Red Of Her Words

I

Krish wasn’t sure if it would rain that night. The clouds had showed up over the city even in the night. Cold winds abounded and everything they touched, froze. Frost on the corners of the windshield were unmissable, but Krish didn’t notice them. He was too engaged with his heart.

In the cold, his heart beat fast. It wasn’t because of the cold though. It was because of what was in his left pocket. A million scenarios ran in his head with the speed of light. He hadn’t thought of anything, much less rehearsed it. He was sure he would mess it up. Or worse, she’d say no. 

The thought sent a shiver down his body. Getting tongue tied was another possibility. It was an effect she had on him. It was fairly common on dinner dates, the kind they were having that night. No matter if they went out, or they were at home to celebrate, she would be breathtaking. 

His hands got clammy at the thought of her, like the first time he had seen her in the club a few years ago. Since then their relationship had taken long strides. They had gone from one date a week, to two, to spending weekends together and finally moving in. It wasn’t an instant love, it did take time but the way they clicked in their first meeting, Krish had a suspicion that their relationship would last long. And that night, they would take yet another stride. 

The traffic that night was slower than usual. It didn’t seem to want to do anything other than exist. Krish’s incessant taps on the steering wheel turned to forceful ticks. He looked at his watch, which didn’t give him any reassurance. He honked at the car in front of him, but what good would that bring? It was as stuck as the car in front of it. Krish sighed and leaned back. He was late already, and now he had to sit there, bathed in red.

Finally when the traffic moved, Krish floored the accelerator and sped towards his house. At the corner, he caught a glimpse of a person entering his house. He wasn’t sure who it was, but he had seen the door close. Maybe his eyes played tricks on him, or Samaira got out to check if he was coming around and had gone in. Most probably she had seen his car. Samaira was perceptible in that way.

All of it didn’t give him enough time. He rushed out of the car, brown coat over black tuxedo, and headed towards the door. He made sure that he had the ring box, and knocked on the door. 

There was no response, he knocked again. “Samaira?”

The most beautiful being in the world opened the door for him in a red dress. He wouldn’t call her a human, she was too perfect to be one. Red hugged her body as if they were his own arms. Sweet brown eyes like melted chocolate invited him in. He wouldn’t mind a taste, even if they would drown him later on. Smooth copper skin, soft, but prominent jawline, on top of a figure that was unapologetic about its diet. Many girls would kill to have what Samaira did, and Krish wasn’t talking about himself.

Samaira smiled. She ran a hand through her hair open behind her back. 

“It’s really you!” She said out of breath. 

“Yeah, are you okay?” Krish tilted his head. Samaira had her hands behind her back, as if she was hiding something. 

“Of course, here let me take this.” She helped him take off his coat. Krish could see what she had in her hand. It was a metallic needle, the end of which she had concealed in her hand.

“I’ll go and freshen up,” Krish said, suddenly unable to control his nerves. It was another one of Samaira’s effects. 

Samaira didn’t answer right away, and when she did, there were streaks of doubt painted all over her. “Okay…”

Krish entered the washroom and opened the tap, so Samaira wouldn’t hear him. He placed the box on the counter and took out the ring. He held the ring to his reflection in the mirror and said, “Samaira, will you—”

The shower curtain behind him opened and revealed Samaira leaning back against the wall. 

“Samaira!” Krish’s eyes widened and he rushed to her side.

Samaira’s one hand was on her side. Blood trickled over her red dress from under the fingers. Pale and disheveled, she moaned in pain and fell back.

“Krish,” her eyes fluttered to him. “Krish, you’re here…”

“H-How did this happen?” Krish’s body shook. No one is ever prepared to see the one they love in a condition like that. Especially special situations.

“Listen to me, Krish.” Samaira tried to stand but Krish eased her back down. “The woman out there is a spirit. Her name is Elisum. She wants to kill me.”

Krish frowned. “I don’t understand. The woman—”

“Looks exactly like me, I know. Elisum is the spirit of deception. That’s what she does. She takes the form of the person you love the most and tricks you. She came in here dressed as you and used a needle to stab me.” 

“The hair stick, ” Krish thought back. The way Samaira had hidden it from him, as if there was something on the tip. Something red.

“Help me, Krish.” Samaira continued. “We have to kill her.” 

Krish stared at her. 

“Kill? I-I can’t do that. I can’t take her life. It’s Samaira.”

“It’s an imposter. I’m your Samaira.” She insists.

“How do I know you’re not the imposter? How do I know that this isn’t a trick right now?”

“Because even the best of imposters cannot fake love. Look into my eyes and see the love I have for you, Krish.” 

And Krish looked. He found it. Mixed with the pain it was, her love for him. It was there, among other emotions of anger and melancholy. Misery buried so deep Krish didn’t have any answer for it. But he had found what he was looking for, and he stood up. He took one last look at the love of his life and opened the door.

There were a lot of things he was ready to do for his love, but he’d never imagined killing. It was time he got red.

II

Samaira tied her hair in a bun as she moved to the window. She knew it was not going to rain that night. It would snow. Shimla’s weather was playful and deceptive in that sense. It was getting too warm for comfort. She opened the window to let the cold come in. As the wind rushed in, Samaira hugged herself. The red dress she wore wasn’t made for the cold. It was much more for aesthetics than practicality. 

The night was as special for her as she dressed, a deep V-neck with a slit at the side to show just a bit of skin. She wasn’t going out, though. The night wasn’t about impressing a crowd of young, single men, but her boyfriend. That’s the sort of thing you do when you live with the person you love. You dress up for them, you make normal nights special, and not because they are perfect; Krish had his flaws but the way he made her feel was the best feeling. 

That night, though, the air wasn’t just cold. It had a metallic taste, like a storm approaching. A tiny part of her was doused in doubt still. The part of her life that she hadn’t let anyone see was going to be exposed that night. It was way different than what she had with Krish. Danger was the first thing that came to mind when she tried to describe it in one word. And she wanted to tell him. She didn’t want him to wonder one day why she hadn’t come back from “work” or discover the weapons in her basement one day. 

Nervous fingers played with her pendant as she stared off into the dark.  It was cold against her hot copper skin. Lights from the dark city didn’t give her the usual comfort. False shapes danced in the dark in front of her eyes. Krish wasn’t home yet. Why wasn’t he? Samaira took a deep breath and reminded herself to be calm. Still, she couldn’t stop the tingle in her fingertips.

A knock on the door pulled her out. Her heart thumped against her chest.  She opened the door and her heart fluttered. Krish tilted his head and smiled. A bouquet of roses in his hands made his black tux all the sexier. 

He held out the roses. “For the beautiful one.”

Her heart did a somersault. She took hold of the roses. Krish didn’t move, causing Samaira to look up in his eyes. 

She froze. He smiled. 

Samaira blinked but kept her smile. 

“Where is your coat?” asked Samaira. “It’s so cold out there.”

“Oh, I left it in the car.” Krish tried to walk in, but Samaira stood in front of him. He raised an eyebrow.

“You should bring it,” she said. Krish stared, but Samaira could tell he wasn’t looking in her eyes, or at her face. His eyes were on her pendant. The amethyst gem hadn’t fascinated him that much before. Now it was all he could see. 

“Distracted?” she waved her hand in front of him.

“Yeah,” Krish gave a sheepish grin.

Samaira reached behind her and pulled out the needle that held her bun in place. She shook her head lightly and let her silky, brown hair fall. “And now?”

“Breathtaking.” He smiled and closed in to kiss her.

“And how about I wear those ruby earrings you bought me yesterday?” She whispered.

“You’ll look fabulous in them.” Their breaths mingled. Samaira giggled. 

Her hands tightened around the needle. 

“Every girl wants to hear that.” She looked up in his eyes just to confirm. There it was. Malice.

She struck him in the gut. “Except the girl who doesn’t have the earrings?”

He stopped her with inhuman strength and agility. 

“What are you doing?” The imposter gritted his teeth. 

Samaira pulled him towards herself. She turned to grab him by his neck and pushed the needle against his neck. “You tell me that. And why do you want my pendent?” 

“I wouldn’t tell you that, no matter how much you stab me.” He cried.

Samaira pushed him against the wall and stabbed him in the stomach. “Thanks for the idea.”

The imposter, despite being in pain, smiled. His white teeth gleamed. 

“What are you smiling for?”

“Because I won.”

A knock on the door distracted Samaira. The stranger pushed her back and ran. Samaira got up quickly but he was gone by then. 

Another knock on the door, followed by a concerned voice. “Samaira?”

Krish was here, the real one. But where was the imposter?

III

Krish opened his eyes to a dark, wooden door. He opened it to his living room, cool and dim, except for a few soft lights in the corners. 

In the center of the room was a cloth covered table, and sitting on a chair, was the most beautiful woman he had seen, wearing a red dress and smiling at him. 

“Good you’re on time. The food’s getting cold.” Her voice was sweet as honey.

Krish frowned. “Wait—” 

“Come on now, I don’t want to waste more time.”

Krish relented and sat down. Fancy plates, food, cutlery, everything lined up, except for the little brown totem, a small wooden figurine of a baby holding a clock, at the center of the table.

Krish shook his head and smiled at Samaira, who smiled back. 

“You look beautiful.”

“Thank you, dear.” said Samaira.

“I can’t help but love you so, so much.”

“Me too. I love you more everyday. I fall for you again and again, Krish.”

Blood ran to Krish’s cheeks. “Samaira…”

“I’m the luckiest woman alive…” Samaira’s words turned Krish’s ears red.

“Sam—”

Samaira gasped. Her eyes wide and full of tears. Her voice turned into a squeal, as if she was being strangled. “Krish, why did you do this to me?”

“Samaira, what are you—” The next second, Samaira held a big knife in her hand. 

“I thought you loved me!” Samaira cried out.

In a blink, the knife was in her chest. Rattled, Krish fell down from his chair and backed away. His legs turned cold, eyes wide and throat closed up as if he was being choked. 

A green wave spread from the table, and engulfed Krish. When he opened his eyes, he was at the table again.

Samaira giggled. “Am I that pretty that you cannot take your eyes off me?”

Samaira was in front of him, alive. The knife was nowhere to be seen. 

“Yeah.” He croaked. 

“Thank you, dear.” Samaria said. “You know, I’m the luckiest woman alive.” 

It dawned on him what was going to happen next. “Sam—”

Samaira gasped. “Krish, why did you do this to me?”

The knife appeared in her hand again. 

Krish grabbed her wrist. “Samaira, don’t!”

He pulled at it with all his might, but in vain. His will broke into pieces as he saw his efforts fail. 

The knife appeared in her chest again.

Krish climbed over the table, trying to yank it out but the knife didn’t budge. Through his desperate attempts, Krish felt the tightness around his neck again.

The totem rattled on the table and the green wave spewed out. 

“Samaira!” Krish yelled.

He opened his eyes to find himself at the table again.

“Are you okay?” asked Samaira, alive and well.

Shaking, Krish looked down at the totem. He glanced back at Samaira with a look of mania. 

“Krish…?”

Krish grabbed the totem. “Where did you get this?” 

“You didn’t like what you saw?” A deep, hollow voice emanated from the totem. Krish stared at it. “Maybe you shouldn’t have killed her.”

Krish’s eyes widened. The knife, stabbing Samaira, realizing he had been tricked, hanging himself with a rope, it all came crashing down on him. 

“You killed her because you didn’t trust her to be real. I am the lord of the Underworld and this is your hell now. Watch her die, over and over again.” 

“No!” Krish’s hand tightened around the totem and he smashed it on the floor, shattering it into pieces.

Samaira gasped.

Krish turned to look at her. His knees weakened. Her eyes tore away at his soul. 

“No…” Krish whispered. “Please, don’t.”

With the knife in her hand, she spoke. “I thought you loved me.”

Samaira collapsed on the floor, eyes wide open, bleeding. Krish broke down beside her, crying.

“Krish?” Samaira’s voice came.

Krish looked up. He was back at the table. The totem was intact. Samaira was alive.

Samaira smiled. “Eat up, it’s going to be a long night.”

Epilogue

He hated the word Devil, but it came with the job. Yes, he punished the wicked, yes he ruled the sprawling land that was under the living world. That’s why he liked the title more than the common assumption. The lord of the Underworld. 

The Lord of the Underworld closed the gate. He fingered the obsidian on the cuffs of his shirt lost in thought. He hadn’t seen those things for the first time. Boyfriends killing their girlfriends. A fit of mania, hallucinations, or blinding rage, there were a lot of ways he could justify what he had seen, but at the same time, he could not shake off the feeling that something was off. An uncomfortable wind blew through the passage he stood in. He hoped it was not related to what he had seen. The last thing he needed was another complication.

He shrugged the feeling off and moved on. The narrow passage gave just enough space for one person to walk. If someone would look from the top, the passages would morph into vines that snaked along the floor to the palace in the centre of it all. The gates, which housed a soul getting punished, opened away from the passage and into the rooms. A change he had to make after the last time the passages got narrower, because some idiot humans decided that one war wasn’t enough for humanity. 

The Lord of the Underworld chuckled.

A bark echoed through the passages as his body stiffened. There wasn’t much that got a reaction out of him, except an urgent bark of a hellhound. Moments later a black dog came running. It was about the size of a motorcycle and had a trail of orange fire that erupted from his head and ran down to its tail. As it came to a stop, he noticed the fires behind the hellhound’s feet were dim. 

It barked again and he knew he had to go. He touched it’s head and space and time warped around them. The next moment, they were in the main hall in his palace. They ran to the end, where the four judges of the Underworld stood facing his throne.  

“What is going on in here?” He didn’t need to raise his voice. The judges turned, and parted away from the throne. He glared at them. “Why are-” 

The glare dissolved as soon as his  eyes fell on the throne. There was a crack in it. A crack not longer than an inch in size, yet it was enough to evoke an emotion that, over the millenia, the Lord of the Underworld had not experienced. Terror.

“My lord,” one of the judges spoke. “Is this normal?”

He turned with a renewed anger. “It is not, Bavius I can assure you that. All four judges here, without my word? The souls have been left unattended.”

“But your lordship, we had a feeling.” Bavius argued.

His eyes burned with deep purple fires, literally. “Let me tell you what I feel. I feel like responding to this behaviour with strict action. It’s too bad all four of you would be busy judging souls.”

“All four of us?” Another choked. “Isn’t that a bit unusual?”

“It isn’t seeing how many souls go unjudged the longer you four stay here. Scram!” 

The four judges scampered off to their circles and collapsed into black smoke. 

His attention turned to the throne again. The hellhound climbed up and sniffed the crack. Even though it didn’t seem to like its existence it stayed there, something he would have objected to under normal circumstances.

The longer he stared at the crack, the more it spoke to him. He could read it well. “The Unraveling is upon us, again.” 

His eyes turned to the hellhound. “It has to be stopped. Alert the witches. Tell them to find out what this is about and put an end to this.”

The hellhound jumped off the chair and bounded for the door. The Lord of the Underworld was alone staring at the crack for what felt like a long night.