3284 words!
Its also nearly 12:30 in the morning. Just fyi.
Heya I'm so sorry everybody, ive been not able to update life clung or any of my other fics, but its bc I'm on a holiday!
We have a wedding soon, in two weeks actually, and I'm in a completely different country so I've been really really busy.
But here, have some fic!
This is very out of character. Very out of character. Sorry.
Inspired by the comment TVD-IANcrazy left me, wanting one where Aahil is insanely after Sanam like she is in one of your FF.
This is so off the mark love, sorry <3
Oh, and the title is from a poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay.
ALTERED, ESTRANGED, DISINTEGRATED, LOST.
"The drugs I took seemed to light up my brain. Suddenly I realised the power I held, the power to rule, to make the world grovel at my feet."
-
The thin bones in her wrists are delicate and seem almost to extend beyond the surface of pale skin. Her fingers are long and soft and stained with pollen and navy ink.
It is not that Aahil is infatuated, not matter what his friends say. It's just that he's interested. He's a cop. He's supposed to be interested in local business and Kabloom is a local business. It's not entirely his fault that the proprietor is slender and rosy cheeked and sneezing- oh, okay.
"Let me help you with that," Aahil says, reaching out to take a crate from the proprietors hands as she lets out another almighty sneeze that rattles Aahil's bones, never mind the proprietors.
"Oh," says the proprietor. "Oh- achoo!- thank you, officer-?"
"Ibrahim," says Aahil, shifting the crate to hold out his hand. "Aahil Raza Ibrahim. Aahil, really."
The proprietor blinks and holds open the door to her shop and Aahil steps through, automatically.
"Sanam," she says, after a moment of contemplation. She reaches into the pocket of her apron and pulls out a handkerchief. Having blown her nose noisily, she gestures towards the counter. "Put it there," she says. "Sanam Ahmed Khan, sorry."
"Yeah," says Aahil. "I know."
Sanam blinks at him, tucking her handkerchief away.
"Well," says Aahil. "I am one of the best police men in Bhopal. My powers of deduction are worthy of Sherlock Ho-"
"Oh," says Sanam, and the corners of her eyes crinkle. "It's on the address label on that crate, isn't it?"
Aahil grins. "Still pretty great though, right?"
"Yes, Officer Ibrahim," says Sanam as she takes out a Stanley knife to open the crate, wielding it with the sort of dexterity that would inspire jealousy in Aahil's favourite local teenage delinquents. "I'm deeply impressed with the literacy of our boys in brown."
She sneezes again.
"You got a cold?"
"No," sniffles Sanam, eyes red. "Hay fever."
"And you own a flower shop?" asks Aahil. "Well, I got some bad news for you-"
Sanam snorts, a little moistly, and Aahil is both charmed and disgusted. "Hey, what're these?"
"Chrysanthemums," says Sanam. "Good for air quality. Tutankhamen was buried with a whole deck of them."
"Huh," says Aahil, tracing a flower with his fingertip. "They're pretty."
"They suit you," says Sanam. She's smiling, now. "They mean cheerfulness'."
"I'll take them." says Aahil. He frowns. "What's the, like collective noun for flowers? Punnet? Murder?" ('Murder' is his favourite collective noun.)
"Idiot," Sanam says softly.
"Then I'll take an idiot," says Aahil, knowing that his grin is bordering on manic.
"Maybe I will too."
-
"She said she'll take an idiot too," says Aahil.
Rehaan has to stand up to see him over the flowers bedecking their adjoining desks. "Seriously, Aahil, what the-"
"My thought's entirely," says Rahaat, striding into the room. He wrinkles up his nose. "Taking up flower arranging, Ibrahim?"
"Maybe," says Aahil. Rahaat drops a file on his desk. "Look into this. Old lady keeled over in a care home and her neighbour's saying it was murder."
"This just in," says Aahil, under his breath. "Old people sometimes die."
"Have some respect," says Rahaat, clipping his ear.
"I didn't mean you, sir," says Aahil and he rubs the side of his ear.
-
The scene is pretty tame in comparison to some of the usual. The deceased is lying in bed, fingers curled around a small bunch of pink flowers on her chest. Saeed's snapping pictures like he's the next goddamned Annie Leibowitz or whatever.
"Did someone move the body?" asks Rehaan, a little irate.
"No, Officer," says the director of St Jude's Home for the Elderly. He looks a little grey in the face.
"What can you tell us about Mrs. Farida?"
"Well, she's lived with us for about two years. One of our more active residents. She just loved to play Scrabble. She was so looking forward to next months tournament."
Aahil glances from the Zimmer- frame in the corner to the rheumatoid hands of the deceased and supposes it must all be relative.
Rehaan asks a few more questions before the ME's crew move Mrs. Farida's body and it's only when they're outside that Aahil glances at him.
"So."
"So."
"Kind of odd that she looked-"
"-laid out like that?"
"Exactly." Rehaan pinches the bridge of his nose. "Who arranges themselves that way, flowers and all?"
"Maybe she knew?"
"Yeah, but Aahil-"
"There was no vase in the room and those flower stems were damp."
-
Aahil goes for his run, bright and early, same as every morning.
"Hi, Officer Ibrahim."
"Sanam," says Aahil. He's not expecting to see the proprietor of Kabloom in a light salwar kameez, all bony and determined and falling into step with Aahil. "Didn't know you ran."
Sanam shrugs and her cheeks are pink with exertion, "I try," she says. "Trying to increase my exercise tolerance. Asthma, you know?"
"How are you alive?" asks Aahil. To be fair, his knowledge of asthma dates back to middle school and the kids who always sat out gym class, clutching their inhalers.
Sanam tosses her head in annoyance, tendrils of black hair sticking onto her forehead. "I'm not incapable," she says, between deep breaths. "Just my lungs don't always cooperate."
"Then it's just as well I'm here," says Aahil. "In case someone needs to carry you to a hospital."
And, okay, Sanam's pace is kind of slower than Aahil's and maybe Aahil slows down to a walk more often than usual but there are a lot of flowers around these parts and it's only polite to ask Sanam about them.
"Hey," says Aahil, pointing. "What are those?" They look familiar; flowers like pink and purple bells on a stiff stalk.
"Foxgloves," says Sanam, promptly. She shoots Aahil a reproachful look because this might be the sixth time they've come to a stop and maybe Sanam should think about one of those couch to 5k apps but she doesn't really strike Aahil as the kind of woman to pace herself. "Digitalis. They're sometimes known as deadman's bells." She frowns. "They're pretty toxic actually. I'm not sure they should be in a public park. I mean, what about the children?"
Aahil nods and then shakes his head. "Wait, no. What?"
"Digitalis," says Sanam. "It's a poison but it's a medicine too, for irregular heartbeats. Digoxin?"
Aahil squints at Sanam. "You've got an irregular heartbeat don't you?" Wow.
"I do not," says Sanam, and she sounds delightfully indignant. "I mean. I did, but they, uh, fixed it. With cardioversion."
Aahil stares at her blankly.
Sanam gestures in the air. "Electric shock therapy."
"Wow."
-
"The fixation with flowers is adorable, Ibrahim, seriously, but is this necessary?" Rehaan points at the desk area.
"I didn't order them," says Aahil, bewildered.
"No, wait, there's a card."
Aahil plucks the envelope from Rehaan's hand before he can open it.
Dear Officer Ibrahim,
Hyacinth was one of Apollo's lovers but that was an uncomfortable place to be. After his accidental death, Apollo turned him into this flower. Morbid but beautiful.
"Bro, this is weird," says Rehaan because of course he was reading over Aahil's shoulder. "Who the hell is sending you anonymous flowers?"
Aahil turns the card over and the generic Interflora sticker is no help.
"Really, Ibrahim," says Rahaat, sounding unimpressed. "More flowers?" he drops a file on Aahil's desk. "Another death at St Jude's."
-
The scene is startlingly similar. The late Father Riveria lies in repose, his hands on his chest, holding a sprig of delicate looking flowers. These ones are pale and Aahil gestures at Saeed to make sure he photographs them.
The director looks a little less grey this time but no less shocked. He's worrying a handkerchief in his hands, twisting it around and around.
"The father was a great man," he says. "A great man. He used to help out at the local parish church."
"How was his health?" asks Rehaan.
"Good," says the director. "Relatively speaking. He had some heart trouble but who doesn't, these days?"
Rehaan nods. "Thanks Dr. Zareef," he says. "We'll be in touch."
"The flowers," says Aahil, outside. "They mean something." He lights a cigarette.
"Thought you'd quit," says Rehaan.
Aahil shrugs. "Just trying to level the playing field.
Rehaan shakes his head. "You know what? I'm not even going to ask."
When they get back to the precinct, Aahil calls Saeed. "Hey, pal. Buddy. Hey, fella."
"What do you want, Ibrahim?" asks Saeed. "I swear, if this is another attempt to get me to film your escapades-"
"That was one time, Saeed," says Aahil and okay, he's whining a little. "One time and he was really hot."
"I don't want to know," says Saeed.
"Seriously though. I need you to send me over photographs of the flowers found at the Farida and Riveria scenes, pronto, okay?"
"You think you have a lead?" asks Saeed.
"You keep taking the snaps, Saeed. Leave the detective work to the grown ups."
"Yeah, shut up, Ibrahim."
-
The bell over the door of Kabloom jangles harshly when Aahil walks in and a voice carries through from the back. "I'll be right there."
A moment later, Sanam emerges, flushed and wiping her hands on a towel.
"You've got a little-" Aahil touches his own cheek.
Sanam swipes at her face with the back of her hand and mostly succeeds in smearing the dirt some more.
"Better?"
Aahil shrugs helplessly.
"So, what brings you by, Officer Ibrahim?"
"Business, I'm afraid," says Aahil.
"Good," says Sanam, warmly. "Let's respect each others professional boundaries. It'll be a first. Would you like coffee?"
Aahil pats his stomach. "No, the swill down at the precinct gives me life. I'm not sure I'd know a decent cup of coffee and goddamned ulcer definitely wouldn't."
Sanam smiles and leans forward on the counter. "How can I help you?"
"What do you know about hyacinths?" asks Aahil. It's not what he meant to ask.
"They mean constancy of love," says Sanam, immediately.
"Oh," says Aahil, dumbly. "So not, like, dead boys and gods or whatever."
"Well there's that association too, I guess."
Aahil nods, thoughtfully. "Anyway," he says, putting and A4 envelope in front of Sanam. "I was wondering if you could look at a couple of photographs and tell me about the flowers?"
Sanam frowns. "Uhm. Okay? I mean, if you're looking to get bouquet for a special someone, there are easier ways-"
Aahil slides the photographs out of the envelope. They're close ups but it's hard to miss the pale hands, clutching the stems of both sets of flowers.
Sanam makes a choking sounds and when Aahil looks up at her, she looks every bit as white as the late Mrs. Farida and Father Riveria.
"Aahilji, what-"
"Two suspicious deaths," says Aahil. "Both were found with flowers. I figured I could spend all day on Google or just ask you, you know?"
Sanam's fingers are trembling and Aahil feels a bit bad.
"Well," says Sanam and her voice is surprisingly steady. "You've seen these ones before. Foxgloves? The poisonous flowers we saw in the park. And these are Lilly of the Valley. They mean sweetness' and they're pretty toxic, too. They can make a heart stop." She takes a deep breath. "They've got happy associations but they've been known as Our Lady's Tears' for the weeping of Mary when Christ was crucified."
Aahil feels suddenly very cold. "Forgetting about your name, are you are Christian, Miss Khan?"
"No," says Sanam. "But I've studied it. I had a high respect for the religion. Though I lapsed. Not too far."
-
"I think we need to pay the care home a visit," says Aahil. "And someone, get a goddamned rush on those toxicology results."
"You got a lead?" asks Rehaan.
"A hunch, I guess," says Aahil. He hopes he's wrong.
When they reach St Jude's, they go straight to Dr. Zareef's office.
"Gentlemen," says Zareef, looking surprised. "How can I help you? Do you have news for me?"
"Just more questions, I'm afraid," says Aahil, ruefully. He slides a photograph across the table. "Do you know this woman?"
Zareef puts on his glasses and scrutinises the photograph. "Why, yes," he says. "She's one of our volunteers. She even runs a flower arranging class. Sanam Ahmed Khan." Zareef looks up at Aahil. "You don't think she's-"
Aahil can barely swallow. It hurts. It hurts. "And how often does Miss Khan visit?"
"Every weekend," says Zareef. "She's a favourite with our residents."
"And did Miss Khan know the deceased residents?"
Zareef just nods.
When they get back to the car, Aahil reaches in and calls it through. "I need a squad car at Kabloom on Main. Bring in Sanam Ahmed Khan."
-
Sanam looks even smaller, frailer, on the other side of the interrogation table.
She's shaking.
"Really?" asks Rahaat. "This girl?"
-
"We need those wills," says Aahil. "We've got to find out who the beneficiaries are. If the it's Miss Khan-"
"We've got a motive," says Rehaan.
Aasma arrives in and drops some paperwork on Aahil's desk. "Your toxicology, sir," she says, voice dripping with disdain.
Aahil grabs them and his heart sinks even further; its subterranean now, and a little cracked and rusty. "Shit."
"Ibrahim?"
"Crap."
"Let me see." Rehaan grabs the reports. Lethal levels of digoxin in Mrs. Farida's blood. Multiple cardiac glycosides in Father Riveria's blood.
-
"Really?" asks Aasma. "This girl? I get the feeling that she said boo' to a goose, the goose would come off better."
"That's what she wants us to think," says Aahil, morosely. He wishes Sanam would just confess. The evidence is mounting up; access to the flowers an in depth knowledge.
-
"Why did you send the hyacinths?" asks Aahil.
Sanam blinks at him slowly. "The hyacinths?"
"To me," he says. "Were they a threat? Were you warning me off? Telling me that getting close to you was an uncomfortable place to be?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Officer Ibrahim," says Sanam.
Aahil hands her the card that came with the hyacinths.
"That's not my writing," says Sanam.
"So you ordered them online or whatever."
"Aahilji," says Sanam with exasperation. "I own a flower shop. Why would I order flowers online?"
-
"She's not talking," says Rehaan.
"I had noticed," says Aahil. It's weird. He thought Sanam would talk to him. He thought they had a rapport. Well. He thought they could have had so much more than that but it turns out that Sanam's a murderer and Aahil's taste in humans has gone from bad to worse.
"Ibrahim!" Rahaat's voice is a strident bark. "Qureshi!" Get down to the care home right now!"
"Has there been another death?" asks Rehaan.
"I only wish there'd been one," says Rahaat.
-
Three. Three deaths.
Mr. Chopra's clutching small white flowers, with lacy leaves. Mrs. Rossi's are folded around poppies. Sister Concepta's holding green foliage.
"Get the photos, Saeed," says Aahil. He's rubbing his forehead. "What the hell is going on here?"
-
"Hemlock," says Sanam. Her voice is dull and weak. "It's the poison that was used to put Socrates to death. Poppies. Morphine. Uh, obviously." She stares at the photographs of Sister Concepta's hands. "Belladona- deadly nightshade."
"How do you know all this stuff?" asks Aasma. She seems faintly fascinated. "Seems kind of an overkill for a florist, you know?"
"Pun intended?" asks Sanam, wearily. "I was a pharmacist, before." She rubs at her eyes. "It wasn't for me, though. Too corrupt."
"Where did you study?"
"The GMC."
"You know we're going to check that, right?" says Aasma.
"Sure." Sanam tries to summon a smile. "Maybe you can get some character references or whatever."
"Sure," says Aasma. When she steps outside, she looks at Aahil. "I like her," she says. "Think you messed up big, Ibrahim."
"She's still the likeliest suspect," says Aahil.
"She's our only suspect," says Rehaan.
-
They go to GMC and talk to one of Sanam's old professors, Dr. Atiqa. She's speaks about Sanam like she's speaking about a favoured child. Aahil's restless, and potters about Atiqa's office. It's a bit dusty and musty smelling. He picks up an old journal and flicks through it.
He frowns, pausing.
"Do you know this man?" he asks. The picture is old what it certainly looks like Dr Atiqa has a hand on the shoulder of-
"Zareef," says Atiqa and, for the first time, her voice is devoid of warmth. "We were class mates and then colleagues here, for a long time."
"Teaching wasn't for him?"
Atiqa's smile is thin. "He wasn't for teaching. He was, ah, carrying out experiments on student volunteers. Questionable legality and then it emerged that he was being paid off by a pretty big pharmaceutical company."
"How was it found out?" asks Rehaan.
"Why, it was Sanam. She was uncomfortable with what Zareef was doing and did a bit of, shall we say, amateur investigations? She uncovered enough evidence to close down Zareef's research."
"Seems kind of strange that she'd have anything to do with Zareef, after," says Aahil, slowly.
"Ah, but that is Sanam. She's a forgiving sort, Officer Ibrahim, and Zareef made it clear that there were no hard feelings."
-
Back at the precinct, Aahil's pacing around his flower-free desk.
"I don't know," he says. "Do you really think-"
"That Zareef's been playing the long game?" asks Rehaan. He wrinkles his nose. "Honestly? It seems more likely than Miss Khan being a mass- murderer."
"We don't have enough, though," says Aahil.
"We've enough to release Miss Khan," says Rehaan.
"Yeah, but we do that and Zareef will know that we know."
"How do you know that Zareef will know that we know he has any goddamned thing to do with it?" asks Rehaan.
"Heaven spare me from the logic of men," says Shazia, walking into the pen. She's Aasma's partner and she scares Aahil, a little. She looks at him like she knows all his secrets, even the ones he doesn't know. "We got the wills from the first two victims. There's only one beneficiary-"
Aahil's heart sinks.
"Dr. Zareef Nizamani, director of St. Jude's Home for the Elderly. Him, specifically, not the institution."
Aahil looks at Rehaan. "We've got enough."
-
Zareef confesses, which is surprising.
Kabloom remains closed until further notice.
-
It's misuse of police information but Aahil locates Sanam's home address. It takes month before he gathers up the courage but Sanam's shop is open again and better late than never.
He knocks on the door, shoving his hands into his pockets.
Sanam opens the door, and somehow, doesn't close it in Aahil's face.
"I'm sorry," he says.
"I got the flowers," says Sanam, her expression wary. "They were, uhm-"
"Too much?" asks Aahil, wincing a little. "Look, I could find ones that said I'm really sorry for arresting you for murder'-"
"So you went with red roses instead?" Sanam's lips twitch.
"They're a classic?" Aahil tries. "Anyway, they remind me of you."
"Really?"
"Yeah, they're all prickly and, you know, after a run, your face goes that kind of crimson?"
Sanam shakes her head and she looks faintly appalled, possibly with herself.
"Remind me why I put up with you?"
"Because I don't underestimate you."
Sanam snorts. "You're going to have to do better than roses and arrest warrants, just for your information."
Aahil smiles. He smiles enough for his face to ache. "I can, I swear. I'll do so much better."
-
He walks into the precinct and his desk is bedecked with Christmas Wreaths.
"There's a card," says Rehaan, helpful as ever.
Officer Ibrahim, reads the scrawl.
holly and ivy. look them up.
-
holly= hope, and ivy= continuity and friendship. .
No offense to any Christian people is meant I swear to god.
Don't kill me pls.
I hope you like!
I will update everything else in a few weeks when I'm back home.
Sorry for all the errors.
GMC= Ghandi medical college.
I feel a little sick that I had to use the word Ghandi in one of my fics, but since the name is oh so amazing and righteous to all of India except Punjab, I thought there could be at least one college in that name.
The oh so amazing and righteous bit was sarcastic, btw.
Oh and the quote at the start is from the invisible man, a movie released in 1933.
It's eerily beautiful. You should watch it. It is one of my favourites.
Notes are finished :D
