Psychro Killer: Chapter 16 - Truth at last

Niko lay in the small shack, the rough-hewn walls creaking faintly in the wind. The dim light from the one window allowed thin shafts of sunshine to cut across the room. He could hear the muffled sounds of Hestia and Stamatios outside, their words inaudible but the tension palpable. His leg throbbed beneath the rudimentary splint they'd fashioned, but his mind raced with thoughts far more overwhelming than the pain.

This was them, he realised—Hestia, the woman his father had left behind, and Stamatios, his half-brother. The weight of this revelation settled over him like a shroud, a paradoxical mix of clarity and chaos. Vassilis might have been treacherous, impulsive, and perhaps even cruel, but he was no murderer.

In that moment, relief surged through Niko, so overwhelming that he began to laugh—a maniacal, desperate laugh that rattled his frail body. Tears streamed down his cheeks, the laughter twisting into sobs that echoed the depth of his wandering.

Months spent chasing shadows and ghosts had led him here, to the truth embodied in a woman who had suffered in silence and a man—no, a boy who had filled the void left by that silence. Yet, even with this breakthrough, Niko understood that the road ahead was fraught with landmines. Hestia had made it clear: mention Vassilis again, and he might as well have handed her a knife.

Stamatios, however, offered a glimmer of hope. There was something in the way he looked at Niko—curiosity intertwined with a search for understanding. It was a flicker of recognition that made Niko believe they could navigate this tangled web together.

As days passed, Niko slowly began to recover under Hestia's care. She tended to his wounds with a stoic precision, her silence speaking volumes. Stamatios lingered nearby, quieter than before, but his gaze often found its way to Niko’s face, as if deciphering a code hidden in his expressions.

Niko learned to tread carefully around them, particularly with Hestia. He filled the silence with stories of his life in London—the operas he had conducted, the applause that had once felt as common as the breeze, and the void left by Zoe's death. Each mention of her softened Hestia’s features just a fraction, as if their shared understanding of loss had formed an unspoken bond.

But the unspoken presence of Vassilis was always there, like a spectre in the room. They danced around it, all of them, unable to name the ghost between them.

One evening, as Hestia prepared another broth, Niko couldn't hold it back anymore. His frustration, his longing to make sense of the tangled web of secrets, all of it bubbled to the surface.

"I don't belong in London anymore," Niko said, his voice raw. "That life... It ended when Zoe died. And even before that, it never really felt like mine. Not entirely."

Hestia stirred the pot without looking at him, but Stamatios shifted in his chair, his eyes narrowing slightly, as if waiting for something.

"This place," Niko continued, gesturing weakly around him, "it’s my blood too. And I want to belong here, I want to understand... but how can I when all I find are closed doors? Secrets no one will speak of." He paused, breathing hard, before daring to cross the line he had been avoiding. "Why should we live like this? Like ghosts? Hestia... Stamatios... What kind of life is this? Hiding from the world, trapped by a past we can’t even talk about?"

Hestia's hand froze over the pot, her back stiffening.

"I’m not asking you to dredge up everything," Niko said quickly, feeling the tension rising. "But this—" He waved toward the tiny room, the small world they had built. "This can’t be it. It’s not life. We’re human beings. We belong in the world. Please, come with me. Come with me to Psychro. Meet my family. We can face this together."

The room fell into a silence so thick that Niko wondered if he’d just shattered whatever fragile bond he had built with them. Stamatios stared down at the floor, his expression unreadable, while Hestia remained still, her back to him, her shoulders rigid.

Finally, she turned around, her face hard but her eyes betraying the turmoil inside her. "You don’t understand," she said quietly, though there was an edge to her voice. "You come here, stirring things up, asking us to walk back into a village that has nothing for us. Do you know what they say about me? About my son?"

Niko felt a lump form in his throat. "I know they gossip. But you can't live your life for them. You’re strong, Hestia. Look at what you’ve done here. You’ve survived. You raised a son on your own. You’ve lived through more than most people ever could."

Hestia looked away, her hands gripping the edge of the table. "It’s not that simple. There are things you don’t know. Things you don’t want to know."

"I do want to know," Niko insisted, his voice growing firmer. "I want to know everything. That’s the only way we can move forward."

Stamatios finally spoke, his voice low and uncertain. "And what if... what if we go back, and nothing changes? What if all we find there is more pain?"

Niko looked at him, meeting his half-brother's eyes. "Then we face it together. We can't keep running from the past, from the truth. I’ve been running my whole life, and it’s only brought me here, broken and lost. But the truth is all we have. It’s the only thing that can set us free. "

Hestia stood there, silent, her face a mask of conflicting emotions. Niko could see the battle raging in her—years of self-imposed exile, the shame, the fear of being judged all over again. But he also saw a flicker of something else—hope, maybe.

Finally, she spoke, her voice trembling just slightly. "And if I agree to this... if we go back... what then? What happens if the truth doesn’t change anything?"

Niko swallowed hard. "Then we live with it. But at least we’ll be free of the lies."

The room grew quiet again, the weight of Niko’s words hanging in the air. Stamatios shifted, looking at his mother, his expression torn between loyalty to her and a growing curiosity about the world Niko had described.

It was Stamatios who finally broke the silence. "Maybe it's time," he said softly, looking at his mother. "Maybe it’s time we stopped hiding."

Hestia stared at him, her eyes filling with tears she hadn’t allowed herself to shed in years. She nodded slowly, barely perceptibly, but it was enough.

Niko exhaled, his heart pounding. The hardest part was done. Now came the journey back to Psychro—and with it, the reckoning they could no longer avoid.