Echoes of a Demon

The Rauthan Residence - Bangalore, India

Three years had passed since Joren's disappearance. In the house, Mr. Rauthan sat in his armchair, a fortress of faded memories. Across from him, Detective Miller sipped lukewarm chai, his expression a masterpiece of practiced patience.

The news played in the background as they discussed the lack of progress in finding Joren. Then, the screen flashed with an international news alert.

BREAKING: TOKYO BLOODBATH - MASSACRE IN AZABU-JUUBAN DISTRICT

Mr. Rauthan leaned forward, his knuckles white. "Miller. Look."

He pointed a trembling finger at the screen.

Mr. Rauthan: "Japan... The reports are showing the same pattern. Bodies torn apart. Just... pure brute force." He turned to the detective, his voice a desperate whisper. "The pattern, Miller. It's the same as the stories from that gang fight in Manila last year. And that... that incident with the loan sharks in Dubai. My gut... my gut is screaming at me. This has to be Joren."

From the doorway leading to the kitchen, his two other children watched. His eldest son, Ronit (28), a broad-shouldered man, leaned against the frame, his arms crossed in clear disapproval. Behind him, their younger sister, Kiara (17), peeked out, her eyes wide.

Detective Miller (Thinking): Oh, save me. Not the "global pattern" again. Last time it was a bar brawl in Amsterdam that he swore was Joren's "style." Now, because some criminal got torn up people in Tokyo, suddenly his son is an international man of mystery and murder. I find lost motorbikes and settle property disputes. I am not James Bond.

Detective Miller (Thinking): Come to think of it. It all started from his disappearance the day he disappeared a horrible crime occurred. Dead bodies were found, cut and broken, and some small parts were torn from the body by force.

Mr. Rauthan: "Wherever there is this kind of savage chaos, my son is there, I feel it. This massacre in Japan... this is getting worse. He's changed, Miller. You have to go. You have to find him."

Ronit (28) (from the doorway, voice tight): "Papa, bas enough! You can't be serious. You are seeing Joren in every bad news story from every corner of the world. This is madness."

Mr. Rauthan (not looking away from Miller): "A father knows, Ronit! I'm not proud of what the news says... but he is still my son. My blood."

Detective Miller (Out loud, maintaining a facade of professionalism): "Mr. Rauthan, with all due respect, the Japanese police are leading a major investigation. For me to go there would be... impossible. And frankly, suicidal."

Detective Miller (Thinking): He always says this kind of stuff to me. 'My gut is screaming.' 'My guts have never been wrong.' And my guts are telling me that if I go to Tokyo and start asking questions about a massacre, I will end up on the wrong end of whatever did that. This man's paternal instinct is a one-way ticket to a body bag.

Mr. Rauthan (pleading): "Just a look, Miller. One quick trip. I will pay for everything. Please."

Seeing the desperate, unshakable hope in the old man's eyes, Miller knew he needed an exit strategy.

Detective Miller: "Tell you what," he said, placing his chai cup down with finality. "I have a contact... a friend who works with an international shipping company. He has people in Tokyo. I will ask him to have his people keep their ears open. You know, for any... gossip. About unusual foreigners. It is the best I can do."

It was a lie, of course. I don't have any contact other than the chef, whose number I got from the online advertisement.

Mr. Rauthan's shoulders slumped in relief. "Thank you, Miller. Thank you. You are the only one who understands."

As Miller stood to leave, he caught Ronit's (28) eye. The younger man gave him a slight, apologetic nod.

Detective Miller (Thinking): At least one of them has sense. The brother thinks I'm humoring a delusional old man. The sister looks like she's watching a crime thriller. And the father... the father is convinced his son is a force of nature leaving a trail of bodies across the world. What a family.

He stepped out into the evening, pulling out his phone. He wasn't calling a contact. He was texting his wife.

"Another one. This time in Japan. A massacre. The old man is convinced his Joren is now operating internationally. Coming home. Need a very, very strong drink!"

He got into his car, shaking his head.

Azabu-Juuban District - Tokyo, Japan

Inspector Tanaka stood frozen facing the window, his knuckles white as he gripped the frame. The images of the massacre played in his mind - bodies scattered like broken dolls, twelve, maybe thirteen of them.

Officer Haruto came running toward Inspector Tanaka, his footsteps sharp against the floor. "Sir! We've got a clue," he called out, his voice a mix of urgency and unease. "There's something you need to see."

Tanaka turned toward his junior officer. "What is it, Haruto?"

"It's about two of the victims, sir. The Yamazakis," Haruto said, catching his breath. "They were killed brutally, just like the others. But we've confirmed from a neighbor that their eight-year-old son, Akira, was with them when the attack happened."

Tanaka's eyes narrowed. "And the boy?"

"He's gone, sir. There's no child's body here. The boy is just... missing."

Tanaka's face hardened. "So he was here. He either witnessed this... or was taken because of it."

"Exactly, sir. We have to find him quickly."

"Get a team on this immediately," Tanaka ordered. "Check all security cameras, interview every neighbor. This is no longer just a massacre investigation. It's a missing child case."

Within two to three hours, their investigation and department connections led them to a small, private clinic on the city's outskirts. Tanaka and his team approached the unassuming building. When they knocked, the door was opened by a weary-looking doctor.

"Yes? How can I help you?" the doctor asked.

Tanaka held up the photo of Akira. "We're looking for this boy. We have information that he was last seen at your clinic."

The doctor's eyes widened slightly before he nodded. "The boy was brought here by one of my patients. He was unconscious at the time. The man who brought him said he found the child crying on the roadside, saying he'd lost his parents. The boy was so terrified he could barely speak."

The doctor hesitated, then continued. "There was one more thing he kept mumbling about, but when I tried to ask him, he became agitated and started shouting. The fear in his eyes was... intense. So I sent him to my sister's home. My sister... she can't have children of her own due to a medical condition. She's been wanting to adopt for years. When I told her about Akira, she immediately wanted to take him in permanently, to raise him as her own son."

The doctor provided his sister's address, and Tanaka's team hurried to the location. Before leaving, they asked about the man who had brought the boy in. The doctor shook his head. "I have no clue who he was. He was not a regular patient. But if you want, you can get his footage from the CCTV outside my clinic."

As they collected the CCTV footage and forwarded it to the tech team for analysis, a report came back to Tanaka while he was en route to the doctor's sister's home. "Sir, we've identified the man in the footage," a junior officer's voice crackled over the car radio. "His name is Kokushiro Akuma. He's a mixed Japanese-foreigner who settled here about ten months ago. Works as a game developer for one of the big companies. His record is clean—no FIR registered on his name. But here's the weird part, sir: we cannot access or get any information about him before he arrived in Japan ten months ago. It's like he didn't exist before that."

They reached the doctor's sister's home—a quiet, suburban house. A kind-faced woman answered the door and, after seeing Tanaka's badge, allowed them inside. She led them to a small bedroom where the boy, Akira, was sitting on the floor, quietly stacking blocks. On the surface, he seemed calm, almost normal.

Tanaka knelt down, keeping his voice soft. "Akira? My name is Tanaka. I need to ask you about what happened to your parents."

The moment the words left his mouth, the boy's demeanor shattered. His eyes widened in raw terror, his small body beginning to tremble. "He was the one who did it," Akira whispered, his voice trembling. "He was a demon... an oni!"

Before Tanaka could ask anything more, the boy scrambled backward, crying out, "I don't wanna talk about this! I don't wanna talk!" He ran from the room, leaving Tanaka and his team in heavy, unsettled silence.

The room fell into a stunned silence. One of the junior officers, Haruto, was the first to find his voice, barely above a whisper.

"A... a demon, sir?" he said, his face pale. "And he said he... was it just one man?"

Tanaka didn't answer immediately. His mind was racing, re-evaluating the entire crime scene—the overwhelming brutality, the sheer scale of the violence. The forensic reports had suggested a level of force that seemed almost superhuman. They had been operating under the assumption it was a coordinated attack by a group. But the boy's testimony, fractured by terror, pointed to a single perpetrator.

He finally turned to his team, his expression grim. "The boy said 'he'. Not 'they'. But we don't know if this 'demon' worked alone or had a gang backing him. If a child who witnessed that... that carnage identifies his attacker as a single 'oni'..." Tanaka let the implication hang in the air, the silence more terrifying than any theory they had discussed. "Then we are not looking for an ordinary killer. We are hunting something far more dangerous."