Richard Doetsch - Half-Past Dawn

“This is bullshit-”

“No bullshit. She was rebelling, using you to insult her father.” Raj pulled an envelope full of photographs from the inside pocket of his suit jacket and threw them down onto the table. They were intimate and revealed Suresh and Nadia in the throes of passion. “She sent them not only to him and her mother but also to the tabloids, like some American reality-TV star. She really wanted to piss her dad off, embarrass him, show him she didn’t need his money or power… reject his wealth to be a free spirit,” Raj said.

“She doesn’t care about money.”

“Really?” Raj smiled. “ You don’t know her very well.”

Suresh tried to contain his growing anger.

“Nadia is not who you think she is, Suresh. In fact, do you even know her real name? You were her bad-boy fantasy; in you, she found danger, romance. You allowed her to explore her base needs, her sexuality. You were just a pawn, like all of us, used by a spoiled child. But like so many before, when she is done with you, she casts you away.”

“Get out.” Suresh raised his voice as he took a step forward. “You’re not taking her away from here.”

“You don’t understand. We didn’t track her down.” Raj paused. “She called us.”

Confusion ran through Suresh. There were too many thoughts to process. He knew she loved him. He saw his love reflected in her eyes, in her heart.

“On her twentieth birthday,” Raj continued, “Nadia is to receive the first installment of her trust, fifty million dollars, with the proviso that she fulfills one criterion.”

Suresh’s head was spinning. “What are you talking about?”

“She receives her trust, provided she marries…” Raj paused, and a knowing smile creased his face. “Provided she marries me.”

Lies. This man was lying to him. He was there to take her away, just as the men tried to snatch her back three months earlier. This man was playing his emotions to the extreme.

Raj picked up the camera from the table, turned it on, and thumbed through pictures of Suresh and Nadia. Shaking his head, he pulled out the memory stick and snapped it in two. “These last six months of her life will be erased from all memory.”

“Those men in the alley.” Suresh spoke slowly as the realization formed in his mind. “They worked for you.”

Raj just stared.

“They weren’t there to mug me, were they?”

Raj reached into his jacket and pulled out a Browning pistol. Suresh could see the worn butt of the gun. It was this man’s personal weapon, one that he had had for a long time. Despite his polished appearance, Suresh knew he was up against someone familiar with violence. But no fear arose in Suresh, only concern for Nadia, and no one was going to take her.

In a snap move, Suresh tossed the coins he clutched in his hands at Raj, the cloud of metal causing the man to flinch and allowing Suresh to dive left.

But Raj’s distraction was short-lived, and he quickly fired, hitting Suresh in the right arm, the echo of the gun reverberating off the small walls. But Suresh’s momentum was not deterred; his left arm was already in motion, swinging upward as his hand wrapped the barrel, twisting it from the man’s grasp, while his right fist caught the man upside the head.

Suresh continued moving forward, tackling Raj backward over the chair, crashing onto him. Raj rolled right, countering Suresh’s move, driving his elbow into Suresh’s wounded arm, stunning him.

But Suresh compartmentalized the pain, continuing his attack. And while Raj may have had military training, it was no match for Suresh’s skills, which had been honed not only throughout his lifetime but by his ancestors for decades before.

With a sudden movement, Raj was wrapped in a choke hold. But this time, there would be no mercy like he had shown the pack of thieves on the street. Raj had awakened a rage in Suresh, a kind that he had never tasted before. Suresh hadn’t realized that his attackers from earlier in the evening were there to kill him, but he was not making that mistake again. If he allowed Raj to live, he would surely be back with a much larger team to correct his mistake.

Suresh tightened his grip. Raj struggled beneath him, his tailored suit torn, fear in his eyes, knowing that his neck was about to be snapped.

Without warning, the boiling oil from the stove hit Suresh’s skin. Like molten lava, it oozed down his side. He turned with disbelieving eyes to see Nadia standing there, pot in hand, her eyes filled with tears. He released his grip on Raj and tried to ignore the excruciating pain as the skin on his torso bubbled and rolled up. The blood of the bullet wound washed away while the fresh blood that poured from the wound congealed upon meeting the boiling liquid.

Raj kicked, scooting away from Suresh, gasping for breath.

Suresh didn’t move. He did not break his stare at Nadia, standing there with a tear-streaked face.

“What are you doing?” Her voice cracked in anguish as she looked back and forth between the two men.

As she put down the pot, her questioning eyes turned sympathetic, and she took a step forward, crouched down…

And took Raj in her arms.

It all became clear. Raj’s words were true, and Suresh was nothing but a pawn. He had opened his heart and turned his back on his previous life for love.

But before Suresh could utter a word or a question of why, Raj struggled to his feet and stood above him with hate-filled eyes. He reached to the window and picked up the kerosene lamp, removing the fuel cap.

“Here, let me cool those burns,” Raj said as he poured the fuel on Suresh’s chest.

And in ceremony, Raj held a match in his hand, struck it on its pack, and dropped it on the scalding oil that covered Suresh’s chest. With a low whoosh, the flame leaped around Suresh’s torso; the oil on his skin sizzled, charring his already burned flesh as clouds of thick smoke coiled up to the ceiling.

As he looked up, he saw Nadia’s pure face, her warm eyes staring down at him. There was no sympathy, no regret or revulsion at seeing the man she had shared a bed with for six months burning to death.

Suresh awoke, blinded by the antiseptic white of the room. He found himself in a hospital bed, tubes and wires running into and around his body, the low chimes and beeps of the monitors confirming that he was alive. Outside his private room, nurses and doctors scurried in the halls, tending to the sick. A sudden confusion filled his mind as he realized that with no money and ID, he should have been dead or at least in the ward with the poor.

He burned with a hatred far stronger than the pain from his injuries. His mind filled with thoughts of vengeance.

Two men stepped into the room. The taller one moved to the corner and remained silent as the shorter, overweight man moved to his bedside.

“My name is William Riley,” the man said with a southern American accent. “So glad you’re finally awake. Do you know where you are?”

Suresh nodded.

“You’ve been in a medically induced coma for close to a week now. The burns were third-degree. Your recovery will be slow, but they will do everything to minimize the pain.” Riley took a seat beside the bed. “Do you have family you would like me to contact?”

Suresh shook his head. He had left that world behind. If they were to find out how weak he had become, how he was fooled by the woman he loved, he would crumble.

“Where do you live?”

Suresh was a man without a home. “I live nowhere.”

The man nodded in sympathy. “Do you know who did this to you?”

Suresh nodded.

“You’re lucky to be alive. I understand Raj Sapre dispatched a street gang after you and you handled them like swatting flies.”