[The Murderer – Unusual Short Story]
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It was that eerie hour after midnight when the clocks began to tick after longer hours. Padmini slept peacefully, embraced in the warmth of her white sheet. The contours of her curvaceous body were traced so very beautifully by the satin cloth. Rishabh lay awake, watching his wife’s fair skin in the peeking moonlight, feeling her skin with his gaze. “So smooth” he reflected. He wished she would open her eyes for a moment – those lovely brown eyes which had mesmerized him when he first met her. His eyes drifted over the big calendar with the charming lady dressed in Red. The moonlight made her look blue somehow. It was August 23rd 2011.
“I will be back in the morning, my darling…This will be my last time…” he muttered as he placed a kiss on her cheek, his lips lingering on her skin for just that extra special second. And then he picked up his pistol, closed his eyes and shot himself straight through his temple.
~
Rishabh opened his eyes; an intoxicating smell of cheap whisky stung on his nostrils as his eyes slowly got accustomed to the long shadows of the bar. Unfamiliar faces hovered around him; he could feel the drink pulse through his veins.
A young boy, who wore a red jacket, served drinks in a glistening steel plate. Their eyes met and the young lad walked towards him.
“What is this place?” he asked in a quiet voice almost filled with menace.
“Chembur, Sahib”, the lad trembled.
“What is the date today?”
“Its August 10th, Sir.”
“Of which f**king year?” his voice hollow, filled with hate.
“1990” the young voice mumbled.
Rishabh smiled. He could smell the whisky in his own breath.
“Where do you think I should go?” The young lad’s head turned towards the stairs leading up. He could speak no more.
Rishabh got up from his seat. He could feel the bulge in his pocket.
~
Years ago, he had tried committing suicide; and had shot himself in the temple. When he opened his eyes again, he thought he had come back from the dead. But then he had found that he had travelled through decades. Thus, began the ritual of shooting himself to move back in time; and shooting himself again to come back to the present. What had started as fun now became an addiction.
Now he had only two bullets in his gun -the last two– one for the girl and another for himself to take him back to the present. He had killed a whore every time he travelled – not for any purpose; it was just for the thrill of it. “This is going to be my last time” he told himself.
~
He moved stealthily up those never ending stairs. A tiny door stood ajar. He pushed it open. The red drapes in the window splashed a rubicund aura in that small room. The girl lay on the bed, covered by a red bed sheet. He moved closer, the lump in his throat growing by the moving second.
“This is last whore I shall kill” a tiny voice told him. He knew it was becoming a habit, something which would pump up his hormones. He would later console himself saying he had released those poor souls. Deep down, he knew why he did what he did – pure thrill of cold blooded murder. “But this is going to be end”, he mumbled.
Her eyes were closed as his giant body towered over her. He could hear the tense heaving of her breasts as she waited for another wimp to ravish her. The full moon spattered its melancholy over her beautiful body. His hand moved across her hair; her long locks weaving through his slender fingers. Her skin was so white, so pure. There was something familiar about her, and it disturbed him.
She opened her eyes. The bile rose in his throat as a wave of shock charged through his veins –
“Padmini!!!” he screamed.
~
