The Last Smile

It had been raining over the city for hours, until the streets seemed to have lost their colors and did nothing but reflect the dim lights of the lamps on the wet asphalt.

It was two forty-eight after midnight.

There were only a few officers in the Police Station taking turns on a dull night shift, and the sound of the coffee machine groaning whenever one of them pressed its button.

The ringing of the emergency phone broke the silence.

The duty officer picked up the receiver sluggishly.

"Police Station."

At first he heard nothing but rapid breathing.

Then came the voice of a trembling man, barely able to speak.

"P... please... send someone... my neighbor..."

"Calm down, what happened?"

Silence fell for two seconds.

Then the man whispered:

"He... is smiling."

The officer frowned.

"What?"

"He's sitting in his apartment... for an hour... not moving... but he... is smiling."

The line went dead.

The officer kept staring at the receiver for a few seconds before slowly putting it down.

He sighed and said to his colleague:

"Either drunk... or deranged."

But procedure was clear.

Any police report... had to be verified.

---

Twenty minutes later...

The first police car stopped in front of an old apartment building consisting of seven floors.

The building was unnaturally quiet.

No screaming.

No crowd.

Only a man in his fifties stood at the entrance, his shoulders wrapped in a blanket, his face pale as one who had seen a nightmare while awake.

One of the officers approached him.

"Are you the one who called?"

The man nodded quickly.

"Yes..."

"Where is he?"

He raised his finger toward the Fifth Floor.

"There."

"What did you see?"

He swallowed.

"I was coming back from work... I saw his apartment door slightly open... I called out to him... but he didn't answer."

He fell silent for a moment.

Then he continued in a lower voice:

"When I looked through the crack of the door... I wished I hadn't."

The officers exchanged glances.

"Why?"

The man closed his eyes.

"He was looking at me... and smiling."

"Was he alive?"

"...I don't know."

---

The policemen hurried up the stairs.

The light on the Fifth Floor flickered every few seconds, making the hallway even more dismal.

They stopped in front of Apartment 512.

The door was indeed open.

The officer pushed it gently.

A long creak split the silence.

Everyone entered cautiously.

The first thing that caught their attention...

was the smell.

It was not the smell of blood.

Nor the smell of decay.

But the smell of fresh coffee.

Then they saw the man.

He was sitting on a wooden chair in the middle of the living room.

His back was straight.

His hands were on his knees.

And his head was tilted slightly to the right.

As if he were waiting for a guest who was late.

But his face...

It bore the smile that made the air inside the room seem heavier.

It was not the smile of a happy person.

Nor the smile of a madman.

It was a wide... calm... and fixed smile in a way no human could produce by will.

One of the officers approached slowly.

He placed his fingers on the man's neck.

Then he said without raising his eyes:

"Dead."

Silence fell.

The forensic doctor entered after a few minutes.

He examined the body carefully.

The eyes were intact.

No bruises.

No signs of resistance.

No wounds.

The heart had stopped.

But...

"I cannot determine the cause of death."

The officer looked at him in astonishment.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean his body is completely intact."

"There must be something."

"Certainly... but not here."

The doctor raised his head toward the smile.

For the first time in twenty-five years of work...

he felt uneasy.

---

At that moment...

a man wearing a long black coat arrived.

He carried no umbrella despite the rain.

He was strikingly calm, so much so that his footsteps made almost no sound.

He stopped at the entrance of the apartment.

He looked at everyone.

Then he held out his badge.

"Detective Salim."

The officers stepped aside to make way for him.

Salim entered without saying a word.

He was known in the Criminal Investigation Department for not making hasty judgments.

He did not believe in coincidences.

And he was not convinced by any case until he had reconstructed it himself.

He stood before the body for a full minute without moving.

Then he began to walk slowly around the room.

He did not look at the victim's face first.

But at everything surrounding him.

The window was closed.

The curtains were arranged.

The bookcase was orderly.

A coffee cup half full.

A book open to a single page.

And a wall clock pointing to two fifty-nine.

The forensic doctor smiled faintly.

"I expected you to start with the room before the body."

Salim answered him as he continued to look around:

"Rooms don't lie..."

Then he added calmly:

"...but people do."

At last he approached the victim.

He looked at the smile for a long time.

He felt something strange.

Not fear...

but an uneasy feeling, as if that smile did not belong on a dead face.

He reached out to touch the man's chin.

Then he stopped suddenly.

His fingers had touched something cold...

cold in a way he had never felt before.

He slowly raised his gaze toward the victim's eyes.

And he froze in place.

For just one second...

I swear he saw the pupil move.

Salim stepped back without realizing it.

He was not a man who was easily frightened, but what he had seen moments before was not natural.

He looked again at the eyes.

They were still.

No movement.

He remained silent for several seconds, then breathed slowly and said to himself:

"Exhaustion... I haven't slept in two days."

The forensic doctor approached him.

"Is there something?"

Salim shook his head.

"No... continue your work."

But he was not convinced by his own answer.

The forensic evidence team began photographing every corner of the apartment.

The sound of the cameras was the only sound breaking the silence.

Click...

Click...

Click...

One of the technicians said:

"There are no strange fingerprints."

Another answered:

"And no signs of forced entry."

"Not even a murder weapon."

One of the officers raised his hands in resignation.

"So... how did he die?"

No one answered.

---

Salim moved to the kitchen.

It was strikingly clean.

In the sink there was only one cup.

And in the refrigerator there was an unopened ready meal.

He opened the trash bin.

Inside he found a receipt from a nearby store.

He looked at the date.

The same day.

So the victim had left the house in the evening, bought his things, then returned.

Everything had been normal.

Even more normal than necessary.

And that was what disturbed him.

He returned to the living room.

He noticed an open book on the table.

It was not a novel.

But a book on psychology.

The open page bore a small heading:

"Fear does not kill... but the mind might."

He closed it quietly and placed it in an evidence bag.

The victim's phone suddenly rang.

Everyone turned toward him.

One of the technicians stepped forward wearing gloves, then looked at the screen.

"Call from an unknown number."

He let the phone ring until it stopped.

After a few seconds...

A message arrived.

The technician opened it, then his face changed color.

"Sir..."

Salim approached.

"What is it?"

He handed him the phone without a word.

The message was very short.

"Did you like his smile?"

There was no name for the sender.

And no number.

Just...

"Unknown".

A heavy silence fell over the room.

One of the officers said, trying to break the tension:

"Someone is joking."

Salim looked at him.

"I don't think anyone would choose this moment to joke."

---

The police began questioning the residents of the building.

The first apartment...

Its occupants had heard nothing.

The second apartment...

No one had left it all night.

The third apartment...

An old woman said she had heard a faint laugh around three in the morning.

Salim asked her:

"A man's laugh or a woman's?"

She answered after thinking:

"I don't know..."

Then she added in a trembling voice:

"It was not a human laugh."

He noted it down without comment.

As for the guard, he was the calmest of the witnesses.

He sat before Salim sipping tea.

"When did you last see the victim?"

"Around nine in the evening."

"Was he alone?"

"Yes."

"Did he seem afraid?"

"On the contrary."

"How so?"

The guard smiled a small smile.

"He was happy... even calmer than usual."

He paused for a moment then said:

"But he asked me a strange question."

Salim raised his head.

"What question?"

"He said to me..."

Silence fell.

"...do you believe a person can die from smiling too much?"

Salim frowned.

"And what did you answer him?"

The guard laughed nervously.

"I told him: no one dies because he is happy."

The guard looked at the ground.

"I wish I hadn't said that."

The sun had begun to rise when Salim left the building.

The rain had finally stopped.

But the clouds still covered the sky.

He stood looking at the fifth floor.

Then he took out his small notebook.

He wrote the first note on the case:

"There is no clear cause of death.

There is no apparent killer.

There is not a single logical piece of evidence."

He closed the notebook.

And before he could put it in his pocket...

His phone vibrated.

A new message.

He did not recognize the number.

He opened it.

It contained only four words:

"You are next... smile well."

For the first time in years he felt his heart pound violently.

He quickly raised his head toward the building.

And in one of the windows on the fifth floor...

The curtain was moving slowly...

Although all the windows were closed.

.