Swear You Won't Tell?

by Vedashree Khambete-Sharma

  She was walking down a long, narrow corridor. It was cold and dark. There were doors on both sides, and one at the very end of the corridor. A slim sliver of blue light escaped from underneath it. This was the door she was walking towards. She could tell that she didn’t want to, but it seemed she had no power over her legs, which kept going, left-right, left-right, straight ahead. Goosebumps prickled her flesh and she shuddered. Suddenly, she was aware of shapes in the dark, people standing in the corridor, leaning against the walls. They stared at her with curious, lightless eyes, but let her pass. Just then, one of them grasped her hand. She nearly screamed. It was Shweta.

  ‘Why did you do it?’, she hissed. ‘Why couldn’t you just stay out of it?’ She wrenched her hand free and stumbled away from her.

  Closer to the door, now. Closer, closer, another step and she’d be able to touch it. She leaned her hand against the door. It opened without protest and she stepped inside. A cavernous room, even colder than the corridor, bathed in dim blue light. Cabinets lined it on three sides, cabinets full of deep drawers that rose high, so high up, all the way to the roof, each with more drawers than you could count. Each drawer had a number on it and, she knew in a way she couldn’t explain, a dead body within. The floor was filthy, stained with the reddish-brown crust of dried blood and faeces. Her stomach churned as she stepped over it, but still her legs carried on, left-right, left-right, till suddenly she was in the middle of the vast room.

  An operating table stood there, with a figure hunched over it. It seemed to sense her because it raised its head and turned around. Lab coat, face mask, a scalpel dripping blood.

  ‘Oh, you medum,’ Ganesh leered holding it out to her, ‘Want to do it? She won’t mind.’

  And then she felt her throat clench with a silent scream—the cadaver he was cutting up, began to rise. Slowly it got up, innards spilling from the incisions in its flesh. Deathly pale and water-bloated, it grinned at her with Laxmi’s face. ‘Hey, long time no see,’ it said and waved. The movement caused ripples in its flesh and just like that, water was pouring out of it in great gushes, taking bits of skin and bone with it.

  She wanted to shut her eyes and scream and run away from this place, but she couldn’t. The fear had numbed her, rooted her to where she stood, her legs felt weighed down with iron, her tongue heavy as lead. She stood stock-still and shivered, stomach clenched, unable to breathe. And then, a cold hand on her shoulder. She whipped her head around and looked straight into Laxmi’s dark eyes. A whole, living Laxmi, not the thing on the table.

  ‘You mustn’t believe she is me,’ Laxmi told her reproachfully, ‘you should know better.’

  But as she said this, her face began to blur. Eyes, nose, mouth, all dissolved into one smooth flesh-coloured surface. The faceless Laxmi tilted her head to one side and asked her quizzically, ‘What’s wrong? Aren’t you happy to see me?’

  A bell went off then and she saw Ganesh put down the scalpel and move towards her. The cadaver on the table too, got off awkwardly, pushing its intestines back into the gory gash, and began walking towards her. Terror took hold of her then and she raised her hands in front of her face and—

  Avantika awoke with a start, gasping for breath. Her heart was hammering in her chest and her breathing was ragged and harsh. Her feet felt icy cold, yet she could feel the sweat on her brow. She gulped hard, hand over heart, waiting for her heartbeat to get back to normal. Then she picked up the quilt that had fallen on the floor and pulled it tightly around herself.

  Outside, darkness had fallen and the air was full of the sounds of traffic snarls as thousands of homeward bound commuters got in each other’s way. Inside, the TV stood silent, the DVD having run its course without an audience. Avantika blinked a few times. Her head felt fuzzy and every move she made reminded her of all the different places in which her body ached. She got off the couch slowly, to a chorus of sore muscles. Gingerly, she made her way to the kitchen for a glass of water. She had just about poured herself one, when the doorbell rang.

  She started a little, still under the spell of the nightmare. Then shaking her head, she opened the door.

  ’Thank god,’ Uday said, ‘I was about to call the fire brigade and force this thing open.’

  Fourteen

  ‘I’ve been ringing the doorbell for at least ten minutes now, where were you?’ Uday asked, following her into the living room.

  ‘I’d passed out.’ Avantika eased on to the sofa, wincing. Everything she did was in slow-motion now, thanks to the pain. ‘I think my doctor’s given me horse tranquilizers instead of painkillers.’

  She moved her lower jaw from side to side experimentally. It hurt, but a lot lesser than it had in the afternoon. Uday glanced at her, his gaze resting a moment on the cut lip and the bruise on her chin.

  ‘You look terrible,’ he told her.

  ‘Thanks, you too.’

  ‘Here,’ he said, handing her a plastic bag as he sat down on the couch beside her. There was a warm takeaway container inside, with some plastic spoons and tissues. She sniffed at it. He noticed.

  ‘It’s chicken soup, not RDX. You said your jaw was hurting so—’

  Her stomach must’ve been listening, because it chose this moment to rumble. She nodded gratefully and took the container out of the bag.

  ‘You are so the man.’ She took a gulp straight from the container. Spoons were for the significantly less hungry.

  The soup was warm, creamy and delicious, a far cry from the usual restaurant fare of boiled water with sad floating vegetable slivers and the merest hint of chicken stock. She gave a satisfied ‘Mmm’ and proceeded to finish it with the general enthusiasm of someone auditioning for the lead role in an Oliver Twist remake.

  ‘That was so good.’ She licked her lips out of habit, then winced. The movement had sent a fresh jolt of pain through her cut lip.

  Uday watched her, concerned. ‘Feeling better?’

  ‘Lots, yes.’

  ‘Good. Now tell me what happened.’

  She told him, leaving out all details of where she was and what she was doing right before the accident. By the time she was done, the look of concern had been replaced with one of puzzlement.

  ‘So … you’re saying … you were riding your bike, there was a water spill on the road, you lost control of the bike and it skid because your brakes randomly stopped working? That makes no sense.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I can understand if it was an oil spill, but water? Nope. Something doesn’t fit here.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘When was the last time you got your bike serviced?’

  ‘Last month? Maybe the month before? It’s not been that long.’

  ‘Then there’s no obvious reason for your brakes to stop working suddenly.’

  ‘I know. That’s why I had a mechanic take a look at them.’

  Uday raised his eyebrows, caught between admiration and exasperation. ‘How? When did—?’

  Avantika shrugged, causing little ripples of pain to flow down her sore back.

  ‘When I was at the doctor. I know the guy, he usually does whatever bike work I need done. I called him and he came and took the keys from me and then he took the bike to his garage.’ Then, catching the look of disbelief on his face, she added, ‘What? What was I supposed to do? Leave it there?’

  ‘Fair enough,’ Uday said, with a grudging shake of his head. ‘So what did he say?’

  Avantika looked him straight in the eye and with a voice that betrayed no emotion, she replied, ‘He said the brake line had been cut.’

  Uday’s eyes widened. For a moment there was no sound, except the insistent honking of the traffic outside. ‘You know what that means.’ It wasn’t a question.

  She nodded.

  ‘Does this have anything to do with what you’ve been working on?’

  ‘Don’t know. It’s possible. I don’t think I’ve pissed people off that much in my personal life.’

  Uday let out a brea
th. He took in the vivid red splashes of mercurochrome on the cuts on Avantika’s hands, the green and purple bruises on her jawline, the angry red cut on her lip.

  ‘Avanti. You’ve definitely pissed someone off. Nobody cuts a brake line for a prank. Do you realize how much worse this could’ve been? What if there was a truck coming at you when this happened? What if you were speeding on the Western Express Highway and—’

  ‘Don’t remind me, okay?’ she shot back, annoyed. ‘I’ve already thought about all that. I just … I don’t want to think about it right now. I have enough nightmares as it is.’ She shuddered, thinking of the one she’d just woken from.

  He leaned towards her and put a hand on her shoulder. She covered her eyes with her hand, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Why was it that she could take anything with her chin up, except a little kindness? She felt her eyes prick and she rubbed them to keep the tears from coming.

  ‘I’m okay,’ she said, sniffing and getting up. ‘I’ll be fine. I just need to … figure some stuff out.’

  Uday stood up and gently caught her arm. ‘Let me help,’ he said.

  She looked into his eyes. He was probably the only one she could trust right now. She nodded.

  An hour and a half later, Avantika was exhausted. She had just finished telling Uday everything and it had been like one long, tiring session with a shrink. To his credit, Uday had sat and heard her out patiently, interrupting her just two or three times, and that too, to understand better. Now, he was pacing the room slowly, digesting everything he had heard, while she sat slumped on the couch, idly massaging her aching shoulder and staring at nothing.

  ‘Okay,’ he said at last. ‘The way I see it, there are a few questions we need answers to. One, where is Laxmi’s body? Two, who is this Ajay and what connection, if any, does he have with Laxmi’s disappearance, if not her death? And third and most urgent of all, Avanti, who is trying to stop you from finding these things out and why?’

  ‘I actually have a hunch about who Ajay is, but I could be wrong,’ she said, rubbing her temples. ‘The thing is, every new thing I come across just makes the whole thing more complicated. It’s like running in a maze and every day the maze changes, grows bigger or sprouts new byways—’

  ‘Welcome to the plot of “The Maze Runner”. Also known as investigative journalism,’ said Uday, with a wry smile.

  She didn’t smile back. ‘It’s not funny. I don’t know how you can still find it funny. Doesn’t it sap you, doing this day in, day out? Not knowing the answers, being surrounded by questions that just …’ she waved her hands vaguely, a reporter lost for words. ‘How do you keep your head up?’

  He gave her a purposely patronising smile. ‘Balls of steel, baby,’ he said, and then ducked to avoid the cushion she threw at him.

  ‘I’m asking seriously!’

  ‘Seriously? You think about the outcome. Keep your mind on the good you’re trying to do. And hope like hell that it works.’

  ‘That’s not what you said the last time I asked. That time you said it’s something about starfish.’

  ‘Oh, yeah, heh,’ he said, looking away shiftily, ‘forget about that. It’s this, the outcome thing.’

  ‘Shut up and tell me the starfish story.’

  ‘How can I shut up and then—?’

  ‘Just tell me!’

  He made a face. ‘Fine. It’s this story I’d read. I think it’s a good analogy for what we do. You know, working despite the odds in a country where—’

  ‘Story!’

  ‘Fine, fine! So this old man was walking down a beach, where lots of starfish had washed up, right? Then he sees this girl, this little girl, chucking them back into the sea, one by one. The old man says to her, “Why’re you doing this? There are thousands of them out here. You’ll never be able to save them all.” The girl looks at him calmly. Then she bends down, picks up a starfish, throws it into the sea and says, “I saved that one, didn’t I?”’

  Avantika smiled despite herself. So sappy. So utterly well-meaning and good and idealistic. You couldn’t help liking someone who thought like this. She had the weirdest urge to reach out and pull Uday’s cheeks. Uday himself, clearly felt like he had embarrassed himself no end, because he looked away and cleared his throat.

  ‘So. Yeah. Basically that. Mention this to anyone else and I’ll kill you.’

  ‘Oh please. Get in line.’

  Uday laughed. Then, some part of his brain must have nudged him because he suddenly stopped laughing and sat up straight. ‘Wait, what do you mean you have a hunch who Ajay is?’

  Avantika shrugged. ‘It’s a guess. There is some proof to support it, but nothing concrete.’

  ‘Fuck that, who is this guy?’

  ‘Well, for starters …’ she began, but was cut short by the doorbell.

  Uday looked at his watch. 10.26 p.m. ‘Were you expecting someone?’, he asked.

  She shook her head quizzically and walked to the door. She peered through the spy hole. Then, slowly, with a wary look on her face, she backed away.

  ‘What?’ Uday asked, ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Dhruv,’ she said, frowning.

  ‘Juneja? At this time? Why?’ Uday demanded.

  ‘I don’t know … but … oh God—’ Avantika bit her lip. Her throat suddenly felt dry.

  ‘What?’ Uday asked. He was on his feet now.

  ‘He … he was the last person I met before I … before the accident.’

  The doorbell rang again.

  ‘Okay…’ Uday said, unsure of where this was going. Or indeed, of what it implied.

  ‘I came out from Laxmi’s building and he was … he was leaning against my bike. As if … as if he was waiting for me.’

  She looked at him, and for the first time, he saw a flash of fear in her eyes. He realized what she was trying to say.

  The doorbell rang again.

  Fifteen

  Avantika stared at the door, thinking fast. Dhruv coming to her house, could mean many things. If he was the one who’d sabotaged her Activa, maybe he was coming over to make sure that she was good and done with. Or, a dark corner of her mind prodded, to finish the job. No, wait, that was ridiculous. This was a very well-to-do, respectable man who was a part of her social circle. If he wanted to kill her, why would he get his own hands messy? Especially, in a city like Mumbai where people were so desperate for money, they could bump someone off for the price of an unlimited rice plate1.

  ‘I’m opening the door,’ she told Uday. She had never felt this glad to have him around.

  Taking a deep breath, she opened the door. If there was any doubt in her mind that Dhruv had something to do with her accident, it was confirmed by the look on his face. But, and this was where the confusion set in, as guilty as he looked, he seemed more horrified. She knew what a horrified man looked like. She’d seen her father’s face, whenever she’d shown him her maths test results.

  ‘Hey! Wassup?’ she said in a cheery voice, while her face refused to keep up with the act.

  Dhruv shook his head, as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

  ‘Fuck,’ he said and ran his hand through his hair.

  ‘You say the sweetest things.’

  He clasped his hands together tightly, his face very serious.

  ‘I need to talk to you …,’ he began, just as Uday came and stood behind Avantika, blank-faced and mildly menacing.

  A quick flash of recognition.

  ‘… alone,’ he finished.

  Avantika shook her head. ‘N-ooo, I’m still getting over what happened after the last time we talked alone.’

  Dhruv blinked. He looked from Avantika to Uday, the accusation sinking in. ‘Hold on—you think … you don’t think I had anything to do with this?’

  They just glared at him. Avantika crossed her arms across her chest. Dhruv, was blinking furiously, his clasped fingers twitching, all his usual suavity missing in action.

  ‘It’s not what you think,’ he said.
‘I swear. You have to trust me.’

  Avantika remembered the road rushing towards her, the sickening crank of the fenders grazing the concrete, the taste of blood in her mouth.

  ‘Do I?’ she whispered, and then turning her head slightly in Uday’s direction she asked, ‘Do I have to trust him?’

  Not taking his eyes off Dhruv, he shook his head. Dhruv looked away from him and turned to Avantika.

  ‘You know you can trust me,’ he said, in a quiet voice. ‘If I wanted to harm you, I could’ve done it when you were sleeping at my place.’

  Uday blinked at this. ‘What!’ he said, forgetting his menacing henchman act for a second. ‘When did this happen?’

  Avantika closed her eyes in exasperation. Boys. They had no sense of priorities sometimes.

  ‘A while ago,’ she said. ‘It’s not what you think.’

  ‘That’s what I’m saying,’ Dhruv muttered.

  She pointed a threatening finger at him. ‘It’s not the same thing,’ she growled. ‘I could’ve died! Do you understand that?’

  ‘I do, I do, but—’

  ‘And you still expect me to hear you out? You’re insane!’

  ‘I don’t want you to hear me out,’ Dhruv said in a resigned voice, ‘I … want you to come with me.’

  Avantika looked at him as if he had suggested she turn into a rabbit for some time. Then she gave a hollow, humourless laugh and walked into the living room, shaking her head. Dhruv made as if to follow her, but Uday moved forward, blocking his entry. The two men eyeballed each other for a moment, then Dhruv gave an exasperated sigh and stepped back. He seemed to reach a decision.

  ‘I know you want to know what happened to Laxmi,’ he called out to Avantika, who was in the process of slowly sitting down on the couch.

  She didn’t look at him, but the way she stared straight ahead, told him she was listening.

  ‘I can help, but you have to come with me,’ he said. ‘I promise you, you’re not in danger.’ And then, remembering the events of the afternoon, he added awkwardly, ‘anymore.’