He had killed her with his knife and concealed the weapon next to his chest again. She was hardly 5 feet 5 inches and yet she felt like a burden to him. He picked her body up and climbed down the stairs towards his car. He placed her on the backseat and drove towards the main junction. He was suddenly filled with guilt of murdering someone, his brain had malfunctioned according to him and deep inside he was fighting his inner demons. In the rear view mirror he could see her lying still. His heart told him to save her and his mind wanted to stab her again.
He applied the brakes, took out his knife again, jumped onto the back seat, and started stabbing her again. In a final move, he stabbed her in the eyes, and scratched her palms completely. At around half past midnight, he threw her body out on the bridge connecting JP Nagar and Jayanagar, tied his hair and drove away. Unknowingly, he had smeared blood all over his hair. The velvet bag he had tied to his chest was half torn and the knife was now poking his chest hair.
He did not stop until he reached the toll gate near the airport. He came out of the car in a hurry, took out a cigar from his pockets and lighted it from the hot silencer which was still fuming because of the breakneck speed it had just undergone. He placed his back on the bonnet and took a puff overlooking a plane which had just taken off. It was around 2 hours past midnight; the blood had dried in his hairs and on his hands. He took the cigar and pushed it in his forearms. He badly wanted to scream but he did not.
Never think twice before killing someone, even if it is your ex-lover!
Zaltrac woke up from his abrupt sleep to find his phone vibrating. He had just taken a few sleeping pills to ease his restlessness. It was Janak who had been calling him from the past 1 hour. He looked at the wall clock in front of him, and then at the empty house that greeted him. Nobody ever called him at 4:30 in the morning but today was different. He opened his eyes to the cigarette buds he had left on the table and a phone which he had forgotten to charge.
“Yes, Janak, what happened?”
“A girl, 25 years, stabbed in the eyes but this time thrown out in the road.”
“Rotten eggs? Or anything related to her trade?”
“Her palms are completely scratched, and there are broken eggs around her.”
“What was she?”
“A Palmist, she read palms and predicted the future.”
“It is him, then. I am on my way, send the body to forensics and avoid any media interaction till I come. Let’s just hope we have at least one clue he has left behind.”
Around 8 hours later, at the Bangalore Traffic Police headquarters, Janak and Zaltrac were browsing through the CCTV footage of the bridge. It was a red sedan in which the killer had escaped. They could only see his back, and him tying his long hair.
“At least now we know his height, his basic physical description. We also have his car identity. Check the registration numbers.” Zaltrac asked Janak while he sipped his tea.
“Already did. The present owner is some guy named Avinash who stays in Shivaji Nagar.”
“What are you waiting for, then?”
“His death was reported around 3 weeks ago.”
“Then the killer must have stolen it.”
“Their descriptions match.”
“It must be a co-incidence.” Zaltrac screamed.
“Sir, what is the probability that two guys with the same height, same style of long hairs and with no fingerprints would be driving the same car?”
“What do you mean? No fingerprints?”
“The guy whose death was reported, his hands were burnt. The killer we are chasing, he has no fingerprints. See in the CCTV footage, he has not even wearing any gloves.”
“I still believe it is a co-incidence, Janak.” Zaltrac affirmatively replied.
“Alright, sir.”
24 days ago, Avinash had gone to the police station to report his own death. A fake doctor certificate along with the documents from the crematorium, he had filed a missing report for his parents as well. In his wallet was a picture, a small passport sized photograph of a short heighted girl who lived in JP Nagar, and worked as a palmist. He had always wanted to kill her, and for that he had made up a huge plan to distract the police.
Every life taken is a distraction!
Although he never wanted to poison his parents but they would have never understood his goals, his goal of tasting blood every night to calm his inner demons. For him, his knife was his wife now and his hands which shook were his enemy.
When you’re insane, humanity goes for a toss!
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