[Continued from LAVENDER BLOOD (Part I)]
“What are you doing?!” Darla gasped, trying to wring her hand free from the stranger’s grip. Things worked in Darla’s favour and since it was raining, she was able to break free. She ran, eyes closed against the rain, she ran straight ahead. Suddenly, she felt a sharp pain which was followed by a loud sound, like that of an explosion. Something had paralysed her. She collapsed on the pavement with a dull thud.
It was a moonless night. A black sedan was speeding up; it was running late. It finally came to a halt in a deserted street in front of an old Peepal tree under which stood a man, smoking a pipe. The man was waiting for a signal. The driver made the car’s headlights blink twice – the signal. The man under the tree went up to the driver’s window which rolled down as he reached there. The two men began talking in a confidential tone. They were talking in a language the girl in the backseat couldn’t comprehend. Was it Russian? She thought so too. Only it was not Russian; it was English, plain but broken. She was too confused, her mind too clouded for her to understand what they were saying.
They are talking about me, she thought. The man outside was looking at her through the window, his gaze cool and restricted, but he knew that the effect of the drug was wearing off. It was. She realized it was English they were speaking and so she tried to focus her wandering mind on the conversation. But she was still very drowsy. Nevertheless she tried.
“So? Why bother?” The man outside was saying, “Its his problem. Why should I suffer for something he didn’t have the balls to do right?”
“B-But, William, er, sir, you know that that wasn’t hi- ”
“Oh shut it!” He glanced at the girl, paused and continued. This time she could bet her… life… it was… Russian…
She slipped under.
She tried opening her eyes but the light shone in her face. She blocked it with her hand, lifting which was very painful, and looked around. It was a small room – dark and untidy. It smelled of urine and cigarette smoke. She felt cold, wet wood under her. It was the wooden table that she was laid upon. The only light bulb hung precariously over her head. Her lavender frock was now a bloody red and when she tried to sit up, a sharp pain ripped through her body and she slumped back on the table. She discovered where the bullet had hit her and tried to sit still.
Not an inch! I can’t move even an inch! And she cursed. The bullet had hit her right above her left hip.
[Continued in LAVENDER BLOOD (Part III)]