“No. No, Javen, please. I need you.”
“You have me. Always. Oh sanity...” He’d wrapped his hand around my cock and squeezed. “If you do that, I’ll come.”
“I want you to come. I want...Javen, I want—” He stared at me, his desperation drenching my emotions. “Please....”
His eyes filled with tears, and it undid me. “Oh love, don’t,” I whispered, kissing his cheek, the corner of his eyes, licking away the salty wetness.
He let me comfort him for all of two seconds, then he pushed back, hard and violently, the desperation now coloured with ugly self-disgust. “I’m sorry. Let me up. Sorry.”
I held his arm. “Hey, it’s okay—”
“I said, let me up!” He pushed again, and unbalanced, I fell to the floor where I lay, blinking stupidly up at him. “Sorry. Javen, just go. Please. I apologise. This is—”
He scrambled off the sofa and bolted into one of the other rooms. After a moment or two while I wrapped my mind around what had happened, I got to my feet and adjusted my clothing. My erection had disappeared—nothing like your object of desire freaking out for quenching your libido.
I bit my lip. Should I stay or go? Shardul was a mess, much worse than I’d realised. I hadn’t liked the idea of him being alone before and I sure as hell didn’t like it now. I played for time by putting the food and beer in the kitchen. Shardul still didn’t emerge from his hiding place.
Nothing for it but to look for him. I found him in the bathroom, leaning over the sink, braced on his arms. “You have cause to complain to the police,” he said, no emotion in his words, his disgust and sorrow filling my mind. “I assaulted you.”
“That’s crap. I wanted it as much as you did.”
“I don’t want it. I don’t want you here. You’re the wrong person.”
I wished he’d picked up a knife and shoved it up my nose, than say those words. “All right. So who do you want here? Let me call someone for you.”
“I don’t want anyone. Please go, Javen. I regret...but I have no reparations to offer.”
“I don’t want reparations. You did nothing wrong. I want to help you.”
He turned to look at me with empty eyes. “You can’t. You have the wrong skin.”
I bit down the anger and the retort. “Can I...call someone?”
“Please just leave. I don’t....” He heaved in a breath. “I don’t want to talk about this again.”
“You want me to pretend it never happened?”
He nodded.
“Fine. Whatever you want. You have my number.”
I walked out angry, but aching too because I could feel how much pain he was in, felt it as sharp as if it were my own. He’d struck out like a wounded animal, and it wasn’t his fault that the claws had been sharpened by years of experiencing prejudice and hate from my people. But I’m not like them, I wanted to yell. No point. Wrong time, wrong guy too.
Outside, I called Rupa. “Oh Javen, are you all right?”
“More or less. How is Roshni-ji?”
“Much better now she knows you are both safe. She wanted to speak to Shardul but wasn’t sure if he would be busy.”
“Rupa, that’s why I’m calling. He needs someone...one of his own kind,” I added, my mouth twisting on the bitter words. “But he’s shutting people out. I’m worried about him.”
“Why? What happened?”
“Traumatic stress, because of the way the police acted when he left the hall. He thought he was going to be shot.”
She gasped. “Would they?”
“I can’t say there was no risk. Whether the threat was real or not, isn’t the point. He needs to process that. He’ll be okay, I hope, but only if he doesn’t lock it down.”
“I will call him, and try to let him talk. He won’t speak to you?”
“No.”
“Javen...do you need someone too?”
“I’m fine,” I lied. “I have my family and friends, and I wasn’t affected the way he was. Look after him. Call me if you need to.”
“I will. Spirit guide you, Javen. Sleep well.”
I doubted I would. What was the time, anyway? Sanity, only eight. It felt like midnight, so much had happened today. I hadn’t even said hello to my new niece, let alone congratulated her mother, or my nephews.
I looked up at Shardul’s apartment. No lights on in the front. Perhaps he’d gone to bed, which might be the best thing for him. Tomorrow he might feel calmer, and we could talk about what had happened between us. By then, I might even understand it myself.
My body remembered his hands on me, his lips on mine, yet my mind knew it had been an aberration Shardul never intended, that had revolted him as soon as he realised what he was doing. At least now I knew for certain whatever fantasies I’d entertained, Shardul was never going to come willingly to my bed, and I didn’t want him anything but willing. The best I could hope for was that our friendship might survive. Right now, I had no idea if it would.
I drove back to Yashi’s house. His auto was in the garage, so instead of heading to my own flat, I walked into the main house. I found my brother asleep on the sofa, the media screen on but muted. The siege was still the main topic of the news reports, with footage of my father and I separately emerging unharmed from the hall being shown in between talking heads. Tomorrow I might hear what the water tests showed. I wondered how Ekanga was doing, and where his wife and son were right now.
I shook my brother gently. “Yashi.”
He woke with a snort and a jerk, blinking stupidly at me. “Javen? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Tara?”
“Asleep, ages ago. I stopped off to see the boys, but Hita thought it was best for them to stay where they were tonight.”
“Agreed, but I can take them tomorrow. I planned to take time off when the baby came. How is she?”
Yashi smiled. “Beautiful. Tiny and perfect. She won’t be coming home for a couple of weeks, but Tara will be at least a week in hospital anyway.”
“Had supper?”
He wiped his face. “No. Hey, you didn’t tell me about that thing today!”
“Yeah, because what you really needed was to stress about something which was already over and done with, while your wife was in surgery. Is there any food in the cooler? I have some in my place.”
“I think there is. Have a look. Dad said there wasn’t any real danger, but the news reports said there was a gun and a bomb, and the man was crazy.”
“No, he wasn’t, and the gun was empty and the bomb a fake. Come into the kitchen. I’ll feed you and you can go to bed.”
I kept him off the topic of the siege because I didn’t want to talk about Shardul’s role. Yashi was too tired, coming down from high anxiety, to notice my deflection. I did learn my new niece was to be called Nita. “After Tara’s grandmother,” he said.
“Lovely name. When can the boys see her?”
“Tomorrow. I’ll take them to the hospital in the afternoon.”
“Okay, then I’ll take care of things here when we all get back.”
“You don’t need to, you know.”
“I want to. I take being an uncle seriously.”
“Yes you do,” he said, radiating pleasure. “Uh...have you and Mum and Dad made up or was that for my benefit?”
“Not sure where I stand, but it wasn’t for you. Dad was amazing today.”
“They showed footage on the feed from inside the hall. I was so proud of him. And you. You were both so calm.”
I shrugged. “Being hysterical wouldn’t have helped.”
“No, I suppose not.” He propped his chin on his hand and peered at me. “Are you all right, Javen? I mean, really all right? You’re a bit subdued.”
“Been a long day, and...well, the story that came out was pretty horrible.”
“Think it’s true? That the local officials covered things up?”
“Yes, I do. Once I’d have thought it exaggerated, but I’ve seen too much now.
And Ekanga was too sick and desperate to be lying.”
“What’ll happen to him?”
“I have no idea. Mercy, I hope. Justice too. But the cynic in me doesn’t believe that.”
“I hope the cynic in you is proved wrong.” He yawned and stretched. “Beloved reason, I’m tired.”
“Then go to bed. I’ll collect the boys and take them to school. Call me when you’re ready to go to the hospital and I’ll meet you. Anything you want doing around here?”
He shook his head, and we said goodnight. I cleaned up and went to my own flat to shower. Under the clean, safe stream of water, I thought about Tara, lucky enough to live in a city with modern health facilities and delivering a healthy child despite a dangerous medical condition, and Ekanga’s wife, poor, isolated, poisoned by the very necessities of life. No happy outcome and rejoicing, just another load of grief on top of a fresh sorrow.
Even if Shardul rejected my help, I would press my father on this, and keep pressing. Work with the media if I had to. No parent should lose a child when it could be prevented. No one should die because of greed.
No one should think they’re about to be shot to death because they’re the same race as a criminal.
I leaned against the wall and let the water pound on my aching skull. I wanted to be with Shardul, look after him, comfort him. Fight with him against the evils we both hated. Argue with him about the different ways we saw things.
I wanted to love him. I did love him, but he would never love me back. I didn’t think I could bear that.
But I had to. What choice did I have? Only to act with grace and kindness, or be a complete dick about it all.
Arguing with the man would hurt both of us, and do no good. Pushing my claim would make me a stalker. So the choice was simple. If behaving with a shred of dignity was all I could do for Shardul, then that was what I’d do.
Even if it killed me.
Javen and the Night of Fire
Chapter 1
Case closed, invoice submitted, paperwork finished and our big, necessary insurance client completely satisfied. I thumbed mentally through my office diary. How much of my time the trial would chew through? Too much, with all the work we had on. So many of our cases ended in criminal investigations, I’d spent the equivalent of weeks in court this year giving evidence in fraud prosecutions. Sometimes felt just like being back in uniform. Maybe I should leave the reserve and rejoin the police force for real.
For now, I’d have to shuffle appointments around, shift some of the work off onto the team. I climbed into my auto and turned on the news feed audio.
“Repeating the breaking news—the trial of Kaushik Denge for corporate murder has ended within the last hour with the jury returning a verdict of ‘not proven’. A spokesperson for the government prosecution said it was too early to decide if they planned to appeal. Sri Denge has not yet made a statement to the press. Two weeks ago, Denge Corporation was found guilty of gross corporate negligence amounting to manslaughter, but the personal charges against Sri Denge—”
The case against Denge had been watertight, but the all-Kelon jury hadn’t agreed. Why was I even surprised? I turned off the audio, my hand going to the control for my phone before I remembered calling Shardul wasn’t possible any more. I didn’t need to call him to know how he would feel about this. I knew how I felt about it.
Something else to make me think about rejoining the police. I wasn’t so old and cynical that I thought good people couldn’t make their mark even in a society like ours. But if even my father failed to lock up Kaushik Denge when he’d killed more than a dozen children, what hope did the rest of us have?
I started the engine and reopened the news feed, masochistically listening to Denge’s lawyer gloating, and the choked disappointment of my dad’s lawyers saying the government believed it had a good case against Sri Denge and would make no apology for bringing it. I’d spoken to these people, worked with them to make their case. Every one of them had wanted to nail Denge to the wall for what he’d done. But in the end a jury of bloody-minded citizens had overturned all their hard work. I wanted to punch a wall in frustration. Or punch Denge’s smug face, which would be much more satisfying.
I walked into our offices in a grim mood. Hamsa greeted me, her green eyes glittering with the anger rolling off her. “You heard about Denge, Javen?”
“On the feed just now. I can’t believe that jury.”
“I can,” Prachi snapped. My assistant hadn’t risen as I came in. Her hands gripped the edge of her desk as if she had to fight to control herself. Her fury and disappointment, powered by the passion and strength of youth, battered my empathy and made my head ache. “None of us believed he’d be convicted. Yet Ekanga goes to prison for six years—”
“Six months, Prachi. Six years suspended after six months, and he’s in hospital anyway.” My father had used his authority to reduce the harsh twenty-year sentence imposed by the court. He’d taken a lot of flack politically for it, and the indigenous community were still furious that Ekanga had even been put on trial, let alone convicted.
“Convicted and imprisoned for trying to save people’s lives, and that piece of shit goes free!” She bit her lip and lowered her eyes. “Sorry, boss.”
“Trust me, I’m mad as hell too. I’m sorry, guys. My father did what he could.”
“Yes. Too little, too late, though.”
Hamsa had established herself as the office diplomat almost as soon as she joined us, so that was damn blunt for her.
“Denge’s entitled to due process, even if he is a piece of shit. The prosecution could appeal, and don’t forget the civil suit.”
Prachi snorted. “In front of the same judges? What chance do we have?”
“Those judges handed you guys a pretty big victory a few months ago.”
Prachi stood with a clatter of shoved-back furniture, bright spots of red in her pale face as she turned a venomous look my way. I honestly thought she would slap me. Instead she stomped out to the storeroom.
“Okay, now what did I say?”
My partner shook her head at me. “Javen, that ‘pretty big victory’ was the tiniest step towards progress compared with history. And after today, my people will wonder if there’s been any progress at all. Don’t expect gratitude or trust from us.”
“Ah.” Once Shardul would have ruthlessly mocked a gaffe like that out of me. Since I’d handed over Institute affairs to Madan, I was a lot more out of the loop than I realised. “Good point. Uh, apologise to her for me? I don’t want to upset her any more than I have.”
“Of course. Have you spoken to your father?”
“Not yet. He’ll need time to talk to the lawyers. He wanted Denge taken down. They won that manslaughter charge against the company. We thought this case would fall the same way.”
“You really thought a man like that, who corrupted so many officials, and hid such crimes for so long, purely for money, wouldn’t find a way to wriggle off the hook?”
“What can I say? I’ve tried to crush the last pathetic seeds of idealism, but they just keep sprouting.”
She smiled briefly, but her anger glowed around the edges. “People won’t let this slide, Javen. Not this time. Those protests over Ekanga’s conviction will seem like a gentle breeze once word gets around the community.”
“Don’t blame them. Just remember I’m on your side, right?”
“I do, but I’m looking at a Kelon face.” She flushed and looked away. “Uh...sorry.”
I dismissed that with a wave. It hurt, though. We worked together so closely, so well, my race was hardly ever mentioned, and never as a negative. But that was in ordinary times, and this was far from ordinary.
I made an excuse of going out to see an imaginary client to let my staff vent to each other without the ‘Kelon face’ looking at them. Hamsa was right. I was Kelon, ally or not. However angry I felt about Denge—and I felt pretty fucking angry in a very up front and personal way, after all the w
ork I’d done with Dad to help convict the bastard—it was nothing to what the Nihan would feel right now. What would happen when they let that anger show?
~~~~~~~~
By the time I got home that evening, Yashi and Tara had heard all about the trial and the supposed impact on the Nihani population. The news feed helpfully repeated the reports and analyses, so I could hear the same supposedly informed opinions my family had imbibed. “Anyone else think it’s weird there’s not a single indigenous commentator? Or interviewee?” I asked them.
“Someone must have asked them,” Tara said. “They seem to be sure the tensions are increasing.”
“They are. I know because I spoke to my people. But I don’t think these guys did,” I said, thumbing at the screen. “Petitions? I don’t think the Nihan would bother right now. They think Dad’s colluding with the establishment.”
“But there were demonstrations before,” Yashi said. “Over the bomber.”
“Yeah, and there probably will be again. I’d just like someone to actually ask that community what they think. It’s the problem with this damn society in a nutshell.”
They were sympathetic to my views, of course. Listening to me rant so many times on the subject had eventually had some impact. But the issue didn’t affect them directly, so it was easy to put it in the ‘too hard’ basket, as the media did. By the late night news bulletin, the Denge story was down to fifth on the list, behind the release of a new music vid by a popular singer. Would have been different if the bastard had been convicted, of course.
Traffic into town next morning was down at least half. All the indigenous shops on my route to the office were shut, and many of the premises around us still had their security doors up by the time I arrived. I turned on the media feed and learned that all over the city, Nihani employees weren’t turning up for work, and Nihani children hadn’t gone to school. Early, essential deliveries weren’t being made, diners and chai houses were closed, taxis were almost impossible to find. Because Kelon reporters hadn’t asked the right people the right questions, the Kelon population had woken next morning to a nasty and completely predictable surprise. I felt like contacting a reporter to tell them ‘I could have told you so’, but there wasn’t a lot of point.
Different Senses Page 43
