The Broadcast

Years had passed, and the dreary apartment barely lit up. Just like the dusty, musty, and messy rooms, Ileana was unkempt. An oversized, stained white t-shirt covered her lithe figure, perhaps the only bright thing in sight. She was enveloped in perpetual darkness, sequestered in solitude. During the day, her shadow kept her company, while at night she remained deprived. Among the dusty mahogany shelves of her bedroom, stood an ancient radio, bought many years back by Ileana’s grandfather. He went away but left it behind. Ileana lay lifeless on the bed, staring at the ceiling. At its own whim, the fan rotated, changing speed. 

“Strange is your way…” she spoke, looking at the fan.

The paint was peeling off the bare walls and ceiling, revealing the cemented structure beneath. Ileana was blinded by loneliness, unable to recognize the shambles she lived in. She turned to her right and smirked looking at the floor. A cockroach scuttled away and disappeared somewhere.

“Hello Haider, where did you vanish?” she stared at the disappearing cockroach and spoke.

It had been a decade since that fateful night, the night when her parents never returned. There was no sense of time passing.

“She deliberately stood before our car so it would fall into the river” Ileana heard the screeching tyres and her deceased parents converse on the radio. Questioning herself, she fiddled with the knobs of the radio hoping to hear their voices better. An abrupt splash of water followed by a shout of "Ileana" startled her.

While reminiscing, Ileana remembered Namaah, her younger sister who died five years back leaving a void in Ileana’s life. Ileana preserved a love note written by her mother to Namaah which read ‘We love you the most.’

Every time Ileana read it, rage consumed her. She walked back to the room and threw herself on the bed. She looked up at the ceiling and repeated the same sentence, “Strange is your way…”

At the same time, the radio let out strange noises. She desperately tuned in to hear her parents but heard some muffled voices. Unable to hear anything, she turned it off and began humming a tune. It reminded her of Namaah.

The next morning, she heard Namaah scream on the radio. Ileana decreased the volume and silenced Namaah. Anti-depressants and her father's finest scotch, got her to catch up on her disturbed sleep, like many other nights.

“The first day at school was tiring after all the lessons and meetings. I am going out with Haider tonight. Ileana, please have your lunch. I don’t feel like.”

“I cooked your favourite curry and rice, there is a salad too!” explained Ileana, hoping to eat with her sister.

“I am tired, I really don’t feel like it,” pleaded Namaah.

Namaah slammed the door of her room, leaving Ileana alone with a meal laid on the table. Ileana gazed at the table, blankly and passed a smile.

After dark, Namaah emerged in a red ensemble, looking alluring. Her loose cinnamon curls complemented her fair skin, making her look desirable. While her eyes gleamed with a faint shadow and her lips shimmered with gloss, she walked gracefully in her high heels, leaving behind a trail of floral fragrance in her wake.  

“Namaah, he is not right for you. He is a rich spoilt brat. You’ll never be content.” Namaah interrupted Ileana, in a sing-song voice, “See you later.”

Feeling a pang of anxiety, Ileana followed Haider’s swanky convertible until it went out of sight. Exhausted, she returned home to the icy cold lunch for dinner. The rice was colder than ice and the curry seemed bland. Blindly, she heaped the plate with rice and curry. She spilled most of it around the plate. Without bothering much about the mess, she rushed into the bedroom and got the radio, and kept it on the messy table. She tuned in to the radio like every day. She mixed the rice and curry on the plate, and put the first bite in her mouth, and paused.

“We got out of the way; the car drowned.” She heard dad aloud.

It was midnight. Instead of the doorbell, the phone rang. Ileana shifted and stirred with the incessant ringing of the phone. She lifted her head from the table and looked around. She rested her head back but the noise of the phone irritated her.

She looked for her battered cell phone and found it somewhere on the table. Unable to recognize the digits on the phone, she still answered the call.

“Hello, who is it?” she spoke in a state of intoxication.

Perspiring, she jotted the details heard from the other end. It was traumatic to drive to the same narrow bridge, where she lost her parents. Joyful memories of the four of them flocked before her eyes. Tears flooded her eyes as she remembered the day she graduated.

“We are proud of you Ileana,” spoke mother.

“You make us happy, Ileana,” said her father.

A honk from behind broke her chain of thoughts. This time it was Namaah, she was no more. Ileana doubted Haider, but he had drowned too. A huddle of policemen was flashing torchlights in all directions, just like they did even five years back.

“We are looking for them, the water is deep,” said a lanky policeman, remorsefully.

Benumbed, Ileana sped home into isolation. Hurriedly, she opened the enormous cabinet in the living room and chose a bottle of single malt.

She took an enormous sip and the radio greeted her, “Welcome home.”

She smirked, looking at the radio that lay in a puddle of curry.

“We are glad life ended for us. Only she cared.” whispered mom on the radio.

Blinded by her tears, Ileana’s anxiety heightened. A hush descended on her because of Namaah’s untimely demise. She became increasingly determined to learn the truth about her parents and Namaah’s disappearance. She picked up the radio and put it on the floor and sat next to it.

"I'll be fine, Namaah,” she said looking at her picture that rested in a wooden frame on the bedside.

“You’ll never be content,” said Namaah, on the radio.

After five years, Ileana heard Namaah.

“Namaah! Namaah! Can you hear me? Your favourite curry is still lying on the table. Come back,” she spoke with desperation.

Years passed by; Ileana never left the apartment. She lived in oblivion and her only company was the radio.

“Namaah loved us unconditionally,” the radio muttered.

Frustrated, Ileana hurled the glass she held

at the enormous family picture on the wall. It fell noisily, shattering to bits, crashing a memorable moment captured. Droplets of scotch trickled down. Ileana bent down and licked the drops.

Neglecting the fragments of glass that pierced the soles of her feet, she reached her mom’s cupboard and pulled out the family album. She sauntered past through beautiful memories and slowly ripped them, page after page, picture after picture. She stood up and walked around the apartment laughing aloud.

Again, the undertones on the radio grabbed her attention.

“I cannot forget that night, where she stood before us in her white stained t-shirt. She killed us and did not spare her sister and Haider. She killed them too. Identically. Enviously.”

“You are right, mother!” mumbled Ileana, breaking into a deafening malicious laugh.

“You always loved Namaah more. So, I killed you, Dad and her.”

She kicked the radio hard, forcing it to shut up.

Taking an enormous swig straight from the bottle, she swallowed a handful of pills that were always in her pocket. After another few sips, she threw the bottle. It hit the wall and fell to the floor.

“You’ll never be content,” she repeated Namaah’s statement and lay down on the floor. Ileana hummed her mother’s special tune aloud, which echoed in the vacant apartment. She paused when she saw a cockroach scuttling. She got onto her knees and leaped to grab it.

“Haider, you took Namaah away.” The cockroach wriggled between her fingertips and she hurled it with great force till the innocent creature was out of sight. She laughed, yet again.

“Yet, I miss Ileana,” said dad.

An air of despondency suffocated Ileana, curbing her malevolent laughter to a deafening silence.

The shrill of the doorbell continued for days. Ultimately, the police broke into the apartment to discover Ileana lifeless, on bits of glass. A million wounds covered her body, that she didn’t care for.

Every member of the police squad gazed in horror at the horrific state of the apartment. The shreds of the picture album were strewn everywhere. Happy memories of the family were torn apart. They broke open cupboards, drawers, suitcases, and bags and located Ileana’s medical prescriptions in one of her tattered old school bags. They flipped through medical reports, scans, tests and prescriptions. The police kept the file in their custody for a close study, even though they understood a little.

"Looks like a case of schizophrenia," muttered one of them.

They investigated the radio that was lying around.

“What did she even do with this? It is just decorative.”

Just when the police turned Ileana's body around, they observed a faint smile on her face. Her eyes were shut. She looked peaceful. "What's in her hand?" spoke one of the many from the squad.

Her fist was forced open, and she held the piece of paper in her hand that read ‘We love you the most.’