### Chapter 13
The door, which hadn't been opened in days, creaked like an old person as the lock turned and it swung aside. The suffocating air that greeted the homeowners at the threshold seemed almost like a tangible presence standing before them. Tarık walked into his home, feeling stifled by the darkness from the closed curtains. Süleyman, Ayhan, Figen, and Nevbahar followed him inside. Without hesitation, Nevbahar moved to the window, opened the curtains, and pushed the window wide open. The fresh air that flooded in dispelled the stale atmosphere, making Tarık feel a little better. He was silent, his eyes fixed on Buğra’s room.
“Sit down, Tarık, you’re not fully recovered yet,” said Nevbahar.
“Huh?” Tarık responded, snapping out of his reverie. He nodded and sank onto the couch. His mind was a cacophony of screams from Samet, Enes, and Buğra. He had a killer to find, a mystery to solve. Ever since he woke up, he felt like he had forgotten something crucial, and it was gnawing at his brain.
“Now, tell us what's going on?”
Süleyman had taken a seat beside Tarık. Ayhan joined them, and the couch was full. Nevbahar and Figen settled into chairs. Everyone was lost in thought when Nevbahar’s question struck like a bolt of lightning.
“Everything started the day we moved into this house.”
Figen and Ayhan stared at Tarık in surprise. Was he really going to tell them? Figen looked anxiously at her mother, uncertain of how she would react. Nevbahar was completely focused on Tarık, and Süleyman listened intently to his nephew, just as curious and clueless as Nevbahar.
“That first night, I saw shadows and heard noises in the house. At first, I thought a burglar had broken in, but I soon realized I was wrong.”
“What kind of shadows?” Nevbahar asked, looking at Tarık with suspicion.
“I saw the spirits of two little children.”
Nevbahar leaped up from her chair. Süleyman shifted in his seat, turning his body to see Tarık’s face more clearly.
“Spirits? What did you drink to get into this state?”
Nevbahar's thoughts were not familiar to Tarık, but Figen understood what her mother was implying.
“No, Mom, there’s nothing like that! Do you think I drank something too?”
Nevbahar searched her daughter’s eyes for the truth. Figen's gaze was sharp and confident. She quietly sat back down.
“This went on for days, Nevbahar Mom. Ayhan saw the shadows too, or I wouldn’t have accepted it so easily.”
“Yes, I saw them. They were real,” Ayhan confirmed.
“How can that be possible, my child? Can spirits really appear? Couldn’t they be some other entities?”
“Sister, let them tell their story,” Süleyman interrupted, unable to hold back. He was terrified of what Tarık might reveal. Was he going to turn out like his father?
“That day, when I fainted, I found myself in an old orphanage, in the memories of a boy named Samet. I don’t know how it’s possible, but I felt all his pain with my heart and soul. It was real. They lived in that orphanage once and…”
“And what?” Ayhan prompted. Samet was a familiar name from Muhsin’s memories. Did this mean Tarık was in Samet’s memories while Ayhan was in Muhsin’s?
“And they died,” Tarık said.
“Were they among those who died in the fire?” Ayhan was stunned. They hadn’t had time to process everything since they woke up.
“What fire?” Tarık’s voice overlapped with Figen’s, who exclaimed, “Poor Samet.”
“For goodness’ sake, explain this properly so we can understand,” Süleyman finally exploded. He was already confused enough, and he feared that what the three kids experienced might make them like Namık.
“Okay, Uncle, calm down. We’ll explain, but first, we need to understand ourselves.”
Süleyman took deep breaths, trying to calm down.
“Alright, my nephew, go on.”
“It’s best if we recount what we saw in our dreams in order. That way, it’ll be easier to piece the puzzle together,” Ayhan suggested, and Figen agreed, “That way, Uncle and Mom won’t get confused either.”
“I’ll start,” Ayhan said, and Tarık nodded for him to continue.
“When I fainted, I found myself in the memories of the man who died upstairs, Muhsin. It felt real, like I was Muhsin. His wife, Zehra, was with me, and we had an accident.”
“There was a storm,” Figen interjected. When the others looked at her, she explained, “I was Zehra.”
“Muhsin’s brother Hüsrev took us to the orphanage. We stayed there that night, and a fire broke out.”
“Hüsrev must have started the fire. Zehra had bad feelings about him,” Figen added.
“Muhsin loved him despite not being his real brother. There was no suspicion in his memories,” Ayhan said. Figen and Ayhan’s recounting of shared memories left the others listening in silence.
“His father adopted him, right? Why was Muhsin so attached to him?” Tarık asked, trying to understand Hüsrev better.
“Well, it’s not exactly adoption. Muhsin’s mother died, and his father remarried. Hüsrev is the son of the new wife.”
“What do you mean, the son of the new wife? Zehra knew him as an adopted brother,” Figen said, puzzled by the inconsistency in the memories.
“Muhsin never told her. He didn’t want Zehra to know about the family’s dark secrets.”
“What did they go through?” Tarık asked. Ayhan glanced at his friend and continued.
“When his mother died, his father, Sinan, got transferred to another place since he was a government officer. They moved, and Sinan found a woman, Ayşe, to cook and clean for them. She had a drunk husband and a small baby. A few months into their affair, they ran away together. Sinan set up a new house, and Ayşe left her son behind. She treated Muhsin well but was always sad. She begged Sinan to take her son away from her husband. She was sure her husband was abusing him. Muhsin overheard these conversations from behind doors. One day, Sinan showed up with Hüsrev, claiming he was a friend’s son. Hüsrev was only one year old and didn’t remember his mother who had left him. By the time three years had passed, Hüsrev was four.”
“So, everything happened over a long period, right?” Tarık asked, trying to grasp the timeline.
“Yes, it was a long process. Muhsin’s memories flashed by like a movie. I’m just highlighting the important parts,” Ayhan explained.
“What happened next?” Nevbahar asked, as curious as the others.
“Hüsrev initially kept his distance from Muhsin but eventually, they became close. Hüsrev cried at night, asking for his mother. Muhsin told him several times that Ayşe was his mother, but Hüsrev didn’t believe it. The only thing he was sure of was that his mother had abandoned him. His father had told him that repeatedly for three years. When he was scared or made a mistake, he hid under the table with his toy wrapped in a blue blanket. No one in the family scolded or hit him. Muhsin genuinely loved him. Sinan was indifferent, neither loving nor hating. Ayşe called him ‘mom’ because he didn’t know she wasn’t his mother.”
“That poor child must have been deeply traumatized,” Figen said, her eyes filling with tears. Ayhan looked at her.
“This was nothing compared to what he went through later.”
“What could be worse?” Süleyman asked.
“Hüsrev kept his fears inside and continued his quiet life. He was close to no one but Muhsin. Then, they got news that they would have a new sibling. Ayşe’s belly grew day by day, and Hüsrev watched it with curiosity. By then, he was five. As the baby grew, Hüsrev’s behavior remained the same. He still hid under the table with his toy when he was scared. Muhsin noticed something neither Ayşe nor Sinan did: Hüsrev talked to his toy as if it were real.”
“Many children talk to their toys. That’s normal,” Nevbahar said.
“His conversations weren’t normal, Aunt Nevbahar. They disturbed Muhsin.”
“Like what? Do you remember any specific sentences?” Figen asked.
“No, Muhsin was young too, and his memory wasn’t perfect. Only certain parts of the memories were clear.”
“What happened when the baby grew up?” Süleyman asked, eager to know how the story ended. He was convinced now that his nephew wasn’t like his father.
“Fatih, the baby, loved Hüsrev and wanted to play with him. Hüsrev treated him both kindly and harshly. Around the family, he was distant and insincere, but alone, he watched him intently. The biggest thing Muhsin noticed was Hüsrev’s jealousy. When Ayşe held Fatih, Hüsrev’s eyes darkened, and he would retreat with his toy. The most vivid memory Muhsin had of the three of them was when their mother called them. She called them by their hair colors: black fish, red fish, yellow fish. Sinan took
Hüsrev and Muhsin swimming. Hüsrev learned to swim slowly because he was deathly afraid of water. Muhsin saw Sinan belittle Hüsrev but said nothing. As Fatih grew, Muhsin began to distance himself from them. Hüsrev was still a child, but Muhsin was becoming a teenager and his interests were changing. He didn’t have clear memories of Hüsrev and Fatih until that day.”
“What day?” Figen asked, thinking Zehra had no idea about a third sibling.
“One evening, as the sun was setting, Hüsrev came home soaked and muddy, shouting, ‘The lake took the yellow fish, the lake took the yellow fish!’ They all ran to the lake. Ayşe was devastated. They found Fatih’s body in the lake. Sinan blamed Hüsrev for the rest of his life. Muhsin was indifferent. Ayşe was silent. A few years later, Ayşe died from an illness. Muhsin went to boarding school. Sinan and Hüsrev were left alone, like two enemies. Muhsin visited occasionally and saw bruises on Hüsrev. It was clear he was being beaten, but he said nothing.”
“That’s why he felt guilty, wasn’t it? That’s why he defended Hüsrev,” Figen said, starting to see the story from Zehra’s perspective.
“I think so. Muhsin tried to make amends for his silence years later. Meanwhile, Sinan brought a new woman home. Şakire was a voluptuous blonde, very attractive. After she arrived, Hüsrev changed even more. The already strained relationship with Muhsin deteriorated. When Muhsin visited, he noticed new bruises on Hüsrev, but this time, they weren’t just from beatings.”
“What!” everyone shouted in unison. Ayhan raised his hands.
“That’s what I saw in Muhsin’s memories. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault, son. Go on,” Nevbahar said, fanning her face with her hand to cool down.
“Muhsin kept quiet again, but this time, his silence led to Hüsrev’s complete withdrawal. He spoke only to himself. The toy had long been thrown into the attic, but he talked to it in his mind. Muhsin distanced himself from these crazy people. He stayed away for months. When he started university, he got his own place and only spoke to his father when he needed money. He despised them. He pitied Hüsrev but did nothing for him.”
“What exactly did they do to Hüsrev?”
This question was Süleyman’s. The others had somewhat grasped Ayhan’s story, but it wasn’t enough for Süleyman, a man who had lived his life by a moral code.
“Well, Uncle,” Ayhan began, thinking about how to proceed.
“Go on, son, I’m a grown man. Don’t be embarrassed,” Süleyman encouraged.
“Şakire and Sinan acted like husband and wife. That was their choice, but Şakir...” Ayhan trailed off, swallowing hard under the curious gazes.
“Şakire abused Hüsrev when Sinan wasn’t home. And when Hüsrev resisted, she somehow made Sinan beat him.”
“That shameless woman! If I could, I’d...” Süleyman started but stopped himself, glancing at Nevbahar and Figen. He cleared his throat instead.
“While Muhsin was at school, one morning his door was knocked. It was Hüsrev, saying he had been kicked out and asking if he could stay with him. Muhsin agreed, of course, and Hüsrev chose to work instead of studying. This went on for about a month. Muhsin then went to his father’s house, not to ask how he was but to find out why he kicked Hüsrev out and to ask for money. When he got there, the house was empty. There was no sign of Sinan or Şakire. He never heard from them again and acted as if they never existed.”
“Then he met and married Zehra, opened the orphanage, and hired Hüsrev, right?” Figen joined in, their story now overlapping with their shared memories.
“Yes,” Ayhan confirmed. “When Hüsrev lost his job, Muhsin hired him.”
“His biggest mistake,” Tarık muttered. Figen and Ayhan looked at him.
“Why?” Ayhan asked, and the answer horrified him.
“Because Hüsrev abused the children and eventually killed Samet and Enes.”
“So, Zehra was right,” Figen’s words were a realization, not a question. Ayhan wondered how Muhsin could have been so blind.
“How did he not notice anything?” he managed to ask, and Tarık replied.
“Hüsrev was so good at acting that Muhsin had no choice but to believe him. Zehra probably found his behavior odd because she knew him later and was suspicious.”
“Besides, Muhsin had other responsibilities, and Zehra mostly managed the orphanage,” Figen added.
“That made Hüsrev’s job easier because Muhsin wouldn’t accuse his brother based on hearsay,” Nevbahar shared her opinion.
“So who started the fire?” Ayhan’s question hung in the air, unanswered. But Tarık had more to say.
“I don’t know about the fire, but the shadows we saw were Samet and Enes. They want us to find them, and I know where they are.”
“Where are they?” They all eagerly awaited Süleyman’s question.
“Under this building. The orphanage must have been turned into an apartment complex, and the date they were killed matches the day we moved in—September 20.”
“That’s why you saw them. Their death date coincided with your arrival. Otherwise, many people have lived here before,” Tarık looked deeply at Figen.
“Not just that, Figen, Enes looks exactly like Buğra,” Tarık added. Figen swallowed hard, the thought that came to her mind was terrifying.
“Hüsrev couldn’t have kidnapped Buğra, could he?” This question lingered in the air for a long time. Something in Tarık’s mind was eating him up.