Chapter 9: Asad
WE ENTER THROUGH a side door of one of the outer buildings. Tanveer is able to pick the lock pretty easily, putting me to shame. The girl has some seriously hidden talents. Once inside, we take a few steps down into what appears to be a basement, and click on our headlights.
"Anybody trip over a grave marker on their way up here?" Tanveer asks.
I shoot her an eye-dagger, hoping it'll shut her up. I mean, we've barely even made it inside yet. But Tanveer's got this wide grin across her face like the idea of freaking people out gets her off.
"What grave markers?" Zoya asks. "I didn't see any graves."
"They didn't always use them," Tanveer explains.
"It's all about downsizing," Imran says, trying to make light of it.
Tanveer smiles wider, stoked for the attention. She gets right up into Zoya's face: "People who were patients and died here, people whose families didn't claim them because they were too ashamed to have a relative in a mental institution, were buried nameless; just a number in the dirt'and now it's all overgrown. I bet you didn't even notice."
"That can't be true," Ayaan says.
"It can be, and it is," Tanveer corrects.
"No wonder this place feels so haunted," Zoya, whispers, looking around.
"Don't listen to Tanveer," I say, grateful for the drama but knowing that Tanveer needs to keep her trap shut before I have everyone backing out on me. I keep a good grip on the camera and move deeper inside the basement, glad when the others do the same.
The place is a mess. The windows are all boarded up. And there are cans stockpiled everywhere, file folders and papers dumped out all over the floor, and old medical equipment'microscopes, stretchers, bed trays' strewn about the place. Tanveer picks up a folder and starts paging through the contents.
"Anything eBay-worthy?" Imran asks her.
Tanveer ignores him and closes the folder back up. She tucks it inside her coat for a later look and continues to pick through a bunch more.
"Could it be any colder?" Humaira asks, rambling on about how freezing her legs are.
"Maybe next time you break into an asylum in the middle of winter, you should go for pants," I offer, noticing the door at the back of the room.
"Next time?" Her eyebrow arches up. "I think not."
"We thought a lot about our wardrobe." Ayaan gives the hem of his black leather jacket a good tug. "Our goal was sexy yet sophisticated, sleek but not too flashy."
Yeah, thanks for telling me, I want to say. But instead I hold it in, taking a second look at Ayaan's crazy-tight black turtleneck'to show off his ten-year-old-boy chest and matching arms. The guy can't be more than ninety pounds soaking wet, and at least twelve of those pounds are for his hair'a huge dark mass of curls just begging to get hacked off. If he had a mustache, I'd be calling him a seventies po*n star.
Meanwhile, Imran tries to make fun of the near-Siberian weather, smoking an invisible cigarette; the cold air puffs out of his mouth and floats across his flashlight beam, looking like actual smoke.
"Do you think it's extra cold because of ghosts?" Humaira asks, aiming her headlight at the wall. Someone's spray painted the words Screw you, Security across the paint-chipped bricks. "I saw this documentary once where a ghost hunter guy said that paranormal activity makes places really cold."
"Well, duh," Tanveer says, still picking through the files. "I mean, we are in a basement. Ghosts are notorious for haunting damp and dark places."
"Speaking of damp," Ayaan says, "What's with the puddles on the floor?" He checks the heels of his Aldo boots and makes a face.
"Hundred-year-old piss," Imran says. "Nothing else I know stenches this bad."
"You obviously haven't smelled your breath," Humaira shoots back.
"Let's go," I say, cutting through their crap and trying to lead them toward the door at the back. I pull the map out of my pocket and go to angle my headlight over it, but the damn bulb keeps flickering. I smack it a couple times, and finally it stays on.
A second later, we hear a knock at the basement door'the same door we're headed for, the one that leads into the tunnel.
"What the hell was that?" Humaira blurts.
I place my finger over my lips to quiet everybody and then I move closer to the door and press my ear up against it. I can hear a faint pounding sound coming from somewhere in the tunnel. "I'll bet it's just a heat duct," I tell them, thinking how the one in my house makes a hell of a racket.
"That was no heat duct," Ayaan says, all defensive. "Someone was knocking."
"Plus," Tanveer chimes in, "the heat isn't even on. The place is vacant, remember?"
"Right," I say. "No one's here."
"Just ghosts," Zoya whispers.
"Lots and lots of ghosts," Tanveer says, arching her eyebrows. She stuffs a couple more files into her coat, making me wonder what she plans to do with them.
"There's nothing here," I insist, for Zoya's sake. "Look, I'll show you." I pull the door open, the hinges creaking like a crypt, and cast my headlight down the tunnel. It's dark and narrow with a series of arches that span the entire way. The walls are made of bricks, all painted over with white, but now chipping in places and covered with graffiti. An overhead pipe leaks water onto the floor, making a dripping sound. "See?" I say, trying to get a grip.
"It's vacant."
"Holy yuck," Humaira says, peering down the tunnel.
I aim the camera at Zoya's face. "Are you okay?"
She shakes her head. "I really think we should leave. This place doesn't feel right. It doesn't want us here."
"How do you know?" Tanveer asks, giving her lip ring a tug.
"Trust me," she insists. "I want to go back."
"Not funny," I say, feeling a chill pass over my shoulder.
"I'm not joking. Can you take me home?"
"Now?"
"We can't go back now," Tanveer says. "We're here. We got in."
"It doesn't feel right," Zoya, snaps, enunciating the words like nobody's really hearing them.
"We could drop her off home and come back," Imran says. "Or, I could just drop her off . . .." He snakes his arm around Zoya.
"Yeah, right," I say, totally getting his play. The guy thinks he's a freakin' superhero.
"If we leave, I refuse to come back," Humaira says, repositioning her beret so that it sits crooked on her head. "I'm sorry I even agreed to this thing in the first place. I didn't even have time to squeeze in an appointment for highlights. My hair's going to look totally over-the-counter Clairol in this lighting."
"I'm starting to regret it myself," Ayaan says, holding his flashlight high, way above his head, as though trying to light up the shot.
I lower the camera a second, trying to decide what to do. It'd totally suck to botch this thing. I mean, this is my future we're talking about here.
"Get a grip," Tanveer says, approaching Zoya from the mound of files. "Think how much stronger you'll be as a result of this."
"You don't understand," Zoya argues.
"This isn't my kind of thing. My parents think I'm at a sleepover, for Allah's sake."
"Oh, and what, this is my type of thing?" Tanveer says. "Or any of us, for that matter? You're not the only one who's scared, you know."
"You can stay close to me," Imran whispers to Zoya.
"She'd be safer on a shock treatment table," Tanveer says, pulling Zoya away from Imran, like Zoya's a wishbone or something.
I angle the camera to zoom in on Zoya's face, adjusting the shotgun mic so that it's positioned outward to pick everything up.
Zoya looks right at me'right at the camera. "Please?"
I let out a sigh and lower the camera back down. "Are you serious?"
She nods.
"If she goes, I go," Humaira says, pulling a cobweb off her shoulder. "I mean, I know about low budget, but this is downright hokey. What kind of director has his cast walk out on him barely an hour into the shoot?"
"Look," Ayaan says. "I think what Humaira is trying to say is that, while we're all for supporting independent filmmaking'"
"Please," I bark, cutting him off. I focus hard on Zoya. "This place is gonna be torn apart in a few days. I don't have time to get another crew. I need you guys." I place the camera on the ground, fighting the urge to hurl it against the wall.
"Well, I'm not going anywhere," Tanveer says.
"And how about the rest of you?" I ask.
But none of them even looks at me.
"This is my only chance," I say, running my fingers through my hair in frustration. "Don't you get it? If I screw this up, I'm stuck working in a diner for the rest of my life."
"What are you talking about?" Ayaan asks.
"Forget it," I say, grabbing my camera. I go to pack it up and get the hell out, but Zoya approaches me.
She nudges my hand away from the off switch, making my heartbeat fast. "Leave it on," she says finally. "I'll stay."
"Are you sure?'' My lips shake just forming the words. Zoya stares at me, her giant brown eyes filled with fear.
I feel like a complete and total idiot for even thinking about letting her stay. "I'm sure," she says, not sounding like she's sure at all.
But she moves into the tunnel anyway.
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Edited by Nandini0910 - 12 years ago
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