Imran Syed was sitting on the closed toilet lid in his bathroom, staring down the muzzle of a point 357 gun. The round black hole of the gun looked very large, which worried him. Worse yet , the toilet faced the big mirror on the sliding doors that enclosed the bathtub ,and he wasn't too keen on watching his own snuff film. He thought about it for a minute, then got into the bathtub and slid the doors closed behind him.
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He smiled a little as he aimed the shower nozzle toward the back of the tub and turned the spray on full blast. He may have made a mess of his life but he sure as hell wasn't going to make a mess of his death.
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Satisfied he sat down in the tub and put the muzzle in his mouth ,water poured over his head, his clothes, his shoes.
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He hesitated for just a few seconds wondering again what if anything he'd done last night. Not that it would matter now ,he thought, slipping his thumb through the trigger guard.
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"Mr. Syed?"
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Imran froze, his thumb quivering on the trigger. Goddamn it, he was hallucinating. He had to be. No one ever came to the house and certain no one would just let himself in.
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"Mr. Syed?" The male voice was loud and now ,closer and he sounded young.
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"Are you in there, sir? " a forceful knock rattled the bathroom door in its frame.
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The gun tasted terrible has he pulled it from the mouth and spat into the water swirling around the drain.
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'Who is it?' he shouted, trying his best to sound scary and aggressive.
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"Sorry to disturb you Mr. Syed, but Mrs. Singh told me to break the door down if I had to.."
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"Who the hell are you? And how do you know Anushka? Imran shouted
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"Yash Kumar, Sir? I work at the Singh mansion?"
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The kid spoke only in questions. God, that was irritating. Imran looked down at the gun and sighed. He was never going to get this done.
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"Stay right where you are. I'll be out in a minute."
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He scrambled out of the tub, stripped out of his drenched clothes, then stuffed gun, clothes and shoes into the hamper. He wrapped the towel around his waist, then opened the bathroom door.
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A tall, good looking kid- 18 or 19 at most- was standing awkwardly in the hallway, hands stuffed into his jeans pockets.
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"Okay, Here I am. Now tell me why Anushka wanted you to break my door down?"
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Yash Kumar had big brown eyes that grew comically wide when he noticed the thick scar that slashed a diagonal across Imran's bare chest. He looked away quickly.
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"Uh.... I didn't actually break down your door? It was open? And Mrs Singh has been trying to call you forever , but no one answered your phone? And jeez, Mr. Syed, I'm really sorry, but Mr. Singh was murdered and he passed away."
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Imran didn't move for a minute; didn't even blink; then he rubbed the heel of his hand hard in his forehead, as if it would help him absorb the information.
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"What?" he whispered. "Vivaan's dead? Murdered?"
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The kid pressed his lips together and scowled at the floor, trying not to cry and Imran's opinion of him shot up a few degrees, even if he did end every sentence with a question mark. Anyone who liked Vivaan enough to cry couldn't be all bad.
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"He was behe....... behe..ad..ed." his voice chokes and he really didn't want to give the gruesome details of the tragedy.
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Imran didn't say anything, but he felt the blood drain from his face as if someone had just pulled a plug. He sagged sideways against the bathroom door frame, glad it was there to hold him up.
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God, he hated this world.
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