Lethal Secrets

by Anju Gattani

  She blinked and scanned the living room, then tiptoed back up the corridor past the bathroom on the left, her room on the right, and hesitated before the two-inch gap in the door of the bedroom on the left. She pushed the door open an inch more and saw Rakesh’s form, fully dressed, face down on the bed.

  She looked at her watch. Thirty-five minutes left.

  She crept back to her room, peeled off the nightgown, rolled it into a ball, and arranged the gown, several saris, salwars, and pillows lengthwise on the bed where she had just lain, then rolled the covers back and patted a sleeping figure into shape. She went to the cupboard, wrapped her outfit’s matching dopatta around her neck, and slipped on her Nike shoes. Then she tiptoed to the kitchen, removed the drawstring bag from its hiding place, tucked it under her left arm, and hurried to the front door.

  She eased the lock from its grip, turned the doorknob, and pulled. The door didn’t move. Her attention flew to the joint between door and wall, to another lock, higher up. She slid down a metal lever on the higher lock and then turned the knob again. The door still didn’t budge. In desperation, she gripped the knob in both hands and yanked back and forth but stopped. The noise is bound to wake him. She groped across the dining table for the keys. Gone.

  She hurried to the patio door, pressed the sheet of glass, and shoved right but the door didn’t move.

  She groped for the lock. There’d been a key in the lock yesterday afternoon.

  The metallic knob held no key.

  It must have fallen.

  She groped across the floor, frantically widening her search. Nothing.

  The moon spilled white light across the wooden deck and the grass beyond. There were two ways in and out of the villa and Rakesh had the keys to both.

  The isolation. The layout. The timing. He had planned all of this. The perfect trap to hold her hostage.

  She crept down the corridor, pressed her back against the wall, and peeped round the edge of Rakesh’s door. Still asleep.

  She entered the bathroom and sat on the bathtub’s edge. Both doors locked. Every window, a sheet of glass protected by metal bars on the outside.

  “Let’s say I know what’s going to happen,” Rakesh’s words swirled in her mind. “Do I do something about it, or just let it happen?”

  She glanced at her watch. Twenty minutes.

  She was not going to die.

  Sheetal looked at the ceiling and her attention shot to a two-by-two feet square, ten feet off the floor, covered with a lattice mesh. The mesh appeared to be a temporary covering for a window that needed repair. Four screws, one in each corner, held the wire mesh in place. Her heartbeat quickened.

  Carrying the drawstring bag, she turned off the light, eased open the bathroom door, tiptoed to the kitchenette, and removed a knife from the woodblock. She hid the knife in her bag and didn’t breathe again until she closed the bathroom door and punched the lock.

  ***

  Rakesh stirred. A noise came from somewhere. White noise. He tried to open his eyes but his head pounded. Cold. He was so cold.

  ***

  Sheetal lowered the toilet lid, placed her bag on the edge of the bathtub, and climbed onto the commode. She felt along the window’s vinyl frame, searching for nails and extra screws. Nothing. She stepped down, yanked the knife from her bag, and the torch rolled out. The clank against the porcelain caused her to freeze. She listened for sounds in the hall—sounds from Rakesh’s room. Did he hear?

  Sheetal stuffed the torch into her bag, climbed onto the commode, pressed the knife tip into a screw head and tried to rotate the knife counterclockwise. The knife tip slipped off the screw. She replaced the tip, gripped the handle with both hands, and applied pressure as she rotated the knife. The screw turned, but bangles tinkled along her wrists.

  Too much noise.

  She removed the bangles, heaped them on the commode’s water tank, then loosened and removed the second screw, the third, and the fourth, spinning each in the same direction. Each rotation brought her closer to freedom. Finally, she returned to work on the first screw, but before it came out, the vinyl frame slipped. She tried to catch the mesh but the frame struck the commode, clanged, twanged, and banged against the tank, then hit the bathtub amid a shower of bangles.

  ***

  Rakesh rolled onto his side and opened his eyes. The wall blurred.

  That noise. That damn noise. Where was it coming from? And why was he so hot?

  ***

  Sheetal grabbed her bag, tightened the cords, slung the bag against her back, and thrust her arms into the hoops. Then she reached up, grabbed the window ledge, and looked down at her feet. She had to get herself up. She crouched without releasing the sill and then leapt, aiming her head and shoulders toward the window. She strained with the effort of getting herself up and through the opening, but finally her head and upper torso hung outside the window. She sucked in cold mountain air, then pedaled her toes against the bathroom’s tile wall and shoved with her hands against the siding. Her hips cleared the sill and she curled as she plummeted.

  She hit the ground hard and lay in the damp grass a moment before rolling onto all fours. She clambered to her feet, steadied herself against the wall, and then shoved off and ran.

  ***

  Rakesh marched into Sheetal’s room and pounced on her sleeping frame but his hands sank into cushions of fabric. He threw back the duvet and balls of clothing unraveled.

  He straightened to his full height and roared.

  ***

  A blood curdling scream tore through the night. A lion? A bear?

  Sheetal’s lungs strained to keep pace with her feet, to supply her need. She stumbled over uneven terrain, searching for lights. The car. Where was the car?

  She stopped on the crest of a slope to catch her breath and spotted the silver ribbon of road in moonlight. The outline of a silver bonnet broke the moonlit landscape. The car!

  A figure near the car waved for her to hurry. Jatinder Singh!

  Artificial light flooded the grass behind her and from the corner of her eye, saw the cottage bathed in yellow. She pounded one foot ahead of the other as wind rushed through her hair. She was getting closer. Closer. She skidded to an abrupt stop against the side of the vehicle.

  “Hurry, Madame.” Jatinder opened the rear passenger door. “Getting late, we are. No time. Rushing must.”

  Sheetal almost fell across the back seat.

  Jatinder slammed the door, leapt into the driver’s seat, revved the engine, and sped into the night.

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Red Fort Express

  “Jaldi karo.” Sheetal’s heart raced as the car sped along the concrete road.

  “Hurrying, Madame.” Something darted across the road and Jatinder slammed on brakes, throwing Sheetal forward. “Very sorry, Madame.” He turned around in apology. “I no good in emergency thing. But I trying my best.” Then he turned back around and roared ahead at full speed.

  Sheetal clutched the bag to her chest and savored the coarse fabric against her palms.

  The car swerved and Sheetal grabbed the seat in front of her.

  “No worrying, Madame.” He looked at her in the rearview mirror. “No one hurting you now.”

  He knows everything, for sure. She touched her cheek.

  “I am promising Arvind Bhai I make sure you reach station on time. Train leaving at three o’clock. Red Fort Express, Madame. Always punctual, like myself. I check and confirming before I am leaving to....”

  Sheetal sank against the ripped leather seat and watched the road behind. The gibbous moon lit the mountainside dotted with darkened cottages and villas. Today was Chauth, the fourth day after the full moon, and she was not going to let fear hold her back.

  The vehicle slowed and she turned around. Jatinder eased the car to a stop before a yellow-and-black-striped horizontal bar.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “No you worrying, Madame. Gate pass to outside resort. You
covering your head and face with dopatta and guard not seeing you. Less difficult. You are having blood on your face. If guard is seeing, we are having problem.” A security guard emerged from a booth and approached.

  Sheetal caught a glimpse of herself in the rearview mirror. Her face, puffed and dotted with bruises, bore a gash across the cheek. She covered her forehead with the dopatta and lowered the veil so it covered half her face.

  “Eh.” The security guard gestured for Jatinder to lower his window. “Where you going?”

  “My wife is with me on food delivery,” Jatinder explained in Hindi. “Cottage forty-two ordering food from my dhaba and I deliver. Now I drop my wife to her mother’s. Her name is Janki.”

  The guard peered through Jatinder’s window and Sheetal pulled the veil so it shielded her chin.

  “Afraid to stay alone in the dhaba. Just married.”

  The guard nodded, returned to his booth, and pushed a button. The horizontal bar lifted and Jatinder eased the car forward.

  “Hurry, Jatinder.”

  “Slowly, Madame, so no one is becoming suspicious.” He halted at an intersection, glanced at her in the rearview mirror, then turned left on Mall Road and sped away downhill, the car’s headlights slicing through the darkness. “You eating food, Madame?” he shouted above the Ambassador’s roar.

  Her stomach growled. She hadn’t eaten since lunch.

  “You looking, Madame, on floor on your left. Bag with tiffin box. My wife packing something for you. Maybe also some towel for you to wiping your face.”

  Sheetal reached into the dark, located a plastic bag, and unraveled the knotted cloth inside. She pulled apart the steel clips banding the four steel containers, unstacked the tiffins, and removed the lids from each. Three vegetable curries and a small bundle of chapatis.

  “Simple food, Madame.” Jatinder’s voice took an apologetic turn. “My wife is not knowing fancy items. Also, she is not knowing good manners of high-class people. Like cleaning your hands with wet napkin before eating. Sorry, Madame. Simple girl from simple village. But I asking her put towel for you.”

  She had openly taken offense at Jatinder’s English, hospitality, and humble manners. She had judged Jatinder by his clothing, the state of his battered vehicle, dingy restaurant, and the food he served. Yet, without any expectation in return, he shared his dal and roti. Guilt clawed at her heart and she hated herself. How could she ever repay him? “Thank you. You must thank your wife for me. I am so sorry if I said anything to hurt or offend you or your wife.”

  “Not me, Madame. Arvind Bhai is remembering you must not be eating. But you no worrying, Madame. No need for saying sorry when you doing no wrong. Eat. Hot food. You having long journey ahead because no taxis driving now. No man risking journey at night so your husband no follow. Arvind Bhai and Chotta Baba already going and must be halfway down.” He patted the steering wheel with a firm nod and encouraged the vehicle with a loud, “Chal, Chamkeeli!”

  ***

  “I understand, sir.” The hotel manager, who wore a navy suit and tie, nodded.

  “You don’t understand, that’s my wife,” Rakesh yelled. “Some guy kidnapped her.”

  “But no driver will take you down at this hour. It’s too dangerous and it’s against the Mansali Tourist Board Association’s rules and regulations.”

  “Fuck the tourist board.” Rakesh swaggered, then leaned against a sofa’s backrest when the Plaza staff swayed around him. He tightened his grip. “Fuck all your rules and regulations. I saw him leave with my own eyes. The silver Ambassador was parked outside our villa. His name is Arvind Chopra and he works as a teacher at Stonewall.”

  “I understand, sir. We’ll call the police and file a report immediately. They can block—”

  “I want my wife. Now.”

  “But sir, it isn’t safe to drive at this hour. We should file a report first.”

  His head throbbed. “Now!” he screamed. “Call a taxi now.”

  Radio music filled the silence.

  “There isn’t a single car that will take you down. No one will.” Sweat beaded the manager’s forehead.

  “You have a car?” Rakesh sucked in his chest.

  “Yes.”

  “You drive?”

  “Yes.”

  “You know the roads?”

  “But sir—”

  “You know who I am?”

  “Rakesh Dhanraj, sir.”

  “Good.” He nodded. There was no way he was going to lose his son. “Get moving. Now!”

  ***

  The deserted road ahead appeared to end at an unseen abyss. Jatinder slowed to maneuver another hairpin curve. “Arvind Bhai and Chotte Baba reach Lower Mansali by now,” Jatinder said.

  “How much longer?” Sheetal glanced at her watch. It was midnight. The train departed in three hours. “We’ll never make it at this rate.”

  “Another hour and half still to go. But you not worrying, Madame. We are having plenty of time.”

  “I know.” Sheetal instantly regretted her authoritative tone. “What I mean is, what if something goes wrong?” The possibilities for doom were endless considering the number of sharp curves and hairpin turns with visibility limited to the narrow strip of asphalt illuminated by the car’s headlights. Overhanging boulders along cliff tops, visible as silhouettes, presented a threat of avalanche. When the moon set, the road and mountainside would be plunged into near-total darkness. For now, treetops and mountain caps glowed under the torch of the moon’s beam.

  May my death precede that of my husband so that I can enter the chitaa as a bride.

  She was not going to die before Rakesh.

  The vehicle slowed to a crawl. Jatinder eased the car to the edge of the road and braked.

  Sheetal tensed. “What happened?”

  “Chamkeeli, Madame,” Jatinder said, “is having mood problem.”

  “Mood problem?”

  “She no like driving at night. Once before I try, Madame. She stop. She old and rusting, Madame. But reliable. You no worrying. I take you, somehow.”

  Leaves rustled in the night breeze and stilled.

  “I knowing, Madame, what to do.” He stepped out, circled the vehicle, and raised both the boot and engine hoods. “Chamkeeli no liking high speed we are driving. Cannot blame—no? Like wheezing for car, Madame.”

  A shudder ran up her spine. “But he’ll catch up. He saw us leave. He’ll follow. How long will it take for your Chamkeeli to stop wheezing?” She tightened her grip on the drawstring bag and pressed it to her chest.

  “You no worrying, Madame. We having plenty time.”

  “We’ve got two hours left.” Her voice cracked like the snap of branches in the darkness. “We have to get down there. Do something. You don’t know my husband. He’ll kill me.”

  “Trust me, Madame.” Jatinder’s cherry eyes sparkled in the night. “Everyone knowing him.”

  ***

  “Drive! You fucking fool, drive!” Rakesh barked. “Look out!” he yelled as a branch scraped the side of the Maruti Zen. A split-second later, the car swerved back onto the road. “Fucking kill me, why don’t you?” he bellowed.

  “I’m sorry.” The manager shuddered. “I’ve never driven these roads at this time of night.”

  “You live here, dammit!” Rakesh glimpsed through the windshield a thin stretch of asphalt road ahead that crumbled to a broken railing and held his breath. “Watch out! Fucking hell! How much longer?”

  “It’s three hours down. Sometimes more, sir.”

  Rakesh ran his tongue across his lips, savoring the taste of Sheetal’s blood. “Sweet.”

  “Provided we get there in one piece.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “This is a tiny car, sir.” Shadows rushed past in the headlights’ periphery. “The Maruti is too light a vehicle for these hills. It’s not meant for such difficult drives. A sturdier car with an experienced driver, sir, is what you need on these mountains.”

  “
Why didn’t you say so before?” Rocks and bits of broken asphalt littered the sides of the road.

  “You didn’t let me. I tried to tell you, sir. I’m new but—”

  “Fuck!” Rakesh screamed as the driver swerved around the cut-off end of a fallen tree and Rakesh was thrown against the driver’s arm. “An inexperienced manager! All I fucking need today.”

  “Oh no, sir.” He glanced at Rakesh. “I’ve been managing this resort for the last five years.”

  “So, what are you new at?”

  “Driving, sir. I just got my license last week.”

  ***

  Sheetal glanced at her watch for the umpteenth time, seated in the stationary car with Jatinder Singh behind the wheel. “Is she ready now? Your Chamkeeli?”

  He turned the key in the ignition and the engine wheezed. “Chamkeeli no starting, but better than before.” Jatinder rummaged through the glovebox. He tried the ignition again, but the engine choked and spluttered. “Day time easy to fix, Madame. Night becoming difficult.” He glanced into the rearview mirror and smiled. “I see light. Another car maybe can help.”

  “Where?” Sheetal turned around and saw flickers of light through the wiry arms and trunks of trees.

  “Up there, Madame. Coming down. I see some light, then going away. Help maybe coming. Someone living there. I can go ask.”

  Rakesh.

  “What, Madame? You are crying.”

  The diya-like light flickered in the rearview mirror. “That’s him. He’s coming to kill me.”

  “No, Madame. I am thinking some way.” Then he swung open the driver’s door, jumped out, and made his way to the front. “Maybe if I am joining these two wires and trying.... But cannot see, Madame. It is too dark—no? Chamkeeli—”

  “Here!” Sheetal hopped out of the car and handed him a torch. “Maybe this will help.”

  He nodded. “Good, Madame. Very good! Why you no saying before?”

  Sheetal turned to the moon and prayed for her own life.

  ***

  It was two-thirty. In half an hour, the Red Fort Express departed Lower Mansali. “What’s my alternative if we miss the train?” Rakesh asked.