Chapter 12: The Ghost in the Machine
The jail smelled of fresh paint and fear.
For three days, the inmates had been forced to scrub the floors, whitewash the walls, and trim the weeds in the yard. The rotting smell of the latrines was covered by the sharp chemical scent of bleach.
It was Independence Day. The Minister for Urban Development was coming to hoist the flag.
Arjun stood in the third row of the assembly line in the main courtyard. The sun was at its zenith, a brutal white fire hammering down on the hundreds of prisoners standing in formation.
Arjun didn't sweat. He didn't shift his weight. He stood perfectly still, his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on the empty podium draped in the tricolor.
Beside him, Shiva was vibrating with tension. His fists were clenched so tight the knuckles were white.
"Relax," Arjun whispered, his lips barely moving. "You're a rock, Shiva. Rocks don't shake."
"He's coming," Shiva growled low in his throat. "The man who killed your parents. He's going to walk right in front of us. One snap of the neck, Arjun. I can do it before the guards even blink."
"And then what?" Arjun's voice was ice cold. "We die in a hail of bullets. He gets a state funeral. He wins. We wait."
Sirens wailed in the distance, getting louder.
The heavy iron gates groaned open. A convoy of five white SUVs rolled in, kicking up dust. The red beacon on the lead car flashed lazily.
The car doors opened.
Virendar Rao stepped out.
He had aged in four years. His hair was grayer, his belly a little rounder, but the arrogance was exactly the same. He wore pristine white khadi, a stark contrast to the dirty prison uniforms. He waved to the Warden, flashing that same oily smile that had haunted Arjun's nightmares for one thousand four hundred nights.
Arjun watched him.
Inside Arjun's chest, a nuclear reactor was melting down. The image of the burning car flashed in his mind. The image of his mother's bloodied face. The image of the knife sinking into Rao's gut on the stage.
His heart rate spiked. His vision tunneled. Every instinct in his body screamed: KILL HIM.
But Arjun didn't move. He forced his breathing to slow down. Inhale. Exhale.
He wasn't the fourteen-year-old boy who acted on impulse anymore. He was a strategist. He was a shark waiting for the blood in the water.
Rao walked up to the podium. He gave a speech about redemption, about how the state cares for its lost sheep. It was garbage. Hypocritical noise.
After the speech, the Warden—a sycophant named Mr. Reddy—guided Rao toward the prisoners for the "inspection."
"These are the inmates from the high-security block, Sir," Reddy explained, bowing slightly. "Good conduct prisoners."
Rao nodded, walking down the lines, looking at the prisoners like they were zoo animals. He stopped occasionally to ask a question, pretending to care.
He was getting closer.
Ten feet. Five feet.
He stopped right in front of the line where Arjun stood.
Rao looked at Shiva first. He frowned at the sheer size of the man.
"What is this one in for?" Rao asked the Warden.
"Double homicide, Sir. Gang violence," the Warden answered nervously.
Rao nodded and moved one step to the right.
He was standing directly in front of Arjun.
Arjun towered over him. At six-foot-one, Arjun had to look down slightly to meet the Minister's eyes. His broad shoulders blocked out the sun, casting a shadow over Rao.
Rao looked up. He squinted against the glare.
He saw a tall, fair-skinned young man with muscles that strained against the rough prison cotton. He saw a face that was handsome but hard as granite. He saw eyes that were devoid of any soul.
Rao didn't see the skinny, weeping fourteen-year-old boy he had framed four years ago. That boy was dead. This was a stranger. A dangerous stranger.
"And you?" Rao asked, his voice losing some of its political polish. He felt unsettled by the inmate's gaze. "You look educated. You don't look like the others. What is your crime?"
Arjun looked straight into Rao's pupils. He saw the tiny red veins in the whites of Rao's eyes. He saw the sweat on his forehead.
He could reach out and crush Rao's windpipe right now. It would be so easy.
Arjun's face remained a mask of stone.
"I made a mistake," Arjun said. His voice was deep, calm, and resonant. "I tried to fix a problem too early."
Rao frowned. He didn't understand the answer. He sensed a threat in the tone, but he couldn't place it. There was something familiar about the intensity, but the face... the face was new.
"A mistake," Rao repeated slowly. "Well. Prison is the place for penance. You are young. You have a long life. Don't waste it on anger."
Arjun smiled. It was a terrifyingly faint smile.
"I'm not wasting anything, Sir. I'm investing."
Rao stared at him for a second longer. A shiver of unease crawled up his spine. He cleared his throat and looked away, breaking the eye contact.
"Right. Good luck," Rao muttered, moving down the line quickly. He wanted to get away from this one.
Arjun watched him walk away. He watched the back of Rao's neck.
I could have killed you, Arjun thought. I stood in your shadow, and you didn't even know who I was. You forgot me.
That was the ultimate insult. To Rao, destroying Arjun's family was just a Tuesday. It was so insignificant he didn't even remember the survivors.
The Warden ushered Rao toward the exit. The convoy loaded up. The sirens wailed again, and the heavy gates closed.
The silence returned to the courtyard.
Shiva let out a breath he had been holding for ten minutes. He turned to look at Arjun.
"He didn't know you," Shiva whispered, shocked. "He looked right at you, and he saw nothing."
Arjun unclenched his hands. His palms were bleeding where his fingernails had dug into the skin.
"He sees what he wants to see," Arjun said quietly. "He sees a convict. A nobody."
Arjun turned around and started walking back to the barrack. The other prisoners parted way for him, sensing the dark aura radiating off him.
"This is good, Shiva," Arjun said, his voice dropping to a whisper. "If he knew who I was, he would have had me killed in my cell tonight. But now... now we have the element of surprise."
"He told you not to waste your life on anger," Shiva scoffed.
Arjun stopped at the door of the barrack. He looked at the high walls of the prison.
"I'm not angry anymore, Shiva."
Arjun looked at his hand, wiping the blood from his palm.
"I'm just hungry."
He walked into the darkness of the cell.
The inspection was over. The Minister had come, he had seen, and he had left alive.
But he had made a fatal error. He had looked the Devil in the eye and mistaken him for a ghost.
And ghosts always come back to haunt you.