Addicted to the Light

by S. E. Amadis

  I’d never made a secret of the fact that I was an only child.

  Lindsay pushed my arm defensively.

  “But, you know, it’s not the same... That girl was surrounded. That girl on the news, that I was talking about, I mean. She was never alone. There was always someone watching out for her. No one could’ve hurt her and got away with it. And you know my mom and I don’t get along, so it’s not like there’s a ton of love lost between us.”

  We reached the subway station, and Lindsay shoved against the glass door.

  “Where are we going?” Calvin wondered.

  “To the Hare Krishna temple. They have open services on the weekends and invite people to come in and share a meal and a service with them.”

  Calvin made a face.

  “Yeah. Right. So they can brainwash us and hypnotize us into donating all our worldly goods to them and joining them. Ooomm. Ooomm. Ooomm.” He wiggled his fingers in front of our eyes hypnotist-style.

  The sour look Lindsay cast towards him made my spine creep.

  “You don’t need to be so cynical,” was all she said. But it was the first time she’d ever had any scathing remarks or criticisms to make to Calvin.

  We hopped out at the Rosedale subway station and Lindsay led us down some quaint residential streets to the imposing Hare Krishna temple on Avenue Road. Shaped like a medieval church or miniature cathedral, the massive temple loomed over us with its grey-coloured brick walls, towering steeple bell and decorated windows. The entire structure screamed of the wealth and luxury flaunted by its owners.

  “Whoo whee,” Calvin breathed out. “These sure aren’t some small fish in the sea. With all the money they must’ve poured into this, they could’ve fed all the starving children in Africa for years.”

  Lindsay didn’t say a word, merely pressed her lips together in disapproval and led us up some stairs to the double doors.

  *

  A bevy of friendly faces and figures arranged in colourful saris greeted us at the door and ushered us into a gigantic salon with floors polished so painstakingly it looked like an ice-skating rink. Walls decorated in lilac wallpaper and Moorish arches with gold leaf on glaringly white plaster. At the opposite end of the room, an open courtyard lush with greenery and something that resembled a diminutive marble gazebo.

  A wispy leaf of a teenaged girl approached us with a gracious smile pasted on her face and led us to a multitude already crammed into the centre of the room.

  “Welcome to our love feast,” she whispered in a lilting voice. “Are you familiar with the ceremony, or is this your first time?”

  Lindsay returned her smile with delight.

  “It’s our first time, but I definitely hope it won’t be our last,” she gushed enthusiastically.

  The girl merely inclined her chin towards Lindsay in acknowledgement and left us to attend to new arrivals.

  Lindsay flashed an excited grin at us as we settled like faquirs on the floor. Romeo rubbed his eyes in boredom.

  “So, what do you think?” Lindsay cried. “Is it a treat or what?”

  I fiddled with my fingers and stuck a fingernail into my mouth. My nails were plain, unpainted. I’d given up on my feeble attempts to cure myself of my awful nail-biting habit.

  “I’m not too sure this is the proper place for a nice Jewish girl to be,” I mumbled.

  Calvin glanced around and yawned.

  “Sorry to rain on your parade, but I haven’t seen anything worth writing home about yet. All this looks totally fake and artificial. They’re like sleazy salespeople trying to sell you the covers of encyclopaedias with no insides.”

  Romeo giggled. Lindsay scowled at him.

  “Spoilsport.” She nudged at him, but there was no amusement in her gesture.

  Soon a great fanfare rose up. The crowd gasped in awe as a weighty curtain drew aside and gold light streamed down over Hindu-styled deities richly bedecked in flowers and festive costumes, signalling the beginning of the ceremonies.

  A band of musicians spirited out an array of instruments, mostly guitars and a variety of percussion instruments, some decidedly Middle Eastern or Arab. People jumped to their feet, grasped each other in effusive displays of platonic affection and formed enormous circles, ready to swing into action, singing, chanting, swaying in time with the hypnotic music.

  As I rose to my feet, I felt someone push me rudely on the shoulder. At first I ignored them, assuming it was some inconsiderate or fanatically religious reveller.

  But then I felt the stubble graze against the back of my shoulder. A soft, almost imperceptible breath wafted against the exposed skin on my neck, insinuating its way underneath my blouse.

  The hackles rose on the back of my neck. I whirled around. There was only an emaciated elderly gentleman dressed in a flowing brown tunic stumbling about on two left feet as he tried to keep up with the rhythm.

  I glanced around the room. Calvin was rolling his eyes. I was surprised no one had kicked him out for heresy or something with the blatant lack of interest he was displaying. Lindsay swung about deliriously to the music, all charm and ecstasy.

  Then I felt it again. Something soft and warm nudging against the back of my ear.

  “You’re going to di-i-ie, Annasuya Rose,” the voice whispered in a sing-song, exhaling a tenuous breath against my cheek.

  It was Hugh’s voice. I would never forget it. His slimy, creepy breath. Bruno’s murderer and my arch-enemy. My stalker. The madman who, for reasons only he knew, wanted me dead.

  My head flew up. But there was no one there.

  I cast about myself in growing alarm. How the hell had Hugh followed me here? Why was he still after me? Because I’d gotten away from him the last time?

  I edged myself closer to Calvin. As long as we were here surrounded by this crowd, I figured, Hugh wouldn’t be able to do anything to me.

  But then I felt the sting of a burning needle in my thigh, and the world went black.

  Chapter 2

  Cavernous echoes, as if I were in the middle of some vast and vaulted tunnel.

  Somewhere, water dripped, the desolate kaplunk resounding hollowly in the dank air around me. The smell of damp and mildew hit my nostrils.

  I felt a thin stream of water trickling underneath my palms. I opened my eyes. The green-tinged air, after the bright summer sunshine I had just left behind, chilled me to the bone. My joints ached, and something burnt on my thigh.

  I tried to push myself up. Dizziness overwhelmed me, as if I were drugged. I tumbled back to my prone position on the ground. From where I lay, I tried to glance around, appraise my surroundings.

  I appeared to be in some sort of cellar or underground service space. Drippy pipes ran all along the walls and underneath the ceiling. The rough-hewn cement walls were covered with moss and mould. Dropping my gaze, I could see I was lying on a dirt floor criss-crossed here and there with slender rivulets of muddy water.

  I flexed my arms and legs. It didn’t seem as if anyone had tied me up. If only I could recover my strength, I could probably make a dash for it before whoever had caught me made it back.

  Gritting my teeth, I pushed myself up onto my elbows and waited for the room to stop spinning.

  At that moment, he appeared through a doorway near the end of the long room. The stocky figure ranged in black from head to toe, his features concealed with a black balaclava. An enigmatic figure with mysterious features.

  Except I knew who those mysterious features belonged to.

  The man approached, his fists clenched, his posture menacing.

  “What do you want from me, Hugh?” I spat out, my voice croaky. “What the fuck have I ever done to you? Can’t you just leave me the hell alone, you bastard?”

  The stranger towered over me, then dropped to his haunches by my side.

  “What makes you think my name is Hugh?” His voice, muffled by the balaclava, was expressionless, the words clearly enunciated, the accent neutral, unremarkable.

  �
��Who else would you be?” I tried to squint at him. “No one else would ever have any reason to want to hurt me, like you.”

  “Ah, really?” The figure squatted lower and clasped his hands in front of him, tilting his head to one side as if listening to something fascinating. “And what reason would, er, Hugh have for wanting to hurt you? Did you hurt him? Do you deserve to be hurt in return?”

  I gaped at him. Pushing myself up on one hand, I grabbed for his head covering. He eluded my grip deftly.

  “Ne ne ne, Annasuya. If I were you I’d behave myself.” He waggled a finger at me like a schoolteacher at a naughty child. “Remember which one of us has the other at his mercy here.”

  That reminded me that I wasn’t tied up. If only I could get my head to stop reeling, I could scramble to my feet and scatter the hell out of here. I decided I’d use the element of surprise. Hugh wouldn’t be expecting me to make a break for it right at this moment.

  I pulled my knee up below me. Mercifully I found I was able to stumble to my feet and sprint away, terror lending me wings, ignoring the piercing pain that jabbed through my head. I assumed that must be an after-effect of whatever drug Hugh must have administered to me.

  Within seconds I was pelting chaotically across the dusky room with no idea of where to go. But anywhere would be better than by Hugh’s side. Hardly surprisingly, Hugh came pounding after me. Within two steps his longer strides brought him up right next to me. He slashed out with his fist, bashing me on the cheek. I veered away with a yelp, searched about frantically for someplace to run to.

  He circled about me, tried to tackle me from the opposite side. I sparred at him, remembering the tactics of Rudolph Verenich, the martial artist who had taught me self-defence. I might even have had a fighting chance, if only my head would stop throbbing, the pain distracting me so much. My thigh ached as well. I felt as if the needle were still jabbed in there, even though a glance downwards confirmed that it wasn’t.

  But as it was, I was no match for Hugh with his solid arms and stout, immovable physique. He charged towards me, his head down, like a bull raging for the cape, and tackled me in the manner of a football player, both arms closing around me in a vice-like grip. I bucked against him, then stomped my foot down as hard as I could against his. If I’d been wearing something a bit sturdier than light, flat-soled sandals with thin straps, I might actually have done him some harm. But given the circumstances, I hardly made any dent against his meaty flesh.

  He continued to shake me like a guard dog with a bone. I flailed, tried to drop to my knees or dig my heel into his groin. My elbow hit home, grinding into his ribs with a vengeance. He let me go, blaying furiously.

  I scrambled away. My rubbery legs slipped on the squishy concrete. Metal flashed before my eyes, Hugh wielding a knife as he drew closer and closer again.

  My blood ran cold.

  Chapter 3

  I stumbled, petrified, nearly fell. Recovered myself again.

  I sprinted for the door at the far end of the room that I’d seen him emerge from earlier. Again he was onto me, surprisingly light and agile given his solid form. He shot towards me. His groping arms grasped themselves about my legs. I crashed to the ground, scraping my palms against the rough concrete. He lunged as I rolled towards him. Fierce fire seared my left arm. I peered down at myself in a daze, saw blood spurting out, soaking my sleeve.

  Suddenly someone shouted at us from the far end of the room. Immediately, Hugh scarpered away, edging towards the shadows.

  “Be careful, Annasuya,” he hissed through the muffling wool. “This was merely a warning. You must still pay. Pay for your wanton promiscuity. Whore!”

  He barrelled away through the same door he had come out from minutes before as solicitous footsteps approached me at a run. A young man in a sari with a shaven pate knelt down next to me, reaching for me, but I shook my head, furious.

  “I’m fine,” I told him angrily, gritting my teeth and batting at his concerned hands.

  I wouldn’t have people moaning over me anymore. I’d grown tougher than that. But I felt bad for acting so snarly.

  “Go after him,” I pleaded in a gentler tone. “Please. Try and catch him.”

  I gestured towards Hugh’s retreating figure. The slender acolyte hesitated, biting his lip, then turned heel and hurtled after Hugh, who had already disappeared. I wouldn’t bet a load of dollars on his chances of catching Hugh, but still, if there was even the slightest possibility...

  I stared after him, then glanced down at my arm, which was almost completely covered with blood by now. I wondered that I could hardly feel the sting of the wound, decided at any rate I was grateful for that. I pressed my fist against the wound. It didn’t seem to make much difference.

  I needed to get out of here, find my way back to the main temple, seek out someone who at least knew a bit about first aid. Maybe even Lindsay. Now that I thought about it, I remembered she was going out with a nursing student and had picked up some bits and pieces of useful medical knowledge here and there.

  I cast about for something to press against the wound. I was about as stumped as the Seven Dwarves when it came time to taking care of medical emergencies, but I did seem to recall you’re supposed to press against a wound to stop it from bleeding. I could see nothing nearby on the scummy ground, not even a used rag. Not that you should use a dirty rag anyway.

  My mind seemed to creep forward at a turtle’s pace as I tried to figure out what to do. It was as if my brain had turned to mush. I felt as if I were drifting away. There was so much blood coming out now it was forming a puddle in the crook of my arm and dripping to the ground. Wasn’t blood supposed to clot? So why the hell wasn’t it clotting?

  I seized the bottom of my blouse, tried to rip a wide swathe from it. The sturdy, blue-and-white striped fabric refused to tear. They made it look so easy on TV. Why the hell didn’t things ever work out in real life like they did on the telly?

  I looked about, saw a nail sticking out from a strip of wood a short distance away. I dragged myself over to it and stabbed it through the bottom of my blouse. Blood spattered up against my eyes and cheeks as I raised my arm. I wiped it away with the sleeve of my good arm.

  I snagged a swathe through my blouse with the nail, finally managed to rip off a good chunk and fold it into a square patch, which I pressed against the wound. I blinked away tears as flames seared through my arm.

  The bald young man returned, shaking his head ruefully. He walked over to me, wringing his hands nervously and biting his lips again.

  “I’m-I’m sorry, ma’am,” he stuttered. “I couldn’t catch him. But you look like you could use some help.”

  I glared at him, thinking it was obvious. Then smiled contritely. I realized he only meant well.

  Sheesh, was I ever turning into a bitch! This was Bruno Jarvas’ doing too.

  “Yes. Thank you.”

  I let him tend a hand to me and help me to my feet. Dizziness swung through me. I swayed on my feet, nearly lost my balance. The young acolyte grasped my arm firmly.

  “How do we get back to the main temple?” I asked.

  He jerked his chin towards one of the doors and led me towards it. Within minutes we were back on the ground floor.

  “I’ll bring you to the nurse.”

  I nodded gratefully. He left me in the care of a gawking nurse who looked barely out of her teens. Even though she sported the title of a medical care worker, she was dressed, like everyone else, in a colourful sari. Long-stemmed daisies wove through her golden curls.

  “Wait,” I said to the young man as he sped towards the door. “What’s your name?”

  He cracked a grin.

  “Fred.”

  He left me gaping at him in consternation. I had expected something more along the lines of Shiva, Rama or even the male equivalent of Annasuya, which also happened to be a Hindu name. I settled next to the nurse and let her take care of me. She shook her head in dismay as she pulled aside the blood-soak
ed remains of my sleeve.

  “What’s your name?” She bit her lip and scrutinized me.

  “Annasuya.

  A smile of surprise lit up her face.

  “A Hindu name!” she exclaimed. “Maybe it’s a sign. Maybe you’re meant to join us.”

  She balked at my frown, and quickly turned to the wound in my arm.

  “Who did this to you? What happened?”

  “Someone stabbed me. With a knife.”

  I didn’t elaborate, and she had the tact to refrain from asking. She spread on some sort of disinfectant before replacing my crude dressings with gauze.

  “You ought to get some stitches. But I don’t know how to do that.”

  She grimaced apologetically.

  “Do you want me to call a taxi, and they can take you to a hospital?”

  I shook my head and wiggled out of her grasp.

  “I want to find my friends is what I want.”

  “Well...”

  I thanked her. She let me go reluctantly, and only after eliciting a promise from me to spirit myself off to a hospital as soon as I’d rejoined my friends.

  I dashed to the main temple. All the festival attendees had left already. Romeo, Calvin and Lindsay were gathered around a middle-aged man in a sari with East Indian features, their faces wrinkled with concern. They shot up as soon as I appeared.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Lindsay shrieked. “We couldn’t find you anywhere.”

  Calvin merely wrapped his arms around me without a word. I snuggled into his shoulder, ready to relax at last after the terrible ordeal. Lindsay gripped my wrist while Romeo hung back in confusion.

  “Annasuya. Annie. I’m talking to you.”

  I snatched my hand away from her and snuggled deeper into Calvin’s chest, then reached out and hugged Romeo close to me.

  “Leave her alone, Linds,” said Calvin. “Let’s just get home.”

  “No.” Lindsay shoved against his shoulder. “Let’s get to a hospital is where we should be going.”