Psychro Killer: Chapter 13 - A Message From The Underworld

Niko rushed to the ticket desk, barely processing the panic racing through his body. His voice, cracked and frantic, drew the attention of the attendant, a young man barely out of his teens. "Yannis' daughter," Niko gasped. "Elena—she's lost in the cave."

The reaction was immediate. The boy’s face paled, and without a word, he picked up the phone and called Yannis directly. Everyone knew Yannis Kastrinakis.

Within ten minutes, Yannis arrived with a small group of locals, their faces grim and determined, carrying torches and ropes. Niko stood to the side, heart hammering, still slightly hallucinating from the Kykeon but painfully aware of the gravity of what had happened. His thoughts tumbled out of his mind—what if he’d killed her? What if the village was right about him, about his bloodline?

Yannis stormed toward him, eyes blazing. "What the fuck have you done, Niko?" he roared, not even pausing for an explanation as he pushed past with his men and disappeared into the mouth of the cave.

Niko stood frozen, watching the shadows and torches flicker as they ventured deeper. He tried to focus, tried to shake off the remnants of the hallucination, but his mind was fractured. He could still feel the tug of the cave, the whispers of ancient voices—Vassilis’ voice. It came back to him, that strange, inexplicable certainty he’d felt inside: He didn’t kill her. He couldn’t have.

It didn’t make sense, but Niko couldn’t let go of the feeling. As irrational as it seemed, he knew in his bones that Vassilis hadn’t murdered anyone. There was something alive about the memory of his father, something untold. And now, in the cave, he had felt something otherworldly, something that reached beyond the veil of what he understood.

He didn’t have time to dwell on it. The men who had come with Yannis glared at him as they followed. One spat on the ground near his feet. "Evil blood," he muttered, just loud enough for Niko to hear. Another villager growled, "Just like his father."

Niko closed his eyes, clenching his fists. The tension in his chest was unbearable, but before he could lash out or defend himself, there was a commotion.

Out of the mouth of the cave, staggering and dirty, came Elena. She was bruised but safe, clutching the wall as if unsure of her footing.

"She’s out!" one of the men yelled, his voice echoing off the rock. Yannis and the others re-emerged, torches now unnecessary. They gathered around Elena, checking her over. Though she had been grazed and was a little disoriented, she was unharmed.

Relief washed over Niko like a wave. He exhaled, his legs trembling. But Yannis’ relief quickly turned to fury as his eyes locked onto Niko again.

"You!" Yannis snarled, striding up to him. "You were responsible for her. What the hell were you thinking?"

Niko stammered, searching for words, but Yannis cut him off with a harsh gesture. "Get him out of my sight," he barked at the others. "Take him to the farmhouse."

Two men grabbed Niko roughly by the arms, marching him away before he could protest. He stumbled, feeling their hands dig into his skin. He wanted to say something, to explain, but the weight of the night, the wine, and the drugs held his tongue.

They dragged him up the rocky path toward a small goat shed near the edge of the mountain. When Niko fell, they didn’t stop, pulling him along so his knees scraped against the sharp stones. His mind was a whirl of confusion and conviction—he had to figure this out. Vassilis didn’t kill anyone, he repeated to himself. I know it.

Finally, they reached the goat shed, shoving him inside like a criminal. The door clanged shut, and Niko slumped against the dusty floor, breathless and aching. Outside, he could hear them, their voices hushed but venomous.

"Just like his father. Evil blood."

"First the father, now the son. We should never have let them back here."

Niko’s head throbbed, his thoughts spinning wildly. His father’s name, his own place in this cursed family, seemed like a weight he would never escape. But through the chaos, that one conviction remained—a strange, almost supernatural certainty that Vassilis had been innocent.

Minutes passed, maybe hours. Niko lost track of time, huddled in the dark shed, staring at nothing.

Then, the door creaked open.

Yannis stood there, silhouetted against the twilight. His face was haggard, lined with both anger and something deeper—regret, maybe, or guilt.

"Get up," Yannis said gruffly. Niko staggered to his feet, following Yannis out into the open air. The night was cold, the sky vast and indifferent.

Yannis walked him further from the shed, away from the muttering villagers, to a barren patch of land where the mountains loomed in shadow.

"Elena’s fine," Yannis said, his voice tight. "She said it wasn’t your fault—that it was her idea to go into the caves. I don’t know what hold you have on her, but she defended you. Still, I can’t trust you. Not after what I saw with your father. Not after what happened today."

Niko’s heart sank. He wanted to protest, to plead, but no words came.

"I gave your father a chance," Yannis continued, his voice heavy with something between resentment and sorrow. "And he destroyed everything. I would be a fool to trust you now."

Niko’s resolve crumbled. He broke down, sinking to his knees, tears streaming down his face. "You’re wrong," he choked. "About my father. About me. I swear... it’s not what you think. He didn’t kill anyone. I know it."

Yannis stared at him, his expression unreadable, then turned away. "Maybe you believe that. But I don’t."

He left Niko there, alone in the dark, the mountain silent except for the wind whistling through the rocks.