I have been coming here for the last eight months, every single day. Sometimes I just sit inside my car for days, surveilling his hotel.
He doesn't get out much, Daniel King. In fact, I never saw him stepping out of the hotel, not even once. But I did see him once at the lobby — a tall, brutish man with streaks of grey starting to dominate his long red hair. It was him. I just knew it.
He had people outside, people in plain clothes who kept changing every couple of days. It was difficult to spot them, but one starts to identify the pattern — familiar faces, shift timings, and other periodic things. If you give it a little time, one starts to find order in every ordained randomness.
It was my third time changing my position in the last couple of hours. I was sitting on the park bench near the hotel, but then after wearing a leather jacket and removing my long skirt, now in my jeans, I headed toward my car and continued my surveillance.
I considered going inside the hotel, but I had already done that over a dozen times — mostly as a guest, but once even as one of the staff-maids and another time as a plumber. Every single time, his floor was off-limits. The hotel took extra care about that part.
I planned to kill him. I had an idea — crude but tangible. It wasn’t enough. Precision mattered. Infiltration needed planning. Execution required time and patience — something I had found myself increasingly lacking with each passing moment.
My phone rang; by the sound of the beep I could tell that it was Kumar's wife, Shanthi. I still live with them. It was a risk for them to keep me, especially after the baby, but they insisted for me to stay, and for some reason, I couldn't say no.
I was wondering whether to hang up on her, but I had done that already around five times now. This seemed important.
"Oh, thank Jesus! You are alive," Shanthi exclaimed rather sarcastically.
"You are not a Christian, dove," I chuckled.
"I will be. I will bow down even to Satan if that is what it takes to get you home."
"Why do you want me there?" I questioned. "Am I forgetting something?"
"Yes," she replied rather sternly, "It is Kumar's birthday. I have told you so many times about the surprise I planned."
"Oh, shit," I cursed. "Fuck, I forgot about it."
"Not very Christian of you," she remarked. "Anyways, be there by 7. We will be waiting for you."
"Okay," I agreed. "Bye, dove."
"Bye, Rose," she hung up.
I remained in the car for a couple more hours until deciding to just drive away. I went to a nearby store to get a gift for Kumar. I would be lying if I said that I knew what an almost 40-something man would like for his birthday — I assumed they all were already dead from that point.
I moved around and found a lawnmower, something small and cute enough to please both Kumar and Shanthi. It seemed like a proper gift. I got it packed.
Before I could check out, my eyes fell on a large teddy bear, and for some reason I couldn't pull my eyes off it.
"Are you okay, ma'am?" one of the storekeepers inquired.
I was standing there for a little too long and a little too oblivious to notice that my eyes were drenched.
"Yes," I answered him. "Could you please pack that too?"
I was in my cabin by 5 but spent the next three hours considering the possibility of going or not. But then finally decided to go.
When I entered their house, I saw a bunch of new faces — mostly Indians. There weren't a lot, but it was plenty more than I could take.
"There you are," Shanthi saw me. "Darling, Rose is here."
I forced myself deeper into the room, smiling at the faces I would rather shoot. The walls felt close, getting narrower every moment, and the room — despite the heat — felt colder by every second.
"I am glad you came," Kumar came to me with his warm eyes and open arms, engulfing me with his enormous hug.
"It hurts," I slowly murmured in his ear, "You are crushing my ribs."
Kumar instantly loosened his grip, pulling back with an apologetic gasp.
“Sorry, sorry,” he whispered, hands hovering like he was afraid to touch me again. “I forgot.”
“It’s fine,” I lied. It wasn’t. Every breath felt like punishment for surviving.
"I got you something," I showed him the lawnmower, shoddily gift-wrapped with two different coloured tapes holding it together.
"Thanks, Rose. It is beautiful," he said as he opened the wrapper. "I always wanted something like this."
"Congratulations, Rose. You brought my husband his new favourite toy," Shanti commented as she stared at her husband, placing one of her hands over his shoulder.
I felt something.
I wanted to leave — probably pick a corner and stay there for the rest of the party. But before I could do that, a middle-aged woman invaded our small circle.
“Kumar! Happy birthday!” the woman squealed, pulling him into a hug. When she turned to me, she paused, eyes trailing my face, then my clothes, then—God help me—my bare ring finger.
“And who is this lovely girl?”
“Oh, that’s Ro—Jasmine,” Shanthi introduced one of my alter-egos cheerfully. "A really good friend of ours."
"What a beautiful girl you are," she stared at my face, but before I could thank her she turned toward Shanthi, "Is she married?"
I froze.
"No," Shanthi answered for me. "She's wid—err... No, she is single."
“Single?” another auntie swooped in, attracted by the scent of blood. “Such a pretty girl. Why not married? Any plans? Boyfriend? Fiancé? Anything?”
My breath tightened. I looked away.
"You are single!" another of Shanthi's namesake aunties chimed. "What do you do, beta?"
"I am an electrical engineer," I answered. "I run a freelancing business."
"Beautiful and smart, I see," one of the women commented. "You know, I know a nice boy. Handsome, tall, and runs his family's business. He will make a good husband for yo—"
"Aunties, please!" Shanthi interjected. "Leave the poor girl alone."
"I will have to go," I said and walked out of the crowd.
My chest — there was a sharp jolt of pain in my ribs, but it was not just that. It felt heavy too.
I could feel my eyes moisten and my face betraying me by making my lips twitch. I just... I just couldn't keep it in.
Then I saw her... the baby.
Shanthi’s little girl slept in her cradle near the corner, wrapped in a soft yellow blanket. Her chest rose and fell gently, like nothing ugly had ever existed in this world. I stepped closer without realising it.
Tiny. Peaceful. Alive.
My heart twisted so violently I had to grip the back of a chair just to stay upright.
My vision blurred. My breath hitched. I could hear the rabid voices screaming in my ear as I saw the walls close in. The fire, the explosion, the blood. Everything. I could see everything splattered around me as if they were staring at my very own soul.
“I—I need a minute,” I muttered.
Nobody heard me. Or maybe they did and chose not to care.
I pushed through the crowd, bumping shoulders, ignoring calls of “Rose? Where are you going?” until I stumbled out onto the porch.
Cold air slapped me. I inhaled like I’d surfaced from drowning.
I cannot be going like this anymore, I told myself and rushed into my car.
That night, I came back to the house once I was sure Kumar and Shanthi were asleep. I packed all my things and loaded them in the pickup truck I had brought.
I was about to leave when I suddenly stopped. I went back in, stood beside the baby's crib, and just stared at her. I kept the teddy beside the crib and leaned in to pick her up.
She was awake yet not crying. She stared at me with her bright eyes, blurting out an illegible language that only babies understood. She was smiling, and her smile brought me tears.
"Take care of yourself," I whispered in her ear. "Be strong. I will be looking after you."
"Looks like she’s got a guardian angel now," a voice behind me echoed. It was Shanthi.
"You are leaving, aren't you?" she questioned. "At least you could have said goodbye."
"I felt you both wouldn't let me go, dove," I said as I passed over the baby to her mom.
"I don't think anyone in this world can stop you," she said as she rocked her daughter. "And we are just mere mortals."
"Thanks for everything, I will have to leave now," I walked past her, trying to leave by the door.
"Rose," Shanthi's words stopped me, "Don't die on me."
I smiled.
"Goodbye, dove."
— To be continued.