The Mystery Files - Chapter 65: Something in the Shadows

As Ali stopped at the reception desk, the two security officers immediately stood up.

“Tomorrow, you two are coming in?” Ali asked casually.

Both nodded.

“Yes, sir... Sajjad sir instructed us to be here.”

“Oh... Sajjad sir?”

Ali glanced down at the duty log lying open on the desk.

“I had assigned other men for tomorrow.”

He turned the register slightly towards them.

“Look at the duty schedule.”

He tapped the page.

“These are my signatures.”

His finger moved to another entry.

“And that's the signature of your own security chief.”

Both men nodded nervously.

Ali looked at them.

“So you're still following Sajjad sir's instructions?”

Neither answered.

Their eyes dropped.

“Despite my earlier warning?”

Silence.

Ali didn't press the matter.

Instead, he glanced towards the corridor.

“What about Sajjad sir? He must have left by now.”

The guards exchanged a brief glance.

Getting no answer, Ali nodded to himself.

“Of course. He must have.”

He turned back towards his office.

But instead of entering, he continued down the corridor towards Sajjad's office.

The blinds were drawn, blocking the view through the glass windows.

Ali stopped outside the closed, frosted-glass door.

Something about the silence bothered him.

He remained there for several minutes, watching the faint glow behind the frosted glass.

Then he leaned closer, pressing his ear against the door.

He could swear he heard someone speaking inside.

Sajjad?

He waited for another voice.

Nothing.

Before he could listen any longer, a voice came from behind him.

“Sir...” one of the security officers said, his tone tight. “Sajjad sir's office is locked.”

Ali straightened.

“Really?”

Both guards nodded.

Ali pointed towards his own office across the corridor.

“Executives normally switch off the lights before leaving their offices.”

His gaze shifted back to Sajjad's door.

“So why are the lights still on in there?”

The two security officers exchanged another look.

“Perhaps he forgot to switch them off, sir.”

“Perhaps?”

Ali's expression hardened.

Ali pointed towards the adjacent office.

“Look at Omer's office.”

The blinds were drawn there as well, but the frosted glass was completely dark.

“No lights.”

“One of you get the master keys.”

Both men straightened under his gaze.

“We'll take care of it, sir,” one of the officers said quickly. “Don't worry. We'll handle it.”

Ali didn't move.

“You're certain Sajjad isn't inside?”

Neither officer answered immediately.

Ali waited.

“I'm asking for the last time.”

The two men exchanged another uneasy glance.

Ali finally held up his access card.

The officers stared at the sleek turquoise green plastic.

“You've probably never had to deal with one of these before,” Ali said quietly.

He turned the card between his fingers.

“This is an executive master card.”

He paused.

“It opens considerably more than just my office.”

He lowered the card.

“Your choice.”

The older guard swallowed hard.

“Sir... please. Step over here for a moment.”

He gestured towards the reception desk.

“Not out here in the corridor.”

Ali shrugged and followed them back to the reception desk, where a laptop sat open on the counter.

Ali tilted the screen towards himself.

The live CCTV feeds covered the entire management floor.

As the security officers stepped behind the desk, the first one finally spoke, his voice reduced to a nervous whisper.

“Sajjad sir is inside his office.”

Ali's sea-green eyes darkened.

“He's leaving late tonight.”

Ali stared at him.

“I won't ask why you were trying to hide his presence from me.”

The guard lowered his eyes.

“But lying about it makes his presence here far more suspicious than it would have been otherwise.”

Ali pointed at the laptop.

“Pull up the footage from the past two hours.”

Both guards swallowed.

“Sir...”

The first guard hesitated.

“You can only view the live feed.”

Ali looked at him.

“Why?”

The guard's fingers tightened against the edge of the desk.

“We were instructed not to record today.”

Ali went completely still.

“Instructed?”

His voice was quiet now.

“Who instructed you?”

Neither guard answered.

Ali leaned slightly across the desk.

“Who?”

The older guard finally looked up.

Ali’s eyes narrowed.

“Don’t tell me…”

He stopped.

Something in the guards’ expressions had changed.

Both men were staring past him.

The older guard suddenly straightened.

“Sajjad sir…”

His voice carried an unmistakable note of relief.

“Thank God you came here yourself.”

Ali turned slowly.

Sajjad was standing behind him.

He had approached so quietly that Ali hadn’t heard a single footstep.

For a moment, Sajjad said nothing.

He simply looked at Ali.

There was something unnervingly calm about his expression—almost as though Ali’s anger was precisely what he had expected to find.

Then his gaze shifted briefly toward the elevators.

The direction in which Ahad and Noor Ain had disappeared.

Only then did Sajjad speak.

“Ali.”

His voice was low.

Measured.

Far too calm.

He stepped closer.

“Walk with me.”

Ali didn’t move.

Sajjad held his gaze for another second before gesturing toward the far end of the corridor.

“Some things are better discussed away from the guards.”

Ali’s jaw tightened.

Still, he followed.

They stopped several steps away, well beyond earshot.

Sajjad glanced back toward the reception desk.

The two guards immediately looked away.

He turned back to Ali.

“You still don't understand.”

Ali’s expression hardened.

“Understand what?”

Sajjad lowered his voice.

“I’m doing all this to secure our wing.”

“Secure our wing?”

Ali gave him a long, unreadable look

“From whom?”

Sajjad hesitated.

Then answered quietly.

“From Noor Ain.”

Ali stared at him, his patience visibly thinning.

“Sajjad... Noor Ain doesn't come here carrying loaded weapons or posing some high-level security threat to this floor.”

His voice hardened.

“Why do you keep harping on the same string?”

Sajjad opened his mouth, but Ali continued.

“Come on. Get out of this paranoia.”

He gestured back towards the reception desk.

“And even if you and your guards have formed some sort of unofficial tag team to protect this floor from her so-called ominous presence—something the three of you have conveniently decided to believe—”

He shook his head.

“Is this how you think security is supposed to be handled?”

Sajjad remained silent.

“Whatever your intention was,” Ali continued, “you've managed to make yourself—and those two guards—extremely suspicious.”

His eyes hardened.

“You weren't securing this floor, Sajjad.”

He paused.

“You were creating another security problem.”

Sajjad's expression softened. He lowered his eyes, looking genuinely apologetic.

“I apologize, Ali.”

He took a slow breath.

“I told you earlier... I've been dealing with intense surges of paranoia. Perhaps this is simply one of those days when the entity's lingering influence makes me think less rationally.”

Ali studied him for a moment before nodding.

“Sajjad, I suggest you seek professional help. Not just a faith healer.”

Sajjad nodded obediently.

“I will seriously think about that.”

He lowered his head slightly.

“I'm sorry again.”

Ali nodded.

“All right. Let's call it a day.”

He glanced towards Sajjad's office, then back at him.

“And if you're still not sure whether you're in the right state to supervise the maintenance tomorrow, I suggest we postpone it until next week.”

“No, Ali.” Sajjad shook his head. “I'll be fine.”

Ali's eyes narrowed slightly.

“Will you?”

Sajjad gave him a small smile.

“Yes. I will.”

Ali held his gaze for another moment before turning towards the two security officers.

“You two.”

He stepped closer.

“You're not coming tomorrow.”

The guards looked at each other.

Ali's voice became firm.

“That's the order of this wing's director.”

As Ali moved towards the elevators, he expected Sajjad to follow him.

But Sajjad wasn't there.

Ali glanced over his shoulder.

Sajjad was still at the reception desk, speaking quietly with the two security officers.

Ali stopped.

Then his voice boomed across the vast corridor.

“Sajjad.”

Sajjad flinched.

He immediately turned towards Ali.

“Coming, Ali.”

He gave the guards a final look before quickly leaving the reception desk and catching up with him.

Neither spoke as they walked towards the elevators.

A moment later, the elevator doors opened.

They stepped inside together.

The doors closed behind them, carrying them down towards the ground floor.

That night, at home, Ali found himself unable to settle his thoughts.

One question kept leading to another.

What was Sajjad actually doing in his office?

Ali replayed the scene in his mind.

He had heard him speaking.

He was almost certain of it.

But there had been no second voice.

Was he talking to someone?

Or...

Was he talking to himself?

Ali straightened slightly in bed.

A troubling thought crossed his mind.

Is he losing his mind?

The possibility immediately reminded him of Tariq uncle.

“No...” Ali murmured to himself.

He shook his head.

“How could he?”

But the uneasiness remained.

Almost inevitably, Ali's thoughts shifted from Sajjad to Raza Haider—and to the remarkable academic achievements Omer had mentioned earlier that day.

Those impressive qualifications from Europe.

Ali frowned and reached for his phone.

I need to verify that myself.

He opened the browser and searched for Raza Haider.

Within seconds, the familiar profile appeared.

Ali scrolled slowly.

His eyes moved across the screen.

Then stopped.

He went back.

Read the same section again.

His frown deepened.

He opened another tab.

Then another.

One by one, he began searching through old records, archived directories and whatever historical material he could find online.

His expression gradually changed.

At one point, he sat upright.

“No...”

He checked again.

Then another search.

Another pause.

His thumb remained still on the screen as he stared at something for several seconds.

He returned to Raza Haider's biography.

Scrolled.

Stopped.

Scrolled again.

Ali rubbed his forehead and began cross-checking the information from another source.

The result left him even more confused.

He went back to the biography.

Then to the archives.

Then back again.

His eyes narrowed.

“What the hell...?”

He opened another search window.

This time he searched for the company mentioned in Raza Haider's professional history.

Nothing useful came up.

He tried a different spelling.

Still nothing.

He searched older business directories.

Then historical records.

Nothing.

Ali leaned back against the headboard.

For several moments, he simply stared at the phone in his hand.

He looked at the biography again.

Then at the information he had found.

His confusion was now unmistakable.

Ali locked the phone and let it fall beside him.

Whatever he had just stumbled across, he needed to go through it properly.

Not alone.

Ali stared into the darkness above him, his chest rising and falling slowly.

Later that night, Ali stood on the terrace outside his room, the winter air moving lightly around him.

It was relatively less cold that night.

Below him, the lawn was quiet. The lights along the edges of the property cast faint pools of light across the grass, while the high boundary wall beyond it disappeared into the darkness.

Sleep wasn't coming.

His mind was still occupied with Mr. Haider.

And with everything he had discovered about him.

Then, out of nowhere, the thought of the drifting head in the Dead Zone came to him.

That grisly, weightless apparition near the old Airport Road.

And the name it had cried into the darkness.

Raza.

A sudden gust of bone-chilling air swept across the terrace, freezing him for a moment.

The man everyone knew as the Tech King was Raza Haider.

And whatever that entity haunting the Dead Zone was, it had been calling that name for decades.

Raza.

Again and again.

Across the years.

Ali's eyes drifted over the lawn, as if he might somehow find a definite explanation somewhere in the darkness.

Mr. Raza Haider must have memories connected to that place.

Memories he certainly doesn't want to relive.

Or perhaps he has spent all these years trying to avoid hearing that call again.

The call of the floating head.

Ali's thoughts darkened.

Mr.Haider.....Did you do something there decades ago?

Something evil?

He rested his hands on the cold railing.

Mr. Haider... why am I seeing you as two images overlapping each other?

The question disturbed him.

Why are the contradictions in your personality piling up with each passing day?

And now this.

What made you temper your qualifications?

What happened during your early professional years?

His thoughts shifted.

And this Farooq...

Ali's fingers tightened around the railing.

Why do you seem to carry only traces of the computer visionary—the living Raza Haider—in your personality...

The thought that followed was far more disturbing.

...while carrying the permanent imprints of the dead Farooq Haider?

He drew a slow breath and looked down at the lawn.

For a moment, something near the far side of the property caught his attention.

A shape.

Ali stared at it.

It stood motionless in the shadows near the boundary wall.

He narrowed his eyes.

Then, for one strange moment, the shape seemed to resemble Mr. Haider.

Not quite as he appeared at the office.

Something about the figure seemed different.

Ali blinked.

Another sudden waft of bone-chilling air swept across the terrace.

He shivered.

The gust struck the window behind him, making the glass rattle in its frame.

Ali instinctively turned to look at it.

For a moment, he simply stared at the window.

Then he looked back at the lawn.

The shape was still there.

For an instant, its outline seemed to shift.

His tired mind supplied a disturbing image—

a familiar face changing,

skin seeming to split,

something dry and unnatural beneath it.

Ali blinked again.

The image was gone.

There was nothing there.

Only the quiet lawn.

He exhaled slowly.

No more standing here.

He turned towards the door.

My imagination is certainly taking me to places...

He paused.

His eyes moved once more towards the dark lawn.

Or perhaps... it's bringing those places—and something more than the places—right here into my house.

He drew a breath.93Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡav2yEFU98C

I'm tired.

Am I beginning to see things that aren't there?

No.

There are already enough real questions surrounding Mr. Haider.

I don't need to invent monsters to answer them.

Yet the uneasiness remained.

93Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZZKu8Fr0OV

93Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ9NbKYAevmL

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