MIDNIGHT
Mr Patel switched the TV on. He had a bird’s eye view, the night vision camera made everything appear greenish and drab. He waited for his victim to wake up.
3:00 AM
He woke up in solid darkness; his entire body was aching and he was drenched in sweat. He got up, and while taking his second step, bumped his head on the wall. He felt his way around the room — extremely small, four bare walls, no d o o r s o r w i n - d ow s. H e was a p r i s - oner. He started panicking — he wanted to scream but felt stupid. He put his arms across his chest and realised he wasn’t sweating. The liquid that soaked him was blood. He screamed.
A YEAR AGO
His victim wasn’t rich, she wasn’t even an adult. She was hardly a year old. She was asleep, totally oblivious of the impending doom. He had called Ghani Bhai a million times, pleading and crying that he didn’t have the stomach for this. He could not murder a baby. G h a n i Bhai insisted that the kidnapping had gone sour and the only way left was to kill and bury the child. So here he was, the very place at which he had killed scores of men whose families refused to pay up. Only this time he had to kill a baby.
4:00 AM
He had been screaming for a long time now, frantically trying to clean the blood off him, rubbing himself against the wall like a crazy animal. It was difficult to breathe; there was chance that he would suffocate to death. Was Ghani Bhai behind this? That bastard had some sick ideas. He started crying, awaiting his last breath.
Mr Patel felt depressed. This was no fun. Was this man going to die a happier death than he had presumed? It had taken almost a year to track this man down. It was Sheetal’s first death anniversary. Sheetal, his one-year-old baby daughter.
He only hoped the sleeping pills didn’t kill him before the room ran out of air.
