear London,

I must ask: Is Morpheus in your city?
You live a tranquil life, born into silver spoons. For many of you, your only concern is going to work and putting food on the table—a life so absurdly comfortable.

But I regret to inform you that your nation’s hands are stained with blood. Your prosperity comes at the expense of others' suffering. To acquire resources, your country has committed atrocities while you, like naive children, live deceived. Who is to blame? Perhaps you are, for you chose your leaders. Their actions fall on your heads, for you gave power to monsters. And now, you will witness one in the flesh.

Tears, pain, and blood—this is what you gave my people, my land, my nation. And now, dear London, I will return the favor. I will show you what your country truly is and the leaders who govern it. I will destroy the ignorance you’ve lived in for years. Pray to your God. Seek forgiveness. Because while I will settle scores with the most involved, the pain caused will always remain in your conscience.

I laugh at your ignorance, hoping it stems from human stupidity. Otherwise, it means you are aware of the atrocities committed but have chosen to ignore them out of convenience.

Yours sincerely,
The killer from two days ago

P.S. I hope you give me a name soon. I’ll be staying in the city for a while. The bodies will keep appearing as quickly as your nation’s lies crumble.

————————————————————

Kreves couldn’t understand why anyone would publish such a story. It wouldn’t boost sales; it would only create widespread terror. People don’t want fear—they want safety. Captain Brown, noticing Kreves’ confusion, handed him a note.

——————————————————-

To the newspapers of London,

Allow me to introduce myself. I’m the killer the police are likely trying to keep under wraps. Surely you’ve heard at least a vague idea about me and the victims I’ve left behind. This is merely a prelude to let you know I’m not joking.

Attached to this letter is a truth that must be published on your front page. If I don’t see this in your papers tomorrow morning, innocent people will start dying—people who have nothing to do with my vengeance. Killing... becomes truly enjoyable. That look of suffering in their eyes with each cut—it’s too exhilarating.

In short, if I don’t see this in your papers, London will learn what terror truly is. No one will sleep peacefully. You’ll all become my prey.

——————————————————-

"Detectives, I want this man behind bars," Captain Brown declared. "We have one more unidentified body and a deranged killer who is now infamous across London."

"Captain Brown, with your permission, we’d like to visit the scene and assess for possible clues the killer might have left behind," John said.

"Nonsense," the captain retorted. "I’ll have all the evidence brought to you. Focus on identifying the victims—that might give us a lead."

Both detectives nodded and headed to the office where they were building the case. They took Dr. Abbat's report and began reading the new findings on the victims' bodies. Additionally, the analysis of the coin and the note left by the killer at The College Gardens had arrived. The coin contained traces of radioactivity and commemorated the Chernobyl disaster. The note, however, held nothing significant—except for the fact that the killer knew Kreves's identity. This was particularly puzzling since the case had been assigned to Kreves just two days ago, and no one, not even the public, was aware of who was investigating the recent murders.

"Kreves, I know this might sound improbable, but all the evidence points to something…"

"That the killer is from Chernobyl or its vicinity."

"Either that or they lost someone important due to the accident. After all, this is about revenge, isn't it?"

"If that’s the case, what does London have to do with all this? They should be attacking in Ukraine or targeting the high-ranking officials of the former Soviet Union. After all, that's where the disaster happened.

"Well... that’s why they mentioned state secrets. There’s something more, Kreves—something our government doesn’t want us to know."

Although John had a theory, Kreves still couldn’t discern the killer’s motives. If the revenge stemmed from the Chernobyl disaster, the killer should be targeting those responsible for the accident, not operating in London. However, there was no denying that John presented clear evidence suggesting the heart of this vengeance revolved around the world’s largest nuclear disaster. The radioactivity, the mutated rose, the coin, the masks, the note referencing the m******e of their people, the mark on the victims' chests—all strongly indicated a connection between this killer and Chernobyl.

After extensive hours of investigation, night fell, and Dr. Abbat's updated report had yet to arrive. At this point, they had no further evidence to analyze. All they had managed to establish was the crime scene and a well-supported theory linking the killer to the Chernobyl disaster.

With no new leads, Kreves and John decided to put the case aside for the moment. They needed rest to be prepared for when another body—inevitably—turned up. They would have to wait for the identification process of the victims to yield results. For now, there was nothing new to investigate.

As Kreves left the station, he was struck by what it meant to live in a city gripped by fear: empty streets, shops closing earlier than usual, no one walking on the sidewalks, and cars passing rarely—and when they did, they sped by with their headlights on.

Driving through the desolate streets of London was a truly somber experience. After about 10 minutes, Kreves arrived at his apartment building. It was an old five-story brick structure with small windows, some of which were adorned with flowerpots. Few lights were on, but for the first time, Kreves noticed that all his neighbors had closed their windows and drawn their curtains.

Kreves’s apartment was on the fourth floor, unit 403. Upon entering, he was greeted by his cat, Duke—his companion and the only thing left from his late grandmother. Duke was a large yellow cat who loved playing with Kreves.

As for the apartment, it was quite ordinary—some might even call it melancholic. Gray walls, white curtains, a small living room, a dining area, a kitchen that seemed unused, and a bedroom with its own bathroom. It wasn’t luxurious but adequate for a detective who was rarely home.

Kreves carried the folder with the collected evidence, placing it on the wooden table in the center of the living room. He laid out the photos of the crimes, trying to identify a pattern or a new clue that could help with the case. He scrutinized the images—the cuts, the marks, the masks, the location where the bodies were dumped, and even their positions. Just as he was about to give up, something caught his attention. On the sidewalk of the first murder scene, there was writing that could easily be mistaken for bloodstains. Upon closer inspection, Kreves noticed something familiar about it.

"мирный атом," Peaceful Atom, Kreves thought. But… he didn’t know that language. He had always lived in London and only spoke English. So why could he understand this writing?

Understanding those words deeply unsettled Kreves. He paced around his apartment, trying to figure out why he could comprehend a language he had never studied. What disturbed him even more was that certain parts of his life seemed vague—like blurry memories that had been partially erased. Could this part of his life, which he couldn’t recall, hold the key to solving this case?

Feeling shaken, Kreves stored all the information back in the folder, not forgetting to note his discovery on the photo of the sidewalk. After organizing everything, he went to bed, hoping that one day he would find clarity about why he couldn’t remember a portion of his own life.