Thirst (3 page)

Click!

The trunk unlocked. The officer began to walk towards it. Kane ran through all of the options in his head. He could not drive away—he would not make it far in the snow, and they would certainly find him. But he could not let the officer look in that trunk either.

Then, he had another idea… He could back over the officer.

Kane knew that it was horrible—he knew that it was murder—but if Kane went to prison, it meant more people would die. What was one innocent life versus countless innocent lives?

He carefully nudged his car into reverse, slowly pushed down the emergency break, and prepared to slam his foot on the gas. His eyes began to tear up with guilt.

“There must be another solution,” Kane thought to himself as he watched the officer step behind the car.

It was now or never. His foot began to tremble as he slowly lifted his toes off the brake.

CHAPTER FIFTY

A FRIEND OR A FOE?

“Excuse me, officer?” a voice called out.

“Yes?” the officer replied.

“I just saw a person with what looked like blood on their jacket running down the alleyway,” the voice said.

“Where was this?”

“Just on the next block over—They were heading towards the town center.”

The officer pulled out his walkie. “We have a witness here who says he saw a potential suspect, covered in blood, travelling southbound by foot. I’m going to pursue.”

“Roger that.”

The officer looked over at Kane’s mysterious savior. “Do me a favor—call your local precinct and tell them you need to leave a witness report. If they ask, my badge number is zero-six-zero. Can you remember that?”

“Sure thing, officer.”

“Good luck on your final exam, sir!” the officer called out to Kane before he ran back to his cruiser and pulled away.

Kane pulled his emergency break back up and pushed his car into park. His arms and legs were shaking uncontrollably with a combination of fear and the guilt of having considered committing murder. He looked down at his shaking hands.

“Everything okay?” a voice said next to his window.

He turned swiftly towards the voice. It was Andrew.

“Huh?” Kane said. “Um, yeah—I’m good.”

“You’re shaking. You wanna take a walk with me?”

“Um—Sure. Yeah,” Kane said, opening his door and stepping out of the car. His eyes were wide and his pupils were fully dilated.

“You’re having a panic attack. Here,” Andrew reached into one of his pockets. “Its just Ativan. It’ll calm you down. I get panic attacks sometimes.”

“Thanks,” Kane said, accepting the medicine.

“What happened? Want to talk about it?”

“I just—I just get bad anxiety around cops.”

“I think that’s pretty normal. My sister is like that too.”

“Really?” Kane asked.

“Yeah. It’s like a surprisingly common phobia. Astynomiaphobia, they call it.”

“How do you know that?”

“I read it in a book once.”

Kane took a breath. “Well, I owe you one, man.”

“No you don’t. It’s not like you were going to be arrested or anything.”

Kane looked at Andrew. “Did you really see that girl?”

“What girl?” Andrew asked.

“The girl with the bloody jacket.”

“Oh—I saw a guy, not a girl.”

“Oh.”

“He was just running. I tried to stop him to see if he was okay, but he wouldn’t stop.”

Kane looked at Andrew for a moment. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Early? I still haven’t gone to bed.” Andrew chuckled.

“Why?”

“I don’t know—I can’t sleep. Sometimes I just walk around.”

“You should be careful. There’s a serial killer running around, you know.”

“I know—I’m always careful,” Andrew said.

“There was another one, just a couple blocks from here.”

“Yeah—I walked passed and saw the police tape.”

“You did?” Kane asked.

“Yeah—Pretty wild. Lots of cops over there.”

“But I thought you came from town. The scene is that way,” Kane said, pointing backwards. “Downtown is that way.” Kane pointed in the other direction.

Andrew looked at Kane for a moment. “Yeah. I walked passed the house towards downtown, and then I saw the guy, so I turned back. That’s when I found you.”

Kane had not thought about it until that moment, but Andrew was a short male—significantly shorter than the average male. In addition, he was wearing a hooded jacket. He perfectly matched the suspect he had seen in the alleyway.

“You want a ride somewhere?” Andrew asked.

“No—I’m good. Thanks.”

“Alright. I’d better take off,” Kane said.

“Good night—Or I should say, good morning,” Andrew laughed.

“Right,” Kane said, forcing a laugh as he walked up to his car.

Andrew waved as he continued to walk away, down the street. Kane watched him closely. All this time, Kane had been following Hanna, but maybe it was not Hanna he should have been following.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

A HOPEFUL MORNING

Tarun and his father were richer than they ever had been before. To many people, three thousand dollars did not seem like all that much. Sure, it could buy you a nice computer or a television—maybe a new dishwasher or an oven.

But to the Mumbars, getting three thousand dollars was like winning the lottery. They could stretch a dollar in ways most people did not think possible.

They never bought anything new, and they never bought anything for the marked price. They haggled everything they bought—which was the norm in India, where they came from. However, in The West, people found it strange. One time, Tarun’s father, Vish tried to barter with the cashier at the local Walmart. He refused to get out of the line until he got the price down. Even the security they called in could not move the stubborn Indian man. Eventually, they had to call the Walmart manager, and somehow—Vish left the store with an unbeatable bargain.

The Mumbars refused to pay anyone to do work that they were physically capable of doing themselves. Vish refused to pay a mechanic to fix the cheap little car that he bought. Instead, he tinkered with it himself for a week until it ran. It would not go faster than thirty kilometers an hour, but it ran—and he saved one or two hundred dollars fixing it himself.

They practically lived off rice, which was practically free when bought at the right place—with enough bargaining, of course.

All of the things that were on the Mumbars’ back burner were suddenly coming to fruition. The moment he saw the money, Vish ran to the second hand building materials store and bought a whole car-f of pipes, couplings, and elbows. By the end of the day, he had pulled down half of the drywall in one of the empty suites and had begun to replace the old plumbing.

He had no idea that, in every first world country you needed to get permits, engineer approvals and inspections completed before you could renovate a simple closet—never mind an entire building. He did not know—but he also did not care. He would never—not in one thousand years—pay someone to walk through his building just to sign some piece of paper. Tarun tried to explain to his father that these kinds of things needed to be approved, but Vish was too stubborn to listen.

Vish was up early that morning, replacing the building’s piping. His handiwork was aesthetically dreadful but it was surprisingly functional.

The sun was finally peeking up over the mountainous horizon and Kane was returning from his extremely long and exhausting day. He had only gotten a single hour of sleep in the past forty-eight hours, and his eyes were heavy. Since he gave Tarun the money, he had only been home briefly with Brittany. He had no idea of the undertaking Vish had suddenly taken on.

Kane stopped as he walked into the building, noticing the large pile of old pipes and the old insulation, which was likely made from asbestos.

“Tarun, come here!” Vish yelled in Hindi, from within the under-construction suite. “I need you to come hold this while I pour on the cement!”

Tarun, adjusting a tie around the neck of his collared shirt came running down the stairs. “Dad—I can’t! I have my meeting with the college!” he yelled back in Hindi. Then, he noticed the tired Kane looking around the torn up complex. “Oh—Hey Kane,” Tarun said, in English.

“What’s going on?” Kane asked.

The building became suddenly loud with the sound of borrowed and bargained power tools.

“Dad is replacing the plumbing!” Tarun yelled over the loud renovation.

“He is?” Kane yelled back.

“Your kindness inspired him. For the first time in years, he’s alive again.”

“I’m glad, but I need to get some sleep, Tarun.”

“Tarun! What are you doing right now? I can’t cement these pipes alone!” Vish yelled in Hindi.

“What’s he saying?” Kane asked.

“He’s asking me for help,” Tarun said. “Dad! I have to go to my meeting! I’ll help you when I’m back!”

“Tarun!” Vish yelled again. He emerged from the suite, black from the old dirty insulation in the walls. He noticed Kane. “Oh—Kane!” he said with excitement. “How are you? On your way to school?”

“Just coming home, actually.”

“Good, good. I wanted to thank you,” Vish started.

“Oh, you don’t have to.”

“No, no—I must. Not many people would take the time to do what you did. It makes me so glad to think that someone would go out of their way to get my son a scholarship.”

“A what?” Kane asked.

“Yes,” Tarun said. “You called your friend at the university and got him to consider me for that scholarship.”

Kane looked at Tarun, confused. After a moment, he realized that there was something up—and he was expected to play along.

“Right—It was nothing. A little phone call, that’s all,” Kane said. “I barely remember doing it, it was so menial.”

“Well, it means the world to us. And to be accepted so quickly! I knew that my son was talented, but wow!” Vish said.

Water was leaking out of the suite.

“Dad! The water!” Tarun said.

Vish turned around. “Oh! I have to go!” he yelled as he ran back into the apartment.

Tarun turned to Kane. “About that—If I told my dad that you gave me the money, he wouldn’t have accepted it. He’s a very, very proud man. If he thought he was getting charity, it would destroy him. I hope you understand.”

“It’s fine, Tarun—Really.” Kane turned around to go up to his bed.

“He’s going to totally renovate this place—open up a hotel, just like we had in India—Of course, we’ll let you keep your apartment, Kane.

Kane smiled as Vish revved up a handsaw in the other room.

“I need to go. I’ll see you around,” Tarun said.

“See you.”

Tarun eagerly made his way across town, wearing his best (and only) suit jacket and dress shirt. He took deep, nervous breaths—repeating a mantra silently over and over to try to keep calm. “You will do great,” he told himself in Hindi.

He walked past the scene of the latest crime. There were about a dozen people standing behind the police tape, curious to see what had happened. All of the other passers-by, on their way to their morning shifts and their morning classes turned their heads to see what was happening.

Tarun slowed down only for a brief moment, and then continued on his way to his important meeting.

“Hey!” a male voice called out.

Tarun turned towards the call. A police officer was walking towards him, motioning him to stop.

“Yeah, you,” the officer said.

“Me?” Tarun asked.

“Yes. I need you to come with me.”

“Why?” Tarun asked.

“I need to ask you some questions.” The officer took Tarun aside while all of the curious heads turned to see what was happening.