Chapitre 3: Chapitre 3: The silence
The paramedics carefully lifted Kikomori's body and placed it on a stretcher. His frail body lay still and barely visible under the white ambulance blankets. His arms were covered in bandages, and an IV slowly dripped into his veins, paced by the regular beep of the machines keeping him alive. His eyelids remained closed. The frail boy, in that confined space, seemed suspended between life and death, like a wounded bird on the verge of fading away. The paramedics shut the ambulance doors and prepared to leave.
"It's the kid, right?" one of them murmured, glancing toward the back of the vehicle.
"You're talking about the boy? Yeah. They say he killed his mother and stabbed his father," replied his colleague as he started the ambulance.
"It gives me the creeps… how can a kid do something like that?"
A tense silence settled as the ambulance sped toward the hospital. The blaring of the sirens filled the space, partially masking the heavy atmosphere. In the minds of the two paramedics, the question echoed: how could a child be responsible for such horror?
Hector lay slumped on the seat of the police car they had set up for him. He clutched his stomach with a grimace of pain, his wound still bleeding slightly despite the makeshift bandage the officers had quickly applied. The adrenaline that had flooded his body during the attack was now beginning to wear off, and with it, the pain and exhaustion grew more intense.
The ride to the police station was silent, except for the whispers of the radio and Hector's rough breaths as he tried to control the pain. The car moved through the quiet city streets, bathed in the flickering light of streetlamps. Hector leaned back against the seat, feeling the sticky warmth of his own blood under his fingers. Memories of the evening clashed in his mind—flames, his son's scream, the smell of burning flesh. He blinked, pushing the images away.
A policeman sitting in the front glanced at Hector through the rearview mirror. "You gonna make it to the station?" he asked in a neutral, almost detached voice.
Hector slowly nodded, his face tight with pain. "Yeah... I'll be fine." But his thoughts were far less clear than his response. He kept thinking about everything that had just happened, barely able to hide his excitement at seeing Kikomori crumpled like a dog.
The lights of the police station soon loomed on the horizon, piercing the night's darkness. The car slowed as it approached the building, the tires softly crunching on the gravel of the parking lot. An officer opened the door to help Hector out. He swayed slightly as he stood up, the searing pain drawing a groan from him.
"Let's go," murmured the officer, slipping an arm under Hector's to support him. He led him through the glass doors of the station, while other officers were busy preparing an interrogation room.
******
Meanwhile, the ambulance arrived at the hospital. Kikomori's frail body was quickly taken in by a medical team that had been prepared to receive a critical patient. His face, marked by injuries and soot, was barely visible beneath the bandages and monitors surrounding him.
The team wheeled him into an emergency room where several nurses busied themselves around him. One of the doctors, glancing quickly at his file, asked aloud, "The boy was involved in an attack?"
"They say he killed his mother and stabbed his father," replied a paramedic, his face grim from the gravity of the situation. "He was barely conscious when we found him."
Glances were exchanged around the operating table. A heavy silence settled, interrupted only by the steady beeping of the machines watching over Kikomori's fragile life.
"How can a child do this?" murmured one of the nurses, unable to look away from the teenager lying before her.
The doctor furrowed his brow, then nodded toward the team. "No matter what happened, for now, we take care of him." He adjusted his gloves and leaned over Kikomori. "Let's begin treatment."
In Kikomori's mind, images of his father, laughing as he set his mother's body ablaze, remained etched in his memory. The acrid smell of burning flesh enveloped him, filling his nostrils, his entire being. The world around him collapsed, and all he felt was pain and loss.
His father's voice echoed through the black smoke:
"You broke the pact, Kikomori…"
Those words hammered at his mind, spinning in circles, as his father's figure faded into the shadows.
*****
Back at the police station, Hector sat heavily in a small interrogation room, his trembling hands resting on the metal table. The bandage around his stomach was already stained with blood, but he seemed to no longer care. All he could see was Kikomori's face, that face full of terror and anger, which made him excited.
An inspector entered the room, closing the door behind him. He took a seat across from Hector, his piercing gaze observing him in silence for a few seconds.
"So, Hector," he began softly, pulling out a notebook and pen, "you know why you're here."
Hector nodded slowly, without saying a word. His fingers gripped the edge of the table, searching for something to hold onto.
"You claim your son killed his mother and attacked you. Is that correct?" the inspector asked in a calm yet firm voice.
Hector hesitated, his thoughts swirling, and finally nodded. "Yes… that's what happened," he muttered, his voice hoarse.
The inspector jotted something down in his notebook, then looked up. "Why would your son do that, Hector?"
That question seemed to hit him harder than expected. His face hardened, fatigue starting to show in his eyes. "Because that kid is a monster..." He clenched his fists, feeling the pain radiating from his wound but deliberately ignoring it. "A monster… like his mother."
The silence that followed this statement was almost deafening. The inspector watched him carefully, his expression impassive. He knew there was more to this story, but for now, he was content to gather the facts.
"And you, Hector? What did you do to make your son react like this?"
Hector squinted, irritated by the exhaustion. "I didn't do anything. He's the one who snapped."
The inspector sighed. "You know, Hector, we're going to find out the truth. We'll talk to witnesses, examine the evidence. If you want your side to be heard, you'll have to be honest."
Hector looked away, clenching his jaw. "It's my son who's dangerous, not me," he finally murmured, his voice growing weaker.
The officer observed him for a moment longer before closing his notebook. "Alright, Hector. Rest for now. We'll come back to you later." He stood up, leaving Hector alone with his thoughts.
The silence of the room fell heavily. Hector, exhausted, his mind foggy with pain, passed out just as the inspector opened the door.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone