FLASHBACK!

CHAPTER 3 :- FLASHBACK!

The interrogation room didn't feel like a police station anymore. As Lana began to speak, the grey walls seemed to dissolve, replaced by the hazy, golden light of a memory from 2009. Her voice, once cold and distant, became soft—the voice of a girl who died a long time ago.

"We weren't always shadows, Officer," Lana started, her eyes staring at a point far beyond John. "Before the blood, before the 'Father' carvings, there was just us. My father, Mark. My little brother, Drex. And me. My mother... she left us shortly after Drex was born. Not by choice, but because her body couldn't hold on. But Mark? He made sure we never felt that void."

She described their life in Andheribagh. It wasn't a slum back then; it was a sanctuary. Every weekend was a ritual. Mark, a man with calloused hands and a heart of pure gold, would take them to the outskirts. He would teach Drex how to fly kites and teach Lana how to read the stars. There was no revenge in their hearts then—only the simple, human warmth of a father who lived for his children.

"I remember the smell of the rain on the pavement and the way my father laughed," Lana whispered, a ghost of a smile appearing. "He was our world. He was the sun. We were just planets revolving around him. Drex was so small... so innocent. My father used to tell us that as long as we were together, the '21st block' was the safest place on Earth."

The "emotional connect" was palpable. She spoke for what felt like hours about the mundane beauty of their lives—the shared meals, the way Mark would tuck them in, and the promise he made to always protect them. It was a picture-perfect family portrait, painted in colors that were about to be bled dry.

The Night the Sun Went Out

"Then came that night," Lana’s voice dropped, turning brittle. "The night the 21st block became a graveyard."

The six of them—Rehan, Aman, Arhan, and the others—didn't come with knives or guns. They came with arrogance and the cruelty of privileged youth. They burst into the house like a storm. They didn't just want money; they wanted to break something. They saw Lana.

"They... they did things," Lana said, her breath hitching. The trauma was visible in the way her knuckles turned white. "They tore the dignity out of my soul while my father was forced to watch. I cried out for my mother. I screamed for a woman I barely remembered, wishing she were there to shield me, yet hating that she had left me in this hell."

In that moment of absolute horror, a dark, jagged seed was planted in Lana’s mind. As she lay on the cold floor, broken and humiliated, she looked at her father. She didn't see a hero anymore. She saw the man who had failed her.

The Breaking Point

The six friends eventually left, leaving behind a shattered girl and a devastated father. But the physical assault wasn't what broke Lana—it was a memory that surfaced in the aftermath. A memory of the day her mother died.

She remembered the hospital room. She remembered the doctor asking Mark who to save—the mother or the unborn child, Drex. And Mark, in his desperation to hold onto the future, had chosen the son. He had chosen Drex over the woman Lana worshipped.

"I looked at him," Lana hissed, her eyes snapping back to John, burning with a terrifying intensity. "He was crying, trying to touch my face, trying to apologize for what those boys had done. But all I could see was the man who chose a son over a mother. The man whose 'choice' started this chain of misery."

The rage was a physical thing now. Lana described how she stood up, her body aching, her mind fractured. She didn't go for the six boys. Not yet. She went for the root of her world. She picked up a heavy kitchen knife—the same knife Mark used to cut fruit for them during their happy weekends.

"He didn't even fight back," she whispered. "He just stood there with his arms open, looking at me with so much pity. And I hated him for it. I drove the blade into him again and again. I wasn't killing my father; I was killing the man who let the world break us."

The Witness in the Shadows

But Lana wasn't alone. In the corner of the room, hidden behind a tattered curtain, was little Drex. He was only a child, but he saw it all. He saw his sister transform into a monster. He saw the 'Father' bleed out on the floor of House 21.

"Drex," Lana breathed, her voice trembling. "He didn't scream. He just looked at me with eyes that were no longer human. And then... he ran. He ran into the night, into the darkness of Andheribagh, and he never came back."

She finished her story, the silence in the interrogation room now feeling like a tomb. John was paralyzed. The evidence—the coat, the hair, the trophies—it all made sense now. But it wasn't just about revenge against the six friends. It was about a daughter who had murdered her father and a brother who had vanished into the shadows of that trauma.

Lana leaned back, the golden light of the memory gone, leaving only the cold, harsh fluorescent glare of the present.

"You found the coat, Officer. You found the trophies. But you didn't find the killer," Lana said, a chilling realization dawning on John's face. "I killed the 'Father' seventeen years ago. But who do you think has been killing the 'friends' for me?"

John stood up, his chair screeching against the floor. He looked at the file, then at Lana. If she had stayed in her "cubicle" all these years, paralyzed by her own guilt... then the person in the black coat, the one with the strength to overpower six men, the one who had witnessed the murder of Mark...

"Drex," John whispered.

Lana just smiled. A sad, broken, terrifying smile.

"The destination isn't a place, John. It’s a reunion.”

John leaned across the table, his face just inches from Lana’s. The flickering overhead light made his eyes look like hollow pits of fire. He didn't want a mystery anymore; he wanted a closing statement.

"So that’s the play, huh?" John’s voice was a jagged rasp. "You’re admitting you slaughtered your own father because he didn't save your mother... but you want me to believe you didn't touch the six men who actually ruined your life? You killed the man who loved you, but you spared the animals who tore you apart? Do I look like an idiot, Lana?"

Lana’s breath was coming in short, panicked gasps. She looked smaller now, fragile, like a glass statue about to shatter. "No, Sir! Please... you have to listen to me! I killed Mark. I drove that knife into him because I was broken, because I hated him for choosing Drex over my mother. I carry that blood on my hands every single day. But those six... I didn't kill them! I haven't seen them since that night!"

"Shut the fuck up!" John roared, his fist slamming into the metal table so hard it left a dent. The sound echoed like a gunshot, silencing the whispers of the officers behind the glass. "You are behind this. You had the coat. You had the mask. You had their personal belongings—their watches, their blood—hidden in your apartment. The evidence doesn't lie, Lana! It screams your name!"

"I don't know how those things got there!" Lana sobbed, the tears finally breaking through. "I swear on my mother’s soul, I didn't put them there! I’ve lived in a daze for seventeen years, just trying to survive the guilt of what I did to my father. Why would I keep trophies of men I never wanted to see again?"

John stood up, pacing the small room like a caged tiger. He was losing his patience. The DNA was hers. The height matched. The motive was iron-clad. In the eyes of the law, she was a serial killer who had finally cracked.

"Your confession is confirmed, Lana," John said, his voice turning ice-cold, devoid of any empathy. "You admitted to the first murder, and the evidence ties you to the rest. You can cry all you want, you can play the victim all you want, but you are gone. You’re never seeing the sun again."

Lana looked up at him, her face pale, her eyes wide with a terrifying realization. "If I didn't put those things in my house, John... and if I’m sitting here in this chair... then who is out there right now?"

John didn't answer. He turned his back on her, signaling the guards to take her away. He wanted to feel the victory of a closed case, but as the heavy iron door slammed shut, her words hung in the air like a curse.

He looked at the file one last time. If Lana was telling the truth about only killing Mark... then someone had been framing her for seventeen years. Someone who knew exactly where she lived. Someone who had been watching her every move, waiting for the perfect moment to hand her over to the police.

John felt a chill crawl down his spine. The "Final Destination" note wasn't just for the victims. It was for Lana.

And as the rain hammered against the station roof, John realized the "Main Twist" was still

lurking in the shadows, laughing at him.