"There's something else I want to tell you," Aabi gasped between ragged breaths, his voice barely audible. "You won't lack wealth to raise Wijdan... I'm leaving behind enough so he'll never have to work a day in his life."
"Everything I have is Wijdan's too, Aabi," Singh replied, gently squeezing his friend's trembling hand.
"Listen carefully to what I want to tell you, Singh," Aabi spoke haltingly, his eyes intense despite his fading strength. "Twelve years ago, I acquired a shipment of Lord Nazi's smuggled gold, worth fifty million at the time. I made it vanish and convinced Lord Nazi I'd thrown it into the river out of fear of police detection. He became my sworn enemy. He imprisoned me, my wife, and two-month-old Wijdan in our house and set it ablaze. Police intervention saved me, and I escaped to Singapore. An old friend informed me Lord Nazi remained convinced I'd disposed of the gold in the river. He continued searching for both it and me, and today his men finally tracked me down... and exacted their revenge... I... I never threw the gold in the river. I'll tell you where it is." He fell silent for a moment, his voice growing even weaker when he continued.
Hearing footsteps approaching, Singh turned to see Kumar standing nearby.
"I've informed the police and called the hospital. The ambulance is on its way," Kumar said, his face pale with shock.
"Get some water, quickly," Singh urged, desperation in his voice.
Curious onlookers emerged from nearby bungalows but maintained a respectful distance. Kumar dashed to a house and returned with water. Singh carefully dripped it into Aabi's parched mouth, but the liquid merely trickled down his chin. Aabi clutched Wijdan's small hand with surprising strength. His eyes fluttered closed, and his labored breathing gradually ceased. His body convulsed once, then went completely still.
Singh checked for a pulse and placed a trembling hand on his chest. Aabi was gone.
Tears welled in Singh's eyes as the reality struck him. He tenderly caressed Aabi's face, gently rested his friend's head on the ground, and embraced the bewildered Wijdan. The boy released a heart-wrenching wail that pierced the night air, then suddenly went limp in Singh's protective arms. He had fainted from overwhelming grief.
Just then, police sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder as they approached. A jeep, followed by an ambulance with flashing lights, turned sharply into the lane. Half a dozen officers spilled out, their faces grim. The leader was Singh's longtime friend, Inspector Chiang Shu. Neighborhood spectators retreated hastily into their homes, doors closing quietly behind them.
"Chiang Shu," Singh cried, his voice breaking with emotion. "Look what they've done. They murdered my friend and his wife."
"They won't escape," Chiang Shu assured him firmly. "Tell us what happened. Did you witness anything?"
"No," Singh replied, shaking his head. "Kumar and I were returning home. The perpetrators fled in their vehicle as we turned into this lane. But I know it was Dara. Aabi feared for his life because of him. He confided everything to me before he died."
Chiang Shu surveyed the scene with experienced eyes. Singh remained seated beside Aabi's lifeless body, cradling the unconscious Wijdan in his lap.
"What happened to the boy?" Chiang Shu asked with concern. "Is he...?"
"No, he fainted from grief and terror," Singh explained, stroking Wijdan's hair. "He's Aabi and Shugi's son. He witnessed his parents' brutal murder. The trauma proved too overwhelming. He needs medical attention immediately."
A middle-aged couple emerged from the house opposite—the man, a doctor by profession. Singh carefully handed Wijdan to them, and they carried him inside their home. Two compassionate women followed closely behind.
Inspector Chiang Shu methodically examined Aabi's body, then moved to Shugi's. He strode purposefully to his jeep and radioed headquarters, requesting a photographer and forensic experts. Then, with the radio still in hand, he surveyed the crime scene, issuing precise instructions to his officers. More neighbors cautiously emerged, murmuring expressions of sorrow at Aabi and Shugi's tragic fate.
Chiang Shu paused near the bushes, his trained eye catching a glint of metal. An ivory-handled dagger lay partially concealed, its blade and hilt stained with still-wet blood. Chiang Shu carefully retrieved it using his handkerchief and examined it closely.
"Secure this evidence. I believe we've found the murder weapon," Chiang Shu directed, handing the dagger to a subordinate, who sealed it in a plastic evidence bag.
Chiang Shu addressed the gathered onlookers, a diverse mix of Chinese, Indian, and other ethnicities. "If anyone possesses information about this incident, please step forward. Help us apprehend these killers."
No one moved initially. Several spectators edged back toward their doorways.
"We need leads," Chiang Shu persisted. "Please assist us if you know anything at all."
This time, a middle-aged Chinese man named Tai Shi hesitantly stepped forward from the crowd.
"Yes, sir?" Chiang Shu turned to him attentively. "Do you have information?"
"I was in my kitchen," Tai Shi began, his voice slightly trembling. "I heard a car stop, then another screeching to a halt directly in front of our bungalow. A commotion erupted, followed by several gunshots. I hid inside, terrified, attempting to call the police, but discovered my phone was dead. When I finally ventured to my gate, I glimpsed four men fleeing in a black vehicle. I only saw one face clearly—possibly Indian or from a neighboring country." He paused momentarily before describing the man's distinctive features.
"Who accompanied him?" Inspector Chiang Shu inquired.
"Probably Chinese men, though I couldn't discern their faces clearly. One had a noticeable limp, as if one leg were shorter, causing him to hop with each step," Tai Shi recalled, demonstrating the peculiar gait with his hand.
"Did you observe the vehicle's license plate, Mr. Tai Shi?" Chiang asked hopefully.
"No, but it was a black Toyota Prado with a distinctive golden eagle sticker on the rear," Tai Shi replied with certainty.
"Thank you for your assistance," Chiang Shu acknowledged with a nod. "I'll require your written statement later. If anyone else possesses information, please come forward."
No one else volunteered information. Another police car arrived shortly thereafter, bringing photographers, forensic experts, and homicide detectives to the scene.
Statements were meticulously recorded. Wijdan remained the sole eyewitness. Everyone had heard the disturbance, but fear had kept them securely inside during the shooting. All neighbors concurred that Aabi was an exemplary man, devoted to his family. He had purchased the bungalow six years earlier and maintained cordial relations with everyone in the neighborhood. He had never engaged in disputes with anyone.
As the officer diligently collected statements, someone reported that Wijdan had regained consciousness.
"Who's Wijdan?" A homicide officer glanced questioningly at Chiang Shu.
"The victims' twelve-year-old son, and our only eyewitness to this tragedy," Inspector Chiang Shu explained gravely.
"Oh!" The homicide officer's eyes widened. "His testimony is vital. He could provide crucial details about the perpetrators."
They entered the bungalow where Wijdan lay. His face was ashen, as if completely drained of blood. His eyes reflected a haunting emptiness as he stared unblinkingly at the wall, lost in his private nightmare.
"Uncle," Singh sat gently beside him on the bed, tenderly stroking his disheveled hair. "How are you feeling, son?"
"Uncle," tears streamed from Wijdan's hollow eyes. "My dad... my mom..."
"Be strong, son." Singh gathered him into a protective embrace, his own eyes glistening.
"Wijdan, dear," the homicide officer spoke with deliberate gentleness. "You witnessed those people attack your parents. Can you tell us who they were?"
"Da... Dara..." Wijdan sobbed, his small frame shaking. "Dad called him Dara. Three other men accompanied him. One stabbed Mom repeatedly with a dagger..."
"Who were the other three?" The officer pressed cautiously.
Wijdan dissolved into uncontrollable tears instead of answering, his small hands covering his face.
"Officer," Singh interjected, giving the man a meaningful look.
"This child is in no condition to provide a detailed statement. Please refrain from questioning him now. He's completely overwhelmed by trauma."
"Very well, Mr. Singh," the homicide officer conceded. "You're their neighbor and evidently his late father's closest confidant. The boy will remain in your custody for now. If other relatives exist, please notify them. The child's welfare and safety are our primary concerns." The officer turned to Inspector Chiang Shu. "Inspector, this boy represents our only eyewitness. His life could also be endangered. If Mr. Singh's car hadn't arrived when it did, they might have silenced him too. I fear they'll attempt to eliminate him, so his protection is paramount."
"Don't worry, Officer," Chiang Shu assured him. "I'll station two armed constables at this residence immediately."
They exited the house. Before removing the bodies, Aabi's pockets were thoroughly searched, and a meticulous inventory of discovered items was compiled. The keys to Aabi's house were entrusted to Singh. When the bodies were finally loaded into the ambulance, Wijdan wailed inconsolably, clinging desperately to Singh. The heart-rending scene brought tears to the eyes of everyone present.
Wijdan fainted once more. Singh carried him home and attempted to revive him with water. Though Wijdan regained consciousness, Singh grew increasingly concerned about the boy's fragile mental state. The trauma he had endured was beyond comprehension. He had witnessed his parents' brutal murder—even an adult would struggle to process such horror.
More neighbors, including several compassionate women, gathered at Singh's house, offering comfort to Wijdan. He recognized them all and wept in each one's embrace, seeking solace that couldn't be found.
"Kumar," Singh said to his friend, anxiety etched on his face. "Call Dr. Remy immediately. I fear for Wijdan's condition. He's experiencing severe psychological trauma."
Kumar hurried to the telephone in the lounge. It was 3 a.m. The call was answered after several long rings. Dr. Remy was a mutual friend of both Aabi and Singh.
"Dr. Remy," Kumar said urgently when the connection established. "Aabi and his wife have been murdered. Their son is in a concerning state. Please come to Mr. Singh's house without delay."
"Aabi and Shugi murdered?" All traces of sleepiness vanished from Dr. Remy's voice. "Who perpetrated this? For what reason? Where did this occur?"
"They were killed in front of their residence, and their son is currently at Mr. Singh's," Kumar explained briefly, keeping details minimal.
"Is Wijdan severely injured?" Dr. Remy inquired with professional concern.
"He's physically unharmed," Kumar clarified. "He concealed himself when his parents were attacked, so he escaped injury. But he repeatedly loses consciousness from emotional shock. We're deeply concerned about the psychological impact."
"I understand. I'm on my way," the doctor assured him before ending the call.
Dr. Remy arrived promptly. Wijdan's condition had deteriorated further. He alternated between sobbing and mumbling incoherently. Dr. Remy immediately administered a sedative, his movements efficient yet gentle.
"You made the right decision calling me," Dr. Remy remarked, his concerned gaze fixed on Singh. "This trauma is exceptionally severe for someone so young. He's demonstrated remarkable resilience to have endured this much. His mental health could be significantly compromised. I've administered a mild sedative. He'll sleep for several hours, which is precisely what he needs—rest and tranquility."
"I won't allow those responsible for this atrocity and my friend's death to escape justice," Singh declared vehemently, his fists clenching, teeth grinding with barely contained rage.
"But how did such tragedy unfold, and who could possibly be behind it? Aabi was such a gentle and humble individual," Remy remarked, genuinely perplexed.
"Aabi must have mentioned he fled his homeland twelve years ago, fearing powerful enemies, seeking sanctuary here in Singapore," Singh replied, his voice heavy with grief. "Those enemies evidently tracked him down at last. He was returning home with his family after dining out when they ambushed him. They executed their plan, and my dearest friend was stolen from this world." Tears welled in Singh's eyes as emotion overwhelmed him.
"If only I had been home instead of dining with Kumar. I would have gladly sacrificed my life for Aabi, preventing anyone from harming him," Singh's eyes blazed with righteous fury. He had been Aabi's most loyal companion, and his friend's brutal demise had shattered his heart completely. If it were within his power, he would personally hunt down Dara and unleash his vengeance upon him. But before drawing his final breath, Aabi had entrusted Singh with Wijdan's care, extracting a solemn promise that his son would someday avenge his death—only then would Aabi's spirit find peace.
"I cannot erase any of this from my mind," Singh's voice trembled with emotion. "The way this innocent child wept uncontrollably... it pierced my very soul. Imagine the psychological trauma of a child who witnessed his parents' brutal murder. If permanent damage occurs..." Singh broke down, unable to continue.
"Nothing irreparable will happen to him," Dr. Remy reassured, his experienced eyes monitoring Wijdan's breathing. "He requires abundant rest and emotional stability. We must maintain vigilance for several days, then his trauma will gradually diminish, allowing him to regain his equilibrium."
"And afterward?" Singh questioned, his voice barely audible. "Will Wijdan eventually forget? Can he ever erase the horrors he witnessed?"
"No," Dr. Remy replied honestly. "Wijdan will never completely forget. This incident will remain permanently etched in his consciousness as a defining trauma. And perhaps this very memory will fundamentally alter the trajectory of his life."
"His life's path must indeed change," Singh murmured, gazing intently at Wijdan's peaceful face. "He must burn with the intensity of a volcano, reducing his parents' murderers to ashes. And I shall guide him toward that destiny." Singh's solemn words were directed at Wijdan's closed eyelids. The sedative had taken full effect, and Wijdan drifted into troubled slumber, still whimpering occasionally as nightmares pursued him even in unconsciousness.