(A/N) in response to a review : ) I do see this as a Rahul/Kiran story. That is my intention to write that pairing in a way that could be possible in keeping with the actual movie (barring some artistic license) I'm not a Sunil (or Sunny for that matter) fan, however I don't want to discount his character just because of that. In Darr he did love Kiran, did save her, did face death for her...so by all accounts he is the hero...no matter who I prefer : D I am trying to keep everyone as true to their original portrayal as possible (its quite hard with Kiran cos her personality in the movie basically consists of being afraid and not much else) but, yeah, I'm rambling, just want to confirm that my intention is Rahul/Kiran...happy or not... : ) On another note...I am always imaging 'ajay the manager' as looking like Ajay Devgn... :D
CHAPTER TEN
…...
Natasha awoke, drawing a deep shuddering breath and gingerly touching her hand to her wet hair. Her head was pounding and when she drew her hand away it was red with blood. Groggily, she struggled into a seated position and tried to collect her thoughts. As she looked around the small living room, lit by the early rays of dawn peeping through the blinds, she remembered how she had come to be there.
Panicking she looked around for Sunil. There was no sign of him – just pieces of smashed vase and some more blood staining the carpet.
"HELLO?" she cried, "Kiran?"
There was no answer, only silence and the ticking of a clock.
She blinked and her vision doubled. Standing, she bent over, feeling sick, and then searched for the phone. She found it half hidden beneath the sofa and began dialling slowly.
"911, please state your emergency."
Natasha felt the words spill out of her mouth with increasing hysteria. She told them what had happened, what Kiran and Sunil had told her about Rahul – how he had been living under the name Raj – and what she feared had happened while she had been unconscious.
Within minutes she was assured that the police and ambulance services were on their way.
...
"W…what are you going to do with him?" Kiran asked. There had been no further noise from the boot. She was terrified her husband was already dead.
Rahul laughed, "Nothing," he patted her knee, "leave him in there. I'll park the car in the long stay car park, it will be under the name Raj Sharma…by the time anyone looks in there we'll be far, far away and…"
"Stop it." Kiran looked away from him, tears brimming and over-spilling onto her cheeks. She could see the airport out of the window. As she watched, grimly determined that her crying should be silent, planes took off and landed: British Airways, KLM, Air France, Easy Jet, and Air India.
Rahul parked the car and collected a luggage trolley, then he untied her and smoothed out her wrinkled clothes.
"L…look at me Kiran," he said gently, flashing a pleading, dimpled smile. She obeyed and he brushed away her tears before kissing her once. "You be good for me, okay, and maybe I will tip someone off about Sunil…"
"You'll let him live?" she clasped his hand, "please Rahul."
He sneered at her, "It's more than he did for me, remember that."
They made their way to the main building to check in. Rahul had one hand on the cart and the other gripped Kiran's wrist with a strength that belied his slight form.
In her panic it seemed that everyone's eyes were on her and yet not; that the strangers she passed – families, kids in Mickey Mouse ears, business men, security guards – were choosing to ignore her plight. Though she knew that, despite her red eyes, they probably looked like a loving married couple, so in love that they had to hold hands even walking through an airport.
The check in queue for Air India was long. They stood at the end, behind a large, noisy family, and waited. Rahul's fingers stroked her palm and she shivered. They shuffled forward, one step every five minutes. The scent of early morning coffee wafted through the air, and the shouts and cries of harried travellers drowned out the sound from the huge TC screens that were dotted around. Kiran squinted at one. A man, looking very much like Ajay the manager, was speaking to a reporter. Several policemen were in serious conversation behind him.
Suddenly her picture flashed up onscreen. She gasped, almost turning limp with shock. Rahul tightened his grip on her, his eyes quizzical. The nearest TV screen was behind him and he couldn't see it. Kiran recovered herself, "Sorry," she said, "I'm just exhausted, I think."
He nodded and they shuffled forward again. Kiran looked back at the screen but it was now displaying sports results and she sighed.
When they reached the desk, Rahul handed their passports over. How had he gotten hers? Kiran felt cold. He must have been in her house. Those blank calls hadn't been her imagination, and he had been close enough to Sunil without his knowledge to slip that note from 'Julie' into his pocket…so of course he could have been in her house. She thought of Priya and shuddered.
It was all her fault. Why had she pursued Raj? Why had she chased her own monster?
The attendant had taken Rahul's passport away, leaving her own on the counter. Rahul and Kiran watched her as she spoke to another attendant, both occasionally glancing their way. One of them pressed a button on the wall just as a senior-looking staff member came up behind them.
Rahul's hand suddenly felt damp against her skin. He blinked rapidly and turned around, perhaps trying to hide his face. Kiran cringed and she realised that, in his new position, he could now see the TV. It was playing the same footage as before. Ajay the manager – it definitely was him – and then her face, smiling. The picture was from Priya's fourth birthday party; her hair was loose and curling. Just after clicking it Sunil had kissed her and told her how much he adored her. Kiran let out a choked sob.
Grabbing two bags off of their cart, Rahul turned on his heel and dragged Kiran after him, pushing a path through the disgruntled people waiting to check in. They were creating a scene, but Kiran couldn't look back to see if the alarm had been raised. She could barely balance and she stumbled, tripping over her own feet, as Rahul swept her along in his frenzy.
Outside they came upon the waiting cabs. One had its door open - the driver was close by, smoking near a trashcan – but he was too slow for Rahul.
Kiran found herself shoved unceremoniously into the back – the bags tossed in after her – as Rahul got in the front and locked the doors. The driver rapped on the window, his expression halfway between anger and bemusement. Rahul looked at him and Kiran couldn't see his face, but whatever was in his eyes made the driver back off. Then, tires screeching, they pulled out.
"They'll follow us. They'll find us, Rahul," she tried to make him see reason.
He didn't answer her. He just drove for miles and miles and miles and miles until everything blurred into one and she fell asleep, no longer dreaming that she could hear the sound of sirens closing in on them.
...
She awoke hours later in his arms as he carried her through the door of a seedy motel room. She only got a small glance outside, but they seemed to be in the middle of nowhere.
"Where are we?"
"Across the border," he said, his eyes black in the shadows of the room. He switched on the lamp as he laid her on the bed. Their bags were by the door and he fetched them in before locking it and tucking the key into his shirt pocket.
Kiran spotted a small tourist booklet on the otherwise bare desk, "Canada?" she said, not really asking.
He seemed deflated, at a loss. She watched him pace for a long time, too tired to start pleading for her freedom. He would never give it to her anyway, not as long as they both lived.
Eventually she got up, intending to use the bathroom. He was at her side immediately, restraining her with his hand.
"I want to have a shower, Rahul," she said, "I have to."
He seemed hesitant but eventually nodded.
"I need toiletries," she pushed her luck.
He pointed to one of the bags and she picked it up, tensing as he followed her to the door. For one breathless moment she was afraid he would make her leave the door open, when the shower – with its clear curtain – was in plain view, but he closed it after her.
"If you lock this door I will break it down…do you believe me…K…Kiran?"
"Yes," she replied, placing her hand against the firm wood of the door and wondering if he was doing the same on the other side. When she heard his footsteps retreat she allowed herself a sigh of relief. In the mirror her eyes stared widely back at her, the pupils tiny in the bright light of the bare bulb.
She turned on the shower and began to undress, opening the bag to grab shampoo or underwear or soap or whatever he had packed. Her hand brushed against something that rattled. Entranced by the sound she picked it up.
It was a small, brown pill bottle with a white lid. She could barely read the name, let alone pronounce it, but the description she understood well enough: anti-psychotic.
She stared at it and waited to be afraid. But suddenly, looking at what she held, all the fear left her and only sadness remained.
"Oh, Rahul," she sank to the floor, turning it over in her hands and listening to the rattle of the pills, "when did you stop taking these?"
...
TBC…..