The Only Way Out IS Death, page 1
Copyright © 2022 Varun Gwalani
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All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in book reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
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To request permission, contact the publisher at team@saga.net.in.
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Disclaimer
This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents in this book are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
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ISBN: 978-93-92279-67-6
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Published by Saga (Parent Company: RAAY Media).
First e-book edition, 2022.
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Saga, RAAY Media,
The Capital, A Wing,
5th Floor, Unit 506, BKC, Mumbai, 400051
www.saga.net.in
DEDICATION
To my wife, Jincey,
I’m sorry the first book I’m dedicating to you has so much blood in it.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
My wife, Jincey, my sounding board and companion.
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My family, who give me the space to pursue this crazy
passion of mine.
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Particular credit to Neerja, my editor. This was the hardest book I’ve had to edit, and Neerja learned chemistry, biology, architecture and fighting stances right there with me.
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My publishers, Pranika and Aakriti, for taking a chance on this book.
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My friends, Jay and Himanshu, who talk to and encourage me every day.
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And all the various crime authors and game designers who have inspired this book, thank you for providing the fertile ground on which imagination blooms.
CONTENTS
Prologue
1. Ghosts, Both Present and Future
2. The Devil’s Gambit
3. The First Demasking
4. The Scum’s Gambit
5. A Case for Suicide
6. The Most Important Meal of the…Day?
7. Meeting the Murderers
8. Everything’s Okay
9. Bet on Monte
10. A Case for Murder
11. A Sin Leads to Innocence
12. To Heal and Protect
13. The Scum Scrum
14. What Now?
15. Alarms in the Night
16. Give Suffering to Those Who Deserve It
17. Completely Normal Breakfast Conversations
18. Polite Predators
19. Holy Angel of Death
20. The Obvious Choice?
21. Under Pressure
22. Saint and Sinner
23. Holy Hellspawn
24. Where’s a Psychiatrist When You Need One?
25. Descent into Madness
26. Poisoned Thoughts
27. Changing the Game
28. Waiting for Death
29. It is Here
30. The Last Act of Service
31. ’Nother Note, ’Nother Twist
32. Willing Death and Unwilling Life
33. Greater Good
34. Jab ’Em in the Eyes
35. A Doctor’s Despair
36. Waiting for Death Once More
37. The End
38. One Last Time
39. The Politician Under Fire
40. Be Careful Who You Trust
41. Spy and Murderer
42. The Final Demasking
43. The X Factor
Epilogue
PROLOGUE
What a collection of assholes.
And, since I’m here, I suppose that includes me as well.
Which is fair enough.
A banner hangs loud on the wall, stretched across it painfully, telling a hilarious joke: “Heroes of the Pandemic.”
Hero. I’m no hero. And I don’t want to be one, either. In reality, every hero you meet will let you down. In reality, everyone just looks out for themselves.
I really don’t want to be here. And it doesn’t seem like anyone else wants to either.
In the room, the so-called heroes stay as far away from each other as possible, all absorbed in their own bullshit. There’s one meditating, her legs folded beneath her, her bare feet rubbing against the plush leather of the seat. The reflected light from her many rings flashes brightly in the eyes of the man standing opposite, trying to talk on his phone. His voice is low but I can hear snatches of the conversation, ‘Rather not have…’, ‘Good optics, nevertheless…’
Next to the meditating lady, another, more reasonably-dressed, woman stands facing the wall with her eyes closed. She looks either lost in thought or, judging from the bags under her eyes, is sleeping on her feet. There is a conspicuous pager clipped to her belt, and her hand strokes it unconsciously before returning to its position. A grumpy man in full police uniform stands opposite me, throwing furtive glances in her direction.
To the immediate left of me are the two (other) observers. The man is looking around and typing rapidly into his phone, probably notes of some kind. Opposite him, an older woman is calmly surveying the scene, her eyes resting briefly on each person. I can see that her eyes rest most on the older man standing at the end of the room. Once, we look at each other at the same time, and her genial smile sends an involuntary shiver down my spine, though I cannot understand why.
To the left of them, two men are engaged in their work. One is bald, and the other is balding, one is ramrod-straight and erect, the other is wiry and hunched over. One is writing neat and precise letters into his diary, the other is shuffling anxiously through his papers. Next to them is a douchebro who I studiously avoid looking directly at, because I don’t want to give him the slightest indication that I am in any way interested in him. Next to him is a woman wearing an expensive power suit, calmly conducting a business call without the slightest modulation of tone or volume. Self-consciously, she adjusts the top of her blouse, as if uncomfortable. The douchebro is probably eyeing her. Finally, in the corner of the room farthest from the meditating lady is a man trying hard to look older than he is—and he’s already plenty old. He has a beard and pure white clothes, a constantly furrowed brow, and a silver necklace that shines bright. The daggers his eyes are throwing are currently directed at the meditating lady.
Clearly, there are a lot of strong personalities here that should not be together for too long. I really don’t understand why some of us couldn’t have been made to wait in a different room, and why we were not told about the complete list of speakers. I feel very strongly that the others in the room have the same complaints, and the organisers are really going to have it when this is done.
Anyway, we’re all going to be on that stage in a few minutes, forced to be polite to one another. Then we can all spout some bullshit about our magnificent accomplishments in helping the world through this “unprecedented time”, and then I won’t have to see these people again. Well, most of them.
I check my watch, and I feel sure I’m not the only one doing so. We’re already minutes overdue, and to a lot of these people, time is very much money. The organiser is most definitely going to get a firing. Speaking of which, if we don’t get out soon, the tension in this room might well just—
…
…
…
What the fuck was that?
Was that an explosion?!
I regain my balance and look around. Everyone is alarmed. Some are picking themselves up from the floor, while one or two are already trying the doors. The meditating lady has still not unfolded her legs but is simply staring at everyone around curiously.
‘Locked!’
‘This one too!’
‘What the fuck is going on?’
We can hear screaming from somewhere in the building. A fire alarm goes off and there are calls for evacuations.
‘Call someone!’
‘There’s no fucking network!’
‘I don’t have any either!’
‘HEY!’ The douchebro slams on the door, calling wildly. ‘Get me out of here, you fucks! Do you know who I am?!’
In the middle of the pandemonium, amidst the sounds of the raging alarm and the shouting of the occupants of the room, a low, continuous hiss fills the room. My nose fills up with a rancid smell that makes me want to gag. I look around and I see everyone having a similar reaction. The balding man is the first to drop to the floor, and, one by one, others begin to drop as well. Soon I can feel my own consciousness fading. I can feel myself falling…falling…falling…but before the impact, I’m already gone.
1
GHOSTS, BOTH PRESENT AND FUTURE
I’m falling.
I’m falling and my arms are waving wildly, an impotent struggle against forces far beyond my control. The wind tears at my skin and I’m hurtling towards the ground faster than I can imagine, and yet it seems impossibly far. I want the pain to end, I want to stop falling, I want to just crash and finish this. As if acquiescing to my will, my body slams against the ground, my body vibrating, feeling my bones shatter—
—
My eyes fly open and I sit up, breathing hard, so hard that I can feel my lungs hurt. My hands press hard downwards, and I find that I am, indeed, on something that feels ridiculously soft. What the fuck? I can’t see anything though, the room is pitch dark. Feeling around, I find a pillow and realise that I am on a bed. Okay. That’s a good sign. Maybe a hospital room? But what hospital room is this badly-lit? And which hospital bed is this soft?
Instinctively, I feel around to the edge of the bed and then grope blindly in the dark till I can feel a switchboard, and press a button or two until the lights come on.
My eyes blink and burn at the sudden light, but the image that I manage to see before I have to close them is etched in my mind in vivid contrast. I quickly blink to confirm if what I have seen is true, and it is. This is like no hospital I’ve ever seen or known of. This looks…impossibly…like a hotel room.
A really nice hotel room. It is very spacious, housing an incredibly soft double bed, a huge wall-mounted TV, rich, well-decorated carpet, and a well-burnished study table. There is a large set of bay windows here, but…strangely, they’ve been completely blacked out. I tug on them to open them and I am unable to. The only light in the room is from the bulbs above. Looking around, I see a door that probably leads to a similarly luxurious bathroom. This place looks like something my highest-end clients would stay in while vacationing.
But what am I doing here?
Hazily, I remember the events of…yesterday? Earlier? Whenever I was last awake. An explosion, fire…gas? And fainting. Everyone fainting. What had happened to the rest of them?
Feeling a dull throbbing in my head, I get off the bed and examine myself. My clothes are what I remember wearing last, and they seem a bit crumpled but otherwise undamaged. I pat my pockets and find that I am carrying almost nothing: no phone or anything else I can recognise. The only thing I can find is a shiny steel key, which I have never seen before in my life. The key has a wooden keychain attached to it on which the number 7 has been painted. The keychain shows clear signs that somebody has erased what was originally on it.
I put it back in my pocket and look around my immediate area. I can’t spot any of my belongings. That’s alarming, and there’s a sense of foreboding that cuts through my grogginess.
I take a step forward to go search the room, and I find my right leg suddenly feeling heavy. Puzzled, I lift the hem of the right leg of my pantsuit and find…something. I cannot identify it, but it looks like a thick glass tube that has been strapped in place with solid-looking metal. Inside the glass tube is a yellowish liquid that I also cannot identify. Next to the contraption is another strange-looking device, a dull metal circle that is held in place with a similar-looking strap. I bend down and try to see if there are any buckles or anything that I can unlock, but my hands can find no purchase. Deciding I better not mess with it right now, I try and move my leg experimentally. There’s no restriction of movement, and my leg feels undamaged. Okay. Hesitantly moving on.
I make my way to the TV. Maybe there’s some news of what happened to everyone at the event. The remote is below, curiously bereft of any markings or indications on its buttons. I try to switch the TV on. It quickly complies, only to reward me with static. I try switching channels, changing output—nothing. All static. On the table below the TV is a small freestanding clock. The time reads 3:14. There are no other indicators on it; no date or whether it’s even am or pm. The event was…late morning, around 11. Does that mean it’s been a few hours since? Has it been closer to sixteen hours? What if more than a day has passed? With the lighting situation the way it is, there’s just no way to tell.
As I think of what to do next, my eye catches something that is neatly kept on the table. It is a white hospital gown and a standard black face mask. On top of it is a printed note: Wear this and make your way out of the room, and down the elevator to the lobby. Do not attempt to leave the room without wearing this. Do not talk to anyone on the way. Do not try to manipulate your ankle devices. If you try to do any of the above, the consequences will be shocking.
I blink and read the note several times. Umm, is this a practical joke or something? We’re playing dress-up now? Shaking my head, I decide I can handle the “shocking” consequences and make my way to the door. No sooner have I extended my hand to the handle that I experience a burst of intense, fleeting agony, one that makes me jump involuntarily and yelp in pain. It takes me a few seconds to recover and calm my breathing, and that’s when I realise it felt exactly like touching an electric outlet with wet hands. It was a shock. A literal, electric shock. I realise that my right leg is still stinging, more than any other part of my body. I pull up the pant leg once more and see that the circle is glowing. Well, that’s fucked up.
I decide that I need to play along for now. I turn and put on the hospital gown over my clothes, and I pull on the face mask easily, a familiar activity by now. I go back to the door and, taking a deep breath, pull down the handle.
The door doesn’t open. I don’t get shocked, but the door doesn’t open. I spot a latch below it and twist it. The bolts retreat, and the door unlocks. I pull down the handle and the door opens. Huh. Quite old-fashioned for what seems to be a very modern hotel. I open the door and a pool of light is thrown into the dark corridor. I warily step through the door, and, after a moment’s hesitation and fumbling, extract my key to lock the door behind me.
I make my way down the dimly-lit corridor, the only lights on at foot level. I feel strangely insubstantial, like I could fade into the darkness at any moment. Suddenly, I stop, my heart in my mouth. Out of the ether, a ghost emerges. A lone figure, blanketed in white, eyes looking around wildly. It takes me a second to realise that it is another person, dressed similarly to the way I am.
They freeze when they see me, and they seem to be having the same thoughts as me. Slowly, we both start to walk towards each other. We meet at the junction of the corridor and my eyes lock with the wild eyes of the person in front of me. I want to say something to them, but the warning from the note flashes in my mind. I simply nod at them, and we turn and walk down the new corridor, our feet silently padding against the carpet.
We reach the twin elevators and a spectral arm reaches out to press the button. Both elevators appear smoothly, almost simultaneously. As the sets of doors open, I step into an elevator, and, after a moment of hesitation, my companion steps into the other one. Probably not the best atmosphere to be in a confined space with someone.
I press the button for the lobby and I can see that the elevator is moving, but it’s so quiet and smooth, I can’t even feel it. It’s like I’m floating down with it.
The doors open and I take another deep breath through the fabric of the mask. I step out, and I see my companion is stepping out too. I nod at them again, but they don’t return the nod, and instead look fixedly ahead. I follow their gaze to see…
Some distance away, below lights that are barely shining, a collection of white-cloaked figures has congregated. Some are moving around, flitting around each other like coiling smoke. Some are standing still, like statues, rooted in place like they’ve been there forever. I walk (I must resist the urge to say “float”) towards them, and they all turn their heads to watch the new arrivals. I try to count the pairs of floating eyes, multiple points of brightness in the darkness, but it’s hopeless. It’s too easy to lose track of who I’m looking at.
