Writing (fiction)
Chapter 1
It was always a variation of the same dream.
I was, what, ten years old? Yes. Ten. I recognized the house’s corridors and I passed a framed portrait of my father. I saw my reflection in the glass, and it was how I remembered myself at that age.
The departure of my father in the house felt like a sort of space vacuum. My mother was shouting, telling me to exit the house. My footsteps echoed as if I were in a cavern while I heard the multiple steps of a horde of thugs coming after us.
I ran.
I was scared, but the adrenaline had enhanced my senses. I could practically smell their determination to kill us. I could feel the coldness, I could feel the rage.
I dared to look over my shoulder as I ran. The running bodies were faceless, almost as if they were only a shadow, but I knew better.
They were Death.
No question about it. Death had been coming for me in my dreams for a long time now.
I ran faster. I was fairly certain I could stay ahead of him, but the temperature around me grew colder. They were closer.
I turned the corner of the street and faced an interminable lane. It disappeared into nothingness, a long way away. Could I make it to the end before they caught me?
I pushed forward and felt my legs working to put distance between the shadow and me. Did I hear them calling me? How could he call me? They didn’t know my name. Or did they? I don’t remember.
Things are always crazy in a dream.
Suddenly my legs struggled to move. As if I were waist deep in invisible quicksand. No matter how much I tried, I would only move as fast as a turtle. The muscles in my thighs and calves hurt from the exertion.
The ice-cold breath was now on my neck. They were just behind me, perhaps close enough to reach out and touch me.
No! I had to get away! I couldn’t let the Death to touch me.
I sensed their heavy hands, outstretched and ready to clasp my shoulder. The only thing I could do was fall forward, as if I’d just toppled like a stack of building blocks. But I didn’t fall fast enough; it was more like I was floating! Then I felt the piercing pressure of their hands.
I screamed as I landed on the wet alley…
… and I woke up.
The disorientation lasted for a few seconds, as always.
That unpleasant pressure in my chest felt as if it might explode. Some might call it anxiety. I don’t know what it was for me. Whatever I chose to call it, I didn’t like it.
I sat up in the bed. The room was dark. There was light outside, but I had the curtains closed. The digital clock on the nightstand read 5:43. I’d meant to wake from the afternoon nap at 6:00. This had been happening a lot. My internal alarm clock was all messed up. At least I awoke early and not too late.
I had a job to do.
Vikrant stood and walked to the window, pulled back the drapes and peered outside. The Indian sun was bright and hot. He saw the men and women trying to break through the Mumbaikar crowd while he remembered the painful dream in his head again.
He was only 10 years old when his father left. He was too young to understand the reasons about the sudden disappearance of his dad, a well-known tax officer who got into trouble for the wrong reasons; but to Vikrant there wasn’t a motive, or a logical reason. His father had just ‘gone away’.
After this baffling event in Vikrant’s life, one of his father’s best friends, Sanjay, decided to take him and train him. Sanjay knew the reason of Vicky’s father sudden disappearance. He took advantage of this situation and exploited Vikrant’s frustration. Over the years he became street-wise, fight-wise. Like his departed mother, he did not grow too tall, topping out at 5 feet and 6 inches. Nor was he heavy and muscular like his father, but now with the unprecedented set of skills he had acquired, his lean frame packed fearsome stamina and his fists able to give killer punch, he was ready to take revenge on his father. He was ready to do the job.
Chapter 2
Aisha was only one of the many chain links Vick had to eliminate. No one would suspect that this unassuming, every day, pretentious mom was a high-level arms dealer, drug distributor, and a CBI informant, all rolled into one. She appeared completely harmless, but Vick knew that Aisha was as lethal as the rest.
Vikrant stood at the corner of the Janki Kutir Street, watching the townhouse across the street, when a woman opened the door and escorted her two children outside. He figured the boy was probably seven. The little girl was younger, maybe five. They were bundled up and ready to go to school.
The woman, who appeared to be an everyday housewife and mother, thirty-something years old, took each kid’s hand and walked them down the block. Vicky was patient. He could wait for the woman to return. It wouldn’t be long. Drop the children at school, kiss them goodbye, and promise to pick them up later in the day. He figured she’d be back in ten or fifteen minutes.
Vikrant turned and stepped inside the café and ordered a large coffee, black. He wondered why so many customers had to have fancy concoctions—a latte this or that, a mocha what’s it, a cuppa-cinno however—when it was just the caffeine anyone wanted. They could be in and out of the shop a lot quicker if they ordered simple coffee.
The woman returned to the townhouse exactly twelve minutes after she’d left. She fumbled in her purse for her keys, unlocked the front door, and stepped inside. Vicky already knew that the father of her children lived abroad. The couple wasn’t together. She was alone.
Vikrant finished his coffee, threw away the cup, and stepped outside with a briefcase.
It was a warm but beautiful day. Time for business.
He rang the doorbell as if he were a traveling salesman. After a moment, he noticed the movement in the peephole. He felt her hesitate, and then she opened the door.
V-Vikrant! – she said stuttering.
Aisha. – He answered.
W-what the hell? I heard you were d-dead. – She continued.
Not yet. – Responded a very calmed Vikrant.
She looked him up and down, not sure if he was a ghost or not. After a moment’s silence, she stepped aside and gestured inward. He moved past her and she closed the door behind them.
She led him into the living room.
Coffee?
I just had some across the street.
She nodded, stepped into the kitchen, and poured herself a cup from a contraption on the counter. When she returned to Vicky, she held the coffee in her left hand and a Smith & Wesson in the right.
What brings you here, Vick? – She asked.
Put that away, Cherry. I’m here on business. – He continued
I thought perhaps you’d come to collect on “that old debt”.
And I thought perhaps we could talk about that.
Look, Vikrant, your father was creating a lot of trouble around, he insisted in doing the things his own way and…life intervened.
You mean, you and your dirty group intervened. And as if it wasn’t enough, you went after me just a few days later.
Vicky, y-you disappeared and like I said, I…we thought you were dead.
Put the gun away and let’s talk.
He set the briefcase on the door and held out his empty hands.
– I’m not armed.
Liar. You’re armed. I just can’t see your weapons. Why would you come all the way here if it isn’t to kill me?
He allowed a slight grin to form on his face.
Fair enough.
Aisha set the gun on a table and sat in a chair next to it. The Smith & Wesson was easily within reach, and Vicky knew she could grab it and fire a round in the time it took most people’s brains to simply initiate the command to do so.
What do you want then? – she asked.