"I knew there was some negative force at play from a mile away, but now that I'm here…Oh, Shiva! It's much worse than I thought! One month… in just one month, there would have been nothing left here but rubble!"
Standing below a ten-foot arch that led to a fashionable bungalow in South Delhi, Amin fought down a smile and an urge to scratch his bare chest that had been smeared with ash.
The reason behind his joy was the cultivated instinct that told him a con was going well. The fat jeweler beside him had trembled upon hearing his proclamation, hands clasped tightly in front of a heart that must be beating furiously. His handkerchief that was already drenched with sweat characteristic of an Indian summer night reached for his forehead again, where a new layer had just sprung up.
The name of the God of Destruction truly is a powerful thing…
Praising himself inwardly, Amin waited until the palpable fear of his rotund target reached just the right level, just the right tipping point beyond which he would break down into a blubbering mess. Dressed in baggy, expensive silk kurta and pajama that made him look even bigger than he was, the jeweler wiped sweat from his cheeks which shook every time he walked.
Amin could almost hear the thoughts going through the man's head. People who rose in life through dishonest means always did fear that which they did not understand or could not quantify. Such fear was even more common in those who also had a devout streak in them, and this was precisely the reason why he was where he was, poised to grow richer by at least a few hundreds of thousands of rupees before the night was done.
Facebook truly is an incredible thing. When someone never fails to reply to posts like 'Comment below or the Goddess of Wealth will leave you forever', can it be more obvious how much they care about such stuff? Who knew that there would come a day when I could finish a crucial aspect of reconnaissance simply by going online for a couple of minutes…
The new-age obsession of both young and old to post all the major happenings of their lives online, publicly, was a great blessing for those in his profession. Of course, with the government and bored WhatsApp conspiracy theorists stepping in to warn the citizens against giving out important information, people had started to take precautions, but just like he had always done since being left to grow on the streets of Chandigarh when he was just five years old, Amin had adapted.
A friend request from a fake account with a woman's name and a profile picture of a Bollywood heroine had given him all the access he needed.
The moon peeked through the clouds, casting him, his followers, and the jeweler in its pearly light. Smeared with ash from head to toe, wearing a fake beard that hid his clean-shaven face, a wig of dirty dreadlocks, and dressed in naught but a saffron-colored cloth tied to cover only his private parts, he looked exactly like the mountain-dwelling sage he was impersonating. One of his underlings had even shown surprising skill in make-up, so a couple of wrinkles made him look closer to the sixty he was pretending to be rather than the twenty he was.
Feeling a clammy hand suddenly grab him, Amin resisted the urge to jerk away. It was a reflex honed in places where even a split second of inattentiveness could result in one being stabbed, or worse, pickpocketed, but at the moment, he was supposed to be acting like an old recluse, not a streetsmart conman in the prime of his life.
Thankfully, the jeweler was too busy worrying about his fate to notice the look of alarm that had flashed through Amin's face. He was staring at the house whose doom had just been proclaimed, so by the time he turned to Amin, all he saw was a venerable elder ready to save him from his plight.
"Please! You must help! I'll give you anything!"
How about all the money in your house?
Outwardly, he sighed as if pondering on the grave issue. The jeweler waited in silence, his jowls shaking as he repeatedly gulped, wary of the legendary anger of the 'sadhus' who worshipped the God of Destruction, fearsome sages who were known to drink blood— among other things—to obtain their incredible abilities.
Finally, with a shrug and a wave of his hand, he replied, "I'll do it. I'll rid your house of the 'pisach', the vengeful spirit that has taken residence, but the price will be steep. Can you afford it?"
He felt like laughing when a twinge of doubt and suspicion fought through the fear in his client's eyes.
Promises are cheap, but when it comes to actual payment, there is not a single person who doesn't remember all the skepticism anyone in this century would feel when faced with such a situation…
Movies made it seem as if conning someone was easy, but there were a thousand things to think about and a thousand more ways to get caught in reality. In the past, Amin had tried various combinations of the classic religion con. At this crucial stage, many succumbed to the simple way of doing things.
In his case, that would be to demand a high price now and leave after chanting some mumbo-jumbo and throwing random auspicious things into the air. After all, he had set everything up perfectly so far. After zeroing in on a couple of individuals who frequently posted photos of themselves going to famous temples all over the country, he had narrowed down the list by checking the background of each target before finally deciding on one who qualified the parameters he usually operated by. The next step had been to stake out the man's home a month back, and since then, he had a few one-time-gig hirees cause disturbance after disturbance in the house.
All said disturbances could be explained away by normal means, but Amin had planned them so that there was a reasonable probability of them being caused by metaphysical beings.
Healthy, thriving plants and trees wilted at random places all over the jeweler's expansive garden.
At an exact time each night, all three dogs that guarded the man's house would seemingly go crazy, chewing at their leashes and snapping even at the handlers who had raised them.
Servants heard screams when they were going about their duties, especially near the edges of the European-style bungalow. Blood was found in random places, having appeared out of nowhere and smelling of rot and death.
A few bags of fertilizer being shipped inside had been replaced with poison. His underlings had blared a high-pitched noise inaudible to humans at the wall nearest to the dogs each night at the same time. And packages of blood and flesh frozen in ice that would melt and leave no trace of a means of transport behind had been lobbed over the wall.
Some of the phenomenon could have been explained away, but taken all together, only one possibility would seem the most probable to anyone who had grown up listening to classic tales of ghosts and ghouls: negative energy was coalescing over the house.
It was amazing how the human mind could be influenced if an idea was given root deep within its depths. All it had taken was one elderly servant saying that the house was haunted, and from then on, all of the jeweler's staff started seeing things that Amin or his team hadn't even orchestrated.
The entire thing had culminated in a meeting a couple of hours ago where Amin had approached Jeethelal, the owner of seven successful stores all over India with a single message:
"Tomorrow, the servants will find your blood all over the house. Run if you value your life."
Amin had simply walked away, and as expected, the portly man had run for probably the first time in years to catch up. When asked how he knew, all that had been needed to convince the jeweler was a quick recap of all the things happening around the bungalow and a couple of other personal details gleaned by eavesdropping near the walls using cheap equipment.
For more than 30 minutes, Jeethelal had begged and pleaded in every way possible. Just when it looked like he would resort to threats, Amin finally relented, proclaiming that his followers needed to be present if they were to rid the house of whatever was affecting it.
The bungalow was almost in the middle of nowhere, easily accessible but devoid of other houses around it. The entrance was only a couple of hundred feet from the highway, far enough that the busy road's hustle and bustle would not reach the residence, but also near enough that it would be no hassle for anyone to enter and exit the premises.
The arch was made of expensive, imported Italian marble and inlaid with fake jewels fitted with lights that were now on. Its flowing lines indicated just how much had been spent on it, even though its only job was to welcome people in the gaudiest manner possible and accumulate dust that had to be cleaned painstakingly every day by unlucky servants. White walls caked with a muddy layer stretched into the distance on both sides, topped with electric fences. To protect the walls and the arch from defacement by idle passersby—a common occurrence in this part of the world—a guard was even present day and night, sitting on a stool near the base and looking out over the road, waiting to stand and salute when his master arrived.
The guard was nearby, now, with his hands folded obsequiously. The stench of the smoke from the cheap cigarette he had been smoking up until just a few minutes ago still hung in the air, occasionally disturbed by a whiff of dust blown to the house from the highway by a passing vehicle.
Amin breathed in deep, enjoying the latter which was one of the scents he was most familiar with. For others, scents that reminded them of their childhood might comprise of favorite foods, places, or people, but for him, the smell of dust made him recall a time when things were easier, and all he needed to do was mind his own business and rely on the kindness of strangers to eke out a living as an orphan beggar.
The world hadn't waited long to let him know how impossible it was for one such as him to even think of clinging to normalcy and comfort.
"How much?"
The jeweler's voice that had regained a large part of the bullish confidence present in anyone who made a living out of driving hard bargains snapped him out of his reverie. With a gentle smile, he replied with a rehearsed answer without hesitation. "Respect and kindness. There are far too many who look at us as nothing but fanatics. The truth is that most of us still need food to live. If any sadhu comes across you, from now on, until the end of your life, you will treat him with respect and offer him a meal."
Seeing Jeethelal's face clear like the sky after the passing of a storm, Amin laughed and said, "What did you expect? Money? Material objects are easy to gain and easy to part with. Change in one's mind is so much more difficult to achieve. Do not think that I will not know if you don't keep your vow, Jeethelal. Think before entering this covenant that shall bind you throughout your life."
He delivered the last two lines loudly, with reddened eyes and a face that shook with the sheer intensity of the speech. The jeweler leaned back, face going slack while fearing the eccentricity that was said to gallop about, uncontrolled, in the minds of all sadhus, but after seeing that all that was expected of him was only such a simple promise, he smiled again and clasped his hands together.
"Of course, of course! Even if a hundred venerable followers of the great Shiva grace my doorstep, I will never turn them away! I will feast them until they are full and send them on their way with food enough to last for days! Now, please! I have had no sleep in weeks! I beseech you to grant this devout disciple the peace of mind that rightfully belongs to all who trust in God!"
In his haste to answer, he slipped back into a dialect of hindi common on the streets, betraying his true background of a thug who had attached himself to the right politician, long ago, and was now reaping the rewards of being a close friend of someone in power.
Damn, everyone becomes eloquent when they need to convince someone that they aren't lying…
Amin had seen enough of people like the jeweler to know that the man hadn't meant a word he said. Yet, with a wide grin, he nodded and beckoned in the direction of the house, saying, "Good. Lead the way."
The sound of a relieved sigh from somewhere behind him almost made him frown, but thankfully, Jeethelal had already sprung forward on the driveway, intent on getting the matter over with as quickly as possible. Shooting a thunderous look behind him at the inexperienced rabble he had had no choice but to pick, Amin followed suit, putting on his best version of a wise man who had already uncovered all the secrets of the universe.
Google had shown him the layout of the house and carefully procured architectural plans had allowed him to plan the entire thing out, but seeing the obscene wealth of his target for the first time, his breath caught in his throat.
The driveway was framed by lush gardens on either side, marred only by a few dead spots being worked on by teams of gardeners. At intervals, tall, fluted columns topped with bright lights illuminated the entire place. Flower beds arranged at intervals presented a pleasing view, their fresh fragrance wafting into the air and driving away the last vestiges of the dirt of the part of the world that belonged to those like him.
A tinkling marble fountain with the figure of a dancing woman in the middle greeted them as they came upon the house. Fat marble pillars, each big enough that they would need two people to join hands to encircle them supported a twenty-foot high balustrade. Large double doors, each as tall as two men standing on top of each other stood wide open, evidently having just been pushed by servants who stood on either side of them with their heads bowed.
Amin spotted walkie-talkies on their waists. The guard at the gate must have sent a message forward about their arrival; two maids stood in the middle of the entrance holding a tray with the exact number of glasses as there were people in their group.
A glare from the jeweler made it clear that this was standard protocol, as the man had a habit of entertaining wealthy clients inside his home. Right now, though, giving refreshments would only delay the banishment of the bane of his residence, so with a wave of his hand, he sent the maids scurrying away.
Amin could not see the faces of the four behind him, but he hoped that they were showing no outward emotion. Too many cons had been ruined by inexperienced underlings giving away signs that they were not who they were pretending to be. He had already filled their heads with dire warnings and promises of broken bones if anything went wrong, but it was still a gamble. Assuring himself that there was nothing else he could have done and swallowing down the bout of anxiety that always accompanied the most crucial stage of a con, he began his performance.
The jeweler had already hurried inside, but Amin stopped at the raised wooden frame of the door on the floor, a compulsory part of every Hindu home built in accordance with 'vastu', the Indian version of feng shui. Closing his eyes, he scrunched up his eyebrows as if trying to remember something, waiting for the tell-tale sign of his instructions being carried out.
Sure enough, one of the four behind him whom Amin had picked out for his quick hands and even quicker feet ran forward. All four were dressed in plain, white clothes, and although all of the clothes were baggy, it wasn't to a degree where anyone would suspect anything.
It all happened in the blink of a second.
Amin stamped his foot down as hard as he could, screaming wordlessly at the top of his lungs while pointing up with his right index finger.
The underling reached him with his hand outstretched, as if to support his spiritual master.
All those present turned to where he was pointing, paying no attention whatsoever to all four of his followers…
…and a massive, white cloud of swirling dust-like particles appeared at the exact spot where he pointed.
A blood-curdling scream echoed from all around them, barely recognizable as one coming from a female. The nausea-inducing, rank scent of rotting meat filled the area.
And a black face formed on the cloud, its eyes as large as melons, its mouth gaping wide, poised to swallow any and all in its way.
For a few seconds, it was as if the world stood still. One jeweler, four servants, one sadhu, and four followers all stared at the apparition, their minds fleeing to a dark corner passed down in the human psyche from a time when humanity feared the unknown and the unexplainable.
One of the servants broke the spell of silence first. He screamed, running straight out the door without a care for the world, his coworkers, or his master.
Everyone else reacted at the same time. The jeweler screamed, too, in a high-pitched voice that would have sounded perfectly normal coming from a high school girl. He ran, or rather, tried to run farther into the house before seemingly remembering that that would take him deeper into the evil spirit's abode. The other servants gave in to terror; with their nerves already on edge due to everything that had been happening recently, their minds broke down, unable to handle any more. They sank to the floor or a wall nearby, eyes unfocused and limbs shaking without pause.
In all the confusion, no one noticed the follower who had reached for the sage secreting away a cloth bag that now held only a little of the white powder it had been filled to bursting with a moment ago, or a different follower who stood further behind hiding a projector-like gadget that had been retrofitted specially for this situation. No one saw a proud grin flash across Amin's face for the briefest of seconds as he admired his handiwork, and no one saw two of the followers who had done nothing so far nod to each other and disappear into the nearest doorway.
By the time Jeethelal finally regained his senses, the white cloud had already dissipated. With a grave set to his face, Amin walked forward.
His footsteps echoed in the massive, white-walled sitting room of the mansion, built and decorated lavishly with paintings, vases, and figurines to impress all those who stepped through the door. Lamps and lanterns made to look ancient, but fitted with LED lights inside illuminated the hall well, leaving only a few pockets of darkness.
Before Jeethelal could say a word, Amin raised his hand to stop the man and declared, "There's no time to waste. The pisach has detected my presence, as you can probably tell. It tried to scare me away, but I shall not be deterred so easily. It will muster its strength, now, to strike. We must finish the ritual before that can happen, or we are all doomed!"
The jeweler stared at him dumbly, first, not comprehending a word he had said. A stern glare made him blink, and Amin could swear that he heard the gears in the man's mind turning.
Eventually, when he replied, it was in a halting tone tinged with equal parts of hope and fear.
"Please, carry on! The servants will give you anything you ask for! Do I…need to be present for the ritual? I might have a meeting to attend to…and I might get in the way! Also, my doctor…"
Yes! Luck is on my side, today!
Suppressing the thought, Amin frowned, looking as if he was pondering on the answer. The temptation to amuse himself by waiting for the man to form his half-baked excuse was strong, but the painful memories where he had ruined quite a few cons by giving in to such inane desires convinced him otherwise.
One of the first things he had learned on his journey as a conman had been to never rely on luck or doubt it when it graced a plan with its fortune. So, before the jeweler realized he was offering up his house on a silver platter, Amin gave a firm nod and said, "All right. I'll manage. I detected no hatred directed towards you, so you are not required. But if you wish to leave…I suggest you do so quickly or risk becoming a vessel for the spirit that will soon be looking to escape the might of Lord Shiva."
The answer made the jeweler let out a huge sigh of relief, at first. As he heard the warning, though, his eyes widened, and he quickly waddled away from Amin.
Without even a glance behind him, Jeethelal headed out the door. The servant who had run away seemed to have alerted the guards stationed all around the house; a team of five were waiting outside as the jeweler reached them, nervously searching their surroundings while staying away from the steps that led up to the door as if convinced that proximity would attract the ire of the evil spirit.
Amin watched as they accosted the jeweler. After rattling off a couple of instructions, he left.
With bated breath, he waited to see whether his luck would hold. The five walked up to the door, and just as it looked as if they would enter and usher in one of the worst-case scenarios that he had envisioned, they positioned themselves around the entrance with hunched shoulders and shivering backs.
More luck! No, don't question it. No guards to oversee our actions, and no Jeethelal to question anything we do. Perfect!
Pushing away the twinge of apprehension that had arisen due to things going a bit too perfectly, Amin began the next stage of the plan.
Beckoning forward the two followers who remained, he folded his hands imperiously and looked all around the house with his brows furrowed, as if trying to ferret out his target with just his gaze. The two underlings began removing all sorts of ritualistic items from their clothes, arranging them neatly on the floor at their feet.
Soon, they were surrounded by all the components that Amin could think of which were generally seen being a part of such demon-expelling liturgies. With a satisfied nod, he began making his way around the gigantic sitting area with his eyes closed, giving the impression that he was using senses beyond those gifted to most to root out the location of the spirit.
The room was so large that it took him a minute to reach the corner. He bumped into tables, sofas, and other objects that the jeweler had decorated the place with tastelessly, but knowing that he was being watched by the servants who must have recovered by now, he made it look as though he intended to stumble like a drunken man searching for a place to relieve himself after a fun night.
Eventually, he reached the corner of the room to a spot beside the grand staircase that led to a higher level. There were locked teakwood doors on both sides of the corner, leading to guest rooms that were currently empty.
It was a spot where he couldn't be seen by the guards outside, even if they turned around.
And it was also the spot that was the farthest away from their target in the bungalow.
After contemplating the floor for a few seconds, he summoned his supporters. Hastening to his side, they began arranging the materials in the manner they had discussed before. Amin oversaw the preparations, occasionally making a comment or two on the position of a coconut or the angle of a line drawn on the floor using colored powders.
He stepped back a couple of minutes later, sweating both from the lack of air-conditioning—which was ordered to be switched off when the jeweler was absent, in a bid to save money at the cost of dehydrated servants—and the palpable pre-getaway jitters that he was only barely managing to control.
Taking a deep breath, Amin walked into the middle of the modified pentagram they had drawn. The items they had brought had been carefully arranged in the pockets made by intersecting lines, and the largest space in the middle held a stool on which he took a seat.
The servants stood a few feet away, occasionally quivering, observing what was going on with shifty eyes that spent more time gazing longingly at the door through which they wished they could run. Some of them kept looking up, expecting another appearance of the evil that plagued the house, but they were only setting themselves up for disappointment.
Amin drew their attention by beginning to chant Sanskrit verses he had learned by heart from various places online. It was almost a dead language, so the chances of anyone understanding him were low, but he had still taken the precaution only to choose those lines that corresponded to exorcism-related rituals in the 'vedas', the ancient texts of India.
He made grand gestures with his hands, often throwing more of the vibrant powders into the air to symbolize his invocation of the elements which were supposed to help expel the spirit. At least, that was what he hoped it looked like; he didn't believe such stuff one bit.
Throughout the fake ritual, he kept glancing surreptitiously in a particular direction. If he were truly a perfectionist, he would have resisted the urge to do such a thing, but the nervousness that was now clearly apparent in the two followers who stood nearby was making its presence known in him, too. Thankfully, their actions could be chalked up to the fear of not finishing in time before the pisach accumulated its strength, so Amin didn't think too much of it.
Fifteen minutes later, it was one of the servants who saw it first.
"Look! Smoke!" He shouted, pointing towards the ceiling in the direction diagonally opposite to where the ritual was going on.
Amin's heart skipped a beat as he heard the man.
It's about god-damn time!
Putting all the strength of his relief into his voice, he bellowed, "There it comes! Alas, I was too late to save the house completely, but the ritual will work! It's too dangerous to be here! Everyone, run!"
He took his advice, pulling up his dhoti with both his hands and sprinting toward the door.
His followers were ahead of him. The servants followed a beat later; along with the black, acrid smoke, the screams that had stopped before also echoed down from above, pushing them to listen to the 'expert' present rather than take things into their own hands.
Reaching the door, Amin saw that the guards had already moved back. Raising his hand and pointing at the driveway, he commanded, "Run! Anyone within the grounds of the bungalow will die! Save yourselves!"
Sure enough, they ran.
The main gate lay open. The guard stationed there looked on, puzzled, as they all ran out the arch together before coming to a halt and panting with their hands on their knees.
Amin was only slightly out of breath, but he kept up the act. Years of experience running away from danger had given him endurance that few could match at his age. Looking around, he spotted the two who had disappeared before.
Their barely concealed grins told him all he needed to know.
Straightening himself, Amin turned to the guards, gardeners, and servants who were all looking at the bungalow with terror.
"Do not worry! The pisach will be defeated! Give it time. It will destroy what it pleases in the house, but you have nothing to fear! Your master knows where to find me."
With that, he turned away and walked off to the nondescript car that waited nearby.
Before anyone could react, he had gotten in along with the four he had come with. Barely a few seconds later, the car disappeared from view among the traffic on the busy highway.
Unbeknownst to those staring in the direction it had gone, all the inhabitants of the car were laughing merrily, savoring the joy of a con well-executed.
Amin held a pouch in his hands. It had just been handed to him by one of those who had disappeared initially. He kept squeezing its contents, ensuring himself that the gems he felt within were real.
Jackpot! With this much, maybe I can finally start searching for them…
His thoughts were interrupted by the quintessential question that was always on the mind of everyone after a successful heist.
"How much?"
Although he knew the possible answer, it made him suck in a breath and stare.
"At least six crores, in total. If we choose that American jeweler, we might even get a better price! A million dollars, at least! We're rich! We even have the time to bargain 'cos of the perfect plan! Jeethelal will only find ash in his vault…he'll hesitate before going to the cops, thinking it's the spirit's handiwork! It's brilliant!"
Cheers broke out all around him. Amin remained silent, but the glow in his eyes was enough to show just how exhilarated he was.
"FUCK!"
A sudden shout made them all turn to the front. They had turned onto a muddy side-road as planned to throw off anyone who might be following in case their getaway hadn't been clean. It was only large enough to fit one vehicle; such roads were common all over India, often present to be used by locals who had traversed them before the word 'highway' was even heard anywhere in the country.
The tires squealed as the vehicle came to a sudden halt. The headlights cut through the darkness, their beams falling upon a plastic barrier typically used by the police to section off areas where roadwork was being done.
A man calmly walked out of the darkness into the pool of light cast by the car. Five more followed a second later.
They all held guns pointed straight at them.
Amin's mind had gone blank as soon as he had seen the barrier. A familiar sense of abject danger pricked his mind, making him blink hard and focus.
He looked at the others in the car. At first glance, all of them looked just as stunned as he felt. Yet, on closer observation, there was one who was barely pulling the act off.
He had been betrayed.
This fucker! I gave him a chance to climb out of poverty, and he repays my kindness by stabbing ME in the back? I'll kill him! I'll…
A gunshot made his mind grind to a halt. The driver slumped forward, dead, onto the steering wheel, blaring the horn with his motionless chest.
A bullet fired from a different gun hit the one sitting in the passenger seat. Amin watched as the man he had chosen for his quick legs choked on his blood, clearly not quick enough to outrun his death.
A glance at the one who had sold them out made it obvious that things weren't going according to plan. The double-crosser had been double-crossed, too, but Amin didn't find it in him to pity the man.
He was sitting in the middle, so there was nothing he could do while the others scrambled for the door. Sadly, the attackers were prepared; two of them walked up to the two windows before the doors could open fully. Two point-blank gunshots finished off the last two members of Amin's motley crew.
There was nowhere to go. Nothing to do. Nothing to say to escape the cold-blooded killers, but he couldn't go down without at least trying something.
"Stop! I've hidden away some of the jewels we stole! You won't find them if you kill me!"
The gunman paused, hesitating, but a voice from somewhere nearby made him growl and push the barrel closer to Amin's head.
"He's bluffing. Haven't you heard of him before? The great mastermind with a higher success rate than most con artists on the streets of all of India. It's a pity, but money is money. Get on with it."
Amin's heart thumped in his chest, convinced that it only had a few more seconds before it would be forced to stop. He still couldn't believe that this was happening; even as death stared him down, he kept analyzing every step he had taken, trying to find out where his planning had gone wrong as if he would have a chance to not repeat the same mistake in the next con.
The bullet that entered his stomach finally awakened him to reality.
He gasped as he felt the red-hot, burning sensation of skin and flesh being forced apart by reinforced metal intent on destroying everything in its path.
The gunman laughed, his tobacco-stained teeth shining in the moonlight while he gestured at his friends, showing off how much of a bad-ass he was.
More began to emerge from the shrubbery around the narrow road, chuckling at his fate that was now sealed. He had heard that it was a fatal wound if not addressed, and the chances of any of these killers suddenly having a change of heart was too damn low.
He clutched at the wound, trying desperately to stop the flow of blood. He was growing weaker by the second, the pain sapping away at his reserves with a singular determination to leave nothing behind but the desire to have it all end.
He tried to order his thoughts. He could tell that he was in shock; a big part of him was still trying to search for explanations, still wondering whether this was a dream, but the rest of him knew that this was the end.
They ignored him, knowing that he would die in a few minutes, knowing that he was too busy dying to do anything that could hamper their mission. As he watched them search the pockets of the dead around him, thoughts struggled to form in his mind.
It's…over. Everyone knows this will happen sooner or later…but I thought I had time. This…has been my entire life. Scrounging for wealth. Trying to gather as much of it as I could. There was no other meaning to it. No other purpose. I spent most of my life figuring out how to conserve what I had stolen or looking for ways to steal more. It was all for the goal I set for my life, for the people I swore to find…but this is all that it boils down to. I don't remember EVER feeling just…free. Free of obligations, free of concern. And now I'm going to die. If only I could fly away from everything, just once, like the birds that were my only friends for so long…
His vision swam. He was breathing in labored gasps. He couldn't even feel most of his body.
Yet his eyes were fixated on the sky through the window, and that last thought echoed over and over again, growing stronger each time it was repeated fervently by his half-delirious mind.
Seconds felt like hours. Minutes felt like days. But the singular focus that Amin felt did not waver, only growing stronger as if feeding on his lifeforce.
At last, the thought grew so strong that he couldn't hold it in any longer. He opened his mouth, coughing on the blood that welled up in his throat, and although no one could understand what he was saying, he roared out his wish.
"I WANT TO BE FREE! I WANT TO FLY!"
A massive, white streak of light suddenly appeared in the sky, blinding him with its brilliance. He closed his eyes, and a second later, he felt strangely weightless.
Er…did I become a ghost?
It was a relevant question as he did have a lot of unfinished business, but the pain was still present. Hesitantly, he opened his eyes.
He was still in the car, but his perspective was different. It took a moment to understand why this was, and when the realization struck home, his throat went dry.
I'm…floating?! How?
His eyes still adjusting, he felt himself moving toward the open window of the car. The impulse to get away still filled his mind, driving his movement subliminally, although he had no idea how any of this was happening or even whether it really was.
He paused after exiting the car. His vision focused on the sky, and his wish echoed again in his mind.
The world lurched into motion. It became a blur, and the impact of moving while bleeding so much almost made him blackout.
Perhaps he did lose consciousness as coherent thoughts only formed in his mind quite a while later, his senses telling him that he was now still.
He opened his eyes. The moon filled his vision. In a daze, he stared.
He took in the stars, twinkling brighter than he had ever seen them. He took in the clouds, arrayed below him rather than above. He breathed in the sweet, sweet night air, half-convinced that this was just a hallucination.
Then, his stomach sank as old man gravity took effect and pulled him down, eliciting a scream swallowed by the wind as he plunged to the earth below.