A/N: Finally! The Sludge has come back! I sincerely apologize for the delay.
Thank you for your awesome reviews on High Tension, it was quite flattering. I really thought I didn't had it to write a horror story. So, if you've notice I've changed the tag of this story to horror. The reason behind is that I cannot write mystery so, I thought I should make the killer visible to the audience unlike the show.
I have been struggling to write after a long break, thanks to my mid-terms, my cousin brother's marriage- I tried to write, and all that appeared was- can't say crap, but I felt like it. I lost the flow, and the motivation. I dared not to omit since, it really took a lot of time to go through my head and search for words. Rather few days ago, I somehow managed to grab hold of the flow again- so, here I am uploading this work.
The first-half I consider total random cause I kept writing something I had no idea about, but I think second half is by far good.
This chapter will convey the characters in negative lights, which I think- none have portrayed them as such so far. I don't know if that's a good thing or not. But, I'm nervous tweaking your favorite characters to something else.
Rated: M
Warning: The chapter contains mentions of drug abuse, coarse language, and suggestive themes. May contain grammatical- spelling errors, also may contain bad Hindi too (It is not my first language)
Disclaimer: Show belongs to Mr. B. P. Singh and Sony TV India.
BLOOD
Chapter 4: Insanity Part-1
The silence could walk along side the rush of wind. So much similar to man, that could do wonders with just a flicker or a spark on his conscious brain. It makes a man what he is, despite the manipulation—despite the motivation, a man is a man and none can change that fact. Fully aware of the consequences, fully aware of the deed of conveyance—no matter how sinister, how violent and cruel it is— the man will not change. The work is what keeps him alive; it proves that his existence is not completely worthless and desolated.
It keeps his sanity unaffected, it keeps his thoughts in trail—he is focused, and he is convinced of his threat. His fate was sealed ever since he was a child, he will die—he was an offering to the universe, a foiled plan of destiny. So, he chose to return the existence of man to its root in his place. If that is what karma asks then he shall provide.
He is fascinated to the destruction, complete removal. He fancy the reaper, he fantasizes the agony.
Death incarnate, how pleasant does it sounds to his ears, or his mind. Does that make him the grim reaper or simply a cleanser of this world, an obvious vindicator of life? Meaning his views, his retribution or his vengeance to his sealed fate that is what he often wondered. There must be a plan for him, his existence was worthwhile—he is worthwhile.
So he dragged his box cutter blade as a scalpel through the skin near the shoulder blades. Surgically imparting the filament from the flesh, he saw thick ruby fluid streamed down unto the metal bed. Much like him, he met the silence—the man in his care felt no pain, which he desperately wanted to inflict, he needed to see him scream, to feel the quivering earthquake; but he saw and felt none. Much to his dismay, it was rather annoying—everytime he was hired to inflict pain, to see the suffering of his fellow human he saw none.
It made him angry, it made him diabolically furious.
Consequences,
His slender hand tightened the grip on the rope that he held—and he heaved the heavy body to the air, suspending the gasping man between both trees. He frowned, there was something suspicious. He cherished his art every now and then; this is what made him feel good. This is what he was good at. So, he tied his rope to the sullen branches of the depressed nature and stepped back to observe.
Something was amiss.
Giddy and anxious he wondered what the world will think of his offering, his portrait of the great depression. Existence does not change, but it can be evolved to something better. If the world needs him as a reaper, then he shall properly deliver.
A silhouette of some sort got his attention, and he turned around only to come face to face with a spectator. His witness stepped back, his fear—the man understands what fear is, the man could see his eyes even in the darkness. The silence on his ear picked nothing, but the unscreamed fraught crept on his skin. His blood violently paced within his nerves when he saw his spectator fleeing away from him.
He didn't acknowledge his hard earned piece of work!
Make sure no one sees you; if they do… then you know what to do.
He vaguely remembers, him nodding to that.
That made the man furious, as he picked up a knife and shot off—like a demon chasing its prey, he sprinted after the running mule. The thick wood had its advantage, as no one could hear an alarming scream.
He knows because he didn't hear it.
. . . .
Sunday,
3:23 P.M
"Swagat nahi karoge humara?" his thick voice penetrated even in loud snaps of few fisher men. They noticed he was not particularly alone, as he was accompanied by four. The darkly tanned man strutted towards a man who suspiciously glared at his arrival. His sharp dressing in a grimy place like this made him look like an alien, all his pupils were aliens.
It was for certain, they weren't needed.
"Kaun hai tu?" he took a swig of the cheap alcohol he held while he glanced at the women near the door. The man removed a chair near the table and sat facing him. The sharply dressed man was composed to a frightening degree, as he observed the glare he earned from the fisher men that were not enjoying their drinks. His sunglasses reflected the afternoon delight, as he smelled the aura of dead fish, fresh tobacco and cheap alcohol. Recalling his operation at few places from the past, he stared at the man before him.
"Hum wo hai, jo ache ache aadmiyonki pant geeli kardein," he removed his glasses to wink at him. "Par aap sab toh paani mein hi rahte ho na? Toh aap sabki gaand mein se abhi ghee niklegi."
Hearing his mocking threat the man before him laughed, so did his companions who got up from their seats and neared both men who kept their eyes on each other. The man felt his four appearing near him, as they stood behind him. He observed the surrounind cautiously, and seeing the other man's comrade tense he smirked cockily. The man sat back relaxed into the chair, when the other people broke their bottles to use those feeble glasses as weapon.
He raised his hands up, and alerted the team to not take any actions for now.
"Nagarajan ke baare mein kya janta hai tu?" he asked, and his mockery left only to be replaced with an intimidating glare. "Ladkiyon ko kahaan bechta hai tu?"
His glare was familiar to the rebel who tensed hearing the questionnaire, his voice and confidence belonged to the likes of cops. He was about the throw the table before him towards them, but the man was alert. Abhijeet struck both his hands down at the table preventing it from getting knocked up.
"Tujhe kya lagaa? Aisa pehli baar kisine kiya hoga? Tum sab ke sab ek jaise ho. Laude-baaj chutiye sab ke sab!" His companions drew out their guns; Abhijeet grabbed the edge of the table and knocked it off nearby, and came face to face with the man who just sat there.
Their companions froze realizing their guns were drawn at them. And a battle cannot be won with knives against guns. So, they dropped their weapons to the floor and backed away. The rebel was kept in bay, as Abhijeet circled him like a predator.
"Batayega ki C.I.D. ka jadooyi mantra aasmana padega mujhe?"
The word C.I.D. got his attention as the man who was still seating at the chair stared at him. But he was far away from fear, so Abhijeet slapped the back of his head which caused the man to slip from his seat. As soon as he was about to fall, he found an opportunity and dashed towards the window and threw himself outwards.
"Nikhil-Sachin! Bhago uske peeche," the men got into action as one chose the window to go out in tail, while other took the door. Both were exceptional runners so Abhijeet was confident he'll surely catch the culprit behind the racket. He was about to be punched but a gunshot from Purvi and a scream alerted him. A man rolled on the floor with his arms around his legs as his blood rushed out from his toe.
"Ye hai C.I.D. walon ka jadooi mantra, samjha?" He told the wailing man as he wore his glasses and went out, along with the female officers who followed him. The men fearfully grabbed the man and found their way out as the cops were gone after Niketan.
His sharp intuition was the most commendable trait in him, along with his sharp tongue which he usually complied on. He speaks like a man, and acts like a man; a man who could walk the walk and talk the talk. About sixteen years he surrendered to the job, and within those years he learned how the criminals think, which heightned his criminal psyche—in turn he catches criminals quite praiseworthily.
Which is why, he was better than his other half. He was better than Daya, and the entire bureau was aware of it.
ACP had no idea when he said, that his equalizer was few folds ahead of him in terms of maturity and detecting skills. Abhijeet didn't understood why Daya was angry at him, but he had the idea it was about his woman—his love life. So he concluded he was jealous. Well, it was not his fault that his friend was alone. Although he did cared for him like a brother, and like a family he supposedly tried to hook the man with few women, but that shy nature of his was a killer of personality. Daya was a good cop, a good man maybe, but not a good talker. He may talk intimidation, but soft-speaking was something he seriously lacked. That is what Abhijeet saw in his friend.
That is what made Daya to be alone, and it was not Abhijeet's fault.
But ACP rather curtly said, Daya was better in terms of abilities—it hurt his pride. If he must admit, he was rather aware of the fact, but he knew that was lie. Abhijeet's skills greatly exceeds his counterbalance, he was the brain—while Daya was the brawn. The large man would muscle his way into the Chkravyuh of crime and come out unscathed, but Abhijeet was the brain with deadly shooting skills—he was equally dangerous if not more lethal due to his mental capacity.
So when he heard the older man monotonous speech of how the other guy was better, he laughed bitterly. That was obviously, a lie.
It was a lie, or was it?
But he'd rather focus on the case beforehand and dwell on the Daya subject later. Hence, here they were near the beach, where the fishermen sheltered most of the time. Fredrick's informers somehow managed found their way into the gang that surveyed Nagarajan's heinous activities overseas via the large ocean. Some boats were quite big enough to hold few girls.
Niketan was supposedly the Charioteer, who knew the sea routes well, and if they catch him then they can shatter the whole debacle of the trafficking. He was sure that the bastard held few secrets. And, catching the murderer would be much easier if they knew the dead man's associates and hopefully destroy the racketing network.
Nagarajan's death created a chain of murders, and most of the dead people were criminals. Even though it looked like a work of sociopath, ACP was sure the killer won't back away from killing innocent people too. So, if they catch Nagarajan's killer then they may prevent from getting innocent people getting killed.
Like expected both men had apprehended the man who was breathing heavily on the floor as Sachin grabbed him by the hair and made him stand on his feet. Abhijeet saw his associate slapping him, to get the man's attention. But, the man had few fights left. The man kicked Sachin's stomach and wriggled out of his reached, but as he was about to dash. Nikhil tackled him to the muddy ground, as both wrestled to over power the other.
Within the defiant puches and agonizing kicks, Nikhil was somehow thrown off from him, but Sachin was quick to act. Sachin stomped on the fallen man, but his leg was grabbed and he fell down into the sopping floor. Both officers finally caught him by the arm and kept him in bay.
Abhijeet arrived casually, and slapped the man again. "Kya socha? Aise hi jane denge, abhi toh tumhari khatir daari hogi."
He slapped the man again seeing him struggle, "Bahut charbi hai tujhe nahi?"
"Sachin," the man man looked at him questioningly, as Abhijeet ordered, "Galaa dabao."
Abhijeet's companion hesitated, but eventually complied. Sachin locked his head in between his hands, one on his throat—blocking the wind pipe while the other kept his head from moving. As soon as the sleeper hold was applied, the man lost his facial color.
Abhijeet squatted to their level, "Ab tu jab tak nahi batayega tab tak tera gala aise hi dabta rahega. Aur tu mare ki bache isse humein kya?"
Sachin slowly put more pressure on the man's throat which was enough for him to stop his struggle. He waited for his senior inspector's order to stop which never came. He kept choking and choking, and the man finally succumbed to the darkness.
"Jaywanti, paani lake iske muh par pheko," Abhijeet sharply dictated, as he observed the unconscious man whilst grabbing his chin. He violently shook the man's unresponsiove face for a while. Their newer recruit complied, whom he found rather similar with his bitter rival, both in terms of physicality and partly their intellectual property their mind shared.
The young woman came no sooner, as she threw a handful of dirty water at his face, the water and an ear shattering slap made him aware of the surrounding. Sachin released his hold and got back to his circled the man who sat before a grimacing Abhijeet.
"Ab batayega ki phirse gala dabana padega?"
Niketan quietly stared, his face displayed emotions whatsoever—he just stared at him with narrowed eyes. He spoke calmy, "Agar kuch bulwana hai toh 3rd degree kar ke dekho saayad apna muh khol dun, aise thapad aur paani marne se mera kuch nahi hone wala!"
He sardonically laughed like a maniac who visibly disturbed Nikhil and both women. This made Abhijeet even more mad, as he grabbed the man's face and moshed it too the muddy floor. His temper from yesterday till now overwhelmed his usual thought process, so he dragged the laughing man's face back and forth.
Seeing their senior inspector losing his temper they sported worried glances at each other. After Daya's lashing the man was unusually snappy since yesterday. None of them forgot the time when the man and their ACP discussed on him not wishing to work on this case, just because he had to meet with Daya. The ego was tremendous between the two, and they were boring witness to a titanic clash. From friends to bitter rivals, they can't even entertain the idea of having two grumpy senior officers working together with a cool head.
Daya's rant on him having more experience than Abhijeet was probably the main factor of sealing him as a rival. It was not expected from a man who was a goody two shoes a week ago. Confused and distressed they followed were Abhijeet went, since Daya had Pankaj going along with him, and apparently Shreya was ordered by ACP to tag alone with them.
They had no idea how Daya acted towards the two, but Abhijeet appeared normal, although slightly trippy, and resented. Perhaps this was beyond their damaged friendship, perhaps the point was held by his girlfriend. They noticed Abhijeet had neither called Tarika, nor did the good woman have called him… yet.
"Dhet! Ruk teri chamdi na udhada toh mera naam bhi senior inspector Abhijeet nahi!" Abhijeet was getting madder by second, as he had evidently stopped his torture and resorted to plain violence. The good cop was stomping on the manic man's face. "Bataa kaun kaun hai tere saathi! Bataa bhosdike!"
They casted worried glances at each other, but the men didn't dare to counter him—but Purvi somehow managed a trifle amount of bravado, she said managing a composed tone, "Sir, humein usse bureau leke puch tach karni hogi."
Abhijeet stopped his barrage and turned his head tightly towards her to snap, but then he realized they had spectators. He closed his eyes, and massaged his tightened jaw, soon his hand reached up to his hair. He tightened his grip on his hair, and sighed frustrated. It was not necessary to lash out at someone who didn't deserve his unrelenting surge of ridiculed anger. Thus, he took few deep breaths and looked at the fallen man, whose shit eating grin and cough was making it even more difficult for him to breathe.
He wanted to kill the man right there.
"Nikhil usse uthao aur gaadi mein dalo," he disdainly spok, and he looked at the fallen man with the same despise, "Tujhe 3rd degree chahiye na? Chal, tujhe 4th-5th sab deta hoon madarchod!"
The man chuckled like a man. Irate and helpless Abhijeet turned his heels and walked out. Leaving his companions behind, he walked. Not questioning, Nikhil grabbed the man by the collar and lifted him off. He worked the cuffs on Niketan's wrists and shoved the man to walk. The ladies walked behind him, while Sachin walked slowly after them to notify ACP about it.
ACP had personally requested him to keep watch on Abhijeet; a short-tempered man like him could make mistakes.
The bureau means complcations—modus operandi, and of-course sentinence which Abhijeet didn't wished for this man to attain.
They were unaware of Abhijeet's plan.
A tactic which Daya woud so often exercise… He dismissed the thought, and carried on.
. . . .
Sunday,
2:56 P.M.
It was absolutely exhasperating when there's a problem and someone is unwilling to comply to solve. Daya was angry as a bull belonging in the corrida de torros, the Spanish crazed violent animal. A simple question wished for a simple answer. Someone should translate those jabbering nonsense of words the murdered bodies were written with. The embassy's security was brutal, as they not just required the ID but also permission from their commanding officer.
Their Deputy Commisioner's request to the embassy's higher ranking officer. DCP Chitrole will probably dislike this idea of them bothering the embassy for these trivial words. And, Daya accusing the embassy for protecting a possible psychopath didn't do well for them.
He and his temper were surely obstructing their case to go smoothly. He pushed and he shoved, so did the guards thus they fought a losing battle when thosemen shattered his powerful ego of possessing tremendous physical strength. The powerhouse of C.I.D. was belittled by them, and that too in-front of Pankaj, who was bruised pretty badly in the little scuffle. Not that he blamed Daya for what happened, the sub-inspector was severly trifled by the behavior of those guards. Probably, the reason was they insulted them for being the local police. Even though they solve complex cases than the local, but still they were still counted as cops without uniforms.
Their ID was not enough, their rank was not enough, and obviously their accusation was not enough. And that made both men angry; the cocky nature of the guards infuriated them enough to lash out in fisticuffs.
The first thought that came to Daya was, 'What the fuck am I doing?'
He was way past his prime, way past his naiveity, and certainly way past a rookie. He was a senior Inspector to cry out loud. His rationale mind was collapsing—surely, if he was commiting a threat to the every other officer before his eyes then something bad must be going through his head. And, the worst part is, despite his awereness he was giving in, to his temper, to his retortal—and to his hoplessness.
That snapped his inner turmoil, and then he followed his answers.
He grabbed a guard's oncoming punch with his open palm, and managed to disarm the arrogant bastard, instead of dislocating the shoulder, he threw the man to the ground and stepped back with his arms raised, making sure to look unthreatening, to unfuck the already messed up situation.
"Alright… alright! We stop right now." He spoke with little bit authority, in-front of the head of the security that stool tall and proud as him. Pankaj pulled back from a tug-o-war panting beside Daya who suddenly appeared calm. The head's posture exuded confidence, and his built marveled his strength, all this time he calmly watched the commotion without interjecting their little quarrel.
"Now we're talking. I hope you realized you've been acting juvenilely, Inspector Daya," his voice held no mockery, neither did it held contempt. He just blankly stated just like a soldier, absolute nothingness."Nonethless, I should make myself clear once again. You cannot barge into the embassy and accuse the citizens of being murderers. You must be aware of the procedures, don't you?"
Daya sighed not dejected but all his frustrations. He looked at the dark skinned tall man, who stared blankly at Pankaj as if observing the little man's bravado, "I apologize, but if you were willing to cooperate beforehand, and all this might not have happened."
"Are you blaming us for being uncooperative, while you men began a scuffle with our company?" He folded his arms before his chest, in an intimidating stance. He stood slightly taller than Daya who himself towered over most men surrounding them. The name tag remained slightly distorted for Daya to read, as his age has caught up not only to his mind but also his eyes. Although he chose not to wear glasses or lenses for the fact, he himself didn't approve to look like a geek.
"Look I already apologized, we just want someone to look at these letters and explain which country does it that's how we could be able to comprehend something on these serial murders," Daya walked up to the man and stood before the towering man, "Our procedures will take much longer than you realize who knows by that time, more bodies will drop."
The head quietly assessed the cop's ascertain claims; Daya did made a fairly silver-tongued point. So, the man looked at the files on Daya's hand, and asked, "May I take a look at that?"
"Only if you're willing to assist us, I must say we're not entirely suspicious of any of your citizens—we just want to know if there is, then I assure you… I will be back completing formalities, with all that you people require." Daya stared at the man, awaiting his retortal which didn't arise.
"Alright, you had me convinced, now may I?" He pointed at the file Daya held, and robotically the bundled papers were handed to the man in uniform.
He silently went through all the pictures starting from the place of murders to post-mortem, a snuff pictorals of two dead men. He skipped written details and focused on the words written on their bodies. Both Daya and his partner, the young man judiciously tried to discern his facial shock, which didn't appeared on the stoic man's face. How did he appear to be so dangerously calm looking at those atrocious pictures?
"This is Armenic," The man said. The inspectors shared glances at each other.
"Armenic?" Pankaj repeated, while Daya pondered about the possibilities of having an Armenian serial killer.
He showed both pictures of Harish and Satyajit, "Joker or jest, and another one is greed I think."
"That's it?" Pankaj exhaled noisily, all those frustrations finally came crashing on him, as he slouched his posture—defeated. He lent his blood in vain on the road for nothing. Joker and Greed, now whatever those words meant he didn't know. But, all he could now feel is pain on his jaw, which has bruised—so did his elbows in which he fell on. The throbbing was catching on to those places.
The man nodded, "That's what I'm afraid, sorry but all this proves nothing but a joke. The words can easily be translated online. You're in the wrong place Inspectors."
"But how people are obsessed with Armenia? I see many who are obsessed with few languages, but Armenic? Common! It's sort of unique for the people living the main-stream life," It was Pankaj who still believed the man belonged to the embassy. "There must be a man in here who knows Armenic!"
"I know Armenic, doesn't mean I killed these men, Inspector." The head of security argued.
"Who knows?" Daya countered,
"Then I believe you should bring papers for a thorough investigation—a court order would suffice."
"Is it? And you're willing to cooperate?"
The man nodded in approval, "I may as well give you information about the people who cross check Armenia." The head of security stood his full height before Daya. Their gazes locked, in challenge and to some certain extent, it was the respect they held for the other.
Or so would the by-stander believe.
For Daya it was a battle of superiority, the alpha never cowers, an alpha such like him shall not lower his gaze. That's what Abhijeet does… No.
He clenched his jaw, and dropped his gaze towards Pankaj instead. The last thing he wanted was to get angry for no reason and start a quarrel with these people.
"Gaadi nikalo, humein bureau waapas chalna hoga." The short young man nodded, and quickly made out of their vision. By the the time he was completely out of sight, Daya asked the man's number in case further enquiry is needed.
"Be careful Inspector," Daya stopped dead on his tracks. "You may possibly be searching for something far more diabolic than you see."
Paying no heed to the warning the giant strode away. A soldier has no right to tell him what to think or not, they did not know how much complication they go through in Crime Branch. Not just simply killing, and saving lives. They had given the consent to listen to their conscience and not blind orders.
Pankaj had made a U-turn and parked it near Daya who entered the passenger seat, "Bureau kyun sir?"
"Time kitna hua hai?"
His companion flabberastedly replied, "Teen bajkar chalees minute sir,"
"Ab tak sayad dusre team ko kuch pataa chala hoga, Nagarajan ke trafficking ke baare mein. Agar Nagarajan ka koi dusman hoga sayad usne ye khoon kiya hoga, aur baaki ke maut ek coincidence hoga. Ye serial killer ka drama kuch palle nahi pad raha."
"Kuch samjha nahi sir."
"Nagarajan ke laash pe kuch likha nahi tha, ho sakta hai, ye murders related hi na ho. HO sakta hai, ki hum iss chakar mein ghumte rahe ki Nagarajan ko kisi serial killer ne mara ho, par asli khooni kahin aur hoga. Ho sakta hai ki ye do murders ek serial ne ki ho, par Nagarajan ko kisi aur ne mara hai."
Pankaj silently ate up those words, and it was making sense to him—maybe.
. . . .
Sunday
8:47 P.M
Arjun had memory lapses, and it was slowly eating up his ability to draw or paint. As a kid he had a penchant to create simple objects which turned into a hobby. His brother-in-law's friend hired him to color whatever they were instructed, it didn't paid him a handsome money, but enough for him to get a few bottles of beer a day. And his sister didn't have to know.
His brother-in-law worked as a security consultant at a bar, and was a personal bodyguard to the owner. He had seen the place, known the people around and had been there for few times in the working hours of the bar. Although he must be honest, it was not as good as it looks on TV or movies. People sweat, the heat was always off the roof—due to the crowd, rude women and drunken men—that was how the clubs were. He did partook as a bouncer, that he remembers but the next day his brother-in-law told him he found another job for him. His favorite job—an obvious choice, as a painter.
He must say if he could speak, it was rather good. Few hours of coloring here and there, postering few things and voila… his day was over.
But, the night was quite difficult—the strange creature he sees overnight—the warped faces… all glimpses which comes and goes whenever it. They grin at his expense, at his incapability—even though he had proved time and time again. Despite the silence, despite the unrelenting emotional trauma he could live—and live moderately happy.
He was an artist after-all. And don't they all have learned to breathe?
The mixing of those petulant dyes, a fine specimen he could create in a canvas. Red… all red—his favorite color.
Every night he was covered in a salty reddish color, which he profoundly believed as a result of art. His memory was blurry, but he could see a modern art or somesort. His brain was switching off every now and then, and whenever it did. He somewhat felt energetic, less fatigued—not that he could ever achieve a level of fatigue but he felt good. So ecstatic feeling the raging blood within, so gleeful after realizing he had architated something out of the blue in a blackout.
He saw a man approaching him, and in turn Arjun smiled broadly at him which the man returned. He was much older than him, but his age was deceptive—he looked about 28 when he was eight years over that. He swayed the package he held in his hands, and waved at him.
Arjun strolled quickly towards him, and he was rewarded with that package.
This man always brought something for him to eat; he didn't know what it was. But without judging he chomped it down… he was not hungry, he didn't feel hunger. But this euphoric feeling was so overwhelming that he fell back unto the ground. He even dragged whatever that was inside his nose—and it electrified his brain, the goosebump stimulated all his muscles and he was suddenly aware of the wind. His muscles tightened in a vice like clutch, and the strength underneath those layers blasted an arousing power. His pupils amplified, and he could swear the warped faces came unto existence.
It waved his fingers around his face.
Sometimes those warped faces become an altered nightmare.
. . . .
Sunday
1:46 P.M.
Finally the Crime Branch had something worthy to clear few doubts. And yes, unfortunately—they were working against a work of a psychopath. It was about 2 o'clock when they found three more bodies. Pradyumann personally visited the morgue to examine the bodies. Luckily, Salunkhe had his knowledge all over the files. Rather strange and weird enough, his hands all over it.
The old man shuddered, successfully dismissing the visual that was about to hit him.
But the illustrative embodiment of two bodies was too overwhelming. They knelt before each other, hands hanging—knotted to the rope to keep them floating. The skin from their back was wholly removed… erased partially from both sides and it presented the bodies having wings. The bones were visible; the wings were pierced into thin parched wires.
One was painted black and the other white; it was clearly a statement indicating the existence of an angel and the devil. Pradyumann knew the twisted world vividly; he was familiar to God, to the evil and to the good. As he embraced the betterment; he neither forgot the ugliness nor the malice of mankind. The old man had lived through all.
"Ye aadmi…" Salunkhe's voice brough him back from his quiet musing, "… iska na koi crime record hai, aur na hi koi naam. Boss, mujhe afshos ke saath ye kehna hoga, ki ye— humari ab tak ki sabse badi evidence hogi."
"Kya evidence?" Pradyumann asked. Behind him both Shreya and Ishita stood, farther from the bodies.
"Evidence ki iss baar ye khooni apna status badal raha hai."
"Kya matlab,"
"Matlab ki ye boss, ye aadmi ek innocent tha."
Silence befalls upon the room. ACP had to take few deep breaths. His fear was turning its heel into reality, he hoped the man not to kill anyone. But here the murderer's vigilanteism was getting vindictive. The thing about vigilante was it doesn't take long enough for them to unlock a God complex, which mayhap the killer was suffering through.
The question still remains, how were they going to catch the killer? When the eye witnesses die right after seeing him/her?
The third victim was visibly not amongst the angels or the devil. He laid few meters away, with dismembered facial parts—and disemboweled entrails which he used as a makeshift garland for the criminals. It was getting more violent, in an artistic way—if that is what the killer is wondering then he is very much mistaken. He could play God all he wants but when they get their hands on him—he'll probably hang six feet over the ground.
Pradyumann's jaw tightened and his grimaced left a permanent wrinkle over his brows. He began waving his fingers and spoke to himself, "Ye… khooni, iska kya makhsat hai—saabit kya karna chahta hai ye?"
"Dekho boss, mujhe toh itna maloom hai ki ye khooni apna dimaag kahin kho chukka hai."
"Eise exhibition karke ye kya darsana chahta hai…" Pradyumann still kept musing much to the doctor's dismay, that he was not paying attention to him.
"Ek kaam karo ACP, apne office jao, ek cup chai mangvao us Pankaj se… biscuit bhi mangvana, aur apne AC on karke socho."
"Arey yaar teri problem kya hai? Sochne de na mujhe."
"Tum yahaan ruk kar meri soch gum kar rahe ho." And they quarreled verbally.
Shreya who was watching the men exchange few notes of criminology within the verbal albeit funny disputes, shared a glance at her silent spectator—Ishita. She was a girl of few words; hardly anything came out of mouth other then few yeses and nos'. Young and pretty, often Shreya wondered if their agency was turning into a fashion house. She won't deny but the vibe was there, and the motivation seeped out from Purvi. It was like a plague, when they hung around the make up in the washroom more than the job in hand.
Not that she hated it, or hated Purvi. But there were cases where seriousness lacked on the woman team. Shreya was thirty two by now, perhaps the oldest among the women officers. Her experience towered over them, even though she disliked being in the spot light—she wished the women should pay attention to her senority over than Purvi's. Everyone loved her, both out of respect and for her glamorous fiesta on job. The mascara laced, plum lipped—slender lady was a close friend to her.
But, best-friend she was not. Friend in the sense—she was her colleague first and foremost; her job was to have her back in dire circumstances and Shreya has proven time and time again, that she had. But, she desired little more than staying in the tag of a sub-inspector. She wants a raise, and for that she needs promotion.
That is where it gets tricky. Promotion will probably lead her to transfer which she didn't wish. These officers were the closest people she could call a family. Yet, she desired more—an inspector rank to school these young ladies, since it was necessary to put more time in solving cases instead of applying eye liners in the job.
The office was surely in turmoil after their elite officers were having troubles coping with their counterparts. Shetty sir, as usual, the callous and quiet bastard in the precinct remained in the background looking for a little glory once in a while. She did emphathize his thought process, staying alone for most part of his life, and the last thing he had was the job, which was also taken from him—a little appreciation.
Dear God, his life was the same as her. Both had seniority yet the younger gets more applaude from others. Purvi and Abhijeet, while her and Daya sir. As much as files can prove, she had read about Daya out of curiousity—fascinating man—perhaps a little gloomy whenever he was alone. Probably the loneliness makes him a better man in the job. He attends more cases every year, doesn't take much breaks or vacations unlike the other counterpart. The man spends much more time in the office, and was possibly the last man to go home.
But Purvi was a sister to her, despite the slight arrogance which she potrayed before Shreya, the pictured was not bad for her unlike the senior officers who had been spewing venoms out of their mouth. She wondered from where the contempt arrived from—the beginning of it all.
Partly, she could blame the wave of attraction in the office. And there was nothing she could do about it.
"Ye aadmi, abhi tak iski identification nahi hui hai?" She heard the ACP ask before her, and her eyes snapped open—as if she had been caught in her wonderment.
Perhaps that was what wrong with their precinct.
Luckily, the question was aimed at the good doctor who answered, "Nahi—abhi kuch doh ghante pehle hi inki laash mili hai. Uun dono main se do ki identification nahi hui hai. Pehla waala ek smuggler hai, aur saayad dusra wala uska saathi hoga. Par teesra wala…"
"Teesra wala kya?" ACP vocally grumbled in annoyance.
"Mujhe lagta hai, ye teesra wala aise hi involve ho gaya, saayad ye aadmi ne khoon hote waqt khooni ko dekha hoga."
"Aur sir ye laash bhi isolated area se baraamat ki gayi thi… baki ke time, khooni publicly exhibit karta tha. Lekin iss baar usne inhe itne door jaakar… kyun?" Shreya would not lie she was surprised hearing Ishita speak.
ACP raised an eyebrow, the slight humor in the situation made the doctor crinkle his dyed mustache in a monotonous smile. So, Shreya folded her arms before her chest and eyed the young woman. After, a slight uncomfortable yet tense seconds ACP turned towards the doctor.
"Khoon kitne baje hua tha Salunkhe?"
"Ab se lag bhag 15 ya 16 ghante pehle."
"Matlab 12 se 1 baje ke beech?" The doctor nodded, "Khooni ne zaroor kisi gaadi ka istamaal ki hogi…"
The good doctor interrupted, "Teesre wale ka khoon in dono ke marne ke lag bhag 2 ghante baad hui hai."
Pradyuman muttered a curse, and adopted a momentary silence, "Isse ye toh maloom hota hai, ye aadmi us jagaah pe maujood tha."
Salunkhe rolled his eyes, "Wahi toh kab se bol raha hoon tumhe!"
Ignoring Salunkhe, Pradyuman walked out of the room followed by a confused Ishita, and a slightly agitated Shreya.
"Ab ye Tarika kahaan chali gayi?" She heard the surgical doctor grumble.
. . . .
Sunday
4:54 P.M.
About an hour and a half later Daya and his partner met ACP at their office. Pradyuman was staring pensively at his name plate which was before him. Behind them stood Shreya, who was copying the same expression the old man held. Whether that was humor—sarcasm or something else, Pankaj had no idea; but he could entertain himself.
He grinned.
"Kya kisine joke kaha yahaan pe Pankaj?" the old man's biting remark shook him, so he lost the grin. "Do you understand the situation we're in?"
He remained quiet, and slumped downward into the moving chair his face express disheartened, "Har roz laasheing badhti jaa rahi hai, aur humein is khooni ke baare mein kuch bhi pataa nahi chala hai!"
ACP tapped his calloused index finger on the table, and the noise it made was loud in the quiet room. Pankaj stole a glance at the senior Inspector who blankly observed the old man's temper which finally reached the old man's head. And ACP snapped, "Hadh hoti hai ye mazaak ki bhi. Tumhari wazah se hi bureau ka naam kharab ho rahi hai!"
Pankaj dropped his gaze to the table, "…pure bureau ko mazaak bana ke rakha hai tumne!"
Shreya stole and uncomfortable glance at the jovial man whose shoulder slumped defeated. Although, she felt sorry—she had no words to interrupt the senior most officer in the office. So, she slightly shook her head, and eyed the tall strange man—who remained quiet and composed with no sign of agitation or retortal.
"Aur tum Daya…" Hearing the man's name Shreya paid more attention,"… kya zaroorat thi Embassy mein jaakar hatha-pai karne ki?"
Shreya was not aware of this, she was not aware of many things about the office so this was not surprising. The trio held more respect for the other, which they usually cared less to share with anyone but them. Of-course while they got back to the office, the DCP had called the old man; and from that time onwards he was pissed off.
Hell when wasn't he angry?
"Pataa hai, agar ye khabar bahar aa gayi toh kitna bawaal hoga? Kya soch kar tum wahaan gaye the?"
"Unke sareer par Armenic likhi gayi hai." Daya countered calmly.
ACP considered that as an excuse, "Armenic hua to kya?"
"Armenic hua toh ye sir, ki saayad khooni ke baare kuch pataa chalta embassy pe. Isilie gaya tha wahaan pe." The slight edge on his voice went ignored by ACP.
And unfortunately, ACP's rebuttal did not go overboard by any, "Aur jaake haatha pai kar aye nahi? Saabaash!"
Shreya was wondering where Pankaj got those slight bruises from, and now she could picture the scuffle on her mind.
"…Saq karne mein koi harz nahi hai Daya, par tumne ek aur musibat apne sar pe odhli hai." The older man stood up to his feet, and walked towards his usual thoughtful place, near the window and stared down the building. "Tumhe office akar permission leke jana chahiyetha"
Daya's temper was rising, "Kis baat ki permission sir? Baat karne ki? Hum ye soch kar nahi gaye ki wahaan pe hummein khooni milega! Hummein ye jaanna tha ki uun dono ki sareer pe kya likha gaya tha. Ho sakta hai ye khooni kuch darsaana chahta hai unke sareer pe likh ke."
"Toh kuch fayeda hua wahaan jaake? Agar doh sabd ke liye tumne embassy pe jaake bawaal khada kardiya, toh age iss case mein tumhara kya hoga!" ACP yelled, and by each passing second, Shreya could feel few eyes on her back. Not many officers were there at the bureau except for Ishita, Freddy, Vansh and Divya also few constables. Another team was out investigating about Nagarajan's trafficking case.
ACP's lash shut the large man quiet. Daya closed his eyes, and took deep breaths to calm his breath. It was his very temper that was taking him down the path where he had never been before. Fury was finally affecting his usual thought process—he was getting snappy and overtly forcible. This past week was he had gotten more into fights with strangers than common criminals. The day when he fought Abhijeet was the nail, as he when he got near the man's face; he wished to punch his face black and blue.
That was no rational thought, it never was. Violence won't solve a thing, especially if a man in his fourties that was living an envious life. Daya was beyond adolescent, and he— acting physical against intellectual intentions will probably paint him a bad picture. He must maintain his silence; he must live through his anger.
In the spur of moment, none of them saw when Abhijeet barged into the room. He stood farther away from Daya, and eyed him with subtle wariness. Although, he nodded towards the giant before he turned towards ACP.
"Kuch pataa chala Abhijeet?" the older man asked, his voice still holding a heavy resentment—which Abhijeet ignored as he spoke,
"Ji sir, uske workers se humne kuch naam baraamat ki hai. Uske jaan pahchan mein bahot saare log hai, jyada tar south se hai aur deals bhi jyadatar south mein hi hota hai, par haan ye bhi hai ki lag bagh har jagah pe inhone apna network set karliya hai…" Abhijeet exhaled a dramatic depressed breath, and resumed, "…east mein Odisha, Bengal aur Jharkhand—North mein Haryana, Punjab ke kuch area mein aur UP mein bhi…"
ACP interrupted him, "Aur ladkiyaan? Ye log kahaan se unhe uthate the?"
The question got everyone's attention, especially Shreya—who was raging within. Her genuine wishes were that she must murder the bastard herself. The despicable nature of these men—no they aren't men, animals—hell animals do share some empathy towards few but these men do not. These fucking alien of men did not deserve to live, and neither do those people who trade or buy those innocent girls.
Abhijeet closed his eyes and sighed deeply—soon he pinched the bridge of his nose, as looked at everyone in the room. He traded glances at ACP and the window pane and began speaking tardily, "…Jyadatar ladkiyaan abandoned, ya phir kaam ke talaash mein hote hai. Gaaon se ye sab kaam ke talaash mein aatein hai. Aur Nagarajan badi hi chalaaki se inhe confuse karleta tha, jisse ye apne aap ye kaam karne ko raazi ho jaati thi…"
The older man's forehead displayed the veins as he clenched his jaws—grinding, he wanted to break things. But this unrelenting surge of wrath never had any desired effect on his mind. So he sucked it up, and grimaced. Abhijeet continued morosely, "…Pesse se doctor, Nagarajan ke baare mein ye toh pataa chala ki woh psychologist tha, aur har waqt patients ke alawa akele rehta tha. Tamil Nadu ke police department se ye pataa chala ki woh kabhi kabhar free mein practice karta—aur free mein jyadatar ye ladkiyon se hi baat karta tha."
"…free… yaani, gaaon ya chote sehro se ane wale ladkiyaan?" Daya asked to which Abhijeet nodded. "Aur, iski supply sirf Tamil Nadu se toh nahi rahi hogi?"
Abhijeet answered, "Jyadatar south se thi par usne apna hath har states mein phelai rakhi thi."
"Bechari ladkiyaan… kaise kaise halaton ka samna karna pada hoga unhe…" Pradyumann grumbled for few seconds then asked, "… acha toh phir, kuch pataa chala iske kisi dushman ke baare mein?"
Abhijeet shook his head dismally, "Dushman toh bahut hai sir uske. Par kisi ki bhi himmat nahi thi isse ladai karne ki. Iski pahonch bahut lambi thi… mujhe lagta hai ki, ye serial killer… he coincidentally murdered this bastard."
"He deserved to die." Shreya mumbled as a thought—and it was saw Daya slightly turn towards but soon he called a question towards Abhijeet.
"Unme se Armenia ko kuch connect karta hai?" He asked as he leaned back into the chair.
Abhijeet stared at him; quite disbelieved that this bearded man still has not mended what transpired between them. The rift was converting into a giant unfathomable abyss of silence and fleets of rage were slowly brewing up within it. There may come a time, when it'll turn into molten lava and blow up their entire thought process. Abhijeet had anger issues; he won't deny it—long before Tarika made into his life, and he was nothing more than a badass cop with a gun.
She mellowed him, so did the time—he matured into become a better man than a cop. She needed and deserved to know him as a man more than a righteous policeman. He won't deny he somewhat considered Daya in the trio consisting of his love.
He sincerely wished Daya to have a woman in his life; it was depressing to see him mop—well he didn't necessarily mopped, he seemed mute most of the time. As if he did not wish to remain as a friend since the beginning. Abhijeet was not aware, but now he is. This man whom he considered a friend does not want to remain in his circle.
So be it.
He can be professional, "Purvi list teyar kar rahi hai Interpol ko dene ke liye, tumhe chahiye toh uski copy tumhe dene ke liye usse keh dunga."
Daya simply nodded his head and scratched his beard for a second as he looked back at ACP with narrowed eyes. The old man wondered that the men will work hand in hand, but observing them now it seems debatable. Neither cared much about the other, a professional line has been drawn. Now, Daya will remain alone for the rest of his days, and Abhijeet will probably be swarmed by Tarika and her alone.
The best way is to provide them with buttload of work, to keep their sanity intact by giving them individual work. To keep them away from going at each other's throat. That ego, which both of them maintained, may eat both of their ailities to know what's right and wrong. They may fight once more, and God forbid, if that happens then both might not share the same conscience to hold back.
The old man does not pray, but he could hope that both men will depend on that conscience. Else their team would implode. Perhaps he shouldn't have divided the team—it gives the juniors to observe—study and understand and choose their favorites. And he already knew who have chosen whom to side with. He cannot entertain the idea of favoritism.
But it was necessary; there were so many officers under his wings, that he is not capable of handling them alone. The pressure from DCP, media and the stacking of files had already taken their toll on his subconscious ability to understand many things.
Often he found himself repeating what the other person has said. His hands were now twitchy and his service weapon was getting heavier every year for his hands to hold, and his vision was slowly detereoting but his sense of hearing was still better than ever. As far as he was concerned his tenure was coming to an end. It was not easy climbing the ladder, through those promotions. Perhaps he should accept next time.
He realized he had spaced out, so he brought back his infamouse grimace and dismissed everyone except Daya and Abhijeet. The raven haired woman glanced back worriedly one last time after Pankaj strutted quietly towards Fredricks. He had not uttered a single word after he was partnered with the senior inspector.
She was wondering what he had learnt or heard from the senior inspector, envious that she hardly ever did any field work unless there were women involved in that case. As desperate as she was to rise above the ranks to dismantle the patriarchal system, she couldn't do much— not until A.C.P, is impressed enough to consider her for a recommendation to higher officials. She could handle complicated cases just as much as every other male officers, she had the experience that speaks; her charms and strength. Long before she chose to be in the Crime Branch she worked as a local police, about 5 most violent cases had she solved all by herself. Her facts were written in blood, as she had not only bled during cuffing perpetrators but also she had shot few criminals on her own.
ACP on the other hand, cared less about his deterioting health as he glared at both men. Daya was looking homeless with his graying beard and dyeless hair, while Abhijeet dressed to impress. If personality could speak, Daya looked much more intimidating with his new appearance. Abhijeet was sharp, possessed a cunning tongue and had a stable hand to hold his weapon.
But intimidation was not the only thing Daya sustained, the looks were rather deceiving. Beneath all that mould of fats, was an athlete—who held tremendous strength, speed and an ingenious brain. He may not be a sharp shooter but his skills were not novice. Like he had stated a fact, he had taken much more bullets than Abhijeet—he still stood tall with those scars. If the old man could read spirits, then this man preserved a fighting one, while the counterpart was wittier. And, their office depended on their stability, if one stumbles then the whole mountain will come down.
It was breaking.
"Tum dono ke beech sulah kab hoga?" Pradyuman gnarled with slight revolt, and when he saw Daya open his mouth he raised his fingers and motioned him to shut up, "Dekho tumhare beech job hi hai, mera kuch lena dena nahin hai. Par sare department mein yehi baat chal rahi ki C.I.D. toot rahi hai! Kya ye main sach maan lu?"
They didn't shared a glance, just stared—one with curiousity and another with indifference and that angered the ACP even more.
"Athra saal se iss bureau ko sambhaal ke rakha hai, kya tum dono ke wajeh main isse tootne dun!" Frustrated he slammed his hands on the table which shook violently. The empty vessel which enfolded few drops of water tumbled and fell on the floor. None of them bothered to look down; both men stared at the older man. "Tum dono saabit kya karna chahte ho?"
"General perspective," Daya fairly spoke, his voice deep like an electrified grumble.
"Kya matlab?" Abhijeet chose to counter; he was just as much irked by the man's whole change in attitude. He was being rude, and brash—definitive cracked. Abhijeet found a new found disgust—no, it was not disgust just concern. Mental status was currently readable from Daya, his eyes displayed blankness, and mouth spoke less.
"Matlab, hummein abhi kaam par jyada dhyaan dena chahiye, naa ki kisi ke personal…"
ACP bellowed again, "Kya personal? This is pathetic Daya! Agar tum Abhijeet ke private life ko leke jal rahe ho…"
"Wait a minute sir, main isse bhala kyun jaloon? Aap humesa cheeze personal hi kyun soch te hai? Pyaar, aur uske baare mein sochna hi zindagi nahi hoti sir. If you really think of me as a mopping man, who is envious of another man's love life, then you are greatly mistaken."
"Jalan nahin toh aur kya hai? Tum toh mujhse baat bhi nahin kar rahe," Abhijeet countered.
"Arey tum kya meri biwi ho kya, jo sirf tumse hi baat karta rahoon? Kamaal ki baat kar rahe ho, Abhijeet." Daya rubbed the thickening beard, and sighed as he looked at the older man before him, "Dekho aap log jo kuch bhi soch rahe hai mere baare usse bhool jaiye, aur kaam pe dhyaan dijiye,"
"Tum sikhaoge kaam karna hummein?" Abhijeet scowled as he got near Daya's face for a stare-off. "Jo aadmi jyadatar haatha pae par zor deta hai, woh hummein sikhayega?"
"Aur jo aadmi kaam se jyada apne ghar basane ki baat soch ta hai, woh toh mujhe apna kaam karna na sikhaye toh behtar hogaa."
"Dekha sir, iske dimaag sirf ussi mein dubba rehta hai? Jalna tumhe sobha nahi deta, Daya."
Daya rolled his eyes at the retortal, "Sir, burra mat maniyega par ye sab karke aap kya jataana chahte hai? Kuchi waqt pehle hi aap ache lecture de rahe the case ke baare, phir ab achanak se Abhijeet deal kahaan se aagaya?"
"Kyun ki, tumhara dhyan sachi mein case pe nahi, balki tumhare akelepan par hai." ACP dismissed venomously.
"Aap agar aise hi baat baat par mere akelepan ko ghasitna chahte hai, toh usse toh hona hi hai." Calmly yet came a rude dismissal. Daya unconsciously was making things much more complicated not only for himself, but also the man standing near him.
"Zabaan sambhal ke Daya!" Abhijeet roared, and raised his fist to punch the man unconscious, but the tall man grabbed it. He fumed anger with new found disgust, not only the large man was disrespecting him, but also their father figure ACP.
"Haath sambhal ke Abhijeet." There was certain edge to his voice, with slight agitation. And Abhijeet's stiffening his muscles of other arm conveyed one message rather obviously. Both wanted a fight.
As if time seems to stumble and fall to black hole quietness; every single personel in the building were holding their breaths. The argument was not only audible but also transparent to them, as they saw their respective senior inspector's infamous ire. Daya grimaced down at Abhijeet then every second was getting more tempting for an impending assail.
"Ho kya raha hai yahaan pe?" The voice was familiar, and so was the person. Unfortunately, it did not belonged to the most favorable person—Chitrole.
"Ye ho kya raha hai, iss office pe?" he barged through the doors mechanically, and got near Daya's face. He glared back at ACP who studied him with narrowed eyes, "Itna chut dene ka natija dekh rahe ho, ACP?"
Both men walked farther away from each other, still glaring daggers. They heard their respective senior officer reply, "Maine kuch chut nahi di hai,"
Hearing an answer which contradicted the whole statement DCP shook his head in disbelief, he stared bedazzled with mouth agape, and he chose to clear things up, "Tumhe pata hai main yahaan kyun aaya tha?"
"Kyun?" curtly asked his old rival.
"Report aya ki, ek bin uniform ke inspector ne jam kar pitae ki kisi machware ki. Woh kisi gang mein involved tha, toh information ke liye usne uske, bas doh-teen pashliya, 4 ungliyaan aur chamdi udheda hai." Abhijeet remained calm despite being closer to the source of punctual awareness of his deeds. Ofcourse if anybody in the world knew what officers had done bad—especially if this CID team has done something bad, then Chitrole will surely show up to wound them. But, Abhijeet hasn't done anything wrong. Daya did by assaulting the embassy, and apparently the old man was not aware of that.
"Bin uniform ke officers sirf humare nahin hai, sir."
"Sure, par kitne bin uniform mein suit boot pehne hue, sawle rang ke officers hai crime branch mein?"
ACP glanced towards Abhijeet who stared right at him, so he asked his old rival for a clarification, "Aap kiski baat kar rahe hai sir?"
. . . .
Sunday
5:54 P.M.
About an hour later following longing debate, and disputed countenance—by the time DCP went back to his office; both senior inspectors shared a sour face as they came out from ACP's chamber. They shared a last bitter glance, and without waiting any further, Daya was met by his temporary companion Pankaj, behind the short man stood Shreya with her hands on her hips.
"Sir! Ek jabardasth khabar mila hai!" His exuberance was somehow contagious, and the stoic man mellowed, but the sourness had not left him.
"Better be good, Pankaj, aur mood kharab mat karna mera." It was a legit warning—and the young man gulped a nervous spit, he wished to say they had another partner with them, Shreya. But he deliberately chose an enroute unto it.
"Possible killer, sir…" Shreya spoke vapidly to which Daya raised an eye brow, and waited for her continuance—she abided "Us club ke paas ek ATM tha jisme se yeh footage mila hai."
Pankaj hurriedly took out his phone, and played a video file. Daya observed the file was shorter than average, it was not rocket science to understand why it was done. Not minding few unnecessary glitches and tweaks, Daya looked on—and then he saw a man, as it was dark and the camera was far the face was obscured. Nevertheless the man's lean stature and the violent curly hair were still visible.
"Ye computer pe chalaya hai?" now he was looking at her, and under his blank stare she felt slightly uneasy—tensed. Shreya nodded nonetheless, and walked towards a PC in her cabin followed by both men.
Ishita sat behind the glass visor, playing cards but hurriedly closed the window as she saw them approach. She was the one that played the video few minutes prior—it was before half-an-hour, and since none dared to disturb the senior officers argument they stayed behind. Sachin and Nikhil were at a hospital were apparently their perpetrator was admitted to—thanks to Abhijeet's unconventional method of retrieving information.
She heard the tall man ask, "Ye video kisne bheja?"
"Kisi sub-inspector Rajvir, Vikhroli chawkey se." Shreya tried to catch his eye, but the man was staring at the screen by now expecting the young woman to play the video.
"Acha." Without waiting for an order Ishita played the video from the beginning. Pankaj stood behind still feeling envious that Rajvir got the first clue despite of him taking the copies footage… wait a minute, perhaps they had hidden it.
Three of them just looked.
Even in big screen the face was obscured, but the color red was like a body suit to him. He was covered in blood from head to toe. The most disturbing facet was he looked serene, no sign of fear—the fear of being found. Although he kept looking everywhere, but it looked like he was mocking someone. He swung his fist intervally—and that confused Daya even more. He neither appeared nor acted anywhere intelligent, just an average drunkard or mentally downcasted.
The lean man sat crosslegged in the middle of the road with his back towards the camera—as if meditating his posture was relaxed. He stared up at the blackened sky, and began slightly shaking his head.
Alright Shreya and Ishita both won't deny the fact they have not seen the whole video, they just fast forwarded until the man walked away from the scene. Neither ladies will not deny the slight creep of sweat that made it unto their forehead; it was an unsettling video for some reason. An unearthly scare erupted deep within their brain, although Shreya concealed the anxiousness perfectly on the other hand, Ishita's eyes were wide.
The man performed an act so alarming, and horrifying that it gave the impression of demonic possession, or what may most of them believe to be something that does not exist. The curly haired—suspect began pulling his hair and his shaking became more violent. It was practically and naturally impossible to shake head so fast without knocking himself out. Yet the man suddenly stopped—got back to his feet and dashed elsewhere.
Daya quietly forwarded few more times and saw nothing, and so he replayed the video again. A sense of dreadfulness commenced upon his brain. And somehow he found himself imagining his physical body to be their, in-front of the camera. He observed the disturbing behavior—yet payed more attention to the quiet surrounding.
A slight blurred image caught his attention.
"He was not alone," he spoke alerting the group to pay attention to him. He rudely ordered Ishita, "Move."
She hurriedly left the chair and allowed him to sit. Daya replayed the video again, and this time paused at about 3 minutes prior to the man shaking his head. There was a shadowy figure standing afar. The shadow caught Ishita's frightful attention, and by then she had already presumed something supernatural was involved in this. Pankaj who wanted in unfortunately had to stay behind, it was already crowded with those three—unfortunately his phone cannot display that shadow which Daya just caught.
Ishita feared that the stoic inspector will surely laugh or counter her with his usual dismissal or worse with rudeness. She didn't deserve to be pushed or shoved as a laughing stock; they already had a joker in their group which made her wonder what kind of officer he was. Pankaj was not a good officer, neither was she—but she could at-least counter a debate if anybody compared them. The young man had experience, however those weren't that bright.
He was a sissy, an unwitting pussy, a miserable goof—with an unhealthy obsession with food. It was a fact, she neither respected or cared about him. She wondered why he was even relevant with this team. Elite officers as people said, but there was nothing elite about him.
Daya carefully froze the video, and got off from the seat and allowed them to look intently at the screen. Pankaj was the last one to see.
The shadow moved from left to right—and shot elsewhere, perhaps the man ran after him. If that is it, then the shadow of whoever was that was in serious threat or perhaps he was already dead—yet to be found.
"Chalo chalte hai, sayad wahaan jaane ke baad kuch aur pataa chale." Both women moved out of the way, as he strolled towards the exit, followed by Pankaj. Shreya contemplated few more seconds before joggin towards them.
Daya turned back and saw her approaching so he slowed down. "Haan, sir ne kaha tum chal rahi ho humare saath?"
She dumbly nodded, here she thought she was supposed to ask for permission but Daya surprised her again. Perhaps the only good thing he had done since last two days. He didn't say another word and got away fast. His silhouette was still visible to ACP, who shook his head disappointed. His gaze fell upon the hardened face of Abhijeet who was still furious at DCP for taunting him.
He won't be surprised if he fucks shit up, all over nostalgic, like he normally did when he joined the Crime Branch. He had the shortest fuse amongst them. Perhaps Chitrole was right, he was letting them go loose, and when they are behaving like children maybe he should become more like principal.
His gaze fell upon Ishita whose acidic eyes were boring into Pankaj's back. Dear God, the whole office was getting bitter and hostile. Nikhil did not like working with Sachin and vice-versa. Although, Freddy liked to work with anyone but the thing was he felt discomforted by the people around him as most of them looked down on him. Jaywanti was the youngest; perhaps she was the only neutral person in the office—not long since the hostility may rub up on her as well.
He should clean up fast—act faster to solve every tiny issue, before their family collapses unto an untidy gump of washed up cranky officers. ACP got up from his chair, and got near his door.
Ishita saw the old man and found his focused—albeit blank face on her. He nodded towards her, and got back towards his chair. And the young woman jogged nervously towards his cabin—by the looks of it—he wasn't in the mood for a calm meeting.
. . . .
Saturday
9:18 P.M.
Two men sat across from the other, with a glass of cheap alcohol expressing the contained night. The bald man silently eyed a woman—with no sign of lecherous intent—he just stared at her face as if admiring unnoticeable yet in an innocent way. The lady was not aware of the attention; she just kept reading a book which he paid no interest to.
"Chal baahar chal," along came a deep sludgy voice from him as he got up and walked out from the house. His companion simply followed without asking any question.
"Kahaan chal diye?" the woman asked without taking off her eyes from the book.
The gentleman simply said, "Doodh lane ke liye,"
Out from her ear shot he began, "Tu jo kar rahe ho kya sahi hai?"
His companion a dark haired middle-aged man took an unlit cigarette from his rear pocket and burned the thick article. As he took a drag he looked behind towards the house one final time only to turn back at his only friend—his crime partner.
"Kya sahi hai aur kya galat, ye aadmi ke upar depend karta hai, Vajra" His bald head companion grimly studied the thick mist engulfing his companion's face. "Ek billi ki sahi ek chuhe ki galati hoti hai."
"Haan, par us ladke mein aur sambhal ne ki taaqat nahi hai… he's having seizures."
Yet the man not perturbed as he took another drag and walked forward with his companion beside him. "Uski kaabiliyat kaabile tareef hai, Vajra, aur kisi mein himat nahi thi uus drug ko ishtamal karne ki."
"Yahi toh baat hai, usne ishtamal hi nahi ki woh toh tune usse dilayi hai."
Both of them stopped walking, and each glared at the other. The tall bald man looked down at his companion and challenged him to take this talk even further who complied. The dark haired man got near his face, "Maine? Bhul mat ye tera idea tha,"
"Par itna jyada? Madarchod, mujhe toh ye darr hai, kahin woh ghar pe hilna suru na karde!"
"Toh ghar chod de laude, teri gand itni phat hi rahi toh nikal jaa, tujhe koi rok nahi raha."
"Bakrichod sun har raat jab woh ghar waapas aata hai khoon se lat-pat ho ke, pataa hai kitna darr lagta hai? Saala darr ye hai, kahin woh hummein hi maar na de. Baat bheje mein ghus rahi hai ki nahi chutiye?"
"Par woh aise karta toh nahi, hai ki nahi?" the dark haired man countered, but was responed quirkily,
"Aisa isiliye nahi karta, ki us waqt taq uss drug ka assar khatam ho chukka hai, par tu… raandwe, teri wajah se uski yaardash kam ho rahi—tere overdosing se."
"Chutiye tere doctori ki degree kaam par laa na,"
"Madarchod, doctor tha ek jamane mein, par researcher nahi, ek experimental drug ko uspe use kar ke uski insaniyaat khatam kar raha hai tu."
The man sardonically laughed, "Pehle toh tune hi usse introduce kiya, ki usse dard nahi hota, aur ab tu uske liye apne dost se jhagda kar raha hai?"
"Saala hai woh mera, bhadwe ki aulad."
"Saala hai toh usse ghar pe rakhna tha na tujhe, ek lab rat ki tarah uske upar use karne ka idea tera hi tha… tha ki nahi? Bol madarchod bol!"
A response Vajra's waited on his tongue, but came none to his parted lips for a retortal. It was partly his fault that the kid was dragged into their world, and somehow the taste of it became addictive to him. Eveytime, the kid demanded more—virtually, the drug had eaten up his conscious ability for sure. The memory lapses were just the beginning—and soon psychotic seizures will show up.
Surely the kid could endure, but the world would not. He was an unstoppable killing machine within perfect influence, without it—he was just another drunkard—or mentally unstable per se. But he wasn't unstable, just confused—confusion which Vajra carefully manipulated to try out that drug in the first place. His live-in partner, the kid's sister was not aware of him drugging both of them.
The woman's constant rambling—was rather irritating, her temper, her swagger everything was over the top to the point of over scorching his own fury. He won't deny it was a jackpot, having an emotion wretch with a brother who felt no pain—he was the perfect subject for it. His sister won't notice the change; and neither the treacherous world will care about him.
He will not deny that time had mellowed him; he felt something that he didn't think he would feel after struggling against the world for so long.
He felt loved, and which is why he was thinking—considering—opinionating his decision, their life was in his hands. Never more, he shall not put his brother-in-law in threat. However, he was long gone, so much drug had failed his system; his system which now solely depended on that drug.
Chauhan was brininging some dangerous purpose to spread all over the country—to obsess and mull over, most basic of them gave high energy to wreck through the night, but this was new—and the side-effects was dramatically horrific.
Vajra AKA, Dhananjay a retired doctor cared not about the world or the people living in it. But now, since he loves someone and the same adoration is shared with him by Manju. A family had he found in her, although he doubts whether she considers him as a family to begin with. Her nihilistic views were extreme—can be implied as borderline suicidal—if not for her brother.
"Mu mein lauda ghusa liya hai kya bhenchod? Jawaab de!"
"Sun bhosdike, woh meri galati thi usse tujhe milwake, rahi baat—sun dhyaan rakh kahin teri iss chutiya panti tujhe bhari na pade." The chaos under the calm was menacing, but his friend ruefully ignored the aggression.
However he humored it, "Dhamka raha hai mujhe? Kuch nahi hoga mujhe,"
"Doctor tu hai ki main? Dhyaan raakh, iss drug ke side-effect ke baare mein main thodi-bahut jaanta hoon. Aur jahaan tak mera gyaan kehta hai, toh kabhi psychotic daura pada, toh tu uske saamne mat jaana, warna woh teri bhi haal wohi karega, jo inn dino woh kar raha hai."
The silence was foreboding, as his companion digested his words carefully—slight fear crept up on his spine which he shook off. And stared blankly; he inhaled a big amount of smoke which he threw up over the halfmoon night.
"Toh iska matlab, tera saala apna aapaa kho raha hai,"
After a moment of dramatic silence, Dhananjay morosely said, "I'm afraid so."
A/N: So that's it people! I really hope you like it.
During writing the second-half- after the Embassy fiasco, and during the office. I realized I spend too much time writing unnecessary shits which takes a lot of time, so I've decide to tone it down. The next chapter shall be ready as soon as possible.
I apologize if you found something offensive.
Till then off~
Previously known as, CosmicEardwulf.