Chernobyl’s Revenge

V*

Kreves returned to the station, knowing he wouldn’t have time to solve the riddle himself and needing someone to find the answer. He couldn’t go to Captain Brown, as the man would forbid him from going at all costs. But John—he wouldn’t stop him.

Upon entering the station, Kreves was met with the usual chaos that erupted whenever another victim was found. At the far end of the room, the captain spoke furiously on the phone, but when he noticed Kreves, he placed the phone on the desk and approached him.

"Good afternoon, Kreves. Good work finding the other victim. But I must ask—how did you know there was someone else in the river?" Jonathan gave him a strange look. Kreves couldn’t quite decipher what the captain was thinking at that moment.

"I had a hunch. The victim’s placement wasn’t typical, and it caught my attention," Kreves replied calmly, a tone that seemed to convince the captain, who walked away without another word. He returned to his office and resumed the call.

Kreves stuck to his initial plan and headed to the third floor in search of John. However, as he made his way to John’s office, he could feel the stares of other officers following him. Kreves felt uneasy; he hated drawing attention, especially when people were closely watching his actions.

Reaching the third floor, he approached John’s office and found him lost in thought. In front of John lay a report from Dr. Abbat, though with so many victims, Kreves wasn’t sure which one it referenced. He knocked gently on the door, not wanting to startle John, who was deeply focused. But John seemed oblivious to Kreves’ presence, his mind entirely occupied with uncovering new leads.

Kreves knocked again, each knock louder than the last, until he finally caught John’s attention. Seeing Kreves at the doorway, John quickly stood to greet him.

"Good to see you! I need help with Dr. Abbat’s latest report. I have a feeling these last two victims are telling us something. And the other report should be on its way—we can review them together," John said enthusiastically. It was evident he needed help. The heavy bags under his eyes, his pale complexion, and his disheveled appearance made it clear the lack of sleep was taking a toll on him.

"Sorry, John, but I need to leave quickly."

John looked at him, puzzled. For a moment, he seemed stunned, but then his expression turned to anger. Kreves continued, "Listen to me, and if you want, you can get mad afterward."

"Fine, Kreves, but you’d better have a good excuse."

"It’s not an excuse. The body wasn’t the only thing I found at the scene. The killer left me… a note."

"We have to give it to the captain. He’ll—"

"NO," Kreves interrupted sharply. He hated being cut off, especially when the matter was urgent. "Listen to me, John. Stay quiet for a moment so I can explain everything."

He told John every detail of the past 48 hours—from the unexpected visit from his parents to the revelation that he wasn’t from London and that his biological parents were different people. He also explained that the captain didn’t want him further involved in the case for fear he might be connected to the killer, which was why he wouldn’t turn over the note. Kreves emphasized the importance of keeping the note’s existence a secret, as it might be the only clue that could lead them to the killer. Mishandling it could result in losing the killer forever.

Finally, he asked John to stay at the station while he went to the psychiatric center to try to uncover the killer’s identity. John listened intently, his surprise growing as the story unfolded. It was a tragic yet fascinating tale, and he realized his friend needed help not only to solve the case but also to uncover a crucial part of his past.

When Kreves finished, he walked to a corner of the room, overwhelmed. John looked at him for a moment and then said, "You can count on me, Kreves. No one will know about the note you found at the scene. But I have to say—I don’t agree with you going to that place alone. You need backup."

"No, John. If we do that, we’ll scare him off. Not only will he skip the meeting, but he’ll disappear entirely, and we’ll never get another chance to catch him," Kreves wouldn’t back down.

"The letter doesn’t specify that. He must know you wouldn’t go alone. Who would meet a serial killer without support?"

"It may not say it explicitly, but I’m certain the only person the killer cares about right now is me. He won’t hurt me. If he does, his legacy won’t endure—and that’s exactly what he’s trying to avoid: having his work be forgotten."

John sighed bitterly. He was worried about his friend but knew that arguing with Kreves would lead nowhere. Kreves was right—this person would only approach because of the past they shared. No one else had that connection, and therefore, no one else could have that access. Moreover, if the killer detected anyone other than Kreves at the meeting site, they would flee and disappear forever.

He looked at his friend for a moment and realized he would have to trust him. Nodding, he watched as Kreves headed to the door. Before Kreves could leave, John handed him a folder containing the findings on the latest victim. Although the report didn’t hold anything new, perhaps Kreves might find an additional lead in the investigation, though John doubted there was anything worthwhile left to uncover.

After Kreves left, John picked up the note found at the scene. He read through it entirely, and when he reached the part containing the riddle, he took out a piece of paper to jot it down and began working on possible solutions.

Kreves left the police station and headed toward Harley and Marylebone Streets, hoping that the clinic was still operational—and, more importantly, that it still offered the treatment he had undergone. He also prayed there might be a way to reverse it. As he drove, his mind wandered to the case—the murders, the corpses, the locations where the bodies had been placed, and finally, his dream, which had involuntarily revealed a fragment of his past.

His thoughts began to lose coherence, tangling together like a ball of yarn. He stopped thinking clearly, and his usually calm mind became clouded. Despite the internal chaos, he managed to arrive at the clinic, though he wasn’t sure exactly how.

He parked in front of the corner building, a white structure surrounded by a black fence. From afar, he spotted a small sign near the entrance that read, "The London Psychiatric Clinic, buzzer 3." Next to the sign were several buzzers—he counted ten. It appeared to be a residential building, not solely a clinic as he had expected.

He pressed the third buzzer and waited for approximately eight minutes. Just as he was about to press it again, a female voice responded.

"Good morning, this is The London Psychiatric Clinic. Could you please tell me if you have an appointment and the name of the doctor you’re here to see?"

"I don’t have an appointment. I’m from the police department. I need to speak with the person in charge of the clinic."

"Sir, the person in charge isn’t available today. Perhaps you could—"

"No, it’s urgent. I need to speak with whichever doctor is available."

The line went silent for a moment, and Kreves began to feel desperate. He couldn’t wait to recover his memories, uncover his true life, and figure out his connection to the killer who had caused so many headaches.

After a few minutes, the voice returned.

"Please come in. Go up to the third floor. Dr. Beckley will be waiting for you."

Kreves heard the line go silent again. The door buzzed open, but he hesitated to cross the threshold. He sighed and looked at the doorway for a moment, trying to calm his anxiety. He was about to enter the building that had stolen all his memories years ago, and now he was there to take them back.