Akanksha Ayantika

Crime Thriller

4.6  

Akanksha Ayantika

Crime Thriller

The Fear Was Real This Time

The Fear Was Real This Time

6 mins
322


There was a lunch gathering at her house in the spring of twelve years ago. Twenty five to thirty people were in attendance, all family and colleagues. Everyone dined outside in the garden in soft daylight and light flowing breeze. There was barbecue and a grill outside, the ladies were bringing beverages, drinks and other appetisers from inside the house. Zara was standing beside the barbecue, smelling the delicious cooking meat. The vegan ones were already done and laid on the dish she was holding. She placed it on the table and looked over to the slices of tofu on the grill. The men were all present there. 


“Can you help me with the cutlery, Zara?”, she called from the house door. 

“Sure”, Zara went in with her. 


Time collapsed in between, no one was keeping track of it. She came out onto the porch with the cutlery and laid it out. Everyone’s was not covered. 

“Where’s Zara? She was bringing the rest”, she said. 

“I don’t think she came down”, said the man at the barbecue. 

“She went in to get the cutlery”, a woman said. 

“I asked her to come with me. I’ll just go and see.”


She went in to look for Zara. In less than two minutes, she ran out on to the porch, her demeanour completely altered. Everyone turned towards her, she shouted a sigh, 


“Oh God! She’s dead.”


The guests were taken aback at the utter horror of the words spoken. The reality was grasped only after a moment of dead silence. He was the first one to act, dashing into the house, pushing her out of the way. Several others followed him. He found Zara dead on the floor, in the small passage beside the kitchen wall. Her head was bleeding out and a thin rope encircled her pale neck. There was no doubt, she was dead. 


_______________________________________________


“Why did she come here?”, he asked her. 

“I don’t know. Why are you ask me?”

“She was with you. You don’t know?”

“I used the washroom and told her to take the cutlery out. I thought she did. Don’t give me that look.”

“No one else was with her”

“Jesus, are you saying I have a hand in that?”

“I am saying only you had the chance.”

“The house was open the entire time. Anyone could have walked in.”

“Why did you take only half the set of cutlery?”

“What?”

“You brought down only half the set of cutlery. The rest was lying there. You knew she hadn’t taken it down.”

“I didn’t see it. I got out of the washroom, took the set lying in front and went back out. I never looked.”

“Your story isn’t convincing at all.”


_______________________________________________


He sat in the dim of his office, the piece of paper held between his long fingers. The only light from the lamp fell on the paper, illuminating the words written on it. It was a letter. Only five words were written on it but they had conviction, a form of unabashed bluntness. The firmness of the short sentence almost threatened him. He had not heard from her in twelve years. Back then, he had thought he would never hear from her again and the thought was consistent for the twelve years that followed. But the letter changes everything. 


He has been staring at the letter for long time now, contemplating its meaning. It could have been minutes that passed in between, or hours. The time was the least of his worries. All of his consciousness was fixated on the letter, the only worry in his mind. He did not know what to make of it. The message was clear, there was no doubt about its textual meaning but the purpose? Why was the letter sent to him? It was wet July but the sweat was tickling his forehead. His throat was parched with empty air. The stillness was so intimidating, so encompassing, that the letter he held fluttered by the force of his continuous breath.


A storm was gathering momentum outside. It was a coastal town, they were as frequent as devastating. The rain had started, soon thunders and lightenings would follow. Uncontrolled winds were blowing, beating against the open window with a loud bang. But he did not move, neither did his eyes flickered at the sound. He was unaware of the window and the storm. Thunder echoed through the town, but in the room, the only echoes were that of the words,


“I did not kill her.”


The letter was sent from Central Prison by the woman serving a sentence for the murder of his wife. His wife was suffocated to death on garden lunch at her house. She was the prime suspect in the investigation, the setting and timing all favoured her being guilty. A rope was used and only an inhabitant of the house should know where it was kept. And she foolishly agreed that the rope was off the house. No physical evidence was found but that was plenty to strengthen the case. She pleaded guilty in the end. 


But there was something unsettling about her confession in the letter. What good was it after twelve years? It can not be a confession. They had talked about it many times while the investigation was on. She had repeated the sentence every time. He did not believe it then and would not, even now. She knew that well enough. But then, why? He read through the five words again and again. The paper stuck to his fingertips, they were visibly sweaty in the lamp light. A knot was developing in his stomach, his heart a grinding mixture. His brain was racing, but without result. It kept on racing continuously, his glance extending over and over again on the length of the single sentence. Something he had heard many a times before, but it had never produced the same effect as now. The fear was real this time. 


It was not a confession. It was a threat. She has sent it to him on purpose. She knew who murdered his wife. He was sitting in a chair in the garden. She called Zara from the the house. Zara left the table and went inside with her. He looked at the man beside him who was almost passed out. He wouldn’t know a difference in the world. He got up and went around the way to the back. Turning around the edge, he stepped into the porch. A glass door led him into the house. He found Zara alone in the kitchen. She stopped on seeing him. 

“Do you want anything?”, she asked. 


The rope was lying coiled on an open shelf. He only made sure to not leave any finger prints. The rest was easy. She followed him out of the kitchen like an obedient child. He simply had to ask, then he grabbed her by the hair and smashed it against the corner wall. By the time it took her to realise the real danger, the rope was coiling tighter around her neck. She tried screaming but it didn’t make a difference, she had asthma and succumbed quick. And she was in the washroom, the tap was running in its full capacity. She had could not hear a thing from inside. He left the same way he came, unnoticed. The man outside was easy to manipulate, he had no sense of time whatsoever. 


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