Chapter 8

Author's Note: This update comes after more than two months, partly because life got a bit busy and because I got writer's block (which I hope is behind me: I'd really like to regularly work on this fic!) This chapter's shorter and more static than many of the others and I understand if Abhijeet's thought processes come across as somewhat repetitive. I've kept it deliberately so. The story is largely from his perspective and I want to show how he's feeling and what he's feeling as he slowly seeks help and makes changes to his life. Also, trauma can leave people hyper-focused on certain aspects of their life, often making them visit and revisit the site of the trauma or the incidents before, around or during the traumatic event — something I'm trying to explore in this fic.

‘I tell my secret? No indeed, not I;

Perhaps some day, who knows?

But not today; it froze, and blows and snows,

And you’re too curious: fie!

You want to hear it? well:

Only, my secret’s mine, and I won’t tell.’

                                                                                    -Christina Rossetti, Winter: My Secret

Abhijeet walks out of the forensic lab with — not quite a bounce — but a spring in his step. He’s happy, yes, but he’s also relieved, not only because his conversation with Tarika had been much smoother than he’d expected but also because of how much lighter it made him feel. He doesn’t know if it’s because he doesn’t have to hide anything from her anymore or because talking about something repeatedly does help deal with it. Like removing one stone at a time.

He doesn’t plan to exert himself physically (if possible) for the rest of the day — for, in fact, as long as it takes for his wounds to (somewhat) heal. He isn’t necessarily thrilled by the idea but doesn’t have much of a choice: he’s trying to — he resolutely avoids the word ‘hide’ — keep them private, and he can’t really do that if they start to hurt or bleed in the middle of investigation. No, he’ll keep to the bureau; the team’s more than capable of legwork or outdoors investigation. Deskwork will do me good, he tells himself firmly. I could really do with some peace and quiet after all… the activity of the past few days.

His thoughts on the last count evaporate as soon as he enters the bureau.

The first thing he sees as soon as he walks in are Freddy, Rajat and Shreya standing at their desks and looking like they’d rather be anywhere else. He frowns, puzzled, and is just about to ask them what the matter is when Freddy gestures to Abhijeet’s own desk beside the door.

DCP Chitrole’s standing next to it, apparently studying Abhijeet’s collection of pens with his characteristic frown on his face.

Abhijeet’s first thought is that he’s been caught, that the DCP had somehow discovered he hadn’t been helping KD with a case at all, though he doesn’t see how it’s possible. He tries to go back the way he came in but, as soon as he takes a step back, DCP Chitrole speaks. ‘Wait, Abhijeet’.

The DCP’s always been something of a joke to them, but it’s at times like these that they realise that the man’s tomfoolery is a façade and that he’s far more capable than he lets on. Abhijeet’s sure he’s walked into the bureau silent as a mouse; nevertheless, DCP Chitrole’s noticed him. He freezes and puts on the best poker face he can manage, though he’s sure he’s miserably failing.

‘And here you are’, he says, walking towards Abhijeet and standing before him, hands in his pockets.

‘Yes, Sir’, replies Abhijeet, wondering if his voice’s giving away how nervous he feels. At this rate I’ll go grey before forty. ‘Good morning’.

DCP Chitrole acknowledges his greeting with a nod. ‘You were helping KD with a case. How did it go?’

‘It went well, Sir’, Abhijeet replies. The words stick to the back of his throat, but he forces them out.

‘I suppose you can’t tell me what it was all about?’ his senior officer asks. ‘Client confidentiality and all that? Although’ — he looks away, as if struck by a sudden thought, then looks back at Abhijeet again-- ‘not your client, strictly speaking, was it?’

Abhijeet wonders if the question’s some kind of trap; an effort, perhaps, to worm details out of him or to tally his account of the matter with any that KD might have provided. I’ll have to be careful, he thinks. He wants doesn’t want to start making things up, nor does he want to refuse toanswer the question outright, so he settles for, ‘Hasn’t KD told you anything, Sir?’

DCP Chitrole shakes his head. ‘No’, he said, sounding disappointed.

The reply sounds truthful enough and Abhijeet’s enormously relieved. ‘Then I’m afraid I can’t either, Sir’, he says, feeling much more confident. ‘But rest assured, things were — well, more or less resolved’. Though I personally would vouch for less resolved than more.

The DCP suddenly looks at something behind Abhijeet. Abhijeet doesn’t turn to look back but, out of the corner of his eye, he sees Daya go and stand in front of ACP Sir’s cabin. He probably gestures, too, for DCP Chitrole acknowledges him with a nod.

‘KD did talk to me about you, though, Abhijeet’, he says, looking at Abhijeet again.

Abhijeet’s pretty sure KD hasn’t spilled his secrets or made any unflattering remarks, but he still stutters a little. ‘What — uh, what did he say, Sir?’

‘He holds you in very high regard’, comes the reply. DCP Chitrole speaks as if the words pain him, but Abhijeet has known him long enough to recognize the pride in his eyes. ‘Almost disgustingly so. Really, I never knew youwere close to KD, or that he was such a… fan of yours’.

Abhijeet doesn’t say anything, though warmth blooms in his chest. He smiles.

‘Well, good for us,’ the DCP continues, gravity replacing idiosyncrasy. ‘I’ve never said so, I suppose, Abhijeet, but whenever someone praises our officers, I feel like it’s a credit to our department. To the entire department’. He looks Abhijeet up and down. ‘Especially you. I know your memory gets you into trouble — and that we don’t make things easier, really — but the way you’ve rebuilt your life from ashes, the way you’ve chosen to return to duty even after it nearly killed you, it’s commendable. I — I apologize if — if I have ever made you feel otherwise’.

Abhijeet doesn’t look at anyone else present in the bureau, but he’s sure they’re as stunned as he is. He makes a conscious effort not to gape, though his brows rise as high as his hairline. He supposes he ought to be touched, to be proud, but he really can’t bring himself to feel anything other than surprised.

‘Uh, thank you’, he says after quite some time. He hopes the incredulity in his voice doesn’t come across as sarcasm.

The older man nods. He asks a few questions about a murder case the team’s been handling that Rajat answers. Shreya pitches in with a few doubts she’s been having about a suspect’s alibi. The DCP orders her to look into itand to tell Dr. Salunkhe to visit the site once more.

Abhijeet waits till their visitor’s safely out the door and they can hear his footsteps down the stairs before he says, ‘That really happened?’

It was meant to be a joke (albeit a rather poor one), but it ends up sounding like a genuine question. Freddy nods, the dazed look on his face mirroring Abhijeet’s own.

Abhijeet slowly turns towards his desk — he’d complete any pending paperwork before asking Daya if there’s any work for him from when he’d been away — when Daya steps forward. ‘What was that about?’

Abhijeet turns around and looks at him. ‘What?’

Daya walks towards him until they’re standing face to face and Abhijeet has to raise his head to look at him. ‘Chitrole, Abhijeet. He never has a good word for anybody unless he stands to gain from it. What’s with him suddenly showering you with praises?’

Daya’s looking at him through narrowed eyes. Abhijeet feels his face heating up: Daya’s very good at reading him — it’s a skill acquired through years of intimate friendship — and he’s worried that Daya will soon discern Abhijeet’s hiding something just by looking at him. He begins to fist his hands, then realizes what he’s doing and pushes them into his pockets.

‘You heard, Daya’, he says, keeping his voice as even and unruffled as possible. ‘KD asked for my help with a case, DCP Sir agreed to let me off for a few days to help with it, he’s happy with the way I worked on the case. That’s all’.

‘About that, too’, replies Daya. ‘What case were you working on exactly? That, too, with KD? You never told me anything about all this. We found out when DCP Sir walked into the bureau one fine morning and announced you would be unavailable because you were working on something else’.

Abhijeet ought to have been touched by his friend’s concern — he would’ve been touched at any other time, really — but Daya’s questions suddenly feel to him like prying. ‘It was sudden, Daya’, he says, annoyance creeping into his voice. ‘I really can’t refuse a senior officer’s orders, can I?’

Daya doesn’t budge. ‘You didn’t answer my question, Abhijeet. What case were you working on?’

Abhijeet’s breathing quickens. He feels like the bureau’s closing in around them, that there’s nobody and nothing in the world except him and Daya in front of him, looking down at him, hands on his hips and a frown on his face. He wants to do something other than simply stand — to run out of the door, for example, or — very childishly — go and hide under his desk — but he knows perfectly aware that both are out of the question. The awareness doesn’t do him any good: he begins to shake from the forced inactivity, though he endeavours to get the shaking somewhat under control by crossing his hands over his chest.

It’s clear, however, that Daya won’t let the matter go before he’s got to the bottom of it, and Abhijeet has no intention of letting him do that at present. He takes a deep breath and looks into Daya’s eyes. ‘You heard what I told, DCP Sir, Daya’, he says, voice quiet but firm, almost menacing. ‘I’ll repeat it for the last time. I was working on a case with KD Pathak, the details of which I cannot divulge because they’re confidential. Yes, the person involved isn’t my client, but he’s KD’s, so it’s something I’ll have to respect as well. I’ve told you all I could have, now I’d appreciate it if you stopped asking the same questions over and over again. I never thought I’d have to say this, but it’s making you look like a busybody’.

Abhijeet never intended to say the last words out loud and feels incredibly guilty at the hurt and surprised look that comes over Daya’s face. He wants to apologize but pushes the urge down because it’s probably the only way he can get Daya to stop asking questions. But Daya apparently has other ideas: as Abhijeet turns again towards his desk, Daya comes and stands in front of him.

‘That was uncalled for, Abhijeet’, he says, voice trembling very slightly. Abhijeet doesn’t look at him. ‘I’m just trying to be a good friend --’

He doesn’t get to finish the sentence as Abhijeet raises his head and glares at him. ‘Friend?’ he says, his voice just on the edge of a scream. ‘By forcing me to talk when I don’t want to? Where were you--’

And suddenly he comes to his senses.

Abhijeet doesn’t know what happened to him suddenly. It might have been how he felt generally these days — Not Good — it might have been the tension of first talking to Tarika and then being caught unawares by the DCP, all in one morning; it might have been the fear of slipping up under persistent queries — it may have been a combination of all three — but he’d almost blurted out to Daya the details of his (most recent) arrest. He doesn’t understand just why he’d been about to reveal something he himself had insisted be kept a secret or what he expected Daya to do about it: Daya had been kidnapped, it wasn’t as ifhe could have done anything to help Abhijeet. Yes, he could have enquired after Abhijeet after everything was over, but it wasn’t as if Abhijeet would have told him anything then.

But he hadn’t enquired, hadn’t asked a single question, and Abhijeet was finding it increasingly difficult to square that with his definition of ‘friend’.

Daya’s still staring at him, a rather dangerous gleam in his eyes. It’s a look Abhijeet’s seen countless times before — it’s when they let their suspects talk on and on without interruptions hoping they’d let something slip or drop a clue — and now it’s directed at him. The tension’s gone out of his body, however, leaving him numb and cold and with white noise like television static where his mind ought to be. He simply ignores Daya and pushes past him to go and sit at his desk. He can tell Daya’s surprised by the sudden change in his demeanour and intrigued by what he’d just stopped short of saying, but he doesn’t care.

He’s just thankful he checked himself in time. He really doesn’t want to cause any more trouble.

To be continued…