21 Shades of Night, page 342
It feels as if we are at war.
It's horrible. And it hurts to see the city suffering so much. Can I possibly feel so much for this place? Always thought I had a love-hate relationship with this city, but I am wrong. It's as if one of my own has been hurt.
"You think she is behind… " I let the words hang in the air.
His eyes open so wide it feels like the sparks from them will leap right out at me.
"You saw what she did, and yet you ask that?" His voice is disbelieving, and he looks at me as if I am stupid.
I shrink back against the pillows but can't resist adding, "No. It's just that, well, we didn't see her set off the bomb."
His mouth opens and then closes. Shaking his head, he runs his fingers once more through his hair, mussing it up even more. Looking away, he swallows as if he is controlling himself.
I subside, folding my arms over my chest.
"So, you want evidence that that woman is behind the destruction of half the city? What she did to your friend and to that other kid at Bandra station is not enough?" He is speaking through clenched teeth now. "You are supporting her."
"No, I am not!"
"Yes, you are. You've no idea what she is capable of … if you only knew—" His hands clench into fists by his side and he's looking at me as if he'd like to shake me.
What's his problem? It's as if I am attacking him personally.
"I only asked a simple question. I don't see why you have to get upset about that," I say in a prim voice.
I know he is right. She must be responsible for all this mayhem. Everything points to that. Yet, a part of me refuses to believe it. She can't be that evil, can she? I definitely need proof. I fold my arms over my chest and look straight ahead.
"Do you know her?" His eyes fire golden darts of accusation at me.
"No." I meet his gaze steadily, "I don't."
He's the first to look away. I swallow, heaving a sigh of relief. He believes me.
His profile is towards me and he tightens his jaw. It pronounces his square jawline. I want to touch my cheek to his—
I dig my nails into my palm, using the pain to distract my train of thought.
Getting to his feet in a jerky gesture, he aims his remote at the TV set, changing channels at such speed that the high-pitched voices and signature music tones from individual channels merge into one shrieking medley. His movements are short, jerky. He's angry. For once, it's not me flying into a rage.
Vikram losing control is an awesome sight.
Putting my hands over my ears, I yell to be heard over the din. "What are you doing?"
He stops at another news channel. Measured tones fill the air.
"... In a video emailed to the newsroom, an unknown group has taken responsibility for the attack." The screen goes dark before a silhouette appears. The features of the person are not clear, but it's clearly a woman. "... Get out while you still can, for no one will be spared. Not unless you are young, and fit, and ready for the new world. Out with the old and the flawed. In with the young..."
The screen goes dark before switching back to the newsreader. "It's not clear how long the supply of electricity to the suburbs will last, and with the other essential support services in disarray …"
The camera focuses in on a group of boys and girls armed with mean-looking guns. They are turning away cars from a gas station.
"What are they doing?" I ask, trying to make sense of what I am seeing.
"Without electricity, it's only a matter of time before the service stations run out of fuel. They are seizing control already."
"They?"
He nods towards where a camera has zoomed in on the face of one of the girls. She is wearing bright-red lipstick and designer sunglasses. Then the screen goes blank as if the station itself is off air.
"It's starting …" Vikram does not elaborate more.
My imagination fills the rest.
With electricity grids blown, it's only a matter of time before power to the city will completely cease. It means mayhem. Law and order is a concept tenuous at most times in this city. Even on a normal day, there are many desperate enough to break the law just to survive. Now, they can run amuck, unchecked.
This isn't the first time the city has been hit. We have survived train stations being bombed; terrorist attacks on hotels, not to mention strikes and floods. But, never before has such a direct threat been made. This is serious.
Vikram raises an eyebrow in that restrained I know-better-than-you look. I prefer it when he is losing control of his emotions. That, I know how to deal with.
"Just a matter of time before the electricity here goes too," he says mildly.
"You seem awfully knowledgeable of what is going is going to happen next. Are you in touch with them?" I try to match his light tone, but it comes out sounding accusatory.
He taps his finger to his temple. "It's because I'm a cop that I know."
He knows just how to take everything I say and turn it around. I want to bang my head in frustration.
"And I don't think we have seen the worst yet." He adds.
"What could be worse?" I probe.
"Earthquakes. Tsunamis." he ventures.
I laugh. "No one can cause earthquakes or tsunamis."
A shutter comes down over his face at that. What is he trying to imply?
"Shouldn't you be out there, seeing to law and order, doing your duty or whatever?"
"I am doing my duty," he replies.
I look at him, curious.
He nods. "After all, she has a real interest in you, doesn't she?"
"Does she?" I ask, my voice cautious.
As if in response, his phone pings.
"Don't!" I just know whom the text is from even before I read the message. Vikram gives me a look, which implies, seriously?
He frowns at the message before showing it to me.
"What does it mean?" he asks, eyebrows furrowed.
Of course, I know what it means.
"Prank text. Looks like you have a secret admirer?" I chuckle, then wince as a pain cuts through my side.
Handing over the phone, I lean back against my pillows, parrying with a question of my own. "By the way, how did you know where I live?"
"I am a cop," he answers, as if that explains everything.
I wonder if my disbelief shows. As with everything in the city, the police, too, are overworked, underpaid and riddled with corruption. Not exactly well known for their efficiency though they do try their best.
"Well, you saw me at the pub, so it's not rocket science to work out that I live close by." I refuse to concede any ground.
He half smiles but does not comment. He sure is confident of himself. "You are quite unusual for a Bombay cop, no?"
"What do you mean?"
"It's just, I keep wondering what a guy like you is doing with the forces here. Everyone knows how corrupt and bureaucratic they are."
"What do you mean, a guy like me?"
I squirm under the intensity of his gaze. "I meant that as a compliment. It's just, you have to admit, it's unusual for a well-educated person like you to join the police,"
"I am not most people … and, unbelievable as it may sound, I actually do want to contribute to something bigger than myself."
"You mean you believe in giving back to society and all that." Even saying the words sounds strange. I mean, doing something for the greater good has always been just that, a concept I've read in textbooks. Here, for the first time, I am meeting a guy who believes in it.
"And my city." He nods. "I enjoy being a cop. Far-fetched as that may sound."
I have been put in my place very firmly.
Cringing at his rebuff I rush to clarify, "I just meant that you are the only one who got so close to the person who caused all that." I nod towards the TV. "And yet here you are with me?"
He looks slightly embarrassed at that. "I am of more use here, with you."
"If you want to be with me, you just have to say it," I say in an innocent voice, hoping to get a rise out of him.
Still, when he leans close, I shrink against the pillows. It's quite dramatic really, what with the light from the half-open curtain haloing his face. His nearness is unsettling. I want to lick his lips. The thought excites me, unnerves me enough that I lean back, just enough so he can move in even closer, covering the ground I have yielded. His nose is almost touching mine now. The deep, musky notes from his skin drum over me, and I almost taste the mint on his breath.
His next words floor me, "I could say I care about you."
Those individual sparks in his amber pupils set off small answering fires inside me. My insides churn. It's new, this feeling. Painful. The sensation ripping me apart.
He cares about me?
Even as I stare into his eyes, a shutter comes down, and just like that, they change from warm amber to grey-brown. He leans back, physically withdrawing and it's as if he's flicked a switch, turning off the charm.
"But that's not it," Vikram says, and I force myself to relax. "It's just that she's bound to track you down, and when she does I plan to be right there to get her … and hopefully put an end to all this."
As if in agreement, his phone rings.
Some connections break so others can be made.
He answers the phone, shooting me a glance before turning to walk over to the window. "Of course. I understand." He lowers his voice.
Not fair. I can't hear the conversation now. Who is he talking to? What is he saying? I edge closer and move my ear in his direction, trying to make out the words.
"No, I am okay. The phone's charged … for now …" His voice trails off. I know what he is thinking.
But for how long will the battery last? What happens when it runs out?
He continues to stare out, all the while running his fingers through his hair. He is more agitated than he's letting on.
Placing his palm on the window grill, he grips the bars. It makes the muscles on the top of his shoulder and the back of his neck bunch. A nicely outlined neck, too. He's just agreeably built; his muscles naturally defined, as if his workouts are of the more outdoorsy variety.
He listens for a few seconds before turning back to me, his face blank. "She's coming for you."
Chapter 10
"I NEED TO run out just for a little while, just to have a word with my team, and then I'll be right back—" He breaks off mid-sentence as I sit up in bed.
"What are you trying to do?" He asks sounding peeved.
"What does it look like? It doesn't make much sense to stay here now, does it?"
The pain at my side hammers away, insistent, I bite my lips to stop myself from groaning again. For the first time I notice the dressing running around my waist, below a T-shirt which I don't remember putting on.
More worryingly, I am no longer in my jeans.
I stop in the act of removing the bed cover, leaving it, as it is, not daring to look at him.
But of course, he has noticed. "Yes, I did take them off. And no, I was too busy trying to stop the bleeding and way too exhausted to see anything."
"You don't even know what I was going to ask," I protest.
"It's quite easy for me to read what you are thinking."
That's me, all right: can't hide my thoughts from showing on my face.
"Look, I spent a lot of time trying to halt that bleeding. You were very lucky the bullet only scraped your skin …" He lets the words hang in the air; he doesn't have to finish the sentence.
I look down at the bandage again. Did he see the scar on my back while dressing my wound? "I suppose I should be thankful that you saved my life."
"Don't thank me." He gestures, his forefinger raised. "Someone up there wants you to live, apparently."
"My point exactly. I survived. Cool! Now, I need to go after her and rescue Panky."
As I speak, I am scanning the room, trying to find a pair of jeans.
"And how do you plan to do that?" Vikram spells out the question very patiently, as if he knows the answer to it already. It makes me even more determined to find a way to get out of bed, and out of the house.
"I don't need your help, you know. I have survived just fine on my own so far." I have not the first clue how I am going to go about finding Panky, but I'm damned if I am going to admit that to him now.
"You know you do." He smiles.
"What?"
"Need my help. Just say it, go on. It's not that difficult." He walks to the built-in wardrobe tucked away at one end of the room and, opening it, scrutinizes the contents.
"That's right, go ahead, make yourself at home … It's just my—"
He turns, holding a pair of jeans. "I assume this is what you were searching for."
When I nod, he walks over and drops them on my covered legs. I look pointedly from the trousers to him and back.
"What? Ah! Okay." Turning, he assumes his position by the window, his back to me. Opening the curtain a crack he peers out, "I am just going to wait, just in case you faint or something."
"I am not going to faint … or something."
The effort of placing my feet on the floor makes the room swim.
Gritting my teeth, I slide first one leg, then the other into the jeans. Sweat breaks out on my upper lip. I feel quite light, non-existent, as if I am just a pale shadow of me. Managing to zip up the jeans, I lean back, closing my eyes and trying to regain my balance.
"Done?"
I grunt, not trusting myself to speak.
He turns and asks, "Will you be okay while I am gone? I will be back in fifteen …"
Don't leave me alone … It's just the end of the world out there, the city falling apart around me, after all.
"Go, go." I gesture.
When he hesitates, I try to sound casual. "Look, it's not as if I am going to die or something while you are gone. Besides, I certainly can't go anywhere," I snicker for effect. "Not the way I am now."
The curtain dropping back in place shuts off the light. Nodding curtly, he walks past without another word.
The front door bangs behind him and I stay where I am for a few seconds. My eyes track to the window, then back to the table near it and I see Vikram's phone. He's left it behind.
Feeling particularly satisfied at that, I struggle to my feet, stumbling over to it.
It's sweltering outside, the skies grey and swollen with the upcoming first rain shower. The air swills with the heat, making the roads a living furnace. Yet inside the small room with the curtains shuttering the city, I shiver … the pain is building up once more, echoing the tension from the clouds outside. The doorbell rings. I jump.
Chapter 11
HAS VIKRAM RETURNED to get his phone? I look around for a place to hide it. Now that I have it, no way am I letting it go. Not until I have learnt a little bit more about this cop. I slip the phone behind the pillow.
Too obvious.
I pull back the mattress and slide it under, sitting on the mattress for good measure. Then a voice comes through the door.
"It's me, Edward. Let me in."
I don't answer, and there is silence for a few moments.
He knocks again, "Remember? The artist from the pub."
Ed? What's he doing here?
I allow myself to relax and am about to make my slow agonizing way to the door, but hesitate at the last minute.
How did he find me? How does he know where I live?
Not that I don’t trust Ed, I mean, surely that sweet, ageing hippie can't be dangerous, right? Right?
The doorbell rings again, this time in three short bursts of urgency.
He bangs on the door. "Ruby, come on, open the door, I know you are in."
Something doesn't feel right. He sounds desperate.
"Ruby, sweetheart, what are you doing in there?"
I hate, being called that: sweetheart. Before I can move, there's a crash.
Seriously? He's going to break it down? A shot rings out, the bullet going through the door. I drop to the floor, hitting my already bruised side and cry out in pain.
Another shot hits the bed.
I move out of the path of the next one and cry out as my side protests. Head spinning, I place my palm over my mouth and bite down on it to stifle my next cry.
The sweat pouring down my forehead stings my eyes.
Crawling close to the wall, I fall against it with relief, supporting my back and neck even as the room insists on whirling around me. I wait for what seems like long minutes, but there is no further noise, just the dust swirling in the light which shines through the series of bullet holes in the door.
I swear aloud.
Where's the cop when I need him?
My heart beating out a wild rhythm, I look around for a weapon. The sword. I have to get to the other side of the living room, even though I just want to curl up in a corner and not move.
"I can walk," I whisper aloud.
My voice sounds strange to my own ears, as if coming from far away. I begin to crawl slowly, hugging the wall of the living room, as much as possible.
I finally reach the wall next to the bullet-hole-riddled main door, collapsing just below where the sword hangs.
Taking in a deep breath, I hiss it out through clenched teeth.
My side has gone completely numb now. The lightning tree is still alive, though. It's pulsing, waiting—
A shadow falls on me. It's from the wrong side of the room—the side of my bedroom. Ed has entered the bungalow through the back door.
He walks past my bed, entering the living room and keeps coming at me. The light from the open door is to his back so I can't see his face clearly, but his gun is pointed at me.
I am on my feet. Reaching for the sword, I pull the blade out of its sheath all in one go, and without giving myself pause to think, I hold it up over my head. Grasping it with both my hands, I launch myself at him.
My side screams while the lightning tree seems to grow in size. Violet icicles reach out to blaze across my body, enfolding me so it feels as if I am trapped inside a flower of flames. The sword strikes Ed's hand, knocking out the gun, but not before he fires it again. I hear the bullet thump the wall behind me.
