21 Shades of Night, page 350
There, ahead, just along the margin of the garden surrounding the building of a tall apartment block, is a wall of guns. It's another contingent of the teen army.
They point at me, all of them.
They won't hesitate to pump all the bullets through me, either, not after what I have just done.
I stop and hold up my hands. My sword is still gripped in my right. Vishal comes up to me and squeezes my wrist, so I have no option but to let go of the blade, which falls to the sand. Then, I too am falling.
Chapter 23
"FINALLY! THOUGHT YOU were never going to wake up."
A voice from the darkened corner of the room has me scrunching up my eyes till I see a familiar silhouette.
"Panky?"
"Who else?"
That long-suffering tone in his voice, more than anything else has me smiling. Am so relieved I want to burst into tears.
We are in semi-darkness and I know even without moving that I am tied down. Both my hands and feet are securely bound to the chair I am sitting on.
"I thought I'd never see you again!" I exclaim, trying to control my emotions.
I’m just so damn happy he is alive.
And just in time, too. Here I am, right in the heart of her bizarre headquarters, but at least I've found Panky. So what if we are both quite helpless? A slight ping stirs my lightning tree. I push it aside. It's only Panky, after all.
"You and me both." His voice wobbles at the end and he swallows, as if he doesn't quite have his emotions under control.
"Where are we, Panky?"
"I thought you might be able to tell me. I have been here for what seems like weeks."
"It's been just four days." A lifetime ago. So much has changed since.
Then a thought strikes me. "We'd better be careful what we talk about. You do know we are being filmed here."
"A little difficult to figure out what's happening around me when I am being beaten up, you know?"
I feel helpless that I couldn't stop it. "I am sorry about that, Panky."
He hangs his head, his chin slumping into his chest. Then looks up his forehead creased in a frown.
"So how did you find your way here? Mind you I am really happy you made it, just it would have been better if you hadn't been caught as well." His voice is half sarcastic, half apologetic.
Overall he sounds so like the Panky I know, that I almost chuckle.
"I had help," I say, my voice casual.
"The cop?" He asks. "I overheard them talking about how the two of you," he adds.
I nod, try to keep my mind of Vik.
He has to be alive. Just thinking of how I'd seen him hit the floor and lie there so still, makes me sick to my stomach. I clench my fists, nails biting into the palm of my hand and take a deep breath to calm myself.
"I may have killed one or two of them, definitely made many of them bleed," I say, almost as an afterthought.
More to distract myself, to stop myself from thinking of Vik.
"Good." He replies his voice hard and I blink at his response.
The Panky I know is the most peace-loving person on this planet.
Not anymore.
Violence can do that: bring out the beast in you.
"Gosh! You sure have changed," I say.
"You would too if they beat you up everyday." He says, then asks, "So did you bring the artifact?"
"I still don’t know what she's referring to," Even as I say that, my lightning tree pings. Again. But I don't need that warning to realize I know what she's been referring to all along.
"It's not a sword, is it?" I finally ask.
"So you figured that one?" he asks, not sounding surprised.
"Just a lucky guess." I am thankful to have dropped the blade on the sand when they captured me. At least it's not on my person anymore. "Who is this ancestor she is referring to anyway?"
"Beats me," His voice trembles again. "I have looked into her eyes, and she is quite mad."
"Not mad, just angry." A voice rings out from the doorway. The lights switch on around us, and I blink. We are in a closed-off cell, like an interrogation room seen in movies. There is a one-way mirror, through which presumably they can see us. They have been monitoring our exchange all along.
I get my first proper look at Panky. He's sitting on a chair identical to mine and is tied down, like me. He is in bad shape, too. As I watch, a twinge of fear runs over his face, his eyes going white with panic. He is terrified. I shake my head, trying to signal to him to stay calm.
Just then, she walks in followed by Vishal. She pulls up a chair, disturbing the thick dust on the concrete floor. Pushing the tails of her long shirt out of the way, she sits down.
Such a normal gesture.
"Anger is a fuel that can burn a path to creation," she says. "Bet you never heard that before, right?"
I shake my head, intent on drawing her attention away from Panky. "Bet it's something you thought of." My voice is light, trying to echo her tone. "I am tempted to say it's lame, but actually I do agree with you on this one."
"Don't you think I know how it feels, Ruby? To be angry?" The overhead fluorescent lights illuminate her ubiquitous long white flowing shirt, turning it translucent so I can see the outline of her bra beneath.
She comes towards me now, placing her hand on the chair, tipping me back until I am sure I will fall over. "You've come a long way, haven't you, in just a few days? I am pleased by the progress you have been making."
Bitch. The blood thuds in my ears. I want to yell, scream aloud. If my hands had been untied, I would have leaped at her.
I take a deep breath to calm myself, and almost choke on inhaling dust.
Coughing, I shake my head to clear it. "Enough of the riddles," I say. "Why don't you come out and say what's on your mind, eh? All this dancing around with words—honestly, it's rather boring." I pretend to yawn. And then my head is slammed back against the chair, flickers of pain bursting in front of my eyes. A fizz of hurt gushes through the middle of brain to be met head-on with a ping from my lightning tree. I had expected it to get rough, and yet the suddenness and intensity of the slap takes me by surprise. The rage bubbles under my skin like a patient underground spring roaring forth. My very own geyser of wrath. The nerve endings on my skin crackle with the tension in the air.
"Keep your tone respectful, there." That voice: of course, it's Vishal. He sounds so like Vik.
"You really are his brother." I know that's true now.
"Sure, blood brothers." He laughs, his tone sarcastic.
"So you are not related?" I ask, confused.
"Half-brothers." He bites out the word.
"And you would kill your own?" Why can't I believe that? I know how ruthless he is. I've seen him in action.
"We shared a father but that's about it. His mother hated me from the moment she set eyes on me."
Join the gang. I know how that feels.
"Our sister, though, she was my heart."
A sister? He never mentioned her. But I didn’t ask after his siblings. Just about his parents.
"Wait a minute, you said 'was'?" I blurt out.
"She's dead." His voice is as flat as Vik's when he spoke about his parents.
"I'm sorry."
His eyebrows rise in surprise. Guess he hadn't expected that.
"I know what it is to lose family. But to lose your sister as well as your parents—"
"How do you know about our parents?" He frowns.
"Vikram told me," I mutter.
I want to keep talking about Vik. If I keep speaking his name, say it often enough, I can anchor him to me. Keep him alive. Vik.
I plead, "You lost your sister, your parents. And now you'd harm your brother too?"
"There are hundreds dying out there in the city, so what's one more?" Vishal continues, in a bored voice. "I don’t care if he lives or dies."
Don’t say that. Don't talk about his being dead. "You believe that?" I snarl and am rewarded with another slap. This time I topple over.
"Get her back on her feet, Vishal." Her tone is mild, as if talking to a favorite son. One she will forgive anything.
What hold does she have on all of them? It's not like she's that charismatic. And she is like old. She has nothing in common with these kids. So, why do they follow her so willingly? My head whirls with questions.
I am straightened with enough force for the jarring thud of the chair to send a fresh wave of agony through my wounds. Now my lightning tree is pinging like crazy. All I have to do is bide my time, channel that anger. Use it. I know that now.
"So, where were we?" She looks to Vishal, who is now aiming his gun at Panky.
At her nod, he raises his gun. I have to do something.
"Your artifact. I can bring it to you." I say.
"Where is it, then?"
"Right here on this island."
"What?" Her eyebrows shoot up before she brings them down in a frown, almost meeting at the center.
"I swear. I had it with me before your men," I nod towards where Vishal stands, his gun still aimed at Panky, "got me. Let me go, and I will get it for you."
"I have no doubt you will but Vishal will accompany you, just for insurance. You know?"
Vishal struggles with the knots on the ropes for a few seconds, and then I am free. I take a last look at Panky.
"Don't hurt him." I hate having to plead, but I don't have a choice. I must do what it takes to save him.
"Don't leave me, Ruby." The panic in his voice makes me want to jump out and hug him.
I do not look at him again.
If I do, it will just weaken me. Instead, I fix her with an unwavering gaze. Refusing to show any weakness. Everything I am angry about in this life is right here, concentrated in this one woman.
"Oh! Vishal?"
He turns.
"Do make it quick. You don't want to miss the celebrations on the beach later."
"Nah! I am sure this will be rather"—he smirks—painless. Don't you worry, I will be back before you know I was gone."
So, while the city is collapsing around them, they are going to party? And then I know. That is what they are going to celebrate: the city being razed to the ground.
Without another glance, I turn and follow Vishal out of the room and into the corridor. Its dimness is a contrast to the glare of the fluorescence I just left behind. There are no lights here, and no windows either. It's a typical maze-like passage, so characteristic of hotels, with numbered rooms at regular intervals. I can just about make out the outline of the man ahead through the bluish-black space. I have forgotten that most parts of the city have no electricity just now. So how did the lights come on in the interrogation room I just left behind? The hotel has its own generators, but how long is that going to hold?
Vishal walks around and ahead of me. I follow him until we reach a door, and down the stairs of what is clearly the fire exit of the hotel. Starlight sieves in through the windows on the landing below. We are on the sixth floor—the top of the building.
As we pass by the windows, I peer into the dark and see the silhouettes of palm trees and beyond that, white-tipped waves.
Outside, the cycle of life continues. In here, I am caught in a cycle of destruction.
The door of the fire exit on the fifth floor is open. As we pass it, I hear a girl scream before the sound is cut off abruptly. I hesitate. I want to go and help, but can't seem to move.
Vishal turns, his gun now aimed at me, so I have no choice but to keep going.
"So, who else is in this building?" I address his back, fully expecting to be ignored. If nothing else, hearing my own voice makes the walk more bearable for me. Besides, I need to buy time to think.
To my surprise, Vishal replies, "Only those who want to be with us: the redeemers."
"The redeemers, is that what you are?" When he does not reply, I needle him. "Who are you redeeming?"
"The people of the city," he replies shortly.
"You think they need to be rescued. From whom?"
"From themselves." His tone is serious, indicating he means every word of it.
I laugh, making sure to inject as much disbelief as possible into it, and am rewarded when he stops and turns to me, the whites of his eyes flashing in the dark.
He raises his arm as if he is about to hit me, pausing before he can bring it down on me. "Don't push it, girl!" He bunches his fist.
I can see the tendons on his forearm pop as if he is fighting to control himself. Dropping his arm, he turns and continues. I sag against the wall, letting out a sigh of relief.
At least he doesn't refer to me as little girl. It seems to be my default title. An idea pops up in my head. I saw the way he looked at me earlier...
The silence lasts for two more floors. Here there is a flicker of candlelight in the corridor, and I can hear the sound of music, what sounds like electronica, in the distance.
"This place seems to have an unlimited supply of electricity?" I say and am rewarded with a short "It does."
"What do you mean?"
"It's hooked up to its own generator powered by a supply of fuel that's going to last us many years. Definitely longer than you are going to be alive." He glances over his shoulder. The look on his face says he is not joking.
I wince visibly, to show his comment has had the desired effect. Inside, my mind is racing furiously, as if it is me who is now hooked up to that generator. I. Am. So. Screwed.
As we reach the first floor, there is a loud screech, almost inhuman, as if someone is being strangled. It's followed by a blast, like the boom of a cannon. Then, silence. No way now can I continue. Not until I find out what's happening. I dig in my heels.
"So, what is this, then? Does every level in this place have its own unique theme? You know, like fifth floor: torture; third floor: kill 'em all; first floor: go ravin' mad?"
It has the desired effect, which is exactly what I want. Yet, I cringe as Vishal rounds on me. I am shoved against the wall. My wounded back collides with the hard surface, skewering me with spears of pain. His left hand collars me, pulling me up to the tips of my feet so my eyes are just below his eye level. With his right, he rams the gun into my side. His breath mingles with mine. Lover-like. I am scared now. I have badly underestimated the damage he can do to me. I am also aroused.
Is it just that I am not used to being so near a man? Or is it the specter of a violent end that turns me on? I have feelings for one brother, yet here I am, attracted to the other.
What does that make me?
Vishal's eyes bore into mine. In the dim light, they are bottomless pits of jet black. I look into them, boldly. In their depths is turmoil, and, something more. He likes me.
He is as confused as me.
I lean forward as if to kiss him, not breaking the connection of our eyes. The next moment, he gasps in pain. I have kneed him in the groin. He would have doubled over, except he is leaning heavily on me and I am pinned to the wall. He is heavy. I am sure my bones are going to snap.
Instead, I push at him, putting as much effort as I can into it. He's in enough agony to not resist. Panting with exertion, I heave again, and he falls to the floor. Stepping over him, I am off and running.
I take the steps two at a time, bursting into the faded lobby, a shell of what it used to be. Now it's like a war zone. To one side are a group of boys and girls tied down to the once opulent chairs—now thrones of torture. Some of the kids are bleeding. One of them is toppled over, still tied to his chair, blood from a wound in his chest pooling around him, caking his hair. He is dead, no doubt about that.
Hearing me, one of the girls—the same one who had called out to her parents earlier at Lokhandwala—turns. "Help us," she croaks. I turn away. I have had good practice; after all, at looking the other way from the poverty I see every day on the streets of this city. But the intensity of her gaze penetrates my back, and I stop and face her halfway out of the exit.
"Don't leave us," she pleads, tears rolling down her cheeks.
I want to reassure her, to promise. Empty words. I have no idea what is going to become of me.
Hearing a heavy tread coming down the stairs, I run now, out of the door, onto the wide porch, and down the steps leading to the beach. Retracing my path, I run towards the low wall I leaped over just a few hours ago. Eyes trained on the ground, I look for the sword. Where did I drop it? It has to be on the ground, here, somewhere.
Behind me, I hear the heavy pounding of footsteps coming up the gravel. Fear has my nerve endings pounding. The adrenaline is punching my gut, making me sick with urgency. The pinging of the lightning tree is almost off the chart with agitation.
I turn. I will face my death head-on. But my eyes are shut tight.
I am a coward at heart.
"Looking for this?"
The voice has my eyes flying open. Then, of their own accord, my feet are flying too.
I throw myself at him.
Chapter 24
THE SWORD IS knocked out of his hand as Vikram reels with the force of my body slamming into his.
I fling my arms around him, squeezing tight, trying to get in as much skin contact as possible. It's as if my eyes can't trust what they are seeing. I have not realized till then how much I actually believed him to be dead. Somewhere inside, I convinced myself I was never going to see him again.
Strange, how it takes someone being snatched away to understand how much they mean to you.
Now he is here.
He winces, and I let him go. His amber eyes show the ravages of his own painful journey to get here.
"You are hurt?" The words burst out of me, as if a dam has broken inside. "You are alive?" I know I am gushing, but I can't stop myself.
"Yes, and yes." He smiles through gritted teeth. "Barely." The word whispers over my forehead and Vikram sways. He is badly hurt. He's alive. Only just. But he is not dead. He is here, on this island. I can still hold him, touch him, and feel him.
I look around, hoping he's brought some backup. There is no one else.
It's just him.
