21 Shades of Night, page 351
He is all I need. I am not going to lose him this time. I don't question why this feels so important, as if I've just found something vital, something I thought was lost forever. That's me, all right, always searching for the missing pieces of myself.
Is that what he is?
I push Vikram aside. Through the gap between his neck and shoulder, I see the shadow of Vishal. His gun is trained on us. Making sure I am between the brothers, I trip Vikram so he falls to the ground. Leaning down to pull up the sword, I straighten, holding it out as if I'm a knight on a horse charging at an opponent.
Foolish. Stupid. Even as I do it, I am chiding myself. He has a gun, and I have a sword. My lightning tree is now going crazy, sending off large jolting pings as if it is a radio transmitter buried under my skin. It's urgent, as if an SOS. But to whom? To what?
As if I didn't already know that I am no match for that enormous machine gun contraption Vishal is carrying in his hands, he raises it at me. I stand there, helpless. I am going to die this time. Even as I think that, a surge of power vibrates through me. I leap forward, sword outstretched, jumping towards Vishal. My body is flung out in the form of an arc, stretched to my full height. I feel the now familiar gut-wrenching give of flesh and bone as the blade slices clean through his muscles, then I am flung aside as something slams into me. It's as if a brick wall has hit me, the impact propelling me back.
I look down to see a hole in my right side. It's tiny, the size of a coin, and it's smoking. I am hit.
Even as I watch, the blood gushes out. Each thump of my chest is echoed by a spurt of thick, dark, red, almost black-colored liquid from the hole.
My only consolation is that Vishal and his massive gun are also down. We lie next to each other like mirror images, twisting in twin parodies of pain. Except for the blade of the sword still protruding from him.
Vikram lifts me, holding me upright in the crook of his left arm. In his right is a handgun. He is not steady, either. We are propping each other up. "Press your hand to your wound to stop the blood flow," he says urgently, and I obey. At least, I try to follow his instructions.
I have grown to anticipate the rush of picking up a blade, the thrill of the cold steel cutting open my skin, followed by the screaming high of pain, and then that hurtling towards the release. Well, this time there is none of that slow build or release. Things around me are speeding up fast enough for me to feel clumsy. I see Vishal struggle back to his feet. The sword is still embedded in his stomach as if it's an obscene erection. Yet, he is steady. Raising his gun, he points it at us.
Vikram aims his pistol at him, dead on.
Neither is going to give in. I want to scream in fury, cry out with my helplessness at not being able to do anything. We will never be able to rescue Panky now, leaving him in the hands of these psychos.
The sound of footsteps running towards us alerts us to the arrival of Vishal's teen army. They surround us, lining up in a straight military-like formation, before parting in the middle for her. She walks up to us and stops in front of Vishal.
For a moment, I think she is going to reach out to touch his forehead, to soothe him. Instead, she grasps the hilt of the sword and pulls it out in one smooth movement. The blood follows the direction of the blade, spurting out of him, water from a broken tap. Vishal looks down, as if surprised to see he has actually been hurt. He takes a step back, sways, but stays standing. Glancing at Rock, he jerks his head at the hoodie the man is wearing. Rock takes it off and, holding it to Vishal's stomach, tries to stem the flow.
I will not let them take the sword. Will not.
She already has it.
I have to try one last time to get it back.
She is close enough for me to kick out my right leg and catch her in the chest. Next thing, she is slapping me. The sun is to her back, her face in silhouette. My ma is holding my sword. She is stealing it from me.
"It's mine," I scream, "give it back."
Vikram tightens his hold on me, warning me to back down—to stay quiet. But I can't stop.
"You only ever looked out for yourself. What about me?" I ask.
Someone is sobbing very loudly. Taking in large gulps of air. It's the heartrending weeping of a child. It's only when Vikram puts his other arm around me as well, hugging me tight, that I realize it's me.
"Your girlfriend seems upset." Her voice cuts through the fog in my head.
She holds up my sword. The downward sweep of her lips makes it clear she doesn't think much of it. It looks like what it is: a rusted sword, centuries old.
Did I dream that sudden surge of power through me when I held the blade?
Except there is no way, I could leap through the air, covering the distance between Vishal and me. The evidence: he is sinking slowly to the ground, his eyes even now burning holes into me. It's just what I need. Yet another person out to kill me.
Get in line.
She beckons Rock, asking him to take it. Her gesture is one of, “I can't be bothered to hold this piece of antique metal, doesn't quite fit my style.” So she chases me halfway around the city, kidnaps my friend, all to get hold of the sword. Now that she has it, she hands it to her flunky for safekeeping? I shake my head at the irony. Not so smart, are you?
It's not just about the sword.
It's also who is holding it.
I have been given just a glimpse of its true powers. Of how it can bridge the now with the other shadowy, world we can't see. Just how awesome this weapon is begins to sink in.
I want to whoop.
Instead, I groan as both the lightning tree and the fresh new wound send out a distress call, which seems to meet at the top of my head, somewhere. They clash in my brain, sending off a kaleidoscope of colors. I feel woozy, and the world whirls around me as if I am in one of those old-fashioned, hypnotic, screen savers.
"Don't worry, little girl, I'll take care of you."
I am at a real disadvantage here—wounded, and about to pass out. Yet, her tone makes me bristle. I want to fight back, do something; I can't simply give in and let myself be taken down.
Vikram senses the tension in my body and squeezes a warning. He is right; I need to just play along for now. Just until I can get my hands on the sword again.
Chapter 25
I AM BEING lifted and carried. I must be upside down, probably slung over someone's—Vik's? —Shoulder, for when I manage to pry open my eyelids just a little, I see gravel. In my delirious-with-pain state, each of the stones takes on the shape of hills rising up to me, reaching out to me as I pass them. Is that weird or what?
When he walks through the sand, it's a bit easier on me as I am being jolted far less. The sand is white, bleached by the sun.
We walk into the waves. I wriggle, wondering if I am going to be dropped into the sea. It's the last thing I want.
"No, don't," I mumble only to have Vikram shush me. He pats me on my back. The physical contact does reassure me, and I subside.
All around us, I can sense the kiddie army. They are silent the way students are in class in the presence of a particularly strict teacher.
"Leave her can do it." Vikram again. Why are they letting him look after me? Isn't he the enemy?
He definitely hates his brother. But for some reason, Dr. B has allowed him to stay with me.
"You always needed a keeper, little girl."
No, he's not my keeper. He's my partner!
Is he?
I can feel his voice rumble in his chest just below my thighs. It's pleasant and lulls me a little, calming me down. I wish he'd continue speaking.
My back and sides are numb. But it doesn't fool me.
The lightning tree and the wounds are quiet. But I know they will be back. For now, I am grateful for the reprieve.
I am placed on a large sofa back in the reception area of The Retreat. Vik lays me down, his motions careful. My eyes flutter open and I see him pulling off his shirt. Bundling it up, he presses it to my side.
I try to say something, but my lips feel numb.
I moan and my eyes flutter. My hand falls over the side of the sofa.
"Hang in there." Vik's hand wraps around mine in a death grip. It's an apt thought, considering I feel like I am at death's door.
As if reading my mind, he lets go of my hand and suddenly leaps at Vishal, who has just entered the reception area, a makeshift tourniquet holding up his bleeding side.
The momentum carries them past the sofa where I lie.
Chapter 26
THE BROTHERS ARE locked in a dance of death. The crowd watches, rapt. No one is trying to separate them. Many are cheering for Vishal. Some of the girls are rooting for Vik.
I am worried for him. Sure, he is a trained cop, but the ruthless determination, that single-minded cruelty I sense in Vishal, makes him a pitiless opponent. He is far more dangerous.
Vik—he is more vulnerable. Empathy, that's what he has. It's what is missing in his brother.
I know Vik will never hurt me.
He doesn't stand a chance against Vishal.
"You couldn't leave her alone, could you?" Yet there he is, roaring at his brother as if he is going to rip him to pieces. "You knew what she meant to me, so you had to go after her. Why did you not shoot me instead, brother?"
On the last word, his voice rises to an even higher decibel, only to be cut off with a solid thump that seems to shake the walls.
I wince.
Even in my half-dead state, I can tell it's bound to hurt. Whoever is taking the brunt of that hit is not going to leave in great shape. I am very worried it is going to be Vik.
Grasping onto the last bit of strength inside, I am trying to sit up, when a piercing whistle sounds.
The kids around me snap to attention.
"Enough!" She barks. "Rock. Get those two back on their feet."
She has only to train her eye on the teens them to fall back.
Bonny shakes his head in amazement. Yeah! He is only now realizing the enormity of the hell he has gotten into.
His eyes fall on me.
He's the only one to notice I am sitting upright. We exchange a look, and despite his snotty behavior earlier, I wonder if he can be of use to me, to us; assuming there is going to be a time when we can actually get out of here.
"Where will you escape to, little girl? You know I will always be there, wherever you go."
She is right of course, my ma. That know-it-all fountain of knowledge.
But for the moment, I have bigger worries, like wondering if Vik is still alive.
Rock walks across to where the two lie in a heap. He is wearing my sword slung across his chest. It looks much smaller on him. He helps Vishal to his feet and his face looks concerned.
He whispers something and Vishal nods.
Propping his hands against the wall, Vishal manages to right himself up of his own accord. The bandage on his side is torn. He accepts a second hoodie from one of his crew and ties it firmly around his waist.
Vik is heaved none too gently to his feet by Rock, and set against the wall. When Rock moves away, though, he slips down to the ground, lying there, unmoving.
Don't die. Not now. You have to stay alive.
He stirs slightly, just a twitch of his arms. Enough to have me exhaling a sigh of relief. He's alive. Barely.
"You can take siblings away from each other, but you can't take the rivalry out of them,” she exclaims.
She sure has a way with words; that much I give her. I am sure it's one of the reasons she is able to wield such a strong influence over this crowd of unruly teenagers.
Vishal presses the hoodie against his wounded side and limps across, taking his place on her right. The girls follow him with adoring eyes; they want him. The boys want to be him. There's a lot of hero worship going on.
He stands there, straight. Still. Steady. It's as if that blow to the side with the sword never happened. I bet he is in a lot more pain than he is letting on.
I try to focus closely on what she is saying. This here—" she gestures towards the two of us, just a couple of inert bodies, "Is a lesson on what you should not do." She nods to Vik, "His girlfriend's just been given an extra fast ride to Youthenasia. Something all of you have to look forward to."
At the mumble of surprise from the crowd, she clarifies. "She is just beginning to feel the effects." She jerks her head towards me. "You are not going to be shot full of it."
One of the boys yells, "Why not? We want it too."
"Patience," she says. "You'll get it, of course, just in the form of pills. It's as effective. Just less painful. I promise you a hell of a ride. A chance to come back changed, ready to face who you are."
Once again, I don't know what she is talking about. It's like nothing I have ever heard before. But it begins to explain how she was able to pull this kiddie army together.
"That's why you are here, isn't it?" She smiles at the crowd. "The opportunity you all want. A chance to be useful; to fight for a real cause. Something that makes your tiny lives worth living—belonging to a purpose much larger than you."
What has she shot into me? I am already so woozy; it feels like the worst—or the best?—trip ever. Already, the corners of my vision are fraying, the purple and black seeping in from the edges, tracking across my eyes like otherworldly spiders.
"Rock." She gestures again to the big man, who walks across to me.
He heaves me over his shoulder and carries me up the steps. The last thing I see is two of her other flunkies dragging the still struggling Vik behind me. I squeeze my eyes shut, letting the darkness claim me.
Chapter 27
THE ENTIRE ROOM bursts into spectacular, multi-colored brilliance. The walls morph and mutate, then fold in on each other an infinite number of times. Huge new structures form and loom over me, then collapse into themselves to leave pools of shimmering gold.
I hear a keening sound, soaring, swelling and the images grow stronger. I’ve heard it before, this call to the inner me—a high-pitched wail building up inside me, filling me and drawing me in, until it feels like I am floating, weightless. I heard it when descending the steps with Vishal, not that long ago.
Then, that last remaining conscious part of me is carried away, and the ceiling melts to the floor in places. The frames slip, meld into each other, only to slide away.
It's a hypnotic dance.
Colorful, primordial forms, resembling amoebas or bacteria, float by. I see the walls of the room, the window beyond, the glow of the stars outside—but the same shapeless star-like things are passing over that view, as if superimposed.
I close my eyes. The audio wave blasts upward, louder and louder, searching for a door I am unaware of.
Is this what it feels like to be at the space between the edge of this world and the oddness of the next?
I press my eyelids together in the hope of limiting the confusion. But it doesn't help.
The darkness is but a screen against which to project all the images in my head. Scenes, ever-shifting geometric forms and textures shift by.
Colors, a dizzying display of every conceivable hue, they blend and part, dancing seamlessly, then vanish all at once.
Dark creatures sail by. Tangles of long hissing serpents. Dragons spitting fire. Screaming humanlike forms. They seem real. They are real.
Time, linear thoughts, rules of reality no longer apply. I am trapped in terror. My heartbeat soars; it's hard to breathe.
But I have done this before. It's just like what happened at the incident when I was pushed off the train. When I was shot through with something unimaginable, changed beyond recognition.
"You can't avoid this anymore, little girl. It's time for you to face yourself."
"Go away," I yell, unaware of having spoken it aloud. Why is it that even here, in the middle of the hell of my own making, she intrudes? But I must step into my anger. Face my inner beast. The one I have lived with my entire life, and that needs to be released.
I breathe in, and out.
In. Out.
In.
Try to get a grip on myself.
It's too dark. Thick, smoky darkness oozes into me, clogging my insides, slowing me down even further. Black lightning. Black walls materialize before me no matter which way I turn. Closer and closer, the darkness surrounds me. I can barely breathe.
"Don't give in to the fear," someone commands. His light is strong, firm in my shifting world. I cling to the voice. Reach for his presence. He feels real, unlike the world I am trapped in. I don't want to give in to the fear. But it's much easier said than done.
I must tell it that I'm stronger. I must tell it that it has no effect upon me. But it does. I'm terrified. The darkness presses against me; it wants to destroy me.
Do you know what it's like to want love, but to be terrified of it at the same time?
To want good things to happen to you, even as you believe you don't deserve them? To find yourself changed beyond your wildest dreams?
To look in a mirror and be unable to recognize yourself anymore, unable to understand why this happened to you?
"Why me?" I cry out, allowing myself for the first time to relive the full horror of the incident. I am in there, falling off the platform, defenseless, at his mercy. The train speeds towards me, a dragon of fear rushing to consume me. Powerless, I can only scream in terror. But no one hears me.
Then he's there holding my hand, and I grip it tight.
"Help me," I scream.
Why can't anyone hear me?
It's a seemingly endless stream of dark rage. It's me—the anger inside of me. The wrath I have lived with, which wants to push through everything in sight, is finally unleashed. Needles of pain rip through my flesh, bursting from my skin. It's excruciating. I writhe, not aware my body is bucking and screaming in earnest now as something tries to hold me down.
Someone is wailing. It's me—my body is shaking wildly.
I hear myself making otherworldly squealing and hissing sounds. Such high-pitched screeches that surely no human could ever make. And I see her. A little girl huddled captive in a ball of fire. As soon as I reach her, she wails, "Don't leave me!" It's heart-breaking. "No one will help!"
