Doctor’s calls.

“It has been 17 months, hasn’t it?”

“Longer, it seems! How have you been? Where did you move to? Did you get the job you were after? I have so many questions”, Riya adjusted her tote bag as she spoke. She wore a black outfit today. Big golden earrings and a necklace made out of seashells. The cold evening’s wind made her curly hair sway gently. It wasn’t dark yet, and she could see the effect time had had on Pam’s face. There was something Pam wanted to tell her, so it seemed, something that she could not keep to herself.

Riya asked her again. Pam stood there silently, gazing at an old outgrown tree. Riya tugged at her shoulder. Finally, she spoke. “Should we go in?”, pointing to a cafe across the street. The cafe had a large wooden archway for a door surrounded by glass windows. The windows looked out on the street through a sparse cover of trees nearby. Riya nodded. Her eyes followed Pam as she turned around to go. Her gait was different, it was rather sluggish.  Riya’s phone buzzed. She silenced it and followed her.

They sat at a table by the window. A dull grey glass separated them from a quiet road that occasionally had a hawker on it. The cold weather had made the evening bleak. Pam focused her eyes on the same old tree on the opposite side of the road. “Seventeen months”, she spoke softly. “They say it does, but time really doesn’t fly.” She played with the cutlery. The tablecloth absorbed all the sound. Riya was trying to make the head and tail of the situation. You meet your best friend after such a long time, such a desolate state is rarely what you expect. The cafe played a country song, and occasionally bells could be heard. A ding for an order served, read a sign by the counter.

Pam sighed. “Remember the good ol’ college days? This was the place we hung out all the time. Remember the time we spent talking about things, unwary of the world?”, she paused, “I’m sorry for leaving you the way I did. I had no other option”. Memories flashed by Riya as she tried to contain her feelings. Pam continued, ” I asked you to not visit him, did I not? I hated him. They way he treated me. I know you still do not believe me when I say this, but he tried to separate us. And not like I loved you or something, he didn’t even have a reason. He played with your mind”, Pam choked.

Riya sat indifferent. She contemplated correcting Pam, but she thought it to be an unnecessary effort. She had a vague feeling.

“Riya, on the night you first saw Chris, do you remember meeting me here and telling me all about it? You said your elder brother had introduced you two, and you felt as though you’d never be by yourself ever after. You talked about him all the evening, how he understood you as a person, how he complemented you with his traits, and finally how he could be the one for you!”,Pam said. Riya’s attention had drifted and she no longer heard Pam. Riya put her bag on the table. She opened it and pulled out a chap-stick. As she applied it, she looked at the contents of the bag. She always carried such a diverse collection of things. Stones, strings, dried leaves, accessories, craft paper, her personal journal, headphones , her scribbled notes and so on. Something felt weird. Why had Pam met her after such a long time, and why was she discussing something that happened in the past?

Pam stopped talking as the waiter arrived with two large coffees. Riya looked at the waiter and signaled him to put both of them down. He did so. Riya began,”Why today? I mean, why today! I have missed you for so long and you decide to show up after so long. What is it that you-” she was cut by a beep on her phone. She ignored it.

Pam began, “Do you not want to know why I left? I did not go looking for a job. I lied. I could no longer keep it to myself. I had to tell someone what Chris did to me. And I had to tell someone I am close to” Pam now stared into her coffee with narrowed eyes. “He..he locked me in a room. He asked me to not contact you. He kept me in that dark room for a day! He threatened me to not tell anyone. Oh his eyes, I dread them even today. And I did keep meeting you, only rarely. I was scared. And then one day..one day he found out about it and he…”

“ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND? RUBBISH!”, Riya shouted at the top of her voice. A man on a table nearby turned to look. “You’ve been imagining things. He did nothing to you. Chris and I might not be together but I will not have you say a single word against him. He is always morally correct, added to the fact the he is a medical student. You and I have been friends for long but I will not stand you and your delusional thoughts” Riya finished with a sigh. Pam shrugged reluctantly, “I always knew you wouldn’t believe me. All I have to say is I have seen things, I have been on the other side, an
d you don’t want to be there. I cannot be more happy at the thought of you two not seeing each other” She handed Riya a piece of paper. “Read this when you want to”. Riya threw the paper that seemed to bear Chris’ handwriting in to the messy tote bag. “Later”, she said.

The conversation drifted to a casual topic. Hours rolled by. Riya was no longer upset about not having anything to do with Chris. She enjoyed the feeling of her friend coming back to her more than losing a guy she knew only for a while. They talked about stuff. Anger and longing dissolved into humor and joy. So much so that their coffees had went cold. Riya signaled the waiter to bring in new ones. Pam never talked to the waiter, and as Riya noticed, Pam hardly talked to anyone when they were together. Riya noticed her phone, that she had put on silent mode, vibrate. She asked Pam to give it to her as it had drifted on the far side of the table amidst the mess that girls usually manage to create in cafes. Pam ignored her and continued with her other hilarious stories that Riya thoroughly enjoyed. She burst out laughing on one or two occasions, loud enough to attract attention.

“Look son, that is what a schizophrenic looks like-“, said an elderly man sitting at a nearby table, with a finger pointing at Riya.

Red Demons

 

The sky changed colours. From the blemished blue to the overwhelming orange. A clutter of birds sprawled over Ben’s house, as he, perched on the parapet of the roof, looked up. To his right lay a half read book, that he had the courage to steal from the local book shop. It was all worth it, he thought. And boy did he think. From the mountains to the seas, nothing ever escaped him. From Lisa to their relationship, from the wildest of their days to the loneliest of the nights, he thought about it all. He thought. The portrait of a sovereign leader atop the book cover stared blatantly at him, as though beckoning him to finish the unfinished story. He ignored it, for now.

The wind that blew would have had a smell of pines, had the forest had pine trees. For now it reminded him of  the elms that stretched out far and wide around the house. Memory flashes.

---

“I cannot live with this guilt, I just cannot”

“There is no way out, Lis”

“What do we do of the body?”

“We dump it in the river, we forget about it”

“They’ll come for me Ben, they’ll be after my life!”

“They’ll never know about this”

---

It is our ignorance and utter belief that defies the existence of hope. Had he known better, she would have lived to see the day, had he known about her whereabouts, he would have not wanted to see the day! It drove him mad, not being able to make head and tail of the situation, about her existence. Days from now, a situation had turned their lives over. The forest behind the house called out to him, it wanted him to look at what they had done to her. Little did he know that a walk into the forest would be a walk into an abyss. Dismay projected through both his eyes, he looked into the forest.

Dark. Unending. Oddly satisfying. Terrifying. Covert. He could only look. The Red Demons, as they were called, a tribe, thrived in those woods. Weirdly shaped creatures, thirsty for blood. Houses made of stone. Dusty purple smoke out the chimneys. Lisa captured, tortured, bruised and beaten, lay in one of them. They had striped her off her eyes, the instant they had seen her lurking around their abode. She sat their lifeless, as a murdered member of their tribe decomposed down the river, relinquishing earthly pleasures, for something better. Their earthly pleasures were far more unearthly, for it was a herb producing tribe. A hallucination-inducing herb producing tribe.

Ben almost swore to what he remembered, till he saw the portrait on the book smile at him.

 

 

  Continued.

 

The wait.

It started with a wait. A habitual one. One that’d make someone realise the value of the time as it flies by. He had nothing on hand, just a few random yet thwarted thoughts . He waited, she kept him waiting. Minutes slipped into, well, more minutes, and yet he waited. This wasn’t something he wasn’t accustomed to, he had had his share earlier. He couldn’t complain, she had a reason. Is a reason always enough? Doesn’t it make you want to rip the reason off someone’s tongue and throw it in flames? What would they be left with, then? Nothing. And, nothing. This is what he waited for, he waited for her to confess nothing. To not account for it as to why she wouldn’t show up. He longed for it, she always disappointed him by giving a reason. He wanted to be with her, and he’d be lying if he said she did not. Time, however, was on a rather neutral side. He gazed at every soul that passed him, to his dismay not many a souls did! He sat there, waiting. It was getting dark, and the wind blew harsh. Under a tree, perched on a bench, he had these longing eyes, waiting for hers. She should’ve turned up by then, but she made him wait. Such a simple term, such nuisance. She didn’t turn up. She’d been dead for a week.

Shan’t Rant.

Unfinished sentences. Guarded entrances.  Disoriented objects. Unheard dialects. Scattered glass. Unforeseen impasse. Shattered dreams. Helpless screams. Obvious misfits. Infeasible commits. Broken vows. Banned cows. Jailed thoughts. Fastened knots. Cold rains. Missed trains.  Uninterested hosts. Welcoming ghosts. Unkempt attitude. Unattainable solitude. Half-left kisses. Black abysses. Lost feelings. Importunate pleadings. Cracked lips. Jeopardized relationships. Thoughtless affairs. Already-travelled squares. Fallen prides. Obligatory suicides. Sickening threats. Heavy chests. Empty bowls. Monotonous drones.  Dying pets. Old diskettes. Frightening nightmares. Cold stares. Unmet demands. Sarcastic reprimands. Forgotten melodies. Befallen tragedies. Shameful deeds. Perished seeds. Shrunken confidence. Spurious opulence. Forbidden grounds. Unleashed hounds. Godly fiends. Unfinished ends.

-V

The Night Of The Unheard Part II

“I know not, how they found out”, Ms. Burk propelled sadness in the room. “I cannot be more sure of the fact that I left out any evidence, let alone one something that would draw the rancid attention of the police”, she squealed. “You know how it all adds up, life time imprisonment, or Gods be merciful, throw me into a health care cell, oh with those wild experiments”,her frivolous actions depicted otherwise. “You conducted medical studies yourself, so said Hopkins,did you not?”. She tugged at him. Wolf lay silent staring in her eyes.

“I’ll find a way out.”, he spat indifferently.

Two weeks ago this date, Ms Burk had begun her day, nothing unusual, she recalls. She agrees upon pouring herself some Irish coffee and going through the morning routine chores. At about quarter to ten she seems to have had a call. The old telephone was answered first by her maid and later by herself. Details of this call are not intended to be made public. Usually she would then adhere to her job, of teaching the school in her neighbourhood, but not that day. It is to be noted that Ms. Burk inherits a lot of property and bonds alike and has no immediate kin to pass that onto. Teaching is just an activity that helps her while time off. The call made her shrivel in fear, her mouth dry and her face, aghast. Like a ghost of fear astride her consciousness. She hastily packed a bag, about a sleeve’s length in capaciousness and pitch black in colour. The maid was not sure if she had had anything in it, it looked empty on the outside. She then went out of the house.

Two blocks away, a body was recovered. It was believed to be Mr McPherson, who on this unfortunate day did not see it coming. Ms. Burk is known to have violent psychotic outbursts in the past. The police have recovered sufficient clues from the corpse as to point this murder convicted by the aforementioned person, Ms Burk. A blunt knife was used as the assault weapon. It bears the fingerprints of the convicted person. She cannot, unfortunately, be constrained in a cell, for she is nowhere to be found. Any person, who would lead the police in this regard shall be handsomely rewarded, let alone serve as a servant of justice. –

he threw away the morning chronicle. “So why would you kill him?”

“He was a beast of a man. A week ago at the Harrington School, where I work, he showed up. He stood by the playground, with no demands nor intentions. He observed me play with the students there, and I found it to be disturbing. I could not get him thrown out because there was no legal reason too. He supposedly was a guardian to one of my students.

Things began to take an ugly shape when he followed me home the next day. He used to watch me, oh those cold dull eyes! I was increasingly cringing to the fear of what might happen. On the day of the ‘murder’ someone called me up to tell me that a strange looking man had killed one of my students, and that he did so upon my orders. I could not be more shocked. On my way to the school, I ran him to him at the alley by my house. He grinned wickedly. Soon it dawned on me that the trap was a two-faced one. He forced himself upon me,Wolf ,there in the alley. He held a knife to my throat and threatened me to indulge him. In the spur of the moment I dropped my bag and it went down with a hard clank. It must have been the metallic side of it that crashed against the crap bin but it sure divulged his attention. And there I was, his knife gutted in his own throat, retaliating with horror.  I pulled the body two blocks away and cleaned everything I could. I do not know what leads the police deciphered but I cannot confess my crime.” she wailed.

“Where are you living at the moment?” Wolf lit a cigar.

“By the sea, there is an old, rusted lighthouse, atop the small cliff. No one has heard of it. The guy, Hopkins, who showed me your address arranged for me to live there. He informed me of you and your methods. Take as much money as you want, Mr. Wolf, but get me out of this trouble.” she pleaded.

The rain had pauperised the road to the house. He cast a look out of the window. “Come down tomorrow” said he, “We will talk about the expenses. And yes, behold no fear”, he attempted a pacifying smile.

He watched as the aforementioned guy lead her out of his house enroute the lighthouse. He closed the door, when he could no longer perceive the shadow amidst the curtain of the rain. He made himself comfortable once again, and picked up the chronicle,scanned it, and laughed, oh did he laugh!

Ms. Burk was a sufferer of Dementia. For the past seven years she had been one. Her short term memory lapses had no cure, so had the doctors declared. She was, in fact the aforementioned convicted murderer, but it was Wolf’s servant, Hopkins who had passed her by as she engaged in the act. She shook with fear, for the fact that someone saw her committing the crime was overwhelming. He blackmailed her to come to the surgical hospital where they would discuss terms. Instead Wolf performed medical experiments on her, forcibly. That had rendered her with Dementia, and Hopkins and Wolf made the best out of the situation, as one probably could. Hopkins-Made up a story, Wolf-Stayed the lone reaper.

The Night Of The Unheard.

She stifled an urge to shift in the fur cushioned chair. To her left stood a window, which looked upon an empty road that ran by the house. Rains had seized the night, and nothing was to be seen far and wide. The curtains were pulled apart and tucked into neat patterns, however, these rebuked of agedness. Refurbished teak brown wood framed the window together, and let out a rather distinct redolence. One that reminded you of an old cramped up rack of books, of scrolls and manuscripts. The window was large enough for a person to jump out. Rain miffed the window, so one could see. It struggled to keep upright.

Fluorescent

She paced the lane swiftly. It was a little over one and the day-dwellers had been by long asleep. The serenity was overwhelming, though the night carried a certain chill to it. The streets were empty, the shops, shut. Street lamps glowed through the menacing darkness, cutting shadows far and long. The foggy November nights reminded her of her childhood days. Those were the days she yearned, she knew she could never have them back, but the memories were soothing enough. A cab pulled up at the end of the street. She hid herself in darkness, she couldn’t afford mistakes. The cab rustled away, she, regaining her calm, continued walking. A brown jacket, worn out shoes, frizzled hair and a borrowed cap. She looked beautiful nonetheless.

Of people that we never meet again.

I looked away. The weather was too good to be sitting at home, let alone studying. There in the trees, perched on a high brawny branch, sat a crow. It fluttered its wings to get the water droplets off. It had to rain, eventually. The foggy evening was precluded by an overcast sky, roaring occasionally but dispersing nothing more than scanty droplets. The wind blew harsh, the leaves swayed untowardly. I longed for a ride, dearly.

Of Lost Days.

It was an ordinary November day. Alarm had failed to wake him up. “Useless”, he thought. The house was empty. No one to be found here. He checked the clock,that stood at a wicked angle. Wasn’t it a dreadful time to begin the day? Awfully yes! He threw his blanket aside, those were chilly days. It plummeted to the floor, did he care? He walked the kitchen, it was way past breakfast hour. Nothing to be found there. He helped himself pour a cuppa coffee. Dark brown, it resembled blandness, at its best. The newspaper was a time killer, it was devoured with the coffee. He looked around, finishing this fulfilling act. What was next?
He had to go through a book. For obvious reasons. A text book. Seamlessly boring. And confusing, yes. He managed to cut an hour or so, barely. It had become dull outside. It had become clouded, outside, and in his mind, too.