A Yellow Winged Stranger

By Imran Usman

In a chilling twist of fate, a man is charged with a recent murder, his methods eerily echoing those of the infamous serial killer known as 'The Black Smith.' This notorious figure, whose brutal tortures and killings terrorized the nation for over two decades, left a signature mark on 83 victims. His diverse range of victims thwarted law enforcement's attempts to profile him until it was nearly too late. Initially dismissed as a mere imitator of the 'Full Moon Butcher'—a dormant serial killer from the 80s—The Black Smith's gruesome legacy had evaded capture by adapting the methods of the past with chilling precision.
As the accused finds himself in a high-security prison, he encounters mysterious writings on his cell wall. Penned by the enigmatic 'Yellow-Winged Stranger'—a former prisoner and self-proclaimed "Master of the Ordinary"—these cryptic messages hint at a hidden life shaped by a relentless compulsion. What begins as a simple incarceration turns into a complex puzzle that the indicted man must solve, guided by the arcane wisdom of a shadowy mentor. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Imran Usman
• Release date: Dec 7, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223465065

Imran Usman

Imran is an enthusiast bearing an endless temperament for writing, and likes to be creative whenever he finds time. The thing that brings the most out of him is his craving to do the same things in the most different possible way. Born in India, he currently works and lives in the Middle East.

Book preview

Prologue

An Empty Page

The Crime

The Prisoner

The Writing on the Wall

The Story

Yellow Winged Stranger

No Matter What Happened

And in Your Eyes, I See My Defeat

Fine Line of Truth and Reality

A Companion, Worthier Than Life

Faded Colors

Asylum

Jack

The Tragedy of Samantha Rodriguez and Dotted Lines of Fate

Ethan’s Part

The Truth

Two Brothers

Song of a Lonely Bird

Prologue

At the sound of every engine moving through the usually quiet street of Mason’s Dawn, an elite friendly neighborhood on the South bank of the city of Dartonville, Emily stood to scale the street from her bedroom window for the car she had been waiting all night. The curtains were drawn, making her view quick and easy at first peek. Her room was in the corner, on the first floor of the house. Next to her room were two adjoining ones belonging to her sons. One had been vacated ages ago when her younger one left for a job downtown; he would normally visit on weekends. The other had been deserted since the afternoon, making her edgy. She was nervous, as was conspicuous in the way she moved, hurrying through her room and jumping to the window for answers after a brief round of walking around the table. It was pouring heavily, and she was concerned about her son. 

Her Husband, Dan, had left about an hour earlier after a worrying call from the police station. She was a small woman, her brunette hair being the only part adding to her beauty. Acutely afflicted, she moved, scratching her stub of a nose continually. She was determined to have her confrontation as soon as Dan arrived.

Her wait had been stretched; the patience was being lost. She tried to convince herself to relax and made the bed all over again; she had stopped counting after three. Her legs had started to ache; she finally sat down on her well-made bed to relax, cupping her nose, and taking a very deep breath, mirroring a release of negativity brewing inside of her. 

The phone on her bedside table rang; it was her mother. She promptly explained the situation at hand and how Dan had to leave for the police station, gasping for breath in the middle of words. 

Hearing tires move silently into their driveway, making a frictionless sound on the wet rainy roads and the engines hissing aloud nearer than before, growing excited, she excused herself from the phone, hurriedly moved to the window, and was in time to notice the car lights go off, bringing the temporary lit street back again to darkness, and the sound of the engine replaced by the tapping raindrops on the pavement and the rooftop.

She hastily ran downstairs.

*********

Chapter 1 : An Empty Page

The room was partly lit by the fire blazing actively from the fireplace at the right corner of the living room. The major part of the room was yet dark. It was raining heavily outside, with brief moments of lighting, notable through two symmetrical windows, which rapidly illuminated all the formation inside the house, regularly bringing it back to darkness, except for the sofa, which looked cozy from the heat it was receiving from the fire.

Two figures could be seen approaching the door through the curtains. They hurriedly entered the room jerking off the extra water from their clothing, wetness dripped from them on the doormat and the wooden floor, leaving a trail of water near the clothing hanger, as they moved to place their coats.

Dan had just posted bail for Howard and brought him back home in the middle of the night. It was past two already, but they had more pressing issues on their mind than the odd hour it was. He was furious at his son for his actions that night; it had put Dan in bad taste with society. He was a well-to-do man with a good reputation – honorable, distinct, and yet a family man. But what infuriated him even more was Howard's inability to understand. He was not sure how to convince him against his wishes; Howard was growing out to be a rebel by the day. 

Dan had enough of it, and he had a plan tonight to bring senses back into him.

Dan had struggled with Howard for the most part of his life. He had issues of his own, and Howard's defiance had resulted in compelling insults towards the respectable image of Dan in the society. Dan cared about his image – a lot.

A palpable exchange was about to start between the two in their living room. Mostly, it was going to be one-sided, thought Howard. The car journey from the police station to the house was rather quiet and alarming.

After shirking off his failure, Dan finally began the conversation,

Howard, moving forth with his posterior towards his son. 

Why do you always have to find the logic for doing these abominable things? He paused. 

You do them to make me look lousy in front of everyone. Putting an answer to his own question.

After the completion of your filth, you wait for your senses to kick back until hell freezes over. Dan judged Howard, as he entered further into the living room slowly, towards the warm sofa, and freeing himself from the undercoat, that he had on.

Swiftly, he turned towards Howard, looked at him with caution, and briskly moved against him, finally grabbing both his arms and shaking him rigidly. 

Why in God's name would you ever lose it, he asked in a shock-stricken voice. He was very angry.

Look at me, Howard! he said as Howard tried to avoid eye contact.

You don't have to know how to read the eyes of people to actually read them! Can you read mine? He moved his head along with Howard's to look directly into his eyes.

It's simple; eyes are windows for many things, and they show fear, intimidation, and carelessness. Dan's warning was making Howard hide his feelings.

It is just like predicting the cards in a good game of poker. And in just an instant, you get to decide whether you have a tough hand or not. If you don't, then you call the best possible bluff ever. I read the eyes of the prying neighbors every day – interested, curious, terrified neighbors. All at once, realizing his tone and relapses.

Those people you beat up, they can't beat you back! He said and patiently waited for Howard to react. 

Howard thought antagonistically. He knew he was intimidated by him. He also knew that Dan could see that in his eyes.

Howard felt ashamed, as was clear when he started to say, But this is not poker, and I am not that tough to play it. Howard said with complete reluctance, defending his stand and trying to break away from his grip. 

Dan was trying to make a point. He gripped Howard, with both of his shoulders in between his strong hands, while he stared deeply into his eyes, looking for answers. Or at least tried, as Howard was constantly shaking his head in embarrassment.

Howard was trying very hard not to look at him directly, and his discomfort was maturing by the minute. He was unable to free himself from Dan's grasp. Howard tried shrugging to show his displeasure. It was not physical power that held him. Howard knew he was athletic, but Dan had a powerful mind, as his talk usually stood morally correct. He wanted to make a point, and he mostly did a good job when needed. A corporate-style strength was beaming from him, the kind that is noted when a boss fires his staff member caught embezzling funds. 

People like you never believe in themselves, are very troubled, unconfident, and are always wrong, making the same mistakes again and again ... Dan's dissatisfaction is thoroughly distinct.

They, people like you, always take the allusions they have or what others make for them. No one is that creative in these times. Who have you taken for a master these days? Tell me, Howard? Dan continued angrily.

Howard was an angry kid; he got into trouble with the law for common and occasionally aggravated assaults. He was unhappy with his life in a way and he invariably focused his anger randomly on people by hitting them or scaring them away. Dan just brought him back from the police station for the third time this month, and he knew it wouldn't stop there. 

One knows that he can feel love in the eyes of his lover when he sees it. He just knows it. But he can never sense the betrayal when it comes from her. Betrayal's worst disguise is love and more love. Don't believe what you feel all the time, Howard; if it is about a girl, be careful; she might mislead you. Dan earnestly told Howard, with a hint of sarcasm and irony, as he screened Howard's face closely from left to right.

It wasn't about his anger but about how Howard felt and how to reach it; Dan calmed himself down. Dan would usually inflict his thoughts on Howard by using verbal tactics and screening the surface for the dent that ensued. This, in fact, worked; at present, it conceived doubts inside Howard's head about his actions. 

That is not true, and that's rude... Howard evoked, passionately unsatisfied. 

But is that okay... to love... Does it even exist? Dan pushed on, overlooking Howard's intercession; he thought he was getting closer to the problem.

Dan had tried multiple ways to make Howard right; he now thought that it was better to be ingenious in his concessions and conversations. Decisively using his lucrative cooperative style that he usually dawned himself in at his multinational business.

Betrayal? Howard opened his mouth in awe.

How can a person make the person who loves him the most suffer like this? It is not possible. Howard uttered with dislike and loathing on his face.

Maybe he will never know it. Maybe he does not want to know either. A smile lit up Dan's face as he continued, using his hypothetical third person to put forward his agenda. Dan couldn't exactly pinpoint the area of Howard's manipulation, which pushed him to commit these aggressive incursions. There was definitely someone who was talking nonsense to Howard, and Howard was buying it. Dan wanted to change it once and for all. 

It is all an illusion, Howard. God's main realm for his creations is that which makes a thing or an emotion exist or non-exist, be seen or unseen. It's all in the mind, my dear, Dan said in a state of tranquillity as he proceeded with his hypothetical theories to hit a mark in Howard's arduous mind, or so he thought. Dan speculated perhaps Howard suffered from hallucinations or schizophrenia at one point. Dan's talent was to rationalize irrationality and put a perspective in place; that's how he made things move onward and galvanized people to bring in huge numbers for his company. 

He took a deep sigh; he thought he was being too hard on Howard for his behavior tonight.

The understanding goes as far as is reasonable and comprehensive. Can anyone picture paradise? Pausing momentarily before continuing. 

People have depicted a virtual image of heaven and hell based on the insight they have of things. And mostly filling in the void with objects they see fit around themselves.

What are you talking about? Howard asked again, with a little reluctance, confused and irritated.

"People have used the same things they have seen, felt, and tasted and modified them to a better point to look good. 

That's paradise for them," said Dan, neglecting him habitually and going on with a natural sense of confidence in his voice.

Or debased it to look bad, just like a nice illustration of hell in our drawing rooms or the city museums, he expressed, pointing towards their own paintings in the house. 

But now Howard tried refuting the argument. A person's deeds always incline them towards their this understanding. Hell is for bad people. Heaven is a reward; it keeps us wishing for a better tomorrow, an afterlife without sorrows, Howard exclaimed, curbing an urge to refute everything Dan had said.

There is no such thing as heaven or hell, Dan