The Return

by Palvi Sharma



  THE RETURN

  by

  PALVI SHARMA

  Copyright 2016 Palvi Sharma

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons living or dead or places, events or locales is purely coincidental.

  Her hands were trembling. It had been fifteen hours now. She had been counting the seconds because there was no watch and no clocks hanging on the pale blue walls.

  Her stomach growled and her throat hurt. She was hungry and thirst, but most importantly, she was without the delightful pill that the man would give her on a daily purpose.

  That was what he was to her. He had never introduced himself, never revealed his age or where he had come from and what he wanted from her. At the age of seven, he had met her when she had opened the door to her house, expecting either of her parents to return from work. Except, it had been this plump guy, with gray wavy hair that fell to just above his shoulders. He had a white beard and his eyes were a piercing blue.

  There was something nice about the man with skin that looked so soft. He had wrinkles even then, mostly near his eyes and thick gray eyebrows.

  He had very nicely asked her what he name was. She told him it was Rushika. Then he had bent over so that he was face to face with her. She remembered how nice he smelled- of fragrant soap and leather. It was a leather jacket he was wearing and black pants.

  He had grinned and she saw that he had yellow straight teeth. "Such a nice name," he said. "And such a pretty girl deserves such a sweet name."

  She had smiled and told him that her parents weren't at home. He had nodded and straightened, eyeing her strangely. "I know."

  Before she could understand what was happening, there was a white cloth over her mouth and suddenly she was being lifted. She wanted to scream, but the man told her not to and that he would be very angry. He patted her back and closed the front door.

  Her twenty-year-old cousin was still inside the house, cooking her noodles. She had no idea that Rushika was no longer in the house.

  She must have fallen asleep in the car, for when Rushika opened her eyes, the man was standing over her, patting her head and brushing her soft brown hair with his fingers.

  "You are going to be happy here," he promised.

  And for eleven years, he had kept his promise. He would gift her new clothes, make her all her favorite dishes and when she hit puberty, explained all that she needed to know. It had only been him and her for all these years and not once, had he laid a hand on her. Not even, when she refused to take her medicine when she was down with fever and had thrown her plate of food. He had always been patient.

  Then something changed in him last year. He grew withdrawn and was tired all the time. She had thought it was because he was old. The gray hair had turned white and he was always irritable. That was when he started to give her small pink pills. Told her that she needed to take these everyday.

  Rushika hated them. They made her lose control of her surrounding and herself. They made her sleepy and ruined her appetite. Her sleep was always disturbed by nightmares and she begged him to let her not take them anymore, but he had gotten angry and she had become scared.

  She hated that she was making him angry.

  So, she took the pills dutifully and saw that he didn't look happy as much as relieved. The pills would make her sleep whether she wanted to or not and she would wake up and always be hungry.

  He would be there, by her side with a glass of orange juice and a slice of buttered bread. Then he would ask her to take another pill, and she would happily comply.

  But today, when she woke up, the steel chair on which he usually sat, was empty. There was no tray of food by her mattress on the floor.

  Rushika had waited patiently for an hour. He was an old man after all. Maybe he had slept late or was too tired. Perhaps he was ill.

  The last thought frightened her. What if something had happened to him? She looked at the locked door in the room and studied every crack on the wood. It was an old door which had once been cream-colored. When she was seven, the door had been newly painted and she remembered not being able to sleep at night because the paint fumes were suffocating.

  The paint must have been of bad quality or applied poorly, because by the time she was ten, the paint had cracked and when she was thirteen, the paint had the bottom had flaked away. Now there was more brown than the cream-colored paint on the door.

  However, she knew the door was sturdy and the locks required two keys. The man had practically raised and should have trusted her, but for some reason, he always kept the door locked.

  Two hours passed, she had been counting the seconds, absently in her mind. She was getting hungry. Another hour passed, and she wished she had a glass of cool water at least. It must be hot outside, she thought.

  Three hours later, she no longer craved food or water. She wanted something else- the pink pill. It made her sleepy, but it also made her feel happy. Given a choice, she would happily trade food and water for that pill.

  She huddled her knees and let out a sob. "Where are you?"

  The small slit near the ceiling, served as a window to her though she could never ascertain if it was really day or night because once she had heard the man grumble about the street lights. There was a bright light emitting from the slit when she had woken up, now it was almost faded. Soon it would be gone, and the man wasn't there to turn on the lights. She would be all alone in the dark.

  Getting up on her trembling feet, she staggered to the door and pounded on it with her fists.

  "Get me out of here!" she wailed. "Where are you? Get me out."

  Minutes passed, and the door didn't open. Putting her ear to the door, she didn't hear any movement. She banged on the door some more, screaming at the top of her lungs, but apparently, no one could hear her for no footsteps headed towards her.

  She put her hands in her hair and pulled. Tears streaked down her face and her whole body felt like it was on fire.

  "Help me!"

  She ran to the door and kept pounding on it until her hands were red and hurting. Then she pulled back and kicked the bottom of the door. Her hands around the door knob, she shook it as hard as she could.

  "Let me out! Get me out of here!"

  Her throat hurt from screaming and the lack of water was making it sore. She sobbed when the man didn't appear at the door. Perhaps he had left her, perhaps he didn't want to take care of her anymore...

  She let out a shrill cry, then rushed at the door and threw her weight against it. She was immediately thrown back and landed on her left side. She let out a cry as her arm and leg was twisted. Sitting up, she put a hand around her wrist and stretched her leg. Big bruises were already forming on her limbs.

  She called out for him once again. She needed help. She was hurt.

  It was then that the door creaked open, and she looked up, expecting to see the man with his small white tray of orange juice and bread. When she saw no one, only a dark room beyond the door, she dragged herself across the floor and peeked out.

  There was no one outside. Only darkness. Getting up on her feet, she limped towards the door and put her hands on the knob to steady herself. She had never been outside the room. Her small room had an even tinier bathroom where she could go to the toilet and stand in one corner and bathe herself.

  She stepped out, letting out a small gasp as her feet touched the brown carpet. It was so soft and tickled the soles of her feet. Taking another step, she called out for the man again. He must be around her somewhere and he would get so angry if he learned that she had left her room.

  "Are you out here?" Her voice sounded timid to her own ears. She was scared- more for being discovered by the man than finding herself in strange surro
undings.

  The small passageway ended in a small room that had wooden green cabinets on the walls and a pale green counter that had a stove in the middle. There were plastic drawers in the side, with holes in them so she could see the plastic wrapping of bread on the top drawer and a potato in the second drawer, just one.

  When she stepped closer, she saw that there was a basin and for a second, she eyed the faucet. She was thirsty, but more than anything she wanted the pink pill. First the pill, then the water.

  She padded softly into the tiled room, looked around and found that the windows were covered with thick brown curtains that let in barely any light. On the counter were breadcrumbs and a peel of a carrot.

  Her fingers danced on the counter and picked up the crumbs. Putting up to her nose, she sniffed. The bread smelled of old sour yogurt. She put one finger in her mouth and sucked on the crumb. Then she started to open the cabinets.

  Five cabinets, and all of