I Forget I Killed My Friend

In cricket, they say batting in the fourth innings is a challenge. This could be a metaphor for life itself once you were in your last innings as a senior citizen. I was in my last innings along with my spouse and other friends. Health and decent wealth were two essentials to assist you in the last innings. Some of my friends were in the company of Parkinson and Alzheimer. To see them in that state was depressing enough. I read up all about Alzheimer's in my free time as there was nothing else to do. One fine night my spouse had a ‘stroke’ of luck and left abode for a better world in her sleep. I became a lone vulture scavenging in life. A week later I was rummaging on her shelf looking for documents of her savings in the bank, post office for doing the formalities of transfer to my name. it was then I came across her diary. I knew sometimes she would jot down things but we mutually respected our privacy and never wanted to read her jottings. Now that she was dead, I got curious and flipped through the pages of her diary. One entry shocked me to the core and also sent me in a rage. When I cooled down, I hatched a plot.

A few months later my son Vishal and my best friend Surendran took me on rounds for consultation with doctors. Doctors conducted some tests and found nothing wrong essentially. They said losing someone with whom one has lived for 35 years could create a shock in the mind. I was affected by some such condition. They also said this condition may or may not be reversible and could lead to Alzheimer as well. I was told to read or engage my mind as much as possible and not sit idle. I started volunteering at Nightingale, a home for senior citizens,s and got more familiar with Alzheimer and behaved very well as if I too was afflicted.

There was the news of the death in the farm resort on page 3 personalities that were doing the rounds when the topic popped up when I was at the Nightingale home during a discussion with the visiting doctor. He observed that the combination of speed drug and alcohol was a potential dose for inviting cardiac arrest. It was sure death for senior citizens and those with weak hearts. For some reason, I had a mental note of it.

One year had nearly passed quickly and it was my wife’s anniversary one month from now. I told Vishal that I didn’t want to spend the anniversary in Bangalore and I could visit him in Chennai. So, he had booked my ticket in 3rd AC by the night train. My friend Surendran received the news of my going to Chennai in a strange manner which I attributed to the idea of being left alone in Bangalore. Surendran was like a family member and he was the designated god-father to Vishal.

2021, Dec 7th

 My wife Kamakshi’s death anniversary day and I was surprised to be woken up by a call from my son Vishal. He asked me agitatedly where I was and I said he woke me up from my bed. He said I was supposed to arrive in Chennai by the night train and my bag was found on the berth along with a bed sheet spread on my berth. I got confused by this call and as usual, took the easy way of saying I don’t know what happened.

Two days later I heard a knock on the door and I was surprised to see the police at the door. They said they had found my Surendran’s body at his independent house in NRI Layout. The body had been sent to post-mortem for ascertaining the cause of death. My son Vishal by then had joined. When police inquired if he knew anything Vishal said “no.” He told the police that the 7th was the death anniversary of Kamakshi and I was there in Chennai with him. Yesterday Vishal and I drove back as he had a sudden meeting for today at Bangalore. Vishal also informed the police that my mental state was normal and had exhibited signs of Alzheimer. He informed the police that Surendran was also affected by his mother’s death as he was almost family and times were trying for all concerned.

Later the police declared the death as a case of overdrinking as the post mortem didn’t reveal anything other than cardiac arrest.

The next day after Vishal left, I celebrated the death of Surendran as I was the cause of his death.

When I had seen Kamakshi’s diary I was shocked and sent into a fit of rage to see her noting that Vishal was not my son but that of Surendran and their lovemaking had happened when I was on an official tour abroad. I could not believe what I had read but it was not difficult to verify the truth using DNA analysis which matched the DNA of both Vishal and Surendran. That is when I decided that Surendran didn’t deserve to live and I would commit his murder on the eve of Kamakshi’s death.

My forgetfulness and showing signs of Alzheimer was play-acting which I perfected as days passed by. My volunteering at Nightingale helped me get experience in this fine acting. All my tests showed negative for obvious reasons. Doctors that were consulted could only speculate that my loss had created mental damage. The death of page 3 personalities because of a cocktail of speed drugs with alcohol showed me the way to put an end to Surendran. It was easy to procure speed drugs.

When Kamakshi’s anniversary was nearing I showed increasing signs of mental distress to get my son to book a ticket by the night train. During the day I had left for the white field station and parked my car near it. I had come back and boarded the train at Cantonment and I got down at Whitefield 15 minutes later. By then, TTE also verified my ticket.

I drove then to the NRI layout. Luckily rain aided me in my task. Surendran’s independent house was at the corner and provided easy access. I called him on the phone when I reached his house. He was indeed shocked to see me and asked why I wasn’t on the train. I said I wanted to have a drink with him so I came. He got the glasses and the water and I asked him to get some ice and snacks too. When he went inside the kitchen, I mixed a large drink of whisky with speed drug and poured a small one for myself. I said cheers and downed the whisky. He took the cue and downed the entire glass at one go. Within minutes he was in the throes of the cardiac attack. That is when I told him I got to know of his treachery and all this Alzheimer drama on my part was an elaborate plot to get revenge. He fell down from his chair and I checked the pulse after a few minutes and confirmed his death. I washed my glass which I kept back on the shelf. I brought a mop from the kitchen and wiped any traces of my shoes all the way back to the door and threw the mop by the roadside en route to my house. The rain continued and wiped away any other trace of my nocturnal visit.

I was back at my bed that night and slept satisfied that I had got my revenge. When the police came they realized I was an Alzheimer's patient and didn’t question me. They believed what Vishal had told them I had come to Chennai. Unknowingly Vishal became my alibi for his father’s death.

I am now resumed my normal life and doctors congratulated me on my recovery. Vishal never knew the truth about his biological father. He was a good boy and we continue with our father-son relationship. I continue to have fond memories of Kamakshi as well.

As Sherlock would tell Watson the plot was elementary.

In cricket, they say batting in the fourth innings is a challenge. This could be a metaphor for life itself once you were in your last innings as a senior citizen. I was in my last innings along with my spouse and other friends. Health and decent wealth were two essentials to assist you in the last innings. Some of my friends were in the company of Parkinson and Alzheimer. To see them in that state was depressing enough. I read up all about Alzheimer in my free time as there was nothing else to do. One fine night my spouse had a ‘stroke’ of luck and left abode for a better world in her sleep. I became a lone vulture scavenging in life. A week later I was rummaging on her shelf looking for documents of her savings in the bank, post office for doing the formalities of transfer to my name. it was then I came across her diary. I knew sometimes she would jot down things but we mutually respected our privacy and never wanted to read her jottings. Now that she was dead, I got curious and flipped through the pages of her diary. One entry shocked me to the core and also sent me in a rage. When I cooled down, I hatched a plot.

A few months later my son Vishal and my best friend Surendran took me on rounds for consultation with doctors. Doctors conducted some tests and found nothing wrong essentially. They said losing someone with whom one has lived for 35 years could create a shock in the mind. I was affected by some such condition. They also said this condition may or may not be reversible and could lead to Alzheimer as well. I was told to read or engage my mind as much as possible and not sit idle. I started volunteering at Nightingale, a home for senior citizens,s and got more familiar with Alzheimer and behaved very well as if I too was afflicted.

There was the news of the death in the farm resort on page 3 personalities that were doing the rounds when the topic popped up when I was at the Nightingale home during a discussion with the visiting doctor. He observed that the combination of speed drug and alcohol was a potential dose for inviting cardiac arrest. It was sure death for senior citizens and those with weak hearts. For some reason, I had a mental note of it.

One year had nearly passed quickly and it was my wife’s anniversary one month from now. I told Vishal that I didn’t want to spend the anniversary in Bangalore and I could visit him in Chennai. So, he had booked my ticket in 3rd AC by the night train. My friend Surendran received the news of my going to Chennai in a strange manner which I attributed to the idea of being left alone in Bangalore. Surendran was like a family member and he was the designated god-father to Vishal.

2021, Dec 7th

 My wife Kamakshi’s death anniversary day and I was surprised to be woken up by a call from my son Vishal. He asked me agitatedly where I was and I said he woke me up from my bed. He said I was supposed to arrive in Chennai by the night train and my bag was found on the berth along with a bed sheet spread on my berth. I got confused by this call and as usual, took the easy way of saying I don’t know what happened.

Two days later I heard a knock on the door and I was surprised to see the police at the door. They said they had found my Surendran’s body at his independent house in NRI Layout. The body had been sent to post-mortem for ascertaining the cause of death. My son Vishal by then had joined. When police inquired if he knew anything Vishal said “no.” He told the police that the 7th was the death anniversary of Kamakshi and I was there in Chennai with him. Yesterday Vishal and I drove back as he had a sudden meeting for today at Bangalore. Vishal also informed the police that my mental state was normal and had exhibited signs of Alzheimer. He informed the police that Surendran was also affected by his mother’s death as he was almost family and times were trying for all concerned.

Later the police declared the death as a case of overdrinking as the post mortem didn’t reveal anything other than cardiac arrest.

The next day after Vishal left, I celebrated the death of Surendran as I was the cause of his death.

When I had seen Kamakshi’s diary I was shocked and sent into a fit of rage to see her noting that Vishal was not my son but that of Surendran and their lovemaking had happened when I was on an official tour abroad. I could not believe what I had read but it was not difficult to verify the truth using DNA analysis which matched the DNA of both Vishal and Surendran. That is when I decided that Surendran didn’t deserve to live and I would commit his murder on the eve of Kamakshi’s death.

My forgetfulness and showing signs of Alzheimer was play-acting which I perfected as days passed by. My volunteering at Nightingale helped me get experience in this fine acting. All my tests showed negative for obvious reasons. Doctors that were consulted could only speculate that my loss had created mental damage. The death of page 3 personalities because of a cocktail of speed drugs with alcohol showed me the way to put an end to Surendran. It was easy to procure speed drugs.

When Kamakshi’s anniversary was nearing I showed increasing signs of mental distress to get my son to book a ticket by the night train. During the day I had left for the white field station and parked my car near it. I had come back and boarded the train at Cantonment and I got down at Whitefield 15 minutes later. By then, TTE also verified my ticket.

I drove then to the NRI layout. Luckily rain aided me in my task. Surendran’s independent house was at the corner and provided easy access. I called him on the phone when I reached his house. He was indeed shocked to see me and asked why I wasn’t on the train. I said I wanted to have a drink with him so I came. He got the glasses and the water and I asked him to get some ice and snacks too. When he went inside the kitchen, I mixed a large drink of whisky with speed drug and poured a small one for myself. I said cheers and downed the whisky. He took the cue and downed the entire glass at one go. Within minutes he was in the throes of the cardiac attack. That is when I told him I got to know of his treachery and all this Alzheimer drama on my part was an elaborate plot to get revenge. He fell down from his chair and I checked the pulse after a few minutes and confirmed his death. I washed my glass which I kept back on the shelf. I brought a mop from the kitchen and wiped any traces of my shoes all the way back to the door and threw the mop by the roadside en route to my house. The rain continued and wiped away any other trace of my nocturnal visit.

I was back at my bed that night and slept satisfied that I had got my revenge. When the police came they realised I was an Alzheimer patient and didn’t question me. They believed what Vishal had told them I had come to Chennai. Unknowingly Vishal became my alibi for his father’s death.

I am now resumed my normal life and doctors congratulated me on my recovery. Vishal never knew the truth of his biological father. He was a good boy and we continue with our father-son relationship. I continue to have fond memories of Kamakshi as well.

As Sherlock would tell Watson the plot was elementary.