SONAKSHI

Finding an unconscious human on your doorstep was a definite buzz kill.

Frowning in surprise, I double-blinked, half expecting him to disappear. Nope, he was still there, which just went to prove that Friday the thirteenth really was an unlucky day.

I gently toed the male body, which smelled strongly of danger. No response.  I squatted beside him, only then realising he was just a kid. He looked approximately sixteen, but his scent wasn’t ripe enough for that age. There was a small pool of blood by his head, but nothing that would indicate an injury he wouldn’t quickly heal from, given that he was having a young blood.

There was also some vomit on his clothes, but it would seem that he’d spewed up elsewhere.

Given all the facts, I suspected that he’d tumbled down the steps that led to her basement apartment. I might have worried that he’d been pushed, but she could scent two other things. Beer and drugs. As such, it was likely that he’d fallen in his drunken, drugged-up state and knocked himself clean out. Idiot.

As normal as it is said, I checked on his pulse and cross checked with his heartbeat. He was alive. I thought of asking someone for help but I know human's now hardly have time for themselves to help others.

But I couldn't leave him out like that. This wasn’t a good area for unconscious people hell, it wasn’t a good area for conscious people. And the truth was I was a sucker for a person in trouble.

Once I’d unlocked my front door, I slipped my arms under the kid’s armpits and dragged him through my small apartment to my bathroom, where I dumped him in the shower.

Then I turned on the cold water.

He sputtered to life, shaking his head and coughing. He tried to stand, but his legs buckled. Wild, stunned, bloodshot eyes settled on me. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m the person who found you unconscious on my doorstep,” I replied dryly. “Who the hell are you?”

He squinted. “You did?” The wildness faded from his eyes, revealing an inner turmoil that I could have related to at his age.

Taking pity on him, I turned off the water. “How’s your head?”

He touched the back of his head and then winced. “A little sore.” His nostrils flared. "You are a-"

"Doctor owning a shelter for people abounded by their own family." For a long time even I grew up their. He shakes his head. "And you didn't answer my question. Who are you?"

"Raye. Thanks for the help and I need to go my family must be searching for me."

He didn't look even a little like he had a family. Clothes torn here and there, a bag heavily damaged and his specs not in some usable condition. I wasn't born yesterday to not know this.

"Sure?"

Panic flashed Raye's eyes. "Yes. Of course."

“That party you went to . . . Let me guess, it was Ethan’s party.”

His mouth pressed into a thin line. “You know Ethan?”

“I know Ethan.” He was a shithead who recruited orphans to work for him. “You should stay away from him.”

Raye bristled. “He’s my friend.”

“Because he gave you alcohol, drugs, food, and somewhere to stay? That’s what Ethan does. He finds orphans like yourself, he gives them all those things, makes them feel like part of a group . . . then suddenly he announces, ‘Hey, those things weren’t freebies. Now you owe me.’ Trust me when I say the jobs he’d ask you to do wouldn’t be fun.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve helped a lot of his recruits over the years.”

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Why would you help them?”

“Because I’m a orphan too. Someone helped me. And now I’m going to help you.” Earlier that day, I had helped a ten-year-old loner move to a pack consisting of his extended family and hence I'm  happy “buzz” that had disappeared on finding Raye on my doorstep.

“How?”

“I’m going to take you to a safe place.”

Raye snickered. “There’s no such thing.”

“I won’t ask you to trust me. You have no reason to. All I ask is that you come with me somewhere.”

He licked his chapped lips. “Yeah? Where?”

“It’s a shelter, you’ll be safe there. If you don’t want to stay, you don’t have to. But if you want food, fresh clothes, and a bed, you’ll find all those things there.”

“What’s the catch?”

“You at least take a shower, because you absolutely reek.”

His mouth twitched into the smallest smile for a mere second. He was a good-looking kid. “I don’t have to stay there?”

I shook my head. “In fact, you could just stay long enough to eat, shower, and change into clean clothes. But if you go back to Ethan, your life will become worse than anything that ever came before. Believe that, if nothing else.”

For a moment, he was silent. “I’ll go with you.”

"Good decision."

While he was showering I handed over him the clothes I was yet to take to the shelter as I bought them today evening. Good I wasn't fast enough to deliver them.

As always I started to research on this kids extended family. He had lost his parents. Now, I was searching for his some random Uncle or Aunt who could adopt him.

For the first time I wasn't able to get any detail. It never happens. Maybe he just gave me a wrong name. How could someone not have anyone?

Then it hits me. I- I had no one. It's said that my parents were orphan as well and I didn't have a family to take care of me after their disappearance. So that could be his case as well.

I decide to call Rithvik, a friend from my childhood and I just hate him at times because I kind of don't appreciate the job he does. I know it's wrong and I tried all my ways to explain him he shouldn't be doing that.

I call him thrice to ask for some help to find on the distance relatives of Raye but he doesn't picks it up.

Once I had a plan of marrying him. I felt like he would always be there for me my kids. Even one day I die early due to my uncured disease I thought or believed he'll be there for my children.

Now, I'm glad I did do that mistakes. I never wanted a prince charming and all I wanted was a person who'll take good care of me till I'm alive and then pass on his love to our children after my death. A simple life and A simple love was all I fantasized.

When I came out of my room I saw Raye all fresh and clean. He smiled at me and I smiled back.

"I have five minutes cup noodles. Eat that and I'll take you to our shelter." Later for those wounds to not get infected I should inject you.

I don't say the last one assuming he'll run off I talk about injection. The five minutes noodles was done when I was speaking to him. He had that and then accompanied me to the shelter.

The New York City road was covered with snow and I had my little passanger commenting about my snow ride. "Man, it's hard to walk on a snow covered road and you better praise me for riding the car."

He chuckled, "Okay. Great job. Ms."

"Sonakshi Sterling."

"American? But you look like an Indian!"

"I don't remember my original surname, honey. My mom died when I was six months and my dad left me in thirty days after my mom died to one grandma. I was with her till some four years until she passed away due to cardiac arrest. I took that grandma's surname. She's Mrs. Sterling."

"Sad story."

I brushed his head, "Nothing is sad. I don't look at things as sad. I'm so used to that I guess."

"Inspired me, Sis."

I took him inside the shelter at an odd hour. He was little scared just like how I was when a policeman dropped me here.

"You'll be okay." I held his head.

"I'm good."

My gaurdian and my all time favourite human looked at me at this odd time and panicked.

"Sonakshi-"

"Asha maa." I hugged her so tight.

"Who's this kid?" She asked, taking a long look at him.

I explained her everything about him, Raye said and I collected. She felt the usual pity. "I saved him from Ethan."

"Thank God. I'll give the kid the room in the third floor." She said. "I'll take you there and you'll have to tell whether you like it or not. We both are there to make you feel comfortable here." She kissed his forehead and takes him in a warm hug like how she accepts all the no family  kids.

"Good. I'll also join you to till he likes one room." I grab one invite for me and take Raye to pick one room for himself.

"I'll be comfortable here." He picked one blue and white room with wooden desk and wooden bed. Like Asha maa was sure he would accept it.

"Great!" I squealed, taking him inside the room.

He ran all around the room calmly. He wasn't looking like a kid who'll show his excited facial expressions. He seemed to accepting what it is. And I liked that.

"You are really sweet. Thanks a lot for helping me." He said it so formally.

"That's okay. Instead of thanks I want you to do a favour for me."

"Okay!"

I took the injection from my purse. "It won't pain. If it does you can slap me equivalent to that pain."

He giggles, "I'm not scared of injection."

I take his arm and inject him. I know that this injection will for sure put him to sleep. I made him settle on the bed and kept the pillow properly on the bed rest.

"Good night, pretty boy." I say, brushing his forehead.

"I'll look after him, Sona. I know it's high time you rest." Asha maa almost throws me out of the room. "I don't even know you are taking your drugs on time."

"I'm good, maa. I'm well aware to take care of myself." I pulled in a tight hug as we walked through the passage.

She dugs my lose hair behind my ears, "Marriage? What happened with you and your childhood friend?"

She knew I was planning to marry him and always met him outside the shelter. It all happened until one day I saw him in front of a school flirting with a school kid. It didn't go good with me. I still speak to him as he's the only one I have in my life since a child.

"Didn't work out. I'm just concentrating on my existence to be beneficial all for at least one person."

"Sona, you should not work this hard and forget about your health condition." She advices like always.

"Maa, maybe I'm not the only one with Cystic Fibrosis in this world. It will pass by and I'll survive." I manage to tell her that.

"Take care, dear." She hugs me as she bids a goodbye to me.

I arrive at the parking garage of my building in less than thirty minutes. It’s located in a quiet suburban neighborhood in New York City and has excellent security that makes me feel safe at home.

My ankle is throbbing when I exit my car. I lean against the door to catch my breath and a cramp tries to break the surface. After taking a few deep breaths, I beep the locks, then remember my house key.

I’m about to get them when a loud sound of screeching tires fills the garage. I duck down and remain in place when another screech follows.

Usually, I wouldn’t stop for any commotion, but hearing disturbing noises late at night at an apartment building like mine is rare. In fact, it should be almost impossible.

I stare up at the cameras blinking red in every corner and release a shaking breath.

I’m safe.

But for some reason, I don’t come out of my hiding spot beside my car. It seems vital at this moment, and if I get up, I feel like something disastrous will happen.

The ache in my ankle pulses harder, as if it’s sensing my stress and participating in it.

A black Mercedes comes to a shrill stop in my direct view, its tires leaving angry black marks in its wake.

No one gets out, though.

Another black car, a van this time, brakes behind it. Then I watch in horror as its window lowers and bullets fly in the direction of the Mercedes.

I jump, placing both hands over my ears to block out the loud gunshots. Inching back, I find myself crouched between my car and the wall. Thank God I always leave some space.

The gunshots go on and on like a crescendo of a musical, up faster and harder and louder. For a second, I think it’ll never end. That it’ll keep going for an eternity.

But it does stop.

My heart beats in my throat, nearly spilling my guts on the ground as I hear some rustling and then curses in a foreign language.

Could I be trapped in a nightmare?

I dig my nails into my wrist and squeeze until pain explodes on my skin. No. It’s not a nightmare. This is reality.

The voices are now high-pitched, angry, and not holding back. I probably shouldn’t look, but how am I going to escape this horrible Black event if I don't look at it or face it?

Making sure my body is still hidden behind the car, I grab the hood and peer around it. The Mercedes that was shot at has multiple bullet holes in the windshield, but the glass didn’t break.

All its doors are open, and while I was fully prepared to find dead people, the car is empty. Instead, three men dressed in dark clothing are outside, all holding guns. Two of them are wearing suits. One is bulky and blond with a scowling face; the other is lean and has long brown hair tied at his nape. They’re forcing a chubby man to his knees in front of their third companion.

He’s wearing a simple black shirt and pants. His sleeves are rolled to above his wrists, exposing a hint of tattoos. One of his hands rests by his side and the other holds a gun to the chubby man’s head.

I only get the view of his side profile, but it’s enough to tell me he’s the one in charge.

The bossman.

From this distance, I can’t tell what he looks like except that he has dark hair and light stubble. He’s tall, too. So tall that I feel his superior height even from my hiding position.

I glimpse at the van that stopped behind them and wish I hadn’t. Two men are sprawled over each other on the floor, unmoving, blood covering their unrecognisable features.

Bile rises to my throat and I inhale deeply to stop myself from retching and giving away my existence.

I’m distracted from the view and illogically drawn back to the scene in front of me when that foreign language starts up again. The two men are talking to the bossman in a language I don’t recognise. I think they're Italian.

"Who sent you?" The bossman asks in his firm voice which freaks me out. He doesn’t shout, doesn’t kick or punch, but it sounds like the worst threat of all.

"Fuck you, Arora." He screams in his perfect Italian accent but that's the English language he swears.

"That’s not the right answer. Are you going to give me one or should I go after your family once I’m finished with you?”

The man almost crumbles in the bossman's knees.

"I'll tell you. We were told to have a eyes on-" The Italian doens't finish his sentence before the bossman pulls the trigger.

The shot rings in the air with haunting finality.

I slap both hands on my mouth to stop myself from shrieking. My stomach churns, about to throw up the apple I had for dinner.

The man’s vacant eyes roll to the back of his lifeless head as he drops to the ground. Bossman lets his hand that’s holding the gun fall inert at his side. His bland eyes are focused on the corpse as if it’s dust on his leather shoe. His expression remains the same - a bit focused, a bit bored, and absolutely monstrous.

He just executed a man in cold blood and has no reaction to it.

That’s even more terrifying than the act itself.

Just when I’m about to throw up my dinner, his head tilts to the side.

Toward me. Then I even receive a call from Asha maa to my situation worse.

I’m frozen.

My limbs have turned to stone and my body doesn’t follow my brain’s command to move.

Flee.

Survive.

Tentacles of fear wrap around my rib cage, keeping me imprisoned in place.

And that’s not even the strangest part.

To say I’m not scared of the gun in his hand would be a lie. I haven’t been this close to a weapon since born.

However, that’s not what robs my breath and burns my lungs.

That’s not what digs rusty daggers in my chest and forbids my body from acting on my brain’s commands.

It’s the deep ice in his gray eyes.

They’re as harsh and unforgiving as the winter, as cold, too, with the sole purpose to eradicate any life in his way.

He stares at me with silent apprehension. He’s not glaring or scowling, but the threat is right there.

In his silence.

In the fact that he knew to look straight in my direction as if he were aware I was there all along.

Paralyzing fear loosens my limbs and a shot of survival instinct bursts into my ribcage.

Still, I stand on shaky legs and dart behind the cars, hoping to get to the elevator and I’m not even two steps in before a harsh grip wraps around my upper arm and I’m yanked back with a hand to my mouth.

I don’t stop to look at who it is.

A rush of life bubbles in my veins and I squirm, hitting and biting at the hand. My movements are frantic and far from calculated. I doubt that I’m doing any damage, but I don’t stop to think about that. I don’t stop to let them hurt me.

In my attempt to get free, the bulky blond guy drags me to where the murder took place. My insides lurch at the view of the dead man with a hole in his forehead, sprawled on the ground. My struggles increase in volume and I kick and scratch, mumbling my cries for help that merely come out like an ugly horror movie sound.

Cold metal meets my forehead and my whole body goes slack. I’m standing in front of their bossman with the impenetrable gaze of his, freezing ash eyes boring into me. My heart thumps and my lips tremble beneath the hand that’s muting my voice.

This close, he’s even more striking, but in a quiet kind of way, like the rare attractive people who don’t want to stand out in a crowd.

Is he going to kill me now as he did that man? If I have any doubt, the complete disregard in his blank stare erases it.

This man is capable of killing countless people without a second thought. He’s capable of ending lives and walking away as if nothing happened.

“Trey is going to remove his hand and you’re going to be quiet,” he says ever so casually as if he’s inviting me for tea. “If you don’t, I’ll have to shut you up using other methods.”

My face must be as pale as the white neon lights overhead. All I keep thinking about is the metal that’s now connected to my forehead and that I will soon meet the same fate as the Italian man.

“Nod if you understand,” he continues in his unperturbed tone.

What choice do I have except to agree? I certainly don’t want to find out what his ‘other methods’ are.

I nod, but he looks at me for a beat too long, stealing all the air from my lungs. I think he hasn’t seen me nod or something, but then he tilts his head at the man standing behind me. Trey, he said his name is.

The man releases me, just like that, and leaves me in front of his boss. I massage the spot where he grabbed me, sensing a bruise already forming. I try my damnedest not to glance sideways, because if I catch a glimpse of the corpses, I’ll start vomiting.

The bossman studies me for a long second, his gaze sliding from my face to my arm. I drop my hand, forcing it to stay still by my side.

“Fight or scream and you won’t like the consequences.” He digs the gun deeper into my forehead, driving the point home.

“O-okay.” I sound like a scared kitten.

And I am.

These men just killed people. Why would my fate be any different?

He drags his gun down the hollow of my cheek. I swallow, and it’s not only because of the deadly weapon. The way he watches as the metal slides down appears to be nothing short of anticipation.

The observation is burning invasive, even as if he’s sizing me up, and contemplating whether he should waste a bullet on me.

If I want to get out of this alive, I need to be smart about it. I need to bargain my way out of this situation as best I can.

“I’ll pretend I saw nothing.” My voice quivers, even though I try to sound as confident and neutral as possible.

“Will you now?” His tone isn’t mocking, but it suggests he doesn’t believe a word I say. “Are you sure you won’t call 911 as soon as you round the corner?”

My lips part. I should’ve realised he’d figure that out. I mean, yes, of course I’m calling the police. Who in their right mind would witness a murder a triple one, at that and remain quiet about it?

At the reminder of the dead men, my stomach coils, rippling with tension, and I bite down the taste of nausea.

“Yes,” I whisper.

“How come I don’t believe you?” The slow tempo of his voice implies that he not only thinks I’m lying, but he also finds the idea that I thought I could fool him ridiculous.

You know what? Screw justice right now. I just need to save myself. Justice won’t be able to do it for me.

“I really won’t,” I say it like I mean it this time, because I truly have no plans to scheme against him considering that the possibility of being shot is hanging between us like a guillotine.

“What’s your name?” he asks out of the blue, taking me completely by surprise.

I think of a fake name to give him, because the less he knows about me, the better. But before I can open my mouth, he lifts my chin with the gun. “And do not lie to me. I have my ways of finding the truth, and if I catch you in a lie, it’ll be your first and final strike.”

“Sonakshi,” I blurt out, fear getting the better of me. “My name is Sonakshi.”

“Sona…” he rolls my name off his tongue with his accent, as if that will give it meaning. “So you’ll pretend you saw nothing tonight, Sonakshi?”

I nod more times than needed, my chin hitting the gun with every movement, and nausea recoils in my belly.

“How will I make sure of it?”

“You…you can trust me.”

His lips twitch and I find myself holding my breath, waiting for the smile to break free, but it never does. It seems trapped somewhere out of reach, just like the rest of his emotions. “Trust you? Surely even you realise how absurd that sounds.”

“There are surveillance cameras,” I blurt again. I want to tell him that the police will find out about the murder and minenif he decides to go through with it.

“Don’t worry about those. They’re not flesh and bone and, therefore, can be dealt with expeditiously. The current topic of discussion is you.”

A human. Flesh and bone he can hurt.

His underlying threat mounts in the air and swiftly pierces through my jumbled nerves.

I rack my brain before I finally whisper, “I…I have money. It’s not much, but…”

“Do I look like someone who needs your money?”

I stare at him then, really stare at him. At his pressed pants and elegant shirt. At his leather shoes and the expensive watch strapped to his wrist. He definitely doesn’t look like someone who needs money. However, he specified it. He said he doesn’t need my money, as if that has a category on its own.

He glides the tip of his gun to my mouth and I shudder, recalling exactly where that muzzle was only seconds before.

“You’ll keep these lips shut. You’ll forget all the faces but if need be remember mine.”

That comes out flirty. I nod meekly. My only focus is to escape his swirling orbit that’s more freezing than the winter outside.

“If you let even a single word out, I’ll know, and believe me, you won’t like what happens, Sona. In fact, you won’t like it in the slightest.”

A burst of fear snaps my shoulder blades together and I stare at him, dumbfounded. How will he know? How is that going to be possible?

“Is that clear?” he speaks slowly, unhurriedly, cementing his words.

I nod.

He pulls his gun away and I let out a long sigh.

“Use your words, Sona.”

“Yes.” My voice is barely a whisper.

He reaches for me with his other hand and I freeze as his fingers replace his gun, gently gliding over my lips. Flames erupt across my skin, even though his touch is like crossing paths with death. Literally and figuratively.

“These lips will stay shut.”

My throat clogs and I’m unable to make a sound or even nod my head.

He releases me as fast as he grabbed me and a cold wave washes over the earlier fire, dousing it in one harsh sweep.

The bossman tilts his head toward the elevator. “Go.”

For a second, I don’t believe what he’s said, that he’s simply letting me go. I take a tentative step backward, fully expecting him to pounce on me.

He doesn’t make a move to follow.

I back away another two steps, not breaking eye contact. When he doesn’t move, I run to the elevator and punch the call button.

My frantic gaze is still on him. The stranger.

The scary fucking stranger.

He remains as I left him, his gun motionless at his side and his attention on me as if he’s contemplating whether or not he should shoot me in the face anyway.

The elevator finally opens and I dash inside, holding my breath and shaking uncontrollably as I hit my floor’s number and code. I miss the first time because of my trembling fingers and scattered thoughts. I have to try again before my passcode is accepted.

As the door finally closes, I slide down to the floor and empty my stomach in the middle of the elevator.

He didn’t kill me. He didn’t put a bullet in my head. I'm not dead. He scared the hell out of me. That's it and yeah that's it.

So why do I feel like I'm going to die soon?

I look at Asha maa's message.

'I guess you dozed off, honey. I just wanted to let you know this. Sona, the boy ran away.'

Thanks for reading ❤️

Please try to comment if you have time. That would surely help me to continue with this story.