London – 5:10 AM – Central Police Station, Cold Case Archives
The sound of rain tapping on the window panes echoed like the melancholic notes of a forgotten piano. Among shelves lined with dusty files, Inspector Douglas stood still—like a ghost from a bygone era. In the Criminal Investigations Division, he was known for his unorthodox methods: a man who searched for patterns within chaos, and loved questions more than answers.
He pulled out an old file marked in red:
"Sylvia Duval – Witness in the Evelyn Shaw Case – 1872."
Opening the file, he stared at the photo. Sylvia… her features delicate, her wide eyes seemingly aware of things best left unknown.
Beneath the photo, a report was attached—written in the shaky handwriting of an officer long deceased:
> "Sylvia was more than just a witness... I believe she was the seventh victim who survived by choosing silence."
Douglas muttered:
"The seventh victim? But the killings stopped at six."
He glanced again at the infamous Crawford Case — six victims, each found with a fabric doll beside their corpse.
Everyone believed the killer had either died… or vanished.
But now, with Sylvia's corpse found—posed theatrically, timed with eerie precision—it was clear: the performance wasn't over.
London Morgue – Two Hours Later
Caleb stood beside the body, examining every detail as though trying to see what eyes weren't meant to.
"Look here…" he said, pointing at her neck.
A small incision—barely visible. Beneath it, a paper folded meticulously into a musical note.
Wearing black gloves, he unfolded it on the table.
Anna, newly assigned to the team, leaned in.
"It's an incomplete composition… a musical scale left unfinished."
Douglas analyzed the sheet, eyes narrowing.
"This isn't just a tune. It's a musical map. Some composers encoded messages in their work… just like this killer hides intent within his victims."
He pointed at a peculiar mark:
"Here… the bass clef next to the initials 'F.P.'… That's Felix Bartoni, the composer who disappeared ten years ago."
Anna whispered:
"The last time he played… was at the Royal Opera House—just before a mysterious fire burned down one of its balconies."
Douglas raised his head:
"The Opera House… it's not just abandoned. It's haunted—by memories that were never told."
---
Inside the Police Car – En Route to the Opera House
Douglas pulled a fabric doll from his bag—a replica of Sylvia… missing the left pinky finger.
He spoke quietly:
"Every doll found with the past victims was missing the same finger. That's not coincidence."
Caleb stared at the doll.
"The pinky… was sometimes severed in old rituals, as a mark of loyalty… or punishment."
Anna added:
"In some schools of performance, the pinky is seen as insignificant… yet it's essential for balance—in playing, in singing… in expression."
Douglas murmured:
> "What if each doll symbolizes a loss? A marker that the victim had lost something… a part of their soul?"
He gazed out at the rain-covered window:
> "Do you think the killers choose their victims… or do the victims choose their fate?"
Silence fell.
After a pause, Caleb replied:
"Sometimes… all a victim did was be in the wrong moment. But other times… it's old sins that call out for punishment, like invisible scars."
Anna looked at him.
"Do you see yourself as a victim, Caleb?"
He answered without turning:
"No… just a man who knows every show needs a director… an audience… and an ending."
---
Royal Opera House – Noon
Shadows danced on the walls. The air was cold, as if the place still breathed its past.
At the center of the stage stood a piano, draped in black cloth.
And on the bench… a new doll.
They approached cautiously. This time, the doll resembled Inspector Douglas.
The left pinky was missing.
Across its forehead, in black ink, was a single word:
> "Conscience."
Douglas gave a bitter smile.
"Seems like the message is personal now."
Caleb approached the piano, removed the cloth, and found another sheet of music underneath—a continuation of the first composition.
Anna read aloud, her voice tense:
"Together, the two sheets form a melody once used in the opening of Greek tragedies."
Douglas whispered:
"The killer isn't just obsessed with the stage… he's mimicking cathar
tic rituals. Each murder is a sacrifice… offered to an unseen audience."
Caleb stood center stage, staring into the empty seats.