The Widow's Keeper

by Kishan Paul

  Her therapist’s brows rose. “How did that go?”

  Ally replaced the cap before answering. “Not well. Their families were angry and swore to keep them apart. So Pappa showed up at Mumma’s house one night and snuck her out. They dropped out of college and got married. Pappa got a job with the railroad company while my mother stayed home with me.”

  “How did it impact you?”

  “It didn’t back then. We lived in a small apartment in Delhi—the three of us. No extended family and not a lot of money, but I was happy. Really happy.” Her voice trailed off as she remembered her little self, running around the apartment in pajamas and braids playing chase with her father. “The world was perfect. Nothing bad could touch me. I want to go back to the little girl. To feeling that way.”

  “What happened to your parents?”

  “I was four and at school when they died. They were on a train and the bridge the train went over collapsed, plunging it and the passengers into the river below. I lost my safe, untouchable world.” Ally stared out the window at the parking lot. Each time she’d been dealt a loss, a major life change, it happened without warning.

  A car pulled into the vacant spot outside the window, most likely the next patient coming to work on their issues. Hopefully their wounds would heal. “A month later, I was in Philadelphia with new parents and a big brother and baby sister.” She took another swallow from her bottle and fixed her attention on the woman across from her. “After I got here, I overheard my aunt and uncle fighting. She told him I was cursed and having me around her family and kids would only bring bad things to them.”

  Concern flashed across Wendy’s face. “That’s a lot of blame to put on anyone, much less a child.”

  “True. But the facts speak for themselves, don’t they? My parents died when I was four. As an orphan, I learned to accept a new land and a new family as my own. I grew up and married the most amazing man. Then I was kidnapped and tortured. But somehow I learned, again, to accept my new reality and created a new family in Pakistan.” Her mind wandered to the day Sayeed died, and the lies she had sworn to tell. “They were all killed,” her voice trailed off. Considering they were listed as dead and she would never see them again, and considering how much their loss hurt her, it wasn’t totally a lie. “So I end up back here in the States, learning to rebuild, and when I’m finally in a good place, my husband dies in a car wreck.”

  Ally shuttered her lids and hugged her knees. She left out the part about how she believed the accident wasn’t an accident. The last thing she needed was for Wendy to think she struggled with paranoid ideations. The police, CIA, even her family, thought it an unfortunate coincidence that David died three years later to the day Sayeed was murdered. There was no evidence of foul play. But Ally’s gut told her otherwise. Her gut screamed other words as well. “Sometimes, I wonder. If I hadn’t ever been found. If they’d left me in Pakistan, would David still be alive? Be happy?”

  “And what kind of life would you have had in Pakistan?”

  Ally returned to gazing out the window. “One where I knew everyone lived.” She shrugged and looked at the therapist with a sad smile. “Not all people are destined for a happily ever after.”

  Wendy leaned forward, mirroring Ally’s smile. “And you’re one of the ones who aren’t?”

  Ally nodded. “Karma.”

  BOOK TWO

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  CHOICES

  Ally wandered to the kitchen and gripped the marble island. The keys bunched in Shariff’s hand slammed against each other and the door while he secured the padlock to Farah and Amirah’s room. A bit longer than the rest and brass in color, the key was in the middle of the ring. She shifted her focus to the kitchen counters before he caught her staring.

  Ivory granite circled the space around her, bare of everything: dishes, glasses, even a coffee maker. To her left sat a small gas stove, and beside it a white fridge, pristine, unused. Dark wood drawers and cabinets covered the walls of the small room. If she looked inside them, she was sure she’d find them empty as well.

  Keys jingled to her left by the sink. He opened a drawer, dropped them in, and slammed it shut. He cocked his head and raised his brows when he caught her staring. Ally looked away and scanned the living room for the masked man, but it was empty. Shariff’s shoes tapped against the tiled floor. She gazed ahead, and her skin prickled with each step he took. When his breath hit her bare neck, a shiver of fear ripped through her. Unable to breathe, she steadied herself and waited.

  He leaned his back against the island beside her and crossed his arms. From the corner of her eye, she noticed him assessing her. “Well, that was enlightening.”

  Ally’s grip on the counter tightened. “Why didn’t you tell her you killed her husband?”

  “Because I didn’t kill him.” His pale brown eyes burned into her.

  “You pay people to kill. That makes you a killer.”

  He shrugged. “I guess it’s all a matter of how you define a word then, isn’t it?”

  “And the fact you didn’t tell her that her husband was dead makes you a bastard.”

  His smile broadened. “Now the bastard label I do accept without question.” A lock of her curly hair had fallen out from her ponytail. Shariff played with it and wrapped it around his finger. “And, according to your definition, wouldn’t you be one too? I don’t recall hearing you break the news of her heroic husband’s demise.”

  She met his gaze. “Do you always lock up innocent women and listen to their conversations?”

  “It appears that way, doesn’t it?” Shariff rested the base of his elbows on the counter behind him and leaned back farther, his fingers brushing against hers in the process. Ally stepped away from his reach, facing him.

  The two stared at each other, one smirking while the other glared. “Well, my fellow bastard? Why didn’t you tell her that both the heroes she mentioned were dead?”

  She kept her face emotionless despite the erratic thudding of her heart. “We all need a seed of hope to cling to. A reason to keep fighting. I couldn’t take hers away. And I wasn’t lying. She will go home.”

  The sound of his laughter burned her ears. She narrowed her eyes. “Am I amusing?”

  Shariff inched closer and pressed his fingertips against her temple. “Brains…” His touch burned against her skin as the digit slid down her cheek onto her jaw. Ally held her breath when he moved from her face to her shoulder. “And determination.” Goosebumps pebbled her skin while his hand brushed up and down the length of her arm. “I can see why my brother was drawn to you.”

  Ally scooted away and out of the kitchen, rubbing the feel of him off of her. She wandered around the apartment, sensing him close behind. Sayeed and his brother shared a similar taste—her. What wasn’t clear was what the younger sibling intended to do about it. “Someone who looks like you can have any woman he wants.”

  “Why, dear Bhaabi, are you calling me handsome?”

  She shrugged and continued past the dining table, resting her hand on the door by the window. “Am I wrong?”

  The deadbolt was secured and the knob wouldn’t budge.

  “Not at all.” His legs brushed against her rear and his vanilla and sandalwood cologne filled her lungs. “I get my share of female attention,” he whispered against her ear.

  She slid past him and moved toward the hall by the front entry, peeking into the bathroom along the way. When she arrived at the closed room at the end, she paused. Would this be where they planned to keep her?

  The heat of his body smothered her when he neared. She pressed a hand against the smooth surface of the door and stayed still while Shariff pulled the hair tie from her hair. The strands fell free against her shoulders. Her pulse beat erratically as he ran his fingers through her curls. She couldn’t go through the torture Sayeed put her through a second time. It would kill her.

  Amirah’s distant cries echoed through the quiet home, reminding her of the baby’s pre
sence. Ally squeezed the knob and stared at the door. Running would mean leaving behind Farah and the baby. She turned and met his gaze. “So why such a hunger for Sayeed’s leftovers?”

  Sharif’s gaze raked over her face, pausing to linger at the neckline of her shirt. “Sometimes leftovers are the most appealing.”

  “I’m yours to do with as you please for as long as you want. No argument. No fight.” She kept her voice steady, showing no hint of the terror consuming her.

  The corner of his mouth lifted. He ran a digit over her skin, tracing the seam of her shirt collar and stopping at the V point of her neckline. “Yes, I am hungry. Very hungry.” Her skin prickled when Shariff’s finger moved up her neck to the base of her chin, lifting her face. “But.” He inched his mouth closer until it brushed against hers when he spoke. “As enticing as the proposition is, I will have to regretfully decline.” He looked into her eyes. “Two men have already had you and both are dead. I’ve no desire to join their list.”

  Ally leaned against the wooden surface for fear her legs would buckle. “What do you want then?”

  Before he could answer, the front door opened. From over Shariff’s shoulder, she watched the masked man enter the room. He stopped mid-stride and glared at them, slamming the door to the house so loud the walls shook.

  “That.” Shariff cupped her chin and made her return her attention to him. “Is a much better question. Why don’t we have a seat on the couch so we can discuss it further?”

  Ally remained in the hall and watched Shariff disappear into the living room. The leather sofa creaked when he sat on it. He let out an exaggerated sigh. “Brains, determination, and stubbornness. I’m not sure if I should consider those your strengths or your flaws.”

  Amirah’s incessant cries continued from their locked prison. Ally pushed off the door and walked toward Farah’s room, only stopping when the masked man took his spot in front of it. They stared at each other, neither one willing to move aside. “They need to go home,” she whispered. “What do I need to do to earn their freedom?” Pain flashed in his eyes before he blinked it away.

  “The magic question,” Shariff answered from behind her. “What can you do to set them free? If you do as expected, they will walk out of here safely in two days.”

  Ally continued to watch the man in front of her. He sealed his lids, refusing her access to his emotions. “I’m listening.”

  “Three things. First, where are the boys my brother adopted?”

  The stranger’s eyes opened, and he fixed his gaze on her. The intensity in them made her take a step back.

  Her stomach twisted. “I don’t know.”

  “Unacceptable answer. Let’s try another one. My father will arrive in two days to meet you, and when he does, you will confess to killing my brother.”

  Ally blinked a couple of times and looked over her shoulder in his direction. “Why?”

  He tipped his head toward the room with the crying baby. “So those two can live.”

  Farah’s soft voice mingled with the baby’s cries as a shudder of fear shot through Ally’s spine. “I can do that.”

  “Excellent.” Shariff waved the head covering and blindfold. “It’s time to go, so let’s get you dressed.”

  But she didn’t move. “And third?”

  He climbed to his feet, handed her the items and flashed her a confused look.

  “You said three things. What’s the third?”

  Amusement soon replaced his confused expression. “I will share the information with you when it’s time.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  OUR PAST

  Drops of rain hit the top of her burqa as soon as they stepped outside. At first, they were small taps against the fabric. Soon they grew in frequency and weight until they felt like pellets slamming against her. Shariff yanked her hand, forcing her to run. Since her eyes were covered, she allowed him to lead. With her free hand, Ally wiped away the moisture on her head covering and, in the process, pushed her thumb against the blindfold beneath. On the second attempt, the cotton shifted lower, allowing her to see from the top corner of her right eye.

  She kept her head lowered and scanned the area. Green grass blanketed the ground beneath her feet. A few palm trees stood tall on the outside of the dark stone and iron fence. The metal barrier appeared to run the length of the front yard. But what caught her eye was to the distant right. White skyscrapers sat side by side, reaching to the heavens. They were identical in shape and size. Rows of tiny windows filled the length of the buildings and what looked like balconies lined the corners. On the roofs of the three, she could see were small structures shaped like orange triangles and around them were trees.

  Shariff pushed her into a car before she could assess further. This driver was taller than the last, his thick beard evident when he turned his head and waved at the masked man in the yard. The man outside ran and opened the gates as Shariff climbed in beside Ally. He tossed his duffle bag on the floor and cursed under his breath.

  Ally kept her head forward as she watched Shariff out of the corner of her eye. At some point after blindfolding her, he’d tied his hair back and pasted a beard on his face. The snug fitting shirt he wore was also replaced with a long black tunic that hung over his jeans.

  Aside from his mumbled curses and the wipers squeaking as they scraped the windshield clean, everyone in the vehicle remained silent during the trip.

  Shariff leaned over, and when he grabbed the top of her hijab, Ally lunged away, cowering in the corner of the car.

  “I’m going to dry you off.”

  She covered her face in her palms and pushed the blindfold back into place. “I can’t see anything. You have to warn me before you do something like that.”

  “Well, consider this your warning. I am removing your hijab since its wet. So hold still.” He pulled the heavy fabric off her head and ran the towel over her face and hair before adjusting her blindfold. He cuffed her hands to the handle of the door. “Much better. I’d hate for you to catch a cold. You need to stay healthy for the next few days.”

  Blindfolded in the backseat, the thuds of raindrops, the scraping of the windshield wipers, and the blare of every car horn was amplified. Even the bumps felt more intense, making her jump. The only time Shariff uncuffed her was when he returned the hijab. They exited one vehicle only to slide into another, at which point, the restraints returned to her wrists. Three different cars since they’d left the hotel. A total wardrobe change, including a beard, and aside from the horns of the traffic around them, still not a word had been uttered between him and the drivers. Everyone knew their roles. Except her.

  Ally’s mind raced. She had two days to figure out the man beside her. So, what did she know so far? Sayeed had a little brother he’d never mentioned, and the little brother didn’t care much for his elder sibling. Shariff spoke fluent Urdu but had a heavy English accent. And although he was attracted to her, he seemed to be fighting it, even after she offered herself to him. Could she have followed through if he accepted? Ally sucked in a breath and pushed the question out of her brain. She would do what she needed to do.

  A bag zipped and unzipped beside her. The leather seat groaned when he shifted. She listened to Shariff’s grunts and the sound of fabric being pulled and tugged, but it wasn’t until his elbow stabbed her thigh that she spoke up. “Is there any reason why you’re changing your clothes?”

  He laughed. “I got wet.”

  “You got wet about a half hour ago, and we’ve changed cars since then.”

  “Such an observant woman you are, and filled with so many questions.” He squeezed her knee. “You know what happened to the curious cat, don’t you?”

  She slipped her leg out of his grasp. “It sounds like that will be my fate regardless of my curiosity.”

  Shariff didn’t answer but tension oozed from him.

  “Take a right here,” he snapped at the driver.

  She honed in on the agitation in his voice. “Whereve
r we are going is not a place you want to be is it?”

  He laughed. “On the contrary, it’s a homecoming. Where my mother and I lived until I was six. Exactly where I want to be.”

  There was a dryness to his words that screamed the opposite. “How long has it been since you’ve come back?”

  “Over twenty-two years.”

  Bingo. “Homecomings are sometimes bittersweet.” Ally took his silence to be agreement. “Is your mother waiting for you?”

  “Some would say yes.” Although he laughed, it sounded cold, hollow. “If you believe in the afterlife bullshit. She passed away when I was a child.”

  Aside from the soft music playing in the car, silence filled the cabin. So much said without a word spoken. She cleared her throat. “My parents passed away when I turned four. I understand how hard it is to grow up without them.”

  Shariff released a long, slow breath but didn’t respond.

  Ally pushed for more. “Is that why you left? Too many memories?”

  “The funny thing about memories,” he whispered, “no matter how fast or far you run, they follow you. And the darker they are, the quicker they latch on like fucking parasites. So no, it’s not why I haven’t been back.”

  She opened her mouth to respond, but he cut her off by ordering the driver to pull over. The car slowed until it came to a stop and soon the crank of the parking brake clicked into place.

  The leather seat she gripped cracked as Shariff slid closer. He removed her handcuffs, and when his fingers pressed against her face, Ally jumped, slamming her back against the door.