Hey guys, I've finally logged onto IF with my Laptop (and its uglier than on my phone, banners way too big and far too much adverts. Almost screams VIRUS lol). Anyway, I'm here to post my OS from the anni thread.
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An interview with a serial killer
She sat in the waiting room watching the rain violently pelt against the glazed pane, ‘Geet Handa’ the security called and she immediately stood up walking to the help desk. The large corridor creaked as winds howled loudly travelling through the gaps in the floor boards. ‘Badge’ the attendant asked reaching a hand forward and she removed the lanyard and left it on the counter desk; the following moments were awkwardly silent. ‘Follow the yellow arrows’ after the instruction, Geet hugged her bag and walked further into the old building.
‘Placeyour bag in the box here and walk through the detector’ with a strict smile she followed through as a guard checked her belongings while another gaped ather, ‘So you’re the chick interviewer?’ He asked looking her up and down, for a minute she felt repulsion. ‘Hmm’ she replied feeling his unfit stare freeze just below her face, somewhere around her chest.
‘Can I go?’ She asked when the other guard stopped and stared too, when two pairs observed and sniggered, it made itall the more difficult.
‘Yes I suppose you can’ the guard who examined her bag answered
‘Next time maybe you could question me baby’ the other leaped forward suddenly stopping a little away, probably astep apart. ‘I promise to answer just the way you like’ he looked down at her chest before raising his eyessuggestively
‘I don’t think that’s possible, neither are you a hero nor wanted’ she fought back the anger and smiled sarcastically as the other guard burst into giggle
The room she stepped into was rather small, consisting of a table and two chairs; sitting there was the man in thenews. The serial mastermind, grown in the rural parts of the country he could barely navigate yet he’s the most wanted in the province: Maan Singh Khuranna. ‘You should have worn something more appropriate!’ was the first thing he said even before she could take aseat. Geet briefly looked at herself, being a journalist meant she dressed simply yet professionally. On her was a black knee length pencil skirt, a peachshirt, small heels, a bracelet and a pendent hanging loosely. Close to zero cleavage showing, of course she knew how dangerous it could be to enter a high profile prison. ‘Hmm’ she agreedrecalling the few minutes with the leachy guards outside, both asked several questions: all condescending and abrupt but she was in no position to counterattack.
‘Takea seat’ he offered when she continued to stare at his dark silhouette, ‘Hmm’ she responded again sitting opposite him with a notebook and a pencil. Her bag was still outside on the inspection counter. ‘You look verydifferent’ was the first thing she commented seeing his face for the very first time; dark orbs, crisp nose and a curved lip. He didn’t look like the criminal described as the serial offender. Rather the man opposite wore a cloakof gentleness and care. ‘Don’t believe everything the paper says!’ he smirked looking straightly at her and she couldn’t help but ask ‘How was it possible? How could such a small man from such humble background be this notorious killer. You’ve annoyed the government to no end,your case is everywhere? What made you do what you’ve done?’ she continued asking without a stop, in the end she frowned looking at him distress
‘AmI supposed to answer them all?’ he asked with a gentle giggle, his handsome face shone bright reflecting the burnt orange bulb that lit over their heads.He briefly smiled shrugging his shoulders as she stared in a daze. ‘It wasn’t meant to be like this’ he answered after several beats. ‘Then how was it supposed to be’ Geet askedfinally uncapping her pen and getting ready to write however he stayed mute,just looking; looking deeply, soundlessly. Minutes following were awkward, hekept staring as she gathered her thoughts together.
‘I’m the reporter from the news, Geet Handa’ she finally introduced as if remembering suddenly.
‘I know, [chuckle] I’ve seen myself inthe news’ he carried the same ease, his smooth voice sounding shallow andbenign. ‘Hmm’ she responded once again, the small episodes of stillness was overbearing.
‘How do you feel being the most hatedman in the country?’ she asked mercilessly breaking the brief peace. The rain outside continued to violently hit himself against the walls. ‘Nor am I disposable or dispersible likewater, so I refuse to attack myself’ he answered looking out the window asloud cracks echoed. ‘Can I ask you aquestion?’ he asked several minutes after, while she was still deconstructing his answer. ‘How do youfeel being the most beautiful woman on TV?’ he asked looking back with asoft smile and all logical thinking derailed from within her.
‘[laughs] you can’t feel a thing forsomething which you are unaware of’ he replied to her confused look. Thatwas when she noticed he was far too fast witted. ‘I did what was right at that time’ Maan ended and she took note, both of his answer and body expression which highlighted no regrets, not even asign of remorse. ‘You’ve killed so manypeople?’ she asked in a devastating tone, as if trying to remind him of hisheinous crimes. ‘People only know halfthe story, most of which the government and the media baked. So really what the public hate is the picture you guys painted?’ he answered shrugging hisshoulder and she froze for a minute.
‘Have you been wrongly framed?’ It wasn’t a question that was even on the agenda, however it was one she couldn’t help ask. He didn’t look or sound like a criminal, even his background and credentials didn’t match that of a high profile murderer. ‘No’ the monosyllable carried much weight, creating another few secondsof silence. While she tried to comprehend his actions and words, he askedsomething of this own ‘Have you everwitnessed helplessness?’, seeing as she froze he continued to ask, ‘Do you have a family?’ She nodded softly for a ‘No’ and continued watchingas he sighed in bad taste. ‘But did I?’,she knew of his family history so didn’t stop to ask instead looked eager to know more and he didn’t disappoint, ‘I had 2 brothers, both younger; Dev was wheel chair bound and Vicky in secondary school, a beautiful grandma and a lovely sister’ she gaped awkwardly, there was no news of a sister. ‘Like I said, be careful of what you read. The colleagues you work with will sell their soulfor less than a dime’ this time his voice lost that ease, instead it was filled with pain and torment. ‘She was brutally killed, slaughtered from dignity and pride’ a tear let loose and planked against a hard table. ‘As a brother I made sure everyone paid, be it the brutes that murdered her, the influenced fathers that protected their sons, the filthy cops that were bribedor the journalist that fed lies’ there was an hidden anger, a unwanted loom.
‘So your family?’ she asked when the heaviness in her heart reduced slightly,the weight of the clot was dense and immoveable. ‘They were killed right infront of me, one after another’ he answered looking away from her inquisitive eyes. ‘After I lost them, I no longerhad anything to live for’ he added touching the handcuffs that chained him to the table.
‘Geet’he called kindly as he remembered a time they knew one another as passing civilians, she was a media student and he an aspiring businessman. It was atime when they were strangers in love, attending the same university and riding the same bus. ‘Forget my story and moveone’ he urged moving forward to place one of his beaten hands over hers and she jumped as if electrocuted. ‘I’m just trying…’ she wanted to say ‘find the truth’, because what the world said about him she didn’t believe and so even though it took her 5 months to track his location, to know of his story, she still decided to fight his case because somewhere deep down she still loved that stranger, that man who beat off two rogues in a dark alley for her. Her very first and last hero. ‘Stop trying, I don’t want anything to happen to the last person I care about’ he instructed in a whisper looking outside as if to check whether the guards watched over. ‘Please Geet’ he asked in earnestness and she nodded looking down, trying her might to hide the tears that forfeited in defence.
The next day her article titled ‘An interview with a serial killer’held much of the conversation, caused commotion and forced the government to reopen ‘Maan Singh Khuranna’s’ case once again, the pending death penalty was waived off until further investigation was carried out; all of which Geet Handa hoped for and she got. Public seemed to have shifted their hatred from Maan to the actual evils, themurderers.
‘I’ll do anything for the only person I care for’ she repeated to no one in particular standing in the middle of her cold, dark room. She was his only hope, and he was the only person she called her own.
Bollywood
Anupamaa
