Chapter 44
FORTY-FOUR
Advik
Why?
Why wasn’t I shaking like every other time? When the muffled sounds through ear protectors caused the slight racing of my heart. It always did when I started polishing my shooting skills at the gun range for months.
Why wasn’t it racing now?
Why was my hand still aiming my gun at where Mehul stood? Smug, arrogant. He isn’t there anymore.
And why—oh why were my fingers numbing over the trigger after decorating Mehul’s head with a hole?
The next few seconds—maybe minutes—are eerily quiet. After the rapid pops of guns going off, there was an abrupt silence. But I had only shot once.
Wait. Am I shot again? Am I in shock?
I wait for the pain to arrive like last time, but it doesn’t. I wait for my breath to stall, it fucking doesn’t.
But what does happen is the drop of my gaze from the unfocused point to where Dev is sitting.
His entire frame slumped down, chin resting on his chest. An unhurried stream of inky liquid coursing down his temple to his blue shirt. The shirt has started to darken near the collar.
A few seconds—and the blackness of it travels down further. The stillness of his form sends a cold shiver through my body.
Air finally manages to enter my lungs, and with it, the blur in my vision starts to fade.
It’s not blackness. It’s... blood.
The trembles ultimately come, starting at my fingers, spreading through my chest. They reach my knees and I expect my body to collapse forward.
But a stiff warmth catches me before. Making me sink instead of fall.
I hear it then. The soft murmurs of the woman I love. She’s alive.
I didn’t check. I didn’t... I couldn’t...
Why didn’t I check? What was I doing?
Then I remember. I took a life but the lifeless one is... Dev. Why is it Dev?
“Look at me, Vik.” I hear her gentle voice again. One hand cupping my cheek. The other coaxing my gun of my deathly grip. “Please, baby. Look at me.”
I obey. On both counts. I let go of my weapon. My ace.
And stare into her beautiful, terrified eyes. The ones that are rapidly filling with tears.
It must be true then. We’re sharing the same reality. That the man next to us is Dev. But he’s not Dev, is it? Dev’s gone. It’s just a corpse of a man who left his wife and children behind.
My brain isn’t able to process anything other than that.
It’s a strained, train wreck of a singular thought. He’s gone. He’s fucking gone.
“You... you’re going into shock.” Her eyes widen with panic. My head turns toward Dev again, but she pulls me back. “Hey—hey! Look at me. Just keep... fuck! Keep looking at me, okay?”
I nod mechanically. The instructions clear and manageable.
Still staring into my eyes she shouts, “Garvit! What’s the status on Viraj?”
I hear a faint, trembling murmur. “Labored breathing. I’m... guessing a broken rib has nicked his lung. I—I need to get him to t-the hospital.”
This man’s voice is a frantic mix of terror and authority.
I realize I’m able to focus on other things now.
So I look around, with just my eyes. There’s five people dressed in combat gear, surveying the area.
One of Mehul’s men is bound and gagged. Cuffed.
It’s the same man who was giving me technical instructions on Mehul’s behalf.
The fear of the last few minutes seeps out. Leaving a brittle numbness behind. Echoing. Pulsing.
I think I’m crashing. That’s what happens in the movies, right? When a civilian does something unthinkable. Something stupid. Something horrifying.
Like kill the man who had a gun to his friend’s head.
But it didn’t fix anything.
It didn’t save him.
He’s gone.
The thought ricochets again.
He’s gone.
He’s fucking gone.
‘Please... tell Meena—my wife. And my Gauri and Madhav that... I love them.’
How?
How will I tear his wife’s heart out of her chest? How will I create the most miserable sentence to tell Gauri and Madhav that their normal, nine-to-five, lunchbox-packing father isn’t coming home?
Arms wrap around me. Tight. Crushing. Greesha. But I barely register her. My vision tilts. Somewhere in the background, a man crouches over Viraj—two fingers on his pulse, his own shoulders quivering from held-back sobs.
That must be Garvit.
And Greesha—she’s holding me like she’ll break if she lets go. Her body moves in jagged bursts. But then I realize...
That’s me.
She’s holding me, and I’m the one shaking.
I pull in a breath that feels like sand in my throat. Because I know she should be doing something else right now. That she’s needed somewhere else instead of caring for a civilian having an adrenaline crash.
She leans back slightly. Giving me a watery, quivering grim sigh.
“Let’s go home,” she says softly.
Home.
Yes.
Yes, we should. Before this place takes another piece of us.