The man in the car saw
the woman waving frantically and slowed down. She was almost on the middle of
the road. She wore a short black skirt and a white top; though it was dark, she
had sunglasses on, probably to avoid the glare of headlights. The car stopped. She
came around to the door.
“Could you give me a
ride to the city?”
The man leaned forward and
opened the front door.
“I missed the last bus,”
said the woman, “Thank God you came by. I was waiting so long.” She removed the
glasses and carefully placed them in a pouch.
“Here on the forest side
it becomes dark early,” said the man.
“So cold outside,” she
started rubbing palms.
The car picked up speed.
“Aren’t you afraid to ask rides from strangers at this hour?” said the man, “Of
late there have been a few unpleasant incidents in this route.”
“In fact, I was scared no
one would come,” said the woman, “Can’t imagine spending a whole night in the
forest…When I saw your car lights, I had to decide quickly, I thought, what are
the odds of I missing a bus and you being…let’s say…a killer. I mean, it has to be some weird coincidence.”
Except for the small indicators
on the dashboard, and the headlights that swiped the road, darkness ruled
everywhere. Tall trees stood erect on one side of the roadside; the other side
had a valley.
The woman let out a sigh
when the car entered the city. The amber streetlights fought the darkness.
“I’ll get down here,”
said the woman. The car moved off the road and stopped on the mud pavement. She
thanked for the ride——struggled to open the door.
“I always have trouble
opening car doors; they confuse me,” she tried some more.
“It’s locked,” said the
man.
“Can you open it for me?”
The man didn’t respond,
at length he said: “An incredible thing has happened. You have missed the bus
and I am…to use your own words…really a killer.”
She gave a nervous
laugh.
“Am I on TV?” she said, “Candid
Camera? Is this some kind of—”
He slapped across her
face. Her head hit the door. Her eyes welled up, reddened.
“Listen to me
carefully,” he said, “Don’t talk. Sit quiet. Don’t make any stupid moves. If
you behave I might spare you.”
The car made a U-turn, raced
through the lonely forest road. The woman sobbed, took a handkerchief and blew
her nose.
“Please don’t kill me.”
The man didn’t reply. He
was handsome, neatly shaved and, young. Someone you won’t mind asking for
directions when lost in a new place. She noticed he was wearing black gloves,
quite unusual in these parts. A cold shiver passed through her spine.
“How much money you
want? Tell me the figure.”
The silence continued.
“You can still leave me.
I won’t tell anyone. I’ll keep quiet as if we never met.” Eventually reality
seeped in. “I’ll do anything,” she said in a fit of helplessness, placing a
hand on his lap——started stroking gently. “Do you like this?”
“Remove your hand or
I’ll slap you again.”
She retracted instantly.
The car snaked through
the mountainous road.
“There are more
satisfying things than sex,” the man said, “Why do you think people kill?”
She didn’t reply. But
when the question was repeated, she denied any knowledge. The man slapped her
again.
“If you don’t think and
answer, you don’t interest me. And, If I lose interest in you, you are no value
to me, I might as well kill you now and throw your body in the valley.”
The woman shivered. “Please…”
she begged.
“Let’s start again. Why
do people kill?”
This time she took time.
“Revenge,” she said.
“What else?”
“Jealousy, Wars,
Communal Violence, money, Women, property——”
“Are you a teacher?”
“Yes-sir.”
“You teachers have an
answer for everything. Though it maybe a wrong one. Someone just needs to ask a
question. And, you are ready with text-book answers.”
A small animal, probably a fox,
tried to enter the road, froze, blinded momentarily by the headlights, but
scurried away at the last moment.
“You are not thinking,”
said the man, “Let me put it this way: What could be the motive of a person who
kills again and again?”
“Money,” said the woman.
“There are easier ways
to make money. You don’t need to kill.”
“I don’t see any other
reason,” said the woman, nervously.
“What about pleasure?”
“What about it, sir?”
“Can a person kill for
pleasure?”
“No sir.”
“How about
indifference?”
“Indifference?”
“Yes. A person without
feelings. He just kills. For him it is just another mundane thing——like drinking
tea or ordering a checkbook at the bank.”
“How’s it possible?”
“Are you a vegetarian?”
said the man.
“What?”
“Do you eat chicken?”
“Yes sir.”
“Do you ever think of
the animals you kill for food? Why do you think you have a right to kill them?”
This line of reasoning
left the woman speechless.
“People kill for weird
reasons,” the man said, “Ever heard of Devil’s Photographer?”
“No sir.”
“About a decade ago he
killed 18 people in a year. The victims, mostly men, were unrelated. Except one
thing, the killer left pictures at the crime scenes. The victims were not
really innocent. They were involved in some kind of immoral activity. Our man
would study his victims for days. Take their pictures of misdeeds. Once
collected proof, he would corner and kill them. Leave the pictures at the crime
scene. No one knows his name; he’s known only as Devil’s Photographer. Insiders
use the short form——Devil.”
“Looks like some kind of
a punisher,” said the woman.
“That’s what I thought,
initially,” the man nodded, “But if he’s a punisher why did he stop? Why be
silent for a decade?”
“What happened to him?”
“He simply vanished. I
have studied his murders. Devil is an artist. He convinced his victims before
killing them. In some cases, there were no signs of struggle. The victims
simply accepted their fate.” The man nodded in admiration and fear. “He’s a
perfectionist. Police cannot catch him. God knows how long he would have stayed
low, but for the Cyanide Killings…”
“I have read about them,”
said the woman, “Cyanide Killings…I mean…The murderer lured single women with
the proposal of marriage without a dowry. The couple would elope and take refuge
in a lodge. The next day he would convince the women to take a pill, to prevent
any unwanted effects of the un-safe sex they had the previous night. Only that
the pill would have cyanide.”
“Very good. Do you know
how many people he killed?”
“Ten or fifteen.”
“When the police
arrested him they said he killed 17 people. But within a week the total rises
to 20. Anyway, I am not interested in the Cyanide Killer. He doesn’t have
style. His motives were money and sex; he used the same formula again and again
till the police got the wind of it. Now comes the interesting part.”
The woman
waited.
“Last month 3
murders have happened. All three crime scenes had pictures.”
“Devil is back,” said the
woman. Her chest heaved rapidly.
“Yes. After a decade. Do
you know what’s happening here?”
“No-sir.”
“Race to the top. That’s
what it is. I have finally understood the Devil. He has stayed on top
for a decade with 18 murders. But as soon as he learns there’s a new challenger
with count 20, he has surfaced and murdered thrice to raise his count to 21. None
of your earlier theories hold good here. No money. No sex. No revenge. Just a
race. To become number one.”
“Why are you telling me all this?”
“I am in the race.”
“What do you mean?”
“In the past 5 years, around 60
people were missing. Only 20 were the cyanide victims. What happened to rest of
them?”
“You?”
“Not all. As of last month 21; I
and Devil are equal. Do you know what happens now?”
“The devil will start killing to
stay on top.”
“Exactly,” said the man, “The killing
spree will continue, unless one of us is stopped. How interesting it would be
to kill the Devil. I’ll be slow and deliberate, enjoying each moment.” The man
seemed to imagine his glory. “I wonder what he is doing now. What’s his next move?”
The woman seemed desperate to
please the captor. “If he is serious about being on the top,” she said, “he probably
has an interest in you.”
“Now you are talking sense,” the
man patted her on the shoulder. “Why do you think he’s not been caught so far?”
“He could be one of the police.”
“I doubt that.”
“He could be a regular person
sir. Someone with a day job, a banker, a postman, Or——”
“Or what?”
“Some kind of an artist who
changes his appearance smoothly. Gels with the crowd easily…”
“Go on——”
“Do you have a gun? Don’t shoot
me on the face. Please…”
The woman started wailing.
“Stop it. I don’t have a gun. I
don’t need one to kill you. Continue talking about the Devil.”
“Sir, if you are correct about
the race to the top, he might follow you. He might have started collecting
information on you.” She said between the sobs.
“You make me nervous. But you
have a point.” The car was now moving with a steady speed.
“He could have sufficient
information about your normal routes. The way you work. The victims you choose.
The things you do and don’t. He might have a profile on you.”
“Go on.”
“I have another theory sir.”
“What theory?” The man shouted
with impatience.
“What if the Devil is not a man?”
“What do you mean? He’s not a
ghost or something——”
“Everyone is looking for a man,
including you. What if the Devil is a woman? A woman could get away with all
these murders easily, while the police are looking for a man. What if she knows
you, sir? She has enough information on you. She has clicked enough pictures,
while you were committing murders,” the woman talked as if in a dream, “One
fateful day she decides enough is enough. No more waiting. She dresses up like
a hooker. She waits at one of your regular roads and asks a ride.”
The car stopped with a sudden
screech. The man stared in horror. A few moments went in silence. She looked at
the valley outside. The wind started blowing, swaying the tall trees,
mercilessly; but inside the closed car the occupants didn’t feel the wind.
“You just accepted, a few minutes
ago, that you don’t carry a gun,” she said, “While I might have one in my
little handbag.”
She smiled.
Note:
If you liked this story, click here for my other stories.
This story was published on daijiworld.com
