By Anjali Sunil (12K) & Varsha Venkataraghavan (11K)
I was no writer. I'll admit that. The last time I wrote was when I woke up completely hammered, hugging a whole chicken while wearing one of my best suits. It was a poorly written haiku, one that I was pretty proud of, but the point is: I can’t write.
There's no one around me, and no one within my sight. Not even an air hostess or a fellow passenger in sight. I’m hungry, and spot a few restaurants inside the airport, but what's the use of a restaurant when there isn't a single person around. Under normal circumstances, I can deal with loneliness, but today, these circumstances are abnormal. I just open my notebook, hoping that a new idea will strike me - an idea so new that it will outshine even the brightest ideas. Oh, why did I think that I could make it as a journalist when there is an ocean of writers touching the sand compiling the best ideas? Oh, why did I even take part in that stupid bet? I had no clue that I would lose that very bet. Of course, there was a chance of me winning the bet, but there are the same odds on either side.
I just hope that the interview goes well. I mean, I'm dressed in a suit, and I possess a notebook. My attire and my possessions make me look diligent and responsible. What could possibly go wrong?
Okay, who am I kidding?
A hitman could be dressed up in a suit, I'm just playing a role. I couldn’t even begin to fathom how wrong this could get; not getting the job was the least of my concerns. I was sweating from my neck up even though the a/c was cranked up, my legs had gone numb and my fingers followed the same path. I could always back out, run back to my brother’s apartment, spend the night there like I initially planned on. I still had his keys, and then I could just catch the next flight back home. It is a crime to impersonate a federal employee.
I should probably just go home; I still have a chance right now. My legs almost give out as I get up. I grab my notebook, clutch my bag closer to my chest, my hands are trembling, and my heart starts racing.
It's just the jitters, you need to run by the gate, past security, past the checkpoints, past security again, and then run back out, and this is if you don’t get caught by security.
There was only one way out here, and that was on the next flight out.
“You missed your flight as well?” a high-pitched voice says from behind me
My heart stops beating, a shiver runs down my back, I'm too scared to look back, scared that it's a police officer, scared that I have got caught, scared that this stunt of mine has already come to an end. I turn back slowly and hope for the best.
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“It feels rather eerie, being stranded in a deserted airport. I mean, there’s no one here except for you. Good Lord, I needed to talk to someone, and was dying out of boredom. Thank God you’re here.”
Her voice was rather shrill for a woman. I mean, women are known to have shrill voices and men are known to have deep voices, but her voice was extraordinarily shrill. Truth be told, I expected my eardrum to burst at any minute.
On turning back, I saw a woman who was rather tall. She was probably even taller than my sister Grace, who was a former basketball player due to her height. She had brown eyes and ebony-black hair, and also wore a suit.
“Pardon me for not having introduced myself,” she said, “my name is Teresa Jones, and I missed my flight to London. I arrived at the airport five hours early and decided to take a nap. However, I overslept, and eventually missed my flight. I work in Finance. What about you?”
“I’m Leslie Lowtower,” I said. I revealed my pseudonym. Teresa doesn’t deserve to know my real identity, I thought. What if she’s an undercover cop? Since my childhood, I have been taught to not trust strangers.
Should I tell her that I’ve missed my flight when I’m actually in the airport for another reason? Coming clean isn’t an option here. I was speechless and didn’t know what else to say. Identity theft is a serious crime, but it’s an even more serious crime when you’ve taken the fake identity of a federal employee.
“Leslie Lowtower?” she slowly repeats the name, “I have heard that name somewhere before.”
“Oh well, I would love to meet another one,” I said, trying not to let the fear show in my voice.
“Wasn’t there an officer called Leslie Lowtower, got a medal of valor or something?”
“Perhaps,” I said, silence engulfs us.
I wanted him with me on the other side, the idea that sparked my doctoral paper was all thanks to him, more than anyone he deserved to be with me on the other side.
Which is why you will find his cold lifeless body in the basement; along with my sister's and their daughter’s.
“Were your parents inspired by Leslie, or are you related to him in any way?” asked Teresa.
“I suppose they were inspired by him. I have some relatives working in the field of Law Enforcement,” I replied. Truth be told, I didn’t have any relatives - they were all long gone, but I needed a reason. Oh, I wished Teresa would stop asking me such questions! It’s none of her business to ask me these questions!
“Oh really? That’s wonderful!” she replied. “What are their names? Do they work in the Police Force, or are they agents in the FBI?”
“I guess my family has both cops and agents.” I replied. I paused for a second, unaware of what to say next. My pulse started to accelerate. My body started to tremble. It took all my strength to control my anxiety. Luckily, I managed to come up with an answer.
“I don’t know them. You see, they’re really distant relatives and I’ve only heard of them from my parents and grandparents.” I replied.
Teresa is the most curious and inquisitive person I’ve ever met. I mean, why would she be concerned about my family and the occupations of my fictitious relatives? I had a very strong feeling that she was an undercover officer or agent.
There was a deafening silence for a minute or two. I didn’t know what to do or what to say. Teresa didn’t even leave me alone - I suppose she hadn’t anywhere to go, considering the fact that she’d missed her flight. The silence was later broken by Teresa’s shrill voice.
“Nice talking to you, but I have to go home now. Bye”
You could imagine my relief. I was finally alone. I finished my fifth Red Bull and started my sixth. However, I noticed something extremely eerie and strange. Teresa wasn’t headed to the gates - she was going up the escalator. There was no other exit except for the gates, which were on my floor. Teresa told me that she was heading home, but I saw her on the escalator. Where was she really going?
I got up, clutching my bags, and headed up the stairs. I knew at this time of the night there were no flights; okay, she wasn’t a cop. She was barely old enough, and she was too well dressed to be one. Perhaps she was just heading to the business lounge.
I caught her by surprise outside the elevator of the first floor.
“I'm sorry if I creeped you out back there, it's just I have this interview tomorrow, I'm already on the edge it's just…”
“It's okay, if it's any help flying makes me anxious as well.” She cuts me off with a smile.
I take a good look at her. She dressed really well, the red soles of her shoes said more than enough. Guilt settles in and I want to tell her my actual name, open up about my life, tell her everything.
“My name, it… it isn’t Leslie Lowtower, its David Asbeel, Leslie Lowtower was my friends and I… I didn’t want to reveal my name to a stranger, so…”
“When is your flight?” she cuts me off, again.
“Tomorrow night.”
“You want to see the city?”
I nod my head and for a second this seems to be my gateway, I don’t have to go to New York, I don’t have to impersonate Leslie, I won't have to take the job, this is the solution to my problems. But there was far too much at stake here. There are some things that people just have to know.
“We… we can leave?”
“Relax, I’ll get you back here before tomorrow night and you haven’t checked in so.” she flashes me a flight ticket and for a second I'm frozen to the ground, and then I nod along with her and follow her lead. She probably flew a lot because she spoke to the security like they were her friends from high school, she drifted across the airport like this had been her own house. She was my angel in disguise.
A gust of wind welcomes us as we step out and her cheeks flush up as the cold hits both of us.
It doesn’t take me too long before I realise it, I wanted her with me on the other side.
It was such a relief to have finally revealed my true identity to Teresa. I mean, things are going to turn out much better, since I had to no longer carry the tangled web of lies that I had woven during our conversation. Teresa and I finally managed to escape from the airport. By luck, the security there didn’t accuse me of identity theft, and we managed to exit the airport without much of a hassle.
From the outside, the airport seemed way different. It wasn’t the isolated building that it was. It seemed more like a place of majesty or grandeur, with the neon lights and the streetlamps on the highway.
My thoughts were interrupted by Teresa’s shrill voice.
“So, tell me, David,” she began, “what’s the story behind you assuming Leslie’s identity?”
“As I mentioned earlier, Leslie was one of my very best friends.” I replied. “We were in the same school, and we also studied in the same college. Both of us majored in Physics. However, he couldn’t complete his doctorate as he was married to my sister, and had a family coming.”
“Wait... so Leslie’s your brother-in-law?” she asked. “That’s so cool! Leslie was a great officer. I hope that he's resting in eternal peace now.”
“He was murdered along with my sister and my niece.” I said. “Their bodies are in my basement, which has been locked for nearly ten years. The police haven’t found the killer yet, but I personally believe that he was murdered by one of his fellow officers, who felt that he wasn’t deserving of the medal of valour.”
I saw an expression of shock and horror on Teresa’s pale face, as we entered a cab to explore the city.
I didn't want to answer her or tell her the truth. I was busy… too busy trying to think of how I was going to get her on my side. I had to, there was no option, she was perfectly naive but smart enough to know that I was right.
"We shouldn't grieve the dead. Have you heard of James Bright?" I ask her. I didn't look at her, my eyes were glued to the world outside, the whole city merging into nothing but lines of light.
"The journalist who went crazy and murdered his family?" She asks. I feel her gaze on me, the concern obvious in her voice.
"He believed that when you died in one universe, you remained alive in the others. With every decision you take, there's another universe created where you didn't." I swallow. “He was right you know; he just didn't prove it right."
I finally look at her and she's squinting at me, mouth gaping, eyebrows furrowed in. I laugh and I tell her.
"Teresa, I can show you exactly what he did by the end of today, I know how and that's what I want to show everyone. Save us from this misery." I tell her.
The idea has always been in our religions and mythologies and legends, Leslie discovered this one night drunk over his mind wearing a sequined vest and a mini skirt. No one would have taken him seriously then… but I did.
We lived in hell and I was about to save a select few.
“So are you a believer in James Bright’s theory?” asked Teresa. “I mean, do you believe that there’s more than one universe? I can’t bring myself to accept that theory. Of course, everyone knows that a theory is simply a nonsensical statement until it is proved, somehow or the other. I mean, can you really prove that theory?”
“Teresa, I mean everything that I say.” I responded. “When you really want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it.” I quoted.
“Is that from a movie or a television show?” she asked. “I seem to have heard that quote somewhere.”
“It’s from a book called The Alchemist, by Paulo Coehlo.” I replied. “Although Coehlo was a Catholic, he believed in the power of the universe. I don’t really know if he ever believed in more than one universe.”
“So, are you an avid reader?” she asked. “You seem to be a bibliomaniac, and you’re a really good orator.”
“Truth be told, I am a journalist,” I replied, “I have a column in The Daily Times, which reviews various books and magazines. It’s called David’s Daybook.”
“Oh my God, I love that column!” she exclaimed. “I don’t get much time to read books, so I like to read book reviews and summaries a lot.”
“James was the person who inspired me to become a journalist.” I said.
“Hey, I need to ask you something,” said Teresa, “why didn’t you want a stranger like me to know your real name when I first met you? In my opinion, there’s no harm in revealing your real name to a complete stranger.”
“I was forced to take Leslie’s name, as the result of a stupid bet.” I replied.
“Tell me all about it!” she exclaimed. There was an eager and inquisitive look in her eyes, and I just couldn’t bring myself to say no.
I looked at her and I could only pity her. I could tell her everything, but that would be raising a pig for slaughter. I turn back to the windows, watch everything become one big blur. I look back at her and she was still looking at me.
“The bet was that I could never prove Bright’s theory without following his path, and I couldn’t.” I replied.
It was only half the truth.
We idolised Bright, his theory, his work, that was our original thesis paper. The truth is, James wasn’t wrong and neither was his technique of proving it. It's just that I knew better, I knew the way we could prove it, in this universe. Leslie was with me on it. People deserved to know it. Killing Leslie was hard, everything after that was even harder. Leslie was with me on this.
Teresa was the missing piece.
“That’s a rather foolish bet to make!” replied Teresa. “I mean, everyone knows that for a theory to be proved, one has to follow the footsteps of its originator.”
“Teresa, that’s your belief.” I said. I was beginning to get very frustrated with her remarks but kept a calm attitude when I spoke to her. “I believed that Bright’s theory could be proved in another way. I believed that I was smarter than him. In fact, I still believe that I’m smarter than him.”
“Even after you lost the bet, and spent probably an eternity in an isolated airport?”
“Why should the idea of a loss change one’s beliefs?” I retorted. “I am proud of my beliefs and am not accustomed to changing them for a great reputation. Look at the Holocaust - the Jews could have changed their religion in order to avoid torture and death, but they chose not to. Why? Because of the pride that they have in their religion and its various beliefs. They chose to sacrifice their own lives over sacrificing their one identity.”
“How do you even have the courage to compare the scenario that you’re in right now with one of the greatest tragedies to have taken place on this planet?”
It took me all my strength to retain my calmness. “I just wanted to show you that I have complete faith in Bright’s theory. I will do anything in the world to prove that I am smarter than him, from climbing the tallest mountain to swimming in the deepest ocean.”
“Leslie would be so proud of you, were he here today.” said Teresa. She had finally calmed down and had stopped making witty remarks.
“I owe so much to him.” I replied. I had a nostalgic moment, and simply missed him more than what mere words could express. “He was the one who introduced me to the work of James Bright.”
Teresa smiled, and for once, I felt that she could understand everything. I had a strong feeling to tell her the truth, but I still had doubts.
I paid the cab driver as she started walking down the broken pavement. I vaguely remember this side of the city, posh, upscale, bankers who would get drunk in the morning, men and women in their long trench coats running to and fro, the massive buildings screaming business terms. Leslie and I visited this place back when we were still in college. We always wanted to end up here.
I look back at Teresa and she was struggling to walk on the broken pavements with her pointy shoes, I couldn’t stop myself from resenting her for a second. She probably grew up rich and lived off daddy’s money even now. People like her were why people like me had to go to extremes to even be heard. But, in the name of science, I had to let go of that. I had to embrace her as though she were of my own blood. After all, killing her would be the solution to it all.
I felt a certain wave of anxiety as I looked at Teresa walking behind me, struggling to balance in those heels. Of course, I resent her, but I had been brought up with the fact that every human life is precious. I have no right to take her life, but in such a situation, the glory of science and the reputation that I would get after her murder take the upper hand. They are more important than the life of a mediocre human.
With trembling hands, I reached for the gun in my coat. If there weren’t any bullets left, then today would be Teresa’s lucky day. I turned back, only to see Teresa’s aghast expression.
“I’m sorry, but I have to kill you.” I told her, although I wasn’t the least bit apologetic. “It’s for science and James Bright.”
“Why me, out of everyone else?”, she asked.
“It’s because you’re the missing piece in the jigsaw. You’re the key to everything. Imagine what I can accomplish if I kill you.”
“But what about your interview?” she asked.
“It was all a hoax,” I replied, “the others will arrive in another minute or two.”
I wish that was what happened.
But the truth was that I was on my own. This wasn't my first time. I had done this with people I’ve known for ages and did it without a second of hesitation. There just was something about her. I look back at her. I play it in my head turn around I could kill her with anything, even my hand , a knock on the head, I could crack her neck, paralyse her with a coin, bleed her out with nothing but a pin… the possibilities were endless.
“Do you know the mayor lives right there?” I said, pointing at the massive building ahead.
“He seems rich.”
I smile and shake my head. A hit to the base of her neck. The mayor was rich, ridiculously rich, how else would the incompetent buffoon become mayor. A cut on the right vein and I would have her bleeding all over. I look up at the sky… I wanted to take off.
“The protestors would be a few blocks away from here.” I say.
I stop and look at her, her face was lost and she was clearly struggling for balance. I couldn’t be bothered to help.
“The mayor is rich.”
“Isn’t that obvious?” asked Teresa. “He’s the Mayor. One can’t reach that position without being affluent.”
“No, what I mean is that this person has become the Mayor by mere deceit.” I replied. “He was formerly a gambler and a trickster, and by luck, has become the Mayor. A lot of people have protested against him. In fact, the nearby protest that’s going on right now, is against his rule. A lot of people consider him racist and misogynistic, and truth be told, those words perfectly describe him. Of course, I haven’t met him face-to-face, but that’s what I hear from the citizens.”
“Well, he doesn’t sound very different from the President himself.”
“It’s funny, how democracy has changed over the past few years.” I replied, as I thought about all the famous democrats who have governed this country so far. “A few years ago, we lived in fear of the superior ones. Now, they live in fear of us, for they play the role of our sycophants.”
“Your English is really good, for a common journalist.” said Teresa.
“I’m not a simple journalist.” I replied. “I’m an ace writer. I write until my mind can’t think of another sentence. Leslie and I were in the middle of writing a book all about Bright’s theory, when he was...he was...he was…”
The word ‘murdered’ really struggled to come out of mouth, and I broke down into a flood of tears, as I thought about him. I hadn’t felt this sadness and agony in years.
“It’s okay.” said Teresa, as she tried to comfort me. “Everyone’s faced the death of a loved one sometime or the other. I actually lost my own sister to terrorists. They came to my family, and promised us a better life, but in the end, they shot my sister seven times in the back and once in the head.”
“Did you want to work in Finance, in the first place?” I asked her. “I wanted to become a famous physicist, and instead, I ended up as a writer.”
“Finance? It’s just a spaghetti salad of numbers and currencies.” she said. “I wanted to become an artist. I love painting landscapes and sketching the faces of famous personalities. In fact, I have a pencil sketch of the Mayor in my briefcase. Wait, let me show it to you.”
Truth be told, I don’t read the papers. I just write in my column. I’ve never really liked the news. To me, the news is just anecdotes of people making a big deal about politics. Today’s politics is corrupt, but I didn’t have the heart to tell this to Teresa, who was still rummaging in her briefcase for the sketch. I don’t discuss politics with other people.
After probably five minutes, Teresa found the sketch, and handed it to me. It was wonderfully done and was titled, ‘The Prejudiced Mayor’. At the bottom of the page, was Teresa’s signature.
It took me only around a second, to realise that the Mayor’s face was familiar to me.
The Mayor of the city is James Bright - my idol.
The appeal of James Bright was that he gave himself up for science. His entire life, the thing most important to him, his wife and children he did it because he had to, because that was his duty. I knew the protestors were on their way. I could kill Teresa like that, but it no longer was about her. I gave one quick glance back and ran towards the mayor's house.
“I’m afraid it’s an emergency. You have to let me inside this house!” I pleaded. “I really need to talk to the Mayor. I know that there are really strict rules about making appointments to talk to him, but I’m afraid you have to make an exception in this case.”
“I’m sorry, sir.” replied the security. “However, we can let you in provided that one of us accompanies you until the Mayor’s office.”
“That would be great, thanks.”
I took a last look behind and saw Teresa’s confused expression. She had no clue about the connection between Bright and the Mayor, and there wasn’t enough time for me to explain everything to her. There wasn’t even time for me to bid goodbye.
The next minute, I found myself in a lift with a guard, whose uniform had the name Justin. We took the lift to the eighty-first floor, where the Mayor’s office was.
“Please wait here in the lobby, while I inform the Mayor about your sudden arrival.” requested Justin.
As I took a seat in the lobby, I happened to notice a lot of the Mayor’s awards. However, the name on the awards was Jiminy Dulles. The name only made it more obvious that the Mayor was simply Bright in disguise. I mean, Jiminy has the name Jim (which is short for James) and Dulles must have originated from the word dull, which is the opposite of ‘Bright’.
Justin came out of the Mayor’s office a couple of minutes later.
“He is ready to see you.”
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