Masks

TW: This story contains depictions of grief, trauma, revenge, and non-lethal violence resulting in permanent disability.

***

He knelt beside his parents’ bleeding corpses, completely void of emotion. Was he supposed to cry? Was he supposed to hit somebody? Was he supposed to join them in death?

The shock did all the talking—except, the talking was complete silence. Empty words floating around in his head, words that made sense, but words he didn’t hear. He looked again at his mother’s face as he continued to tightly hold her hand, oblivious that he was crushing her bones. He let go and stood up.

Masks. Everyone wears them. Some to conceal their true identities and others, to create new ones. Some people like to flaunt what is underneath their mask while others, always prefer keeping theirs on. You’d never know who or what is behind that facade you always see—sometimes it’s best if you don’t find out.

At this instant, Rohan put on a mask. He walked towards the door with one goal. He knew who did this and he was going to rip off that demon’s mask. His parents didn’t deserve to go like this. They were good people who wanted to make a difference—now paid for it with their lives. He heard a faint voice in the distance reaching out to him. “Let it go, this isn’t you.” He recognized that voice. It was his mother’s. But that voice was fading quickly, eventually shut down by the silence that was already around him. Silenced by the blood.

There was no God, no justice, no right, no wrong.

His head was empty, he saw nothing, he heard nothing. His breath slowed, his shoulders relaxed. He knew what he had to do. He was now in a trance that felt right.

He wasn’t their son anymore. He wasn’t the same boy who feared pain or death. Rohan became the one thing he promised his parents he would never become. The darkness now felt comfortable, felt like home. He was no longer lost in the darkness. He was the darkness.

***

The scent of cardamom tea filled the apartment. Priyanka hummed to an old Hindi song that was playing on the radio as the tea continued to boil on the stove. Vikram, meanwhile, sat at the dining table solving a crossword puzzle.

“12 across, discombobulate,” said Rohan as he stole a glance at part of the crossword, sitting across from Vikram at the small, round dining table for four.

“Hmm, fits,” said Vikram as he filled in the boxes. “Why do you even know that word?” he asked jokingly.

Rohan shrugged, grinning. He didn’t really have an answer to that question.

“Could have something to do with the fact that his mother has a Ph.D. in English,” said Priyanka with a smile as she carefully placed the tray with three mugs of aromatic cardamom tea on the table and sat down with them.

They laughed. The kind that made you forget about the worst of problems. The kind that made you feel at home.

Rohan reached for his mug and so did his parents, Priyanka and Vikram. He looked at his father, who smiled at him.

As he sipped his tea, he felt a cold shiver. This didn’t feel right, he thought. The tea was supposed to keep him warm. The cold started to increase; he looked into his mug full of tea, then looked at his father. An empty chair sat where his father once sat less than ten seconds ago. He panicked and looked at his mother. Another empty chair.

His eyes snapped open.

The smell of tea was replaced by the smell of rust, metal and stale insulation. Cold air brushed against his skin as he wiped off some saliva from his mouth. He sat up slowly, realizing he’d fallen asleep on the cold floor of the abandoned leather factory.

One week had passed since the incident. The police always said they were actively working the case but Rohan was sure that was a lie. When the accused is a billionaire real estate mogul, it was given that he had most of the top cops in his pocket.

Reddy owned half of Bangalore city. He was one of the richest men in the country and one of the most hated. Of course, that probably didn’t matter to him considering he ran half the country with his influence. He was constantly accompanied by two ex Mossad agents for bodyguards, and a respectable convoy. He decided which governments were made and which ones fell. Life was too easy.

On the far wall, a massive corkboard was covered with photographs, blueprints and a red thread connecting them all like a spider’s web—something you’d expect to see in a spy or detective movie. Except, this was neither—it was the journey of a twenty something year old boy who was going to commit the kind of crime that would rid you of your soul.

Tonight was the gala. Reddy was throwing a feast to celebrate the wedding of his eldest daughter. Rohan had a solid plan and disguise. This had to be perfect or Reddy would get away without a scratch.

There was going to be a lot of cameras, politicians, celebrities and journalists. This was one of the most covered events in the country at the moment—even larger than the cricket world cup, which was weird because cricket wasn’t just a sport in India, it was a religion.

This also meant that there was going to be a lot of security and scrutiny. His cover had to be airtight. All he could see right now was the smirk on Reddy’s face.

Rohan briefly closed his eyes as a memory was starting to swell its way up into his thoughts. He thought about how Reddy came to their apartment, uninvited, and threatened his family. He remembered how he walked in with an air of arrogance, with each of his mercenary bodyguards on either side.

“How much?” he asked.

“You cannot buy me,” Vikram said, his pride getting in the way. “I will take you down and expose you to be the traitor that you are.” In hindsight, threatening the country’s most powerful man was probably a bad idea.

“I can pay you any amount of money that you want. Take the offer I am giving you now and there will be no consequences. Continue to poke your nose in my business and things are going to get really bad for you,” he said as he looked towards a worried Rohan and Priyanka.

Vikram might have looked the other way if it were just corruption. Who hadn’t slipped a bribe now and then to grease the system? He wasn’t proud of it, but he understood how the game worked. But this was different. The evidence he stumbled on didn’t just threaten reputations—it endangered lives. The moment he realized Reddy was selling classified information to Pakistan, something inside him snapped. That was betrayal and that was where Vikram drew the line.

He looked Reddy straight in the eye.

“Get out.”

“IDIOT,” Rohan screamed as he punched the wall that the corkboard hung on. His knuckles bled. If only his father let go of his pride and ego for one second and considered the offer. They’d still be alive and together and probably driving Porsches. Now Rohan had to risk everything to send the devil back to the depths of hell.

In the past week, Rohan found where his father had hidden the evidence. He had made provisions for its release right after he finished what he was set out to do at the gala. Tonight was going to be the last night of Reddy’s life.

***

The flash popped. Click. Another smile, frozen in time.

“One more, sir—yes, perfect. Thank you.”

Rohan lowered the camera and stepped away from the laughing group of ministers and actors, disappearing into the crowd again. He was one of probably twenty photographers there. A close friend of his father’s who owed his father more than just a favour, and also complicit in what Rohan was about to do, was able to get Rohan in and fortify his cover.

Arjun Sen owned Bangalore Lens—a renowned photography company for massive events. Rohan’s cover was so good that none of Reddy’s men recognized him so far.

His glance kept going to the one man who walked around with his daughter, laughing and entertaining the guests.

Reddy was dressed in an ivory sherwani embroidered with gold thread so fine it shimmered like sunlight with every movement. On his wrist, a gold watch peeked from beneath the sleeve — not to tell time, but to remind the room of his worth. His shoes were soft, likely handmade in Italy and designed to look traditionally Indian.

Anika, his daughter, looked like a goddess carved out of fire and gold. Her bridal lehenga was a deep crimson, almost maroon, with intricate gold embroidery that glittered with every step she took. Her hands were covered in elaborate mehendi, and thick gold bangles clinked softly at her wrists. Her makeup was flawless. She smiled for the cameras — poised, perfect — the crown jewel of the Reddy empire.

Rohan’s blood boiled looking at how happy Reddy was. This ends tonight.

***

“Please, let her go. I’ll give you anything,” Reddy begged.

The most powerful man in the country was brought down to his knees. All the power in the world couldn’t buy back his daughter’s life.

Anika was trembling, her eyes wide with terror. Rohan tightened his grip on the knife pressed to the soft skin of her neck, blood trickling.

“You took everything from me,” he said, coldly, completely void of emotion.

Behind Reddy, his bodyguards stood frozen — weapons ready but hands lowered. One wrong move, and Rohan could kill her instantly.

The rooftop was empty, swept by a cool Bangalore breeze. The moonlight caught the blade in Rohan’s hand, reflecting just enough to remind them all how real this was.

Rohan’s plan had worked perfectly.

He had scoped this rooftop during his recon — knew the angles and the cameras and also knew the crowd below wouldn’t hear a thing. Acquiring the knife had been easy. Luring Anika to the rooftop under the guise of “capturing the perfect shot” had been harder.

“A little more to the left,” he’d said. “That’s it. The skyline behind you. Just a solo portrait,” he said as he slowly inched closer.

And then, like lightning, his arm had wrapped around her. The blade touched skin. She didn’t even scream.

Now here they were.

“I’m sorry,” Reddy choked out. “I’m sorry for everything.”

Rohan’s expression didn’t change.

“You should be apologizing to my parents,” he said. “But that’s going to be hard considering they can’t hear you anymore.”

“Please. I’ll give you anything. Money. Power. Whatever you want.”

Rohan’s hand trembled. He looked at Anika. Her eyes pleaded, silently.

Slowly, he lowered the knife.

Reddy gasped in relief. The bodyguards tensed.

But Rohan wasn’t done. He thought about the bodies of his parents lying in a pool of blood. He set out to get revenge and he was going to get it no matter what.

With lightning speed, he twisted his body, plunging the blade deep into Anika’s lower back: right between the vertebrae. A precise, practiced strike.

She screamed and collapsed instantly, her legs giving out. She wasn’t dead. But she’d never move again.

Reddy lunged forward, but the guards held him back.

“ANIKA!” he screamed.

She tried to move, but her body betrayed her. Her arms flailed weakly. Her legs stayed still. Her mouth moved, but only shallow, panicked gasps escaped.

“She’ll live. But she’ll never walk again. Never dance. Never lift her own child,” Rohan said, revelling at the look of anguish on Reddy’s face.

Reddy was now in shock. Broken in places that couldn’t be fixed.

Rohan turned to face him fully.

“I cremated my parents. My life ended that day,” Rohan said, pain in his voice evident. “Your lives will end every single day you wake up.”

He dropped the knife, hands covered in the blood of an innocent.

A gunshot rang out.

Rohan’s body jerked. Blood flowed down from his chest. Another shot. Then another. The bodyguards didn’t hesitate as soon as they saw a clean opening.

He fell backwards on the hard concrete floor of the roof.

Reddy ran to his daughter, sobbing.

Rohan collapsed to the ground, barely clinging to consciousness, slowly being soaked up in his own blood. As his vision blurred, he used the last of his strength to look at Reddy one final time.

He smiled. Reddy was going to see Rohan’s face every time he looked at his daughter. He was going to see Rohan’s face every time he was in court fighting the evidence that was going to go live tonight. No one told Rohan revenge would feel this good, or maybe this feeling was his life fading away. Rohan took revenge not just for himself, but for every single person that Reddy stepped on and destroyed.

Rohan’s eyes closed, drifting off with a smile on his face for he was going to reunite with his parents again.