they stopped for lunch, ‘just one quick beer’ had led to another and then to several more, and then they were back on the road. And as the kilometres sped by, the exhilaration of being together rushing headlong along a country road had begun to wane, and the bickering and drunkenness began, and then the arguments and fights and slapping and punching and abusing and shrieking and threats of murder and maiming. It was then that she had come to realize with growing horror that it was actually worse than before; she was trapped in this metal coffin with her mad, violent family; and now, looking back, she knew that it had been then that she had finally accepted that she must leave this madhouse and seek a new life elsewhere. It had taken her another three years to get out, but that day had been the beginning of the end, even before they actually reached Mundakottukurussi and the Big Fight happened. As for that delightful event in the Matthew family history …
She shuddered and was about to turn away from the rusting hulk when something caught her eye. She leaned over, frowning, and peered through the murky filth coating the rear left passenger window. What was that? It looked like a chain of some sort, attached to a leather collar. Yes, a dog collar and chain. What was it doing inside the car? Had they been keeping a dog in there? But why inside the car? And those brown splotches and dried patches on the faded dirty upholstery, surely they couldn’t be … blood ?
A gust of sea breeze, redolent of salt and fish, swept through the grove of kallu palms behind her family’s property, and the resulting shirring sound was a soothing reminder of childhood afternoons spent daydreaming or reading with Lalima. It made her grieve again for those lost years and for the years that could have been, should have been. Perhaps that was why she didn’t hear someone approaching behind her.
Something cold and hard pressed down on her right temple, causing her to freeze instinctively. Her eyes cut right briefly and she had a sense of a pair of long dark cylinders looming in her peripheral vision.
‘Well, well,’ said a raspy voice that she instantly recognized as Isaac’s. ‘The prodigal daughter returns. Didn’t you read the sign, sister dearest?’
She kept her voice deliberately casual and sarcastic, knowing that displaying fear would only worsen her situation. ‘I forgot my glasses in my ass. Could you fetch them, please?’
He cocked the shotgun in response; she could feel the reverberations of the bolt in her skull, the barrels were pressing that hard against her head.
‘I referred to the sign that read “Trespassers will be Prostituted”.’
She kept her hands still, but moved her fingers just enough to snap them smartly. ‘Of course. And you would be the friendly neighbourhood Pimp-in-Charge, right?’
He made a harsh throaty sound, then the pressure of the shotgun left her head just long enough for him to swing the length of the gun around to whack her with the wooden grip; a hard whack, hard enough to dislocate a shoulder or concuss her.
She was ready for it, though. And moved cobra quick to meet it.
2.2
IT WAS ONE OF those days. Due to the renovation work going on in the courtroom that was usually used for regular hearing matters of the category, court was being held in the extension building where accessibility was never as good as in the main complex. Then, someone had unloaded several boxes of court documents from a vehicle on the access ramp and Nachiketa had to wait several frustrating minutes for the boxes to be moved so that she could roll into the building. Finally, some good Samaritan did the needful, and she gritted her teeth and thanked him, hating how it made her feel, hating that someone had to take pity on her. She promised herself that she would file a complaint, but even as she rolled into the courtroom, she forgot all about it. They were there today. In force. The whole lot of them.
The Shah