Devil's Whisper Chapter 126: The Killer’s Mark

When they arrived at the interrogation room, the air shifted, heavy with the weight of what lay ahead. Juan sat quietly in a metal chair behind the reinforced glass, his hands cuffed to the table, his expression unreadable.

The fluorescent lights buzzed faintly overhead, casting a harsh, sterile glow over the room, and the faint scent of antiseptic lingered, mingling with the tension that pulsed between her and Jason. He stood beside her, his presence a steady flame against the coldness of the station, and as he gestured toward the room, his hand brushed her lower back—a fleeting, electric touch that sent a shiver racing up her spine, igniting the heat that had simmered between them since the motel.

“Go ahead, Kate,” Jason said, his voice low and resonant, a quiet command laced with a trust that made her heart thud. “If you think the real killer is still out there, it’s time to find out what he knows.”

His eyes locked onto hers, dark and smoldering, and for a moment, the room faded—the stark walls, the cuffed figure—leaving only the intensity of his gaze, a silent vow that he’d stand with her, even from a distance. His fingers lingered near her hip, a whisper of contact that promised more, and she felt the ache of wanting him flare anew, a fire she couldn’t douse despite the task ahead.

Kate stopped for a moment, her breath catching as she glanced back at him, her body turning instinctively toward his warmth.

“Aren’t you coming with me?” she asked, her voice soft but threaded with a quiet plea, her eyes searching his face—the sharp line of his jaw, the faint stubble she longed to trace with her fingertips. She wanted him beside her, his steady strength a shield against the uncertainty waiting beyond that door, and the thought of facing Juan alone sent a flicker of unease through her—tempered only by the heat of his nearness, the memory of his lips on hers still tingling against her skin.

“No, I need to keep the staff distracted,” Jason replied firmly, his tone resolute but laced with a concern that softened the edges, his hand sliding up to rest briefly on her shoulder—a possessive, tender grip that sent a jolt through her core.

His thumb brushed the curve of her neck, a slow, deliberate caress that made her breath hitch, and his eyes darkened as they held hers, a silent promise shimmering beneath the duty pulling him away. “Don’t worry, Oliver is in the room, and Juan is handcuffed,” he added, his fingers trailing down her arm as he pulled away, a reluctant retreat that left her skin burning, her body yearning for the press of him against her once more.

The dim light flickered slightly overhead, casting long shadows across the walls, heightening the tension in the air. In the center of the room, a cold, metallic table sat like an unspoken barrier between Kate and the prisoner. On one side of the table, Juan sat motionless on a single metal chair, his gaze fixed on the wall across from him, as though he were in another world entirely.

On the opposite side of the table, there were two empty chairs, one of which was occupied by Oliver, who immediately stood up when he noticed Kate entering.

“Hello, Miss Kate,” Oliver greeted, his voice polite but his expression betraying his concern.

“Hello, Oliver,” Kate replied, nodding slightly before turning her attention back to Juan. His face was unreadable, his eyes dull, yet the intensity of the moment could be felt in the silent room.

Kate walked closer and then sat down, placing her notebook carefully on the table. She glanced at Juan briefly, noting his unwavering focus on the wall, as though he was completely detached from the conversation. She inhaled deeply, bracing herself for what she was about to do.

“Juan, I’m here to talk to you.”

Juan did not respond, his face as still as stone.

“Look at me,” Kate said, her tone remaining steady but with a hint of urgency.

Again, no response. Juan remained unmoved, his eyes fixed on the wall.

“Juan, tell me why you sneaked into Sasha Paula’s house and why you prevented her from condemning Satanism?”

Still, Juan remained silent, his posture rigid, his expression unreadable.

Kate's frustration grew, but she did not let it show. Instead, she continued with determination, trying to reach him in any way she could.

“You might not get a second chance to say what’s in your heart. Please, tell me everything you know.”

Juan did not react, his gaze unwavering, almost as if he were not hearing her at all. Oliver shifted uncomfortably beside her, clearly feeling the mounting tension. Kate could sense his desire to intervene, but with a subtle motion, she signaled for him to stay silent. This was her moment.

“Juan, there was a statue in your cupboard,” Kate continued, her voice quieter now, tinged with a sense of knowledge that she hoped would finally get through to him. “And no one knew whose statue it was... But I know it was Baphomet.”

The air in the room felt charged with anticipation, and Kate’s gaze locked onto Juan’s face. She noticed something then—a faint flicker in his eyes. For a brief moment, she saw it: a twitch, a shift in his expression. He wasn’t entirely lost to her.

“None of the people around you know who Baphomet is and what he's capable of... But I know it can dwell in your soul, consume your filth, and taint your soul for eternity,” Kate said softly, almost in a whisper, as though the words themselves were dangerous.

As she spoke, she saw a slight tremor in Juan’s eyes. The change was subtle, but it was there—a crack in the armor that had seemed impenetrable up until now.

“I saw scratch marks on the statue,” Kate continued, her voice steady. “And it made me realize that, like everyone else, you also hate Satanism... That’s why you used to scratch the statue to show your hatred.”

At this, Kate noticed a shift in Juan’s expression—his features tightening, his jaw setting in a way that indicated he was no longer completely indifferent.

“The scratch marks also made me realize that you forbade Sasha from condemning Satanism, not because of your love for it... but to keep her safe,” Kate said, her voice firm now, confident that she was on the right path.

Juan’s gaze flickered toward her, the first sign of acknowledgment she had gotten.

“You knew anyone who would condemn Satanism would fall prey to the killer, and to keep Sasha safe from him, you asked her not to post anything against Satanism. I also know that two years ago you saw something that affected you so deeply that you stopped speaking,” Kate continued, her voice now softer, almost compassionate. “Listen to me, Juan, you don’t need to sacrifice yourself for the person who is butchering innocent people... especially when he summoned Satan from the depths of the earth... he doesn’t deserve your sympathy.”

At these words, Juan’s eyes snapped to her—finally, a reaction. It was the first time he looked at her directly, and Kate saw the fear, the anxiety, the turmoil in his gaze. It was a glimpse into the horror that had been consuming him.

“Tell me, Juan... before Baphomet finds its next target... who is the killer?” Kate asked, her voice intense, desperate for an answer.

Oliver, who had been watching the exchange with increasing confusion, looked back and forth between Kate and Juan, trying to make sense of it all. It was clear that he wasn’t following Kate’s line of reasoning, and it was difficult for him to understand why she seemed to be probing Juan with such a deep level of empathy, rather than focusing solely on the facts.

Kate looked at Juan, her voice now pleading. “Give me something to work with here... Help me uncover the coward hiding behind those curtains, mocking us.”

Juan’s eyes darted, flickering with the briefest hint of fear. His silence was deafening, but Kate didn’t relent.

“If you want to die for him, no one would stop you… but think that your death would only benefit him because it will make him freer and more confident to kill innocent people and cut off their body parts.”

Oliver’s eyes widened, not sure if this was the right approach, but Kate pressed on, unshaken.

“I’m going to share something with you. You might believe that being convicted for Sasha Paula’s murder would rid you of the terror of Baphomet that gripped your mind... but you're mistaken.”

Juan’s face remained a mask, but the fear in his eyes deepened.

“You have to understand, Juan,” Kate said, her voice steady, “you’re being used. This isn’t just about you or Sasha. There’s something far darker at play, something you need to face if you want to stop it. I’m here to help you. Just give me something—anything—that will lead me to the killer.”

For a long moment, Juan said nothing. But then, as if moved by something deep inside, he reached forward, his trembling hand grabbing Kate’s notepad. His fingers brushed hers briefly, and he looked up at her, silently asking for a pen.

Oliver immediately started to protest, his concern growing. “You can’t give him a pen... it’s not allowed.”

Kate glanced at Oliver, who was clearly uncomfortable with the idea, but she made a decision. After a brief moment of hesitation, she passed him the pen.

Juan took the pen quickly and began scribbling furiously on the paper, his hand shaking. Within moments, he pushed the notepad and pen back toward Kate, his expression unreadable.

Kate grabbed the notepad quickly, her heart pounding as she read the words Juan had written.