Devil's Whisper Chapter 115: Blood and Ink

"There are more than a thousand copies of Rubaiyat in this world, and they hold no power—they are simply poetry books. The real issue lies with the original copy of Rubaiyat, the one penned down by Omar Khayyam himself. Based on credible evidence, it has been established that ever since its inception, the original Rubaiyat has harbored an extraordinary, almost supernatural force within its pages. Whoever reads it is inevitably affected by these forces, though the impact varies depending on the individual.

"It is widely believed that within the verses of Rubaiyat reside both spiritual and malevolent powers. The nature of the power that manifests depends entirely on the desires harbored within the reader's heart. You might find my words hard to believe, but Rubaiyat is far from being an ordinary book of poetry. It conceals dark, hidden shadows. When you encounter these shadows while reading, they do not merely fade away. They seep into your soul, influencing your thoughts and actions in ways that defy logic and rationality. In essence, Rubaiyat has the ability to make a person see things beyond normal human perception, compelling them to uncover messages that were never explicitly written within its pages."

Clark explained, his voice laced with an eerie certainty.

"When Rubaiyat began to unleash sinister energies and awaken satanic ideologies in the minds of vulnerable individuals—driving them to commit unspeakable atrocities—the wise and learned men of that era came together to form an ancient order known as The Watchers. Their sole mission was to retrieve and safeguard the original Rubaiyat, ensuring that it never fell into the hands of those with fragile spiritual convictions. The Watchers took an oath to keep the original Rubaiyat hidden from the eyes of the world for eternity, knowing full well the chaos it could incite if misused."

Clark exhaled deeply before continuing, "But despite their unwavering dedication, history has witnessed multiple instances where Rubaiyat slipped from their grasp, only to trigger widespread bloodshed and destruction. Each time it was lost, The Watchers were forced into intense, often brutal battles against the followers of darkness—those who sought to wield its power for malevolent purposes. It appears that the original copy of Rubaiyat is cursed, never remaining in one place for too long. Every few decades, it vanishes without a trace, leaving behind a grim trail of death and violence, until The Watchers eventually manage to reclaim it—only for the cycle to repeat once more."

Both Jason and Kate sat in silence, absorbing Clark's words. They wanted to dismiss his story as mere myth or superstition, but after everything they had witnessed since discovering the first fragment of Rubaiyat in Ryder’s coat pocket, they couldn't afford to be skeptical.

"So, if I understand this correctly, The Watchers are convinced that the killer possesses Rubaiyat and is receiving messages from it, instructing them to commit these murders?" Jason asked, his brows furrowed in thought.

"Yes, without a shred of doubt," Clark affirmed, his expression grave.

Jason exchanged a glance with Kate before nodding. "Alright. We've gotten the answers we need. Now, once I verify that everything you've told us is the truth, I'll get rid of the contract paper."

Clark's eyes narrowed. "You promised to hand it over to me."

Jason smirked slightly. "And I will. Just not for a few days." Without another word, he took a step toward Clark and, with the back of his revolver, struck him firmly on the forehead. Clark’s body went limp as he collapsed to the floor, unconscious.

Kate sighed. "He'll wake up in the morning. Let’s go."

As they climbed into the car and drove away, the engine’s low growl filled the silence, a steady hum that vibrated through the seats. Kate settled into the passenger side, her body still warm from the encounter at Clark's house,—Jason’s commanding presence, the way he’d bent the room to his will, the revolver steady in his grip. It had stirred something in her, a restless ache she couldn’t shake, and as the headlights cut through the darkness ahead, she turned to him, unable to hold back the words bubbling up inside her.

“You are very different tonight,” she said, her voice soft but edged with a curiosity she couldn’t mask. The glow of the dashboard lights bathed his profile in a faint green hue, sharpening the line of his jaw, the subtle tension in his brow.

“Different? How?” Jason asked, his tone casual but tinged with a guarded note, his eyes flicking briefly to her before returning to the road. His hands stayed firm on the wheel, knuckles whitening slightly as he navigated the empty street.

Kate hesitated, choosing her words carefully as a flush crept up her neck, warming her cheeks beneath the mask she’d pulled off moments ago. “I thought you were one of those police who refuse to break any laws,” she said, her voice lowering as she leaned closer. “But tonight… you acted so smart and dominant.”

The word dominant slipped out, heavy with intent, and her face went red, the heat spreading as she realized how it sounded—how much she meant it. Her pulse quickened, a wild thudding that echoed the thrill of watching him unravel Clark, and she shifted in her seat, the leather creaking faintly beneath her.

Jason’s heart beat faster, a rapid rhythm he felt in his chest as he kept his eyes fixed on the road, his grip tightening on the wheel until the leather groaned under his fingers. Her words hung between them, charged and unguarded, and he swallowed hard, steadying himself.

“I knew Clark wouldn’t talk unless we had some leverage over him,” he said, his voice low and measured, though a faint huskiness betrayed the effect she was having on him. “So, I started digging into his past. That’s how I came across his contract with smugglers.” He paused, a beat of silence stretching as the car hummed along, then asked quietly, almost tentatively, “Did I disappoint you?”

“What? Not at all!” Kate said quickly, her voice rising with an urgency that surprised her. She leaned closer, her hand brushing the edge of the center console as she turned toward him. “I-I think you’re very attractive tonight.” The confession tumbled out before she could stop it, raw and unfiltered, and her breath caught as the words filled the car, igniting the air between them.

Her face burned hotter, a deep crimson she couldn’t hide, and she bit her lip, the faint sting grounding her as her heart raced with the growing feelings she couldn’t deny.

Silence flooded the car, thick and electric, as embarrassment tangled with the unspoken heat simmering in their chests. Jason’s jaw tightened, his eyes still locked on the road, but a faint flush crept up his neck, betraying the storm beneath his calm exterior. Kate’s admission echoed in his mind—attractive—and it stirred something primal, a flicker of desire he’d buried under the weight of the mission. For a moment, neither spoke, the hum of the engine and the rush of wind the only sounds as they wrestled with the tension coiling tighter between them.

After a beat, Kate cleared her throat, forcing her focus back to safer ground, though her voice trembled slightly. “Do you think Clark was in on the smuggling operation?”

Jason exhaled, a slow breath that steadied him as he seized the lifeline she offered. "After tapping into his calls for the past few weeks and digging into every detail of his history, one thing became crystal clear—Clark would never willingly do anything to tarnish his name. That’s why I knew the contract paper was my best bargaining chip to get him to spill the truth."

Kate let out a thoughtful hum but quickly shifted gears. "Forget about Clark. What I really want to discuss is the connection between Lowan Box and Darrel Luke. If The Watchers’ research is correct, Lowan Box is our prime suspect. But if that’s the case, how does Darrel Luke also match the killer’s description?"

Jason tightened his grip on the steering wheel. "That’s exactly what’s been bothering me."

"Because I believe that Lowan Box and Darrel Luke are the same person."

Jason's head snapped toward her, his eyes widening in surprise. "You really think so?"

"It’s pretty simple when you think about it. When you chased Darrel Luke after the massacre of the Yarrabura people, he completely vanished. Not a single person in Adelaide had ever heard of him. At the same time, The Watchers exhausted every possible resource trying to track down Lowan Box, but they came up with nothing." Kate nodded confidently and continued. "How is it possible that both men just disappeared without a trace? The answer is simple: they never truly existed. At least, not as individual people. Lowan Box and Darrel Luke were fake identities, crafted for a specific purpose. Once that purpose was fulfilled, he discarded them like old clothes and assumed a new identity."

Jason’s jaw tightened, a muscle ticking beneath the stubble as his mind churned through the implications of their discovery. “That actually makes sense,” he said, his voice low and edged with a grudging respect. “This person—whoever they really are—must be a master of deception. He used different personas to carry out his plan: obtaining the Rubaiyat, summoning Baphomet, and selecting his victims to satisfy his devotion to Satanism.”

“Exactly,” Kate replied.

Jason exhaled sharply, a harsh burst of breath that fogged briefly in the cool air between them. “Then the real question is—what’s his true identity? Who is he beneath all these disguises?”

Kate’s voice was steady, unwavering as she met his gaze, her own determination locking with his. “That’s what we need to find out.”

She leaned closer, drawn by the pull of their shared purpose, her elbow brushing the center console as the space between them seemed to shrink.

Jason shook his head in amazement, a faint, wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as he turned his focus back to the road. “I have to admit—this killer is an absolute genius,” he said, his tone laced with a mix of awe and disdain. “He has fooled countless people, slipping through the cracks of society without leaving a trace. Even now, he continues to deceive those around him, and no one has managed to see through his facade.”

“He’s undoubtedly a brilliant strategist,” she said, glanced at Jason, catching the way his jaw flexed, the way his hands gripped the wheel with a controlled strength that mirrored the dominance she’d witnessed earlier. It was intoxicating, this dance with danger they’d plunged into together, and it tightened the thread of connection between them.

Jason’s eyes darkened with determination, narrowing as he stared into the night ahead, the road stretching endless and black before them. “But no matter how skilled he is, no matter how many masks he wears—one day, he will slip up,” he said, his voice dropping to a fierce, unyielding whisper, each word a promise carved in stone. “And when that day comes, we’ll be there to expose him for who he truly is. That day is coming soon—I can feel it.”

With that, he pressed his foot down on the accelerator, the car surging forward with a sudden roar that broke the night’s stillness.