Jameela Villas

Someone had accidentally slipped in a dark secret, harbouring within the walls of the Jameela Villas, and Beenish had encountered the storms of such a mistake.

The murder of Jameela Khan, a widow...the details of her murder had been sneaked into a lonely corner of an innocently sweet library.

'Was it a joke? A prank?' Beenish didn't care because along with the murder confession was frustration shared about not finding the jackpot hidden within the lonely borders of the Jameela villas.

Holes have been dug, plots have been scavenged for her price possessions...nothing. Absolute nothing had been pulled up and away from the clenches of the deceased. Jameela is one shifty widow.

Sweat rose as Beenish stood reading the horrible confessions until a little blow of the wind triggered her paranoia.

"Are you alright?" The dull light of a dusty lantern rattled its light towards her, as the old librarian spoke in a crooked manner.

Beenish jolted with surprise.

Slamming the book shut, she quickly faced the librarian, ignoring the clock loudly announce midnight.

"I am fine." The wind picked up the pace.

"Go home now." The librarian sounded fierce. This part of the town was hardly visited by many. Seldom children visited the library, given there were just a few schools around.

The librarian was just a bored woman who ran this library on public funds. Her lack of interest and constant state of exhaustion was a mandatory side-effect of owning this dusty and undermined form of treasure. Beenish didn't mind her tone.

"Of course.” She nodded, tucking away the secrets for another day. She hastily began walking towards the old lady, out of the halls, until a thought occurred; age often meant experience and knowledge.

"Have you ever heard of the Jameela Villas?" Beenish spoke, as she started trailing behind the old librarian who had already turned her back around.

"Jameela is dead."

Cut and direct!

She had heard of her.

"How was she killed?" Curiosity gave away secrets.

"I never mentioned murder."

Instant silence!

Beenish has spoken too much. She winced as she realized her mistake. The librarian never said that Jameela was killed. The burden of holding a secret was already seeping over.

"Umm...yes, I just want to know how she died." It was a clumsy save, yet a save, nonetheless.

"She was a widow. No one took care of her, and a deadly disease found her sanity. The town changed a lot after her death."

Natural death.

This was a lie.

Huffing, Beenish pushed up her glasses and finally slipped from behind the librarian. She headed out to the stormy weather, with a crisp plot in her mind.

Tomorrow, the Jameela Villas were to be explored. The widow was dead, murdered...it was the truth. That meant her secrets and luxury were really left undiscovered, free to be grabbed by lucky hands.

Beenish was an economist.

***

Crisp, beautiful and grand, the Jameela villas still looked occupied by the warmth that expressed human presence. Early morning, Beenish pushed against her bar gates and stepped onto the gravel road of the place. It was so lush and beautiful. The villa stood high and mighty, and not a person protected its barriers as the vacant place seemed like an open tourist spot. Everyone was allowed inside.

Strange!

Hesitant to digest this abnormality, Beenish began exploring the hauntingly beautiful place. She stepped over neatly placed scrubs and fallen branches until her eyes dared to turn towards the main gate again. The Victorian-style doors were richly calling her out. She had a feeling she would find the treasure. Her heart always could pinpoint profit.

She rushed up towards the door and pushed it open, only to wince at the sight of a ruined place. Inside, the guts of the place had been destroyed; sofas’ toppled, tables smashed and glass shattered across the floor. The sunlight was enough to light the place.

There were two staircases leading away from the entrance room, with one staircase looking worn out. Wisdom and instincts told her to opt for the unused staircase. Unexplored places were often where the luxury was kept hidden.

Quickly crushing glass pieces under her shoe and rushing towards the staircase, Beenish could hear the vacant screams of murder jolt in the air. The place screamed like something terrible had happened here.

Torture for one was an opportunity for another.  

However, as the crunch tone of her steps and her starry-gaze focused on the red-carpet feel of the hallways welcoming her upstairs, she decided to explore the rooms of the first floor one by one until she could found her treasure. However, once she opened the door nearest to her, she was pushed inside the room and locked away to beg for her freedom.

Her greed had been her biggest mistake.

Her ignorance had pushed her straight into a solid trap.

 ***

A week later

Mrs Khan, the Librarian, felt a weight on her heart. Her frequent visitor hadn’t been visiting, and she felt worried for the young girl. Distracted, she began reading a newspaper while sitting behind the reception desk of the library until a small caption caught her eyes.

Beenish Saleem, an experienced economist and writer, has been reported missing for a couple of days. She is known for writing daring articles and interrogating the elite with no hint of hesitance. Her recent projects include investigating Mr Jehanzaib Malik, a rich industrialist. If anyone has any information about her whereabouts, you are requested to immediately report to the police.

Mrs Khan’s heart sank in sorrow.

Poor girl…

She seemed so sweet. She had just recently asked about her second cousin, Jameela, who died from cancer. Mrs Khan felt heartbroken by the reminder, remembering how she had sat next to her second cousin’s bed and listened to the doctors apologize. She wondered how the tourist girl from outside the town came to know about Jameela.   

Hoping that the police would find the girl soon, Mrs Khan kept on reading while one visitor of her library sneakily walked outside with a book held in his hands.

‘The secrets of the Jameela villas.’