|: Dragged To Hell :|
A/N: An entirely angsty story, definitely not for the weak-hearted. Read at your own risk; don't like, don't read.
And there will be a couple of swear words. Deal with them. Nuff said, thank you.
Credit for Trisha's character goes to poesiariptide.
Here we go..
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She grabs her throbbing head, sitting upright in the unmade bed and grits her teeth till her jaws ache. In the eerie silence of the night, the only sound floating in the room is her ragged gasping. Pushing her sweaty head in her knees, she hugs herself tightly with her trembling hands, pondering over the number of hours she had been fallen on the rough, stinky bed.
She has given up on recollecting the last time she had slept peacefully. The last instance when she knew sleep.
Nightmares, hallucinations, claustrophobia... lunacy... they had become a part of her. Deep, indissoluble.
Through her knees, she sees the night-lamp still burning, emitting a faint tiny ray of light into the room. Frowning with disgust, she clutches the empty glass on the half-broken side table and slams it on the lamp, the glass and the bulb mixing together in a pattern of shattered pieces. The room turns pitch dark.
The kind of dark that she likes.
Her body shivers with the thought of having to go out in the light again. Of there being sunlight again. A new day. She hates herself.
Sub-inspector Trisha, Crime Branch. Ex sub-inspector. Ex police-officer.
Life had been perfect in every way, all sunshine and rainbows. Until the day. The day she vowed never to return to her world.
Four people, three gunshots… and one shattered life. The life she swore never to live again. The moment she chose hell over the futile heaven, as was being shown to her since birth.
She thumps her fist on the bed, only to feel the cold metal of her revolver. The icy feel of the weapon seems deadlier in the wintery night. Running a smoothening hand over it, she tries to remember how long it had been beside her... in her hand.
After she had used it that evening... ever so callously... on the pleading man.
An iniquitous smile lifts the corner of her lips, as she caresses her favourite toy. Head tilted to a side, she stares at it, her face devoid of an unfathomable expression. Her eyes dead and cold as ice, she lifts the gun and points it to the mirror on the dressing table. A tiny silver shell makes a clinking sound as some more pieces of glass scatter on the floor.
She would no longer see her own wretched face. She feels a tinge of relief. The crease on her forehead smoothens a bit as she lets out a breath.
She is just about to return back to reality when her eardrums are almost damaged by what seem like a thunderous pounding on the door. "Trish! Open up!," a voice yells from the other end. She lets out a long suffering groan as she opens the door, its cringes half-broken, and her face devoid of any expression.
"Thank you for not breaking that door." She says flatly, and the boy smirks unable to hide his grin. "I've been looking for centuries for you, I thought you were… dead!," he shrugs uncomfortably, grimacing as he shoots a quick look at her.
"Sadly, I'm not!" She replies, not bothering to look at him. He gives a mirthless laugh, and her insides cringe. "Why the fuck are you here, Sharma?!" She grits her teeth, flailing her fists in the air in irritation, still not facing him.
Mayank Sharma, her only friend- or in her words- her only acquaintance was known- and trusted- by many to turn the darkest of situations in the calmest, most soothing ones; making anyone's woes vanish faster than a snap. It was particularly evident in Trisha's case, for he had hardly been unsuccessful in turning her deadliest of moods into happy and relaxed ones.
She was happy being with him. In the past.
Now, she hates him. Hates his presence, hates his mere face. Because she fears he will make her smile again. Turn her into a loving soul she once was. And she does not want that to happen to her. Ever again.
"I was worried for you!" He answers, and she lets out the most vicious laugh possible. "Like hell!" She literally spits at him, and his eyebrow cocks up in scrutiny. She hardly believes him now-a-days. She hardly believes the world now-a-days.
Nonetheless, she asks him dryly. "What time is it?" She has no sense of time, day or night, dawn or dusk, summer or winter, thanks to the only wall-clock in her forbidden room having faced her wrath a few days ago.
"Half past four." He replies. She makes a face, and the growl in her stomach synchronizes with the groan in her throat. "Here, I've got some burgers." Mayank holds the stuffed brown paper bag from McDonalds up to its advantage. "Thanks!" She says in a sardonic tone, managing a tiny smug smile.
Mayank shakes his head, some flicks of his dark brown hair swinging, as he hands her a packed burger from the bag. "Trisha, just cut it out already! For heaven's sake, you wanted revenge. And you've taken it last night." His voice changes to a more hysterical one, with the worry of his friend edging close to getting completely heartless.
Recollecting the scene of the night, the gunshots and the spattered blood urges her to puke the burger out, and sends a wave of satisfaction within her at the same time.
Her hands shiver, her voice cracks and a deadly fire dances in her eyes as she holds the gun up on the victim.
The pleading bastard who once had so menacingly pulled the trigger on his victims… on her family… before they realized they were dying, is now asking for mercy and forgiveness.
"Trisha, no! Put that gun down! Let the police take care of him, please!" A voice can be heard from a distance. The fire, however, inside her is so dominating, it burns all the surrounding pleas and the eerie silence of the deserted street.
"You fucking killed my parents and my brother! Savagely murdered them, you loathsome monster! And you expect me to let you escape?!" She yells so fiercely that her heart starts pounding against her lungs.
"P..p..please! It.. it w.. was a m.. mistake!" The man joins his quivering hands, shivering from head to toe, silently wishing the earth on which he is kneeling down would swallow him up.
She gives a merciless laugh so violently, that she has to bend down to catch her breath. She casts a look at the bullet-sweating monster one last time before tightening the grip on her weapon.
The cold silence of the night is ruined sharply by what seems like an atom bomb as she fires the gun amidst increasing pleas for pity and frantic cries for reproach… and an agonized grunt.
A corner of her lips lifts up in a slight curve, her eyes shimmering with a ferocious gleam as blood spatters on the road, some of it landing on her mud-stained sneakers.
She neither remembers, nor is she aware of the number of times her fingers press on the trigger. The curve on her lips increases every second and finally straightens in utter happiness until she no longer hears the loud head-splitting sound of the gunshots.
Pulling the blood-stained sneakers out and throwing them at the dead victim, she walks back barefooted to a man in his late fifties standing to a side, watching everything. His features worn out, wrinkles dominantly covering his face, he still stands strong, looking at her with distress.
He lends her a look of sheer disapproval as she stares in his eyes, a strange gleam showing in them. Before he can speak a word, she says in a casual tone. "I'll need new bullets." He opens his mouth to protest, but realizes it would be futile. "Come, let's go!" He places his coat over her shivering shoulders, before leading her away from the pool of blood.
She twitches her brows uncomfortably as the scene swims in front of her eyes. "I'm doomed for life… and I'm loving it!" She says in a sarcastic tone. "You've chosen this life, for God's sake! And… you've chosen to deal with it." Mayank reminds her with a firm note, knowing well she has already heard this ten thousand times before.
A strange tiny moan accompanied by a sigh escapes her lips, unbeknownst to her. "I had no choice then… and I have no choice now." Her face turns blank as she continues. "After that horrifying doomsday, I've hardly acted sane. If I could, I'd have taken help, investigated the murders and lawfully punished the killer."
Her features twist as she ploughs on. "But, before I could realize, I was taken away. Taken far, far away from my world. I was made aware of the percentage of evil that exists around us. And eventually, I lost trust. On my world, on people… on myself. I stopped trusting my own self, my sanity." She momentarily looks at her friend, who is listening to every word with utmost attention. "I know just well enough that I trusted enough to take things in my hands. And now, there's no turning back. No virtues, no goals, no… righteous life!" Her voice turns into a barely audible whisper as she speaks.
"I have no regrets, Mayank. None." She suddenly faces him squarely as she finishes, feeling slightly better. Of course, he knows all of this already, but listens anyway. He can merely manage a faint smile.
Before they can talk any further, the door creaks open to reveal a dark figure approaching, his eyes staring straight into Trisha's, as though everything else is a blur. She returns him a blank look.
"I'll take your leave now." Mayank speaks, knowing that is the best thing to be done at the moment, and rushes off.
Dismissing Mayank's existence in the room, the man continues staring at Trisha, his expression now changing from discomfort to worry to concern. He stares at her for a complete five seconds. And what particularly bothers him are the girl's features. Every single one of them.
She looks exactly like her mother.
That face, the nose, those hairs. They remind him of her every time he sees the girl, and his heart silently shatters into tiny pieces.
And Trisha is well aware of his plight, the pain he goes through. Being with him for more than two years has made her familiar with many of his traits. She, therefore, plainly and empathetically says, "Yes, I miss her too!"
Heaven knows it's true. Of everyone in her family- blood or not- she misses her mother the most. Tarika had always been her saviour in all times rough, her only confidant whenever she felt like pouring her heart out. She was the first person Trisha approached when she felt ecstatic, and when she wanted to bawl her eyes out.
Her mother taught her everything… except living without her.
That she slowly learned once she entered this world. Where she was dragged, and where she has chosen to stay. Where nobody looked forward to tomorrow. Where all she now waits is to be united with her family… with her mother.
"You were very extreme last night! The kind of extreme which is… scary." The man flinches a bit as speaks, recalling how he had found the girl unconscious in her car. He had recognized her instantly, and had taken up on him to take care of her, to take her far away from her traumatic past.
She shrugs nonchalantly, and he understands. Understands that he is the one who has made her the girl she is to this day. The girl who was fiercely extreme the previous night.
He smiles affectionately, and she surrenders herself in his embrace, her face rigid and empty. Gently patting her head, he tries fathoming her behavioural traits. Like he has always been doing ever since she had regained consciousness after being found by him.
Figuratively or literally, the girl sometimes shows small symptoms of a split personality disorder- at one moment being affectionate toward him, and the immediate second changing to a cold-blooded lioness. And this is something he has never been able to come to terms with.
What had fascinated him the most was the fact that, Trisha, in spite of knowing his association with her veterans and most importantly, his undying love for her mother, had still agreed to stay with him.
Maybe because she hardly had a choice. Or maybe she had already given up on keeping any qualm by the time she got accustomed to his world.
Or maybe she really, truly understood his love… his inner soul.
"When all this is over, we both will spend an evening hitting some bottles, and talk for hours about my mom!" She would joke sometimes, and he would simply manage a dry laugh.
Like him, he isn't sure how long she'll be able to survive this cat and mouse game with the cruel world. What matters is he could be of some help to her, whether good or bad. He silently thanks the stars up in the sky.
And until they manage to survive, he pledges to continue taking care of her… in whichever way possible. Because, somewhere, he has secretly promised that to her mother.
"Thanks Rocky! For everything." For the first time since ages, she smiles wholeheartedly. He returns a rueful smile, before leaving her alone in her room… in her world of madness.
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~~ The End ~~
A/N: Phew! That was exhaustive!
Quick clarification: Abhijeet, Tarika and Adi are dead. That's how it is, and that's how I had planned it. Got a problem? Skip reading and avoid ruining your day.
Ok, now! Haters, back away right now! There are many things people won't agree with, but for the love of cats (did I just say cats?), do not flood the review section with statements on how I shouldn't be writing stuff like this. If you still want to shower me with eggs and raw fish, I'll nicely feed them to all the lovely stray cats (Yes, cats is all I can think of!) out there.
This is sort of a dedication to poesiariptide, Metallic Mist and blindredeyes, and I hope this meets your expectations.
Y'all, constructive criticism will be allowed, but absolutely no bashing please!
Cheers and take care! Meow! ^._.^