14. Aftermath Of A Sinner
14
AFTERMATH OF A SINNER
~KAMARI~
S irens pierce the darkness, their wailing pulling me back to consciousness.
My eyelids feel impossibly heavy, and every attempt to open them sends fresh waves of pain through my skull. My entire body throbs in a symphony of agony, each heartbeat bringing new awareness of injuries I'm too afraid to catalog.
The first thing I register is the sky above me – vast and dark, occasional raindrops falling on my face like cold kisses. For one surreal moment, I wonder if this is death. If the impact finally freed me from all earthly concerns.
Then pain surges through me, sharp and insistent, and I know I'm very much alive.
Fear spikes through my system, flooding my veins with adrenaline that propels me into a sitting position. The sudden movement proves to be a terrible mistake – the world tilts and spins like a carnival ride gone wrong.
My hand flies to my right temple, pressing against it as if I could physically hold my skull together.
Through narrowed eyes, I try to make sense of my surroundings. I'm sprawled on the asphalt several yards from what used to be Maharaja's pristine sports car.
The vehicle lies upside down, its sleek lines transformed into a twisted sculpture of metal and glass. Fluid leaks from somewhere beneath the wreckage, creating dark pools that mirror the smoke rising lazily into the rain-heavy air.
The rain continues its relentless descent, creating a thick mist that encases the crash site in an otherworldly bubble. It's as if nature itself is trying to hide us from the world, creating a pocket of clarity in the growing fog.
My gaze is drawn inevitably to the driver's side of the wreck. Maharaja hangs upside down in his seat, still trapped inside the mangled vehicle. The irony of his position isn't lost on me – he who never bothered with a seatbelt is now pinned in place by the very destruction his recklessness caused.
The damage to the car is extensive.
The entire driver's side has crumpled inward, metal folded like origami around his body. They'll need the Jaws of Life to extract him, I realize distantly. Some part of my mind catalogs this fact clinically, noting how even in this state of complete vulnerability, his status as an important Alpha will ensure swift rescue.
I could run.
The thought hits me with the force of another impact. This is my chance – perhaps my only chance – to truly escape. Maharaja is trapped, incapacitated. The fog provides perfect cover.
By the time help arrives, by the time they cut him free, I could be anywhere.
But my body refuses to move.
I try to convince my legs to work, to carry me away from this scene of destruction and back toward... toward what? Freedom? Safety? The concepts feel as nebulous as the mist surrounding us.
Maybe it's fear keeping me rooted in place.
The knowledge that if I run now, I'm only adding to the list of transgressions Maharaja will punish me for when he inevitably finds me again. Each step away would be another lash, another bruise, another moment of torment to endure.
If he survives.
The thought slithers through my mind unbidden.
From where I sit, I can't tell how badly he's injured. The rain makes it difficult to distinguish blood from water, and the growing darkness masks the true extent of the damage.
But there's something else holding me here, something beyond fear of future punishment. A force I can't quite identify keeps me tethered to this spot on the cold asphalt, watching rain mix with gasoline and blood.
My body aches in places I didn't know could hurt. The saree that was so carefully arranged hours ago now clings to me in wet tatters, the fabric probably ruined beyond repair. Blood – my own, this time – has created abstract patterns across the silk, turning the traditional garment into something almost avant-garde.
Like my life – traditional expectations shattered into modern chaos.
The sirens grow louder, their urgent cries echoing through the trees that line this stretch of road. Soon this quiet moment will be shattered by emergency personnel, by the machinery needed to free Maharaja, by all the chaos that follows destruction.
I should move now, while I still can.
Should disappear into the mist like a spirit, leaving no trace behind.
It would be poetic justice – him trapped in metal and glass while I slip away, just as he planned to trap me in walls and traditions while my spirit died.
Yet I remain, watching and waiting.
As if answering my unspoken questions, a figure emerges from the mist like an apparition. The fog parts around them, creating an almost theatrical entrance that makes my skin prickle with unease.
My concussed brain struggles to piece together the missing fragments of the crash.
Was it a truck that hit us? Another car?
The impact exists in my memory as nothing more than a blur of light and sound. But this solitary figure walking toward the wreckage doesn't move like someone who's just been in an accident.
They move like someone with purpose.
Relief floods through me as I assume it must be help arriving. My legs cooperate surprisingly well as I attempt to stand, though every movement feels like wading through molasses. The rain has soaked my saree completely, the fabric now weighing me down like chains of silk and water.
The stranger approaches Maharaja's car with deliberate slowness, heading straight for the driver's side. My emotions war within me – dread at the thought of his rescue competing with relief that his death won't be another weight on my conscience.
I narrow my eyes, trying to focus through the curtain of rain and probable concussion. Something about the figure seems... off. They're tall – perhaps Kieran's height, maybe 6'2" or 6'3" – and dressed entirely in black. But it's not their height or clothing that sets off warning bells in my mind.
The stranger crouches beside the wreckage with an almost predatory grace, one arm resting along the mangled frame where the roof should be. That's when I see it – the mask that covers their face, glowing with an otherworldly light that cuts through the misty darkness.
Oh Goddess...
The mask's design freezes my blood mid-flow.
Two X patterns where eyes should be – one burning ruby red, the other an electric ocean blue. But it's the smile that truly terrifies: a zigzagging electronic grin that shifts between serene blues and plague-red, creating an effect that's both mesmerizing and deeply wrong.
My heart nearly stops as the figure reaches into their pocket, producing something small that catches what little light remains. Even at this distance, I recognize the distinctive shape of a lighter.
Understanding crashes over me like a wave of ice water.
My jaw goes slack as I process what I'm witnessing, and what's about to happen. My mind rebels against the implications, trying to find some other explanation for what I'm seeing.
Surely no one would go to such extremes...for me?
The thought barely forms before the masked figure tilts their head at an unnatural angle, the movement reminiscent of a curious predator examining its prey. With deliberate slowness, they let the lighter fall from their fingers.
No... No, he's not...
But he is.
The flame catches the pooled gasoline, and fire explodes outward like a blooming flower of destruction.
He…did it…
Maharaja's screams pierce the night, Hindi curses mixing with pure animal terror as the flames begin their hungry consumption.
The masked figure rises smoothly to their full height, completely unbothered by the inferno they've just created. Their head turns with mechanical precision until their glowing gaze fixes directly on me.
I'm next.
The realization hits me with the force of another car crash. My legs lock up as I try to step backward, nearly sending me sprawling back onto the asphalt. Now I understand why my goddess kept me here – not to witness an rescue, but to see my death approaching in a mask of red and blue.
The fire reflects off their mask, creating dancing patterns that make the electronic smile seem to twist and writhe. This is no random accident, no chance encounter on a rainy night.
This is an execution, and I've just witnessed the first act.
Maharaja's screams continue to fill the air, but they're growing weaker, more desperate. The flames climb higher, turning his precious car into a funeral pyre. The heat reaches me even at this distance, a preview of what awaits if I don't move.
Run.
The command comes from somewhere deep inside, some primal part of my brain that recognizes death when it sees it. This isn't like the threat of Maharaja's abuse or my father's arrangements. This is something far more immediate, far more final.
The masked figure takes a step toward me, their movement unnaturally smooth despite the uneven ground. Each step covers more distance than should be possible as if they're somehow bending space to close the gap between us faster.
Everything I've survived – the arranged marriage, the escape, the abuse, the crash – all of it was leading to this moment. My goddess wasn't testing my compassion by making me stay.
She was showing me what awaits if I don't run now.
The sirens still wail in the distance, but they sound farther away now as if the very mist is pushing them back. No help will arrive in time. No one will witness what happens here except the trees, the rain, and the masked executioner who's decided I need to join Maharaja in his fiery grave.
The glowing X patterns of their mask seem to bore into my soul, promising an end that will be neither quick nor merciful. Whatever – whoever – this is, they're not here to save me.
They're here to ensure no witnesses remain, no loose ends that could unravel whatever plan this is part of.
Run, you fool.
This time, my body obeys the command.
Survival instinct finally overcomes terror, sending adrenaline coursing through my veins like liquid lightning. My legs unlock, my muscles remember their purpose, and everything in me prepares for flight.
Because that's what I am now:
Prey.