At the same time thousands of miles away in the quiet suburb of Behala of Kolkata, a storm of a different kind was brewing within the walls of the Parmar residence. The wooden door slammed against the wall with a force that echoed through the two-story house. Asmee Deshmukh, a woman in her midforties with sharp features and a pedigree that spoke of old money and old grudges, stormed inside. Her casual attire did little to hide the tension etched across her face displayed a mixture of apprehension, fury and desperate determination. A pair of constables followed closely behind. Their footsteps echoing on the polished floor. Asmee's eyes burned with a cold fire as she began to ransack the house with meticulous fury. Drawers were flung open, cupboards emptied and every nook and cranny scrutinized. The air was thick with the scent of dust and old wood disturbed. "This place reeks of secrets," she muttered under her breath. Her voice was tight with frustration. One constable glanced at her. "Ma'am, we've been through every room twice. There's no sign of him." Asmee's jaw clenched. "He's here somewhere, I can feel it." She was the same woman the injured man had seen in his lucid dream. The morphed dead woman whose ghastly face haunted his nightmares. Her hands trembled slightly as she paced through the rooms. Memories of pain and loss were fuelling her resolve. "I came all the way from Mumbai to bring him to justice," she said. Her voice cracking with emotion. "He destroyed my family. My grandfather's killer…the reason my daughter suffers… I want him behind bars. No matter what it takes." The constables exchanged uneasy glances.
All of a sudden Asmee's gaze settled on an old vintage Almirah standing incongruously against the faded wallpaper. It looked out of place. It's too pristine and too deliberate. She removed her glasses tucking them carefully into her shirt pocket. The frames peeking out like a secret. With a curious intensity she began tapping the wall behind the Almirah. Her fingers traced the surface feeling for irregularities. A faint hollow sound echoed beneath her taps. She pressed her ear closer. "Listen," she whispered. The constables leaned in. Asmee's eyes widened. The concrete wall behind the Almirah was not solid, as if it had been meticulously crafted and texture-painted to mimic the derelict wall perfectly. "This is a hidden door," she murmured. Her voice barely audible above a breath. One constable produced a lever from his belt and deftly slipped it into a gap. With a soft creak the door swung open revealing a narrow dimly lit stairway descending into darkness. Asmee's heart pounded as she lowered her head and slipped inside. The air grew thick and cold with a pungent smell of formaldehyde assaulting her nostrils. She froze. From the shadows came a faint and eerie ringing a sound like a tuning fork with a constant tune and increasing in intensity. "Is someone there?" she called out with her trembling voice. Only the ringing answered. It was growing louder and more insistent. She stepped forward cautiously, her eyes adjusting to the gloom. Ahead an iron platform stood about a foot high, and atop it sat a large white rectangular freezer. It's surface cold and unyielding. Asmee reached out and tried to open the lid but it was locked tight. Her gaze shifted to the surrounding shelves which are cluttered with jars of embalming colouring agents accompanied by strange dyes and chemicals, which no ordinary household would keep. A chilling realization dawned on her.
"This isn't just a freezer," she whispered. "It's a cadaver cryogenic freezer." Her mind raced imagining the horrors that might be concealed within. Suddenly the ringing stopped. A thick and suffocating silence fell. Asmee's breath caught in her throat. She backed away slowly descending the stairs with a face shadowed by dread. Outside the hidden chamber she paused. The weight of what she had uncovered pressing down on her. "God help us all," she murmured. Her voice barely audible. Without another glance she turned and hurried from the room. Her footsteps echoing down the corridor as she fled the jinxed house.