Thinking, gathering the crumbs of memories and understanding... Ömer stabbed his fork into the pasta with the disappointment of falling into a trap he himself had walked into. He was thinking, how did he not see it? He should have known something was off, a contradiction, when he first saw the woman. But he didn't, and now he was looking at the man sitting across from him with a strange admiration. How could a person be such a good mimic?
"He's not a mimic!" the man said. His tone had lost its accent, and he had taken on a character Ömer didn't recognize.
Ömer dropped his fork, bent down to retrieve it from under the table.
"How do you know what's on my mind?" he asked, looking fearlessly into the man's wild eyes. It was impossible for the man to have read his mind, but Ömer wanted to make Hüsrev believe that he had.
"Everyone's mind is dark to others. Except for exceptions," the man said, lowering his gaze from Ömer to his plate.
"Can you give me an example of these exceptions?" Ömer asked.
"You know, there are some people, you know them like your own life, like your blood, like your soul. You know what they'll do, what they'll think, when they'll breathe, and when they'll die. You know because you have a bond with them."
"Like love?"
The guard smiled.
"Love is forgotten, it fades, it can disappear. Passion is a momentary craze. Longing burns the soul until it is fulfilled. No, Ömer, good feelings are temporary. But is hatred like that? No. You don't forget, you wrap the seeds of wrath it sows in your soul with oleander flowers. You grow it moment by moment and blend it with cacti to turn it into thorns. You grow the thorns and turn them into daggers. Your heart darkens, your eyes go wild. Hatred is always enduring. Because you don't forget, you can't forget. The clearest memories are always the painful ones. People always say, I was never happy; that's a lie! They don't remember."
"So, have you ever been happy?"
"Yes..."
"Then why did you become like this?"
"My hatred remained, my love drowned in the lake. The pains did not pass. No one cared, no one loved me."
"Your mother must have loved you."
"My mother abandoned me. She left me with that drunk and went away."
He held the fork tightly, his teeth clenched.
"Maybe she had no choice."
He turned his eyes, grown with hatred, to Ömer. He stared at him for minutes without even blinking his eyelashes.
"She didn't love me, if she did, she would have taken me with her. I saw who she loved when the yellow fish died."
Ömer fell silent, the guard fell silent. The fork hit the plate.
"You said he's not a mimic," Ömer said.
"He isn't. The guard is not just one person; he's not small enough to have just one soul."
"Are we small?"
"I thought you weren't, but when I came to that house and faced you, I understood. You are small, just like the others."
"I admit, you fooled me well. I never thought you'd disguise yourself as the neighbor woman and help me."
"It's not your fault; it's the skill of the burns on my face."
He laughed.
"I never thought these scars would come in handy one day."
"Why, why did you help? It would have taken me a long time to find out without you telling me."
"It wasn't Hüsrev who helped you, nor was it the guard. It was me who helped you."
"Who are you?"
"The last crumbs of goodness left in him."
"That goodness could be permanent if you wanted it to be."
"I'm not strong enough, Ömer; I can't hold the guard for long. Do what you have to do before he returns."
"What's your name?"
"I don't know, he calls me the stupid voice."
"Doesn't he love you?"
"He loves me more than anyone."
"Then why does he call you the stupid voice?"
"Because I tell the truth, and he doesn't like it."
"Do you tell me the truth too?"
He looked directly at Ömer. His gaze was clear and sharp.
"Yes."
"Where is Buğra?"
He fell silent, his gaze changed. Ömer understood, the guard had returned.
"Who untied your hands?" he shouted. He swiftly took the half-eaten pasta plate from in front of Ömer and stood up.
"It was him, wasn't it? He was kind to you. Ah, the stupid voice!"
Ömer swallowed hard.
"Where is Buğra, guard?"
The guard's mad black eyes looked at Ömer. He blinked his eyelashes and burst out in laughter that echoed off the walls.
"That was all you cared about, from the beginning. Muhsin didn't matter to you. You are after the yellow fish like the others."
"Where is he, guard? Did you throw him into the lake like you did with Ozan and Fatih?"
The guard fell silent, Ömer looked at his face. The guard cried.
"I didn't give Fatih to the lake. He entered the blue waters himself, flailing like a fish. His hair spread in the water. I reached out my hand, but I couldn't hold him. The red fish loved his yellow fish. I didn't want him to die. He did it."
"Who?" Ömer asked; if he stayed here any longer, he would be praying for death.
"The guard," he said, his gaze changing again.
"Who are you?" Ömer asked, not knowing how many more times he would ask this question.
"I'm Hüsrev, my mother's red fish."
Ömer held back a scream. What kind of madman was in front of him?
"Where is the guard then?"
"It's better if you don't know him. He killed my fish, he's bad, he's bad."
"You should have stopped him, saved your fish."
"He told me if he went, my mother would love me."
"And you believed him."
"Yes, but my mother didn't love me. Sinan didn't love me either, then my mother left, Muhsin left. Şakire came. She was bad, the guard saved me from her."
"Did he kill them?"
"Yes, he killed them."
There was a child in front of Ömer. A child who answered all his questions innocently, only telling the truth. A wounded and love-hungry child. Ömer's heart ached. How did a person go mad; the best example was Hüsrev.
"Who were the other two, why did he kill them?"
"The neighbor lady and her son. When we returned home after escaping the fire, they saw the guard. They treated his wounds and made him better. Then Fatih told his mother he would go to the police, that the guard might be responsible for the fire at the orphanage. The guard heard him and killed him. His biggest fear is going to jail."
"Then why did he kill Ozan?"
"Because he's the yellow fish. He came back for revenge, staring without blinking and whispering. Saying you killed me. The guard can't stand it, he zips his lips so he won't speak. He slashes his eyes so he won't look, but the yellow fish doesn't stop. He keeps coming back, we can't get rid of him. He doesn't go away, he doesn't go away..."
He covered his ears and crouched down. Pulling his knees to his chest, he sat folded. The shiny leather shoes on his feet glittered.
"What did Hüsrev do to Buğra, if we save him, the yellow fish won't come back."
Ömer's heart fluttered like a bird. He prayed silently, hoping the guard wouldn't lift his head. Quickly but silently, he reached into his back pocket. The hard object behind his wallet gave him hope. They hadn't searched him or the good side had intervened. With trembling hands, he opened the phone, dialed the only number he had saved, Ali İhsan's number, and pressed the call button.
"The yellow fish doesn't go away, he always comes, he will always come."
He cried. He started rocking back and forth quickly.
"The yellow fish is in the lake, swimming sinuously. Look, the guard is coming, sharpening his knife..."
Ömer prayed, "please find me!"
He had planned everything. He was aware he was being followed when he left Cenk’s side. It wasn’t hard to predict what would happen, but the guard turned out to be smarter than he had thought. Or perhaps "crazy" would be a better term. It was easier to predict the moves of a smart person than to understand a madman. He had acted as the guard wanted, intending to find Buğra even if it meant falling into a trap himself. He had made his plan when he got the small phone. The guard would take him, and his smartphone would go unnoticed. He knew the risk; they could search him, but he hoped his wallet would act as a cloak of invisibility.
Everything was as expected, with a few differences. The guard catching him off guard disguised as an old lady, not knowing where this place was, and the man standing before him not being normal. Finding Buğra seemed impossible. Ömer was quickly losing hope, the guard was swaying.
“The yellow fish is in the lake...”
He stopped, removed his hands from his knees, and stood up.
“What was that?” he said, eyes widening.
Ömer exhaled loudly.
“I didn’t hear anything.”
He quickly walked towards Ömer, grabbed him by the collar, and lifted him up.
“You played a trick on the guard, huh?” he said, bending down to pick up the phone that had fallen from Ömer’s hand.
Sounds of movement could be heard outside.
Ömer laughed.
“We’re not as small as you think, huh, guard?”
“Stupid people, stupid voice, stupid Hüsrev...”
He let go of Ömer’s collar. He paced back and forth in the room anxiously. His breath was raspy, his forehead sweaty.
“I can’t go into that hole, I won’t go in there, I won’t, I won’t...”
He flinched at the announcement, “Hüsrev, surrender!” Fear seeped into his bones.
“No!” he shouted.
“Give us Buğra, and we’ll let you go,” Ömer said.
He shouted again.
“No!”
He laughed, tears streaming down his face. The door was being forced open.
Thud, thud, thud...
With each hit from the battering ram on the steel door, the guard laughed hysterically.
Ömer fell silent.
The guard fell silent.
He stood up.
He walked away from the door, stopped, and looked at Ömer.
“Tell Tarık to watch his step. Don’t trip over the cobblestone,” he said and grinned.
He walked again. From a place Ömer thought was a wall, a door opened, and the guard disappeared.
When the battering ram broke down the door and Adnan, Ali İhsan, and the other officers rushed in, Ömer was already running through the door the guard had taken, chasing after him.
His feet caught on bushes, grass, and stones; he stumbled. He ran as if it was his last run, as if he’d never be able to run again, like a frightened fawn.
“Why?”
He sobbed, shouted, cried.
Tears wet his cheeks, his vision blurred.
“Why did no one love the red fish?”
He laughed, not out of joy but because he had reached the end of his path. The moss-green lake shimmered, winking at him.
He approached the shore step by step. He knelt down, then heard a voice.
“Stop, guard!”
He looked back; Ömer was approaching step by step.
“The yellow fish is in the lake,” he said. He stood up. He turned his face to the lake, walked. His feet met the cold water. He laughed, the most heartfelt laugh he had ever laughed.
“My yellow fish, run! Look, the water is beautiful.” He laughed, the water reached his waist. He flailed his arms.
“The red fish is swimming, twisting and turning in the lake.”
He spun around, dipped his hands into the water, and threw it into the air.
“Fatih can’t catch me.”
He dove into the water, stayed submerged for a few seconds, then resurfaced.
“The yellow fish is swimming, twisting and turning in the lake.”
He laughed.
“My dear brother! Hold my hand, come to me.”
He reached out into the void, his eyes shining with love. Ömer cried, collapsing where he stood.
“Help! My yellow fish is dying.”
He swam through the green water of the lake.
“We need to save him, let me go!”
He stopped, his gaze fixed on one spot.
“Will my mother really love me if he’s gone?”
He laughed, “Hehehe, my mom will love me.”
He went silent, his pupils rolled back, “My yellow fish died, you killed him!”
He screamed, cried, clenched his fists, and pounded the water, which splashed down on his head. He turned his face to the sky.
He laughed.
“The red fish is swimming, twisting and turning in the lake...”
He spun around, flailing his arms in the water.
He dove, resurfaced, swam, and dove again.
“Yellow fish, hold me!”
He stopped flailing.
He dove, resurfaced, and dove again. Bubbles rose from the water.
Ömer shouted, stood up, ran, and jumped into the water.
The bubbles diminished, a few strands of red hair near his ears spread out, dispersed, and disappeared...
### Chapter 16
The first light of day met the lake, painting a feast of colors for the eyes. Ömer was wrapped in a blanket, divers searching the cold waters of the lake. Adnan and Ali İhsan stood silently beside Ömer. His gaze held emotions they had never seen before. They had expected Ömer to be relieved that Hüsrev was dead, thinking the world had rid itself of another scoundrel. But the look of sorrow in his eyes told them otherwise.
"The world lost someone who grew up loveless, suffered, and went mad. The filth you talk about in Hüsrev’s life was Şakire," Ömer said quietly.
"Are you asking us to mourn, Ömer? You saw what he did to Ozan," Adnan retorted, his words hanging in the air.
"I don’t know, chief. I just wish he hadn’t killed Ozan. It’s hard to explain, you wouldn’t understand. He was sick, there were so many people in his head. Yes, it doesn’t make him innocent, it doesn’t change the fact that he was the guard, but... I wish he had clung to that last bit of goodness in him."
"Wishing won’t bring back Ozan or the children who died twenty years ago," Ali İhsan said, the image of the bones they had found in the apartment fresh in his mind. The thought left a gaping hole in his heart. Life, a few years of breath, shouldn’t cause such pain.
When there was movement in the water, Ömer stood up from where he had been crouching. The divers were approaching the shore, pulling Hüsrev’s body.
"The black fish have found the red fish," Ömer said quietly.
He never thought he would want to hear the red fish song again in his life. Every time, it would remind him of the guard, and that wouldn’t be good for his mental state. They bagged Hüsrev’s body. Ömer heard the sound of the zipper closing with mixed emotions. It was over, the guard was dead. As the bag was lifted and carried to the ambulance, Ömer walked away. He didn’t want to stay here, but he also didn’t know where to go. Buğra was still missing, and they hadn’t been able to find out where he was. He heard footsteps behind him as he walked into the dense trees. He stopped.
"Why didn’t you tell me? You could have died," Ali İhsan said, curiosity in his eyes.
"I wanted to find the boy. If we tried to catch him, he could have slipped through our fingers and harmed the boy," Ömer replied, turning to look at his friend.
"We found no trace of the boy in the house. There were signs proving that Ozan and Muhsin were killed there, but nothing about Buğra," Ali İhsan said.
"I asked him, but he didn’t answer. Honestly, I don’t know what he did with the boy either," Ömer admitted.
"Does this mean your plan didn’t work?" Ali İhsan asked, his voice carrying an edge.
Ömer looked down at his feet, silent.
"You ignored us to achieve success on your own, to take all the credit. Now you’ll face the failure alone too. I wonder what you’ll say to our chief," Ali İhsan continued, his face stern.
Ömer was shocked by his friend’s accusation. He didn’t think he had done anything to deserve such an assumption.
"What are you saying? I had no such intention!" Ömer protested.
"Then why did you go to that house alone, even though you knew you were being followed? Do you think you’re invincible, or do you think we’re idiots?" Ali İhsan shot back.
"Believe me, I didn’t mean it that way, Ali. I’m sorry. I thought I could solve it on my own," Ömer said, regret written all over his face.
Ali İhsan’s anger hadn’t subsided. He had thought he’d lost his friend and had been terrified for him. There was no excuse for his blind recklessness.
"Policing is a team effort. Acting alone is foolishness for us. If something had happened to you, if that madman had killed you, what would we tell your family? That he died because of his own stupidity? None of us are invincible; none of us are smart enough to solve everything on our own. We need each other—some for our intelligence, some for our instincts, some for our strength. There’s one truth: we’re strong together. You forgot that, you ignored me and our chief," Ali İhsan lectured.
"I made a mistake," Ömer admitted, ashamed of the harsh truths being pointed out.
"Yes, you did," Ali İhsan said, giving Ömer one last look before turning and walking away. Ömer needed to face himself.
Ömer watched his friend walk away for a long time, lost in thought. Had he gone alone out of selfishness? His mind said no, but he felt a small dark spot in his heart. Even if not entirely, Ali İhsan might have been right. He wanted to succeed, to prove himself and earn praise. He might never face such a significant case again, and he had wanted to seize the opportunity.
"I almost died," he thought. Ali’s words had slapped him with the reality of his mistake. As regret gnawed at his soul, he heard Adnan’s voice calling out from a distance.
"If you don’t plan on staying here, move it, Ömer. We’re leaving."
Without responding, Ömer dragged his heavy feet. The thought of having wronged his chief tied his stomach in knots. He had thought Adnan couldn’t solve anything, but now he owed him his life.
When Ali İhsan had said, "Ömer’s calling, chief," Adnan had replied, "Answer it, but don’t speak." Then he had called the central office, asking for a location trace from Ömer’s phone signal. Listening without speaking, Ali İhsan had heard the conversations between the guard and Ömer. Their worried expressions weren’t secrets to each other. Within a minute, the central office had pinpointed the location. It was Şehla Village. Silencing the phone so the guard wouldn’t hear them, Ali had followed Adnan, who had started the car, informed the village team, and reached the village at 180 kilometers per hour in ten minutes.
Those minutes were chaotic for everyone. The signal was coming from near the old lady’s house, but the house was empty, and all other houses had been searched. The villagers, confused, were asking questions all at once. Adnan was on the verge of losing his mind. How could the signal be coming from here, yet Ömer not be?
Ignoring all the questions and people, Adnan had approached the old lady’s house. He had examined the walls, looked at the ceiling, and touched every inch of the wooden floor. The thought of a hidden passage crossed his mind, and he found it soon enough. Three planks, haphazardly placed under the pantry...
Calling Ali and the others, Adnan had them lift the planks. The tunnel they entered was dark, narrow, and smelled of mold. They walked, Adnan leading, the others following, reaching the end of the hundred-meter tunnel to find an exit. Emerging from the hole, they saw a single-story hut-like house. They had found Ömer.
Now, standing beside the man he thought couldn’t solve anything, Ömer watched the surroundings, feeling indebted. He didn’t have the courage to look his chief in the face. Regret had long since taken root in his soul. Adnan, driving the car, occasionally glanced at Ömer, maintaining his silence.
The crime scene investigation team had reported to Adnan that they had reached the guard’s house. The ambulance had also arrived at the forensic department. Ali İhsan followed behind in the team vehicle. They reached the police station soon. Each entered with different thoughts and feelings.
"Everyone to the meeting room," Adnan ordered, entering the building ahead of the others. He intended to include the guests waiting in his office in the meeting. He knew they had contributed significantly to solving the case.
Fifteen minutes later, Ömer, Adnan, Ali İhsan, Tarık, Süleyman, Ayhan, Figen, and psychologist Seniha Yurt, whom they had never met before, took their places at the table. Pictures and notes related to the guard were pinned on the board. Seniha had reviewed the information before the meeting and felt a bit disappointed at missing the chance to study a man at the peak of madness.
"Ms. Seniha, we’ve told you as much as we could about Hüsrev’s life and behavior. What can you tell us about him? As you know, he’s dead, and we need to close the case," Adnan said, looking at her.
Seniha smiled slightly at Adnan and then glanced at her papers, shuffling through them.
"The psychological trauma he experienced in childhood led to his condition. Many people who suffer abuse face psychological issues, but not everyone ends up like Hüsrev. It’s not that everyone who is abused or harassed will go mad and start harming others. It seems Hüsrev had a weak personality. He couldn’t find a branch to cling to, to maintain his sanity. He pitied himself and questioned a lot. Why me? Why are they doing this to me? He wasn’t questioning his own faults but those of the people treating him this way. He came to his conclusion: they are bad, and he is good. He likely started by wanting to punish the bad and remove them from his life. His mind was set on
this, but his existing conscience prevented him. His questioning was different from the mind’s reasoning. As his mind and conscience waged war, his first personality split emerged. Based on Ömer’s account, I believe the primary personality is the good side, referred to as the stupid voice. As more personalities emerged, the primary one became passive. The disorder, known as multiple personality disorder, is similar to schizophrenia. Hearing voices, talking to people who aren’t there, are common symptoms of both. It’s hard for non-experts, even parents, to recognize this. Initially, Hüsrev likely exhibited signs of schizophrenia."
"We know he was a pedophile during his orphanage years, and as far as I know, pedophilia isn’t easily treatable. There were no signs of abuse on Ozan. How do you explain this?" Ali İhsan couldn’t help but ask the question that puzzled him most.
"One of his personalities might have been a pedophile during those times, but a new personality emerging later could have suppressed the old one. This could have been triggered by a new trauma, as his pedophilia seems to stem from sexual abuse during adolescence."
"Could he have abused the children out of a sense of revenge?" Figen asked.
"Certainly possible. In psychology, nothing is certain. Each person’s emotional state, mental health, and personalities differ, making us who we are. Some are gray, some black, some white. Understanding someone with multiple personality disorder fully could take years. It’s hard to say anything definitive about Hüsrev."
"How could those around him not notice his rapid personality switches?" Ömer asked, his tone harsh, though his anger wasn’t directed at Seniha but those who knew Hüsrev.
"Patients with such disorders don’t usually switch personalities quickly. Something must have triggered him to switch so rapidly. You say he worked as a taxi driver under the identity of Fatih for years. If he switched quickly, he couldn’t have maintained that job."
Thinking back to his time with Hüsrev, Ömer said, "Could it be fear? He was terrified of going to jail. He went mad when he heard the police were coming."
"Fear is such an emotion that we can’t predict its impact on someone. Some people choose death over fear, even when the thing they fear isn’t as terrible as death."
"So, you’re saying he might have switched quickly out of fear?" Adnan broke his long silence with this question.
"Yes, it’s possible. As I said, nothing is certain in psychology."
"Tarık," Ömer interjected. "Yes?" Tarık replied, though he seemed to be listening, his mind was on his brother.
"Before the guard left, he said, 'Tell Tarık to watch his step, don’t trip over the cobblestones.' What do you think he meant?" Ömer asked.
Tarık felt a cold sweat break out. His tongue felt glued to the roof of his mouth.
"The old lady I saw on my way to school was the guard. He followed us step by step. My God, how did we not notice?" Tarık exclaimed.
Ömer laughed involuntarily. "Don’t be surprised, Tarık. He played his role so well that I didn’t notice either. He came to me as the old lady too."
"And to me as the taxi driver," Süleyman added, prompting Seniha to interject.
"Did all these encounters happen after Buğra disappeared?"
"Some before he went missing, some after. Why do you ask?" Tarık replied.
Seniha smiled. "This might be good news, but the guard might not have kidnapped Buğra."
"How?" they all asked in unison.
"If the guard had kidnapped Buğra, he wouldn’t have followed you. He would have already gotten what he wanted. His following you indicates he hadn’t achieved his goal."