Megha stood at the door, looking through the keyhole and screaming from time to time that they were going to kill her, while I sat at my table reading Hardy’s ‘Far From the Maddening Crowd’.
Megha hadn’t had left my room for last two days and all she did during those two days was screaming after every few minutes that they were going to kill her. She didn’t allow me to leave the room too.
I heard a noise, and as I looked down from my window to spot a white van standing at our gate, she made an unearthly scream, widening her eyes and tearing her lungs: “They are here! Save me, Rory! Hide me under your skin.”
I told her that no one was going to kill her, but she wouldn’t listen and there were footsteps approaching my door.
“They are here,” she whispered into my ears, shivering, and hid behind the curtains.
“Open the door, Rory,” I heard my mother say.
“What do you want?”
“I have brought food,” she said.
“I am not hungry.”
A second later, my door was torn down and four men tied me to a stretcher and took me away, while Megha stood behind the curtain, staring at me from a corner. Her eyes were as wide as they could be.
She was inside the ambulance as they were taking me, saying they were going to kill her. She was in the corridors of the hospital, screaming that they were going to kill her. She was inside my room nights after nights after everyone would fall asleep reminding me that they were going to kill her. But one day, I couldn’t find her anymore.
After nine months I was taken out of my hospital room to a garden, and a tall man asked me, handing me a glass of lemonade and staring at the clouds.
“When did you first see her?”
“I was six years old. Matthew had broken my nose. I was bleeding. I ran behind the school building to cry alone, and Megha was there. She gave me her handkerchief. She treated me well. She always treated me well. I cannot remember anything without her.”
“When was the last time you saw her?” he said.
“Five months ago, in the corridor, not looking at me but staring outside a window. She wasn’t screaming anymore.”
I noticed a wicked smile on his face at this point.
“Your mother wants to take you home,” he said. “Megha wouldn’t bother you again.”
“Bother?” I stared miserably at his face. I had never felt lonelier.
(Follow the writers facebook page ‘Rhymes Of Ron’e’ to read more stories written by him).