Ankit let out a nervous sigh as he fiddled with the car keys, trying to turn them to cut the engine. Today was his meeting with his hopefully future publisher, He quickly stuffed them into his pocket as he stepped out of his car. The air outside was cold and immediately bit into his skin as he closed the door, adding tenseness to his already nervous muscles. The moon seemed to gloat at him, as he gazed up, the rays seemed to bounce tension free, carefree onto the road, innocent and childlike, their proud mother gloated of their happiness, a happiness which probably was only meant for the ethereal, a happiness which probably was just one of the many unattainable dreams that us mortals wish for, looking up at the night sky. Happiness is infectious, even if the other is gloating on it, and hence the moon is a highly romanticised figure since the ages, but Ankit, now was just annoyed at the moon, it seemed to provide no comfort, only envy. Ankit clutched at the bouquet of flowers as he briskly walked up the stairs to the house. His breath grew deeper as he approached the gate, it was a rather secluded part of the suburbs of the city, not many houses surrounding the area, a thick mist had enveloped the entire neighbourhood, covering one’s view into the distance, and giving aid to the biting winter.
He was now positively jittery as he rang the doorbell, he waited, his fears now trebling themselves before his eyes, the vast possibilities of all that could happen now prostrating themselves before his vision, and him just reminding himself how he was just overreacting. His reverie was broken as the gate opened and an elderly gentleman stepped out, holding a pipe between his teeth, eyes adorning a pair of rimmed spectacles, wearing a flowy robe and some burgundy pants to match his robe. He slowly removed the pipe and looked at him questioningly. Ankit was now a bit hysterical as he introduced himself, smiling a bit so for it not to be awkward. Mr Saeed reciprocated the smile, inviting him into the house. The house seemed to be quite large, brown tapestries and wallpaper, dark yellow carpets, and sullen paintings adorning the walls, Ankit observed as he walked along side Mr. Saeed, who had indulged himself in narrating all the possible stories he could about his house, which was according to him the mansion of the once well infamous English colonel Saunders, known for having brutally massacred an entire family of 7. Mr. Saeed continued, “I understand that you are interested in getting your book published?” Ankit suddenly realised that the ball had dropped. He smiled his awkward smile again. “why, yes sir, i..uh..just…just was going to uh talk about that,” he fumbled in a disoriented nervous voice. Mr Saeed chuckled. He stopped suddenly before a well-lit room at the very end of the hallway. He turned and asked politely, “My wife/attorney would be joining us shortly, you wouldn’t mind me pouring a drink for us both would you?” Ankit nodded. He could use a drink after that jargon he had just espoused. He thought to himself. Mr Saeed paced to the other end of the room where a small bar structure had been constructed. “I read the manuscript Mr Ankit, wonderful craftsmanship, ‘the perfect murder’!” he laughed a little, “seems rather cheesy but ends up being poetic, something the readers would not be expecting if you ask me, oh! Mind my manners, wine is okay with you right son?” Mr Saeed shot an approving look to Ankit who now heaved a sigh of relief. “why of course sir, it’s all I drink!” Ankit took the glass of the white wine before seating himself at the sofa. Mr Saeed now took a sip before setting the glass down. “why don’t we carry the glasses to the dinner table, Mr Ankit, I was just preparing the meal before you got here, you see my wife is a little late.” “why yes sir, I don’t see a reason as to not” Ankit fumbled with the glass, spilling a bit over the table, “oh, I’m so sorry sir, really didn’t mean to…” “that’s quite all right, the maid will change the sheet tomorrow, I’ve got quite plenty of them” Mr Saeed smirked as he got up.
They both got out of the room, starting to walk toward the dining room. Ankit stood bewildered for a bit, as Mr Saeed turned the lights on, it was the biggest, most lavish dining room he had seen! The backs of the chairs were plated with gold. The table was enormously long. A huge chandelier adorned the ceiling. The walls were covered with fancy paintings and expensive Victorian decorations, Mr Saeed smirked again as he pulled himself a seat. Ankit gulped as he took it all in. “grab a seat son, what are you waiting for?” Ankit moved over to the seat in front of Mr Saeed’s on the opposite side. “let me ask you something Mr Ankit. What do you think would be the perfect murder?” Ankit chortled as he took a bite of the fine meat that lay before him, “well, sir, I hope I know the answer, I mean, I did write the book!” Mr Saeed didn’t laugh, he quickly took another bite, Ankit looked down, his heart suddenly beating fast, had he offended him? He wondered. Mr Saeed spoke up, Ankit looked as his ears cocked suddenly. “I think there is a darkness in everyone, a void, bloodlust is our most primal instinct and to commit it should appear natural. The perfect murder would be that.” Ankit leaned forward, “I agree sir, in the book to….” Mr Saeed cut him short, “they glorify serial killers on their ways of committing the murder, its like thug behram with his handkerchief, or there is jack the ripper with his slicing and gouging, Jefferey Dahmer with his offerings to Satan, I mean, what is the glory of perfection in that? The perfect cover-up for the murder. if anyone were to find the damned body, how is it perfection?!” Mr Saeed now shouted rather passionately and furiously. Ankit sat back, rather taken aback with his passion on the subject. Ankit asked him now, “sir, perhaps we shouldn’t hurry for when your wife gets here, she may…” “hear a story Mr Ankit, see, there is a man, he works at his own business, he earns good money, his children have long settled abroad, he has a wonderful second wife, she is a young thing, they both enjoy each other’s company, they love each other, she even helps him in office, she is his lawyer and consultant, helps him in all his paperwork. But then, lately, whenever he comes home, she acts a little different, he ignores it at first, thinking maybe the age is getting to her, maybe she is going through a phase” Mr Saeed took a huge chunk of steak, stuffing it into his mouth. Ankit started to grow a little wary, as he saw Mr Saeed taking a huge gulp of wine. “he then comes home early one day; he sees a car parked outside. He thinks maybe the plumber was over, the roof had been leaking the other day, maybe he had been called over. He opens the door, there is complete darkness, he is perplexed. His wife had not come to office and should be home. He yells her name, but she doesn’t answer. He goes up the stairs, the light in the main bedroom is left on. He cracks the door open. his wife is not there, but there is some other woman in his own bed. His confusion arises even more. He decides to step out of the house and get in his own car, and drive back to the office. As soon as he reaches there, he calls her. She picks up. He tells her everything, all that he saw, and she stays silent. she then tells him to come talk to him when he comes home.” Mr Saeed now had bent his head low, the wine bottle rolled on the floor, dry and empty. Ankit just kept staring at him, he then looked up once more, his eyes were red, broody, bloodshot, deranged, psychotic, “mad.” Ankit thought to himself. His brow was knitted, the polite gentleman was dead. This was a whole new person. Ankit was now nervously taking small bites of the steak, his wine sat untouched. Mr Saeed now started again, angrily, gritting his teeth, clenching his jaw. “he goes home. She sits there, her face grave, ashen, he sits down, demanding an explanation. She slowly starts, disclosing her true identity. How she is an abnormality of nature. A fucking disgrace. As he starts to get up, she asks him to be understanding. That the law had changed. That they could take pride in this.”
Mr Saeed heaved a huge chunk of meat as he continued, his voice getting murkier, Ankit’s hands jittery and trembling as he listened. “he is a man of honor. For him, if anyone were to find out of this, of his wife and the woman.,, he could not accept that, his darkness, the one he had buried long ago, it was emerging back, like a whale comes out of the sea, it slowly emerged and slowly enraptured him, seizing control over his motor skills, his thoughts, his mind. Making it all its own. Like cancer, infecting each molecule of his being, reducing him to an un-evolved ,primal, carnivorous, raw, animal.” Mr Saeed’s voice now slowly started picking up hysteria once more. Ankit was letting out slow gasps. “his wife now lay before him. What could be done? If anyone was to find out the body, his life would be ruined. He had to do what he had done many years ago, when he had told everyone his wife had died of asthma. When the darkness had taken over before. He had to do the perfect coverup.”
Ankit was now on the verge of crying. Mr Saeed now smiled once again, as if resorting to his normal senses. Ankit though still wary, grinned a little too, a bit confused. “Mr Ankit, you have hardly touched your steak. Dig in.” Ankit took another go at his steak, now a little comfortable in the situation, he smiled a little confusedly at Mr Saeed planning to bring his book back up again. Mr Saeed got up to move toward the serving platform to keep his plate, turning his back onto the table. Ankit suddenly felt a sharp ache in his tooth, as if he had bitten into something really hard. “ow!” he exclaimed spitting his meat onto the plate. “what happened son?” Mr Saeed asked his back still turned onto the table. Ankit felt something in his mouth, he slowly took it out into his fist, quickly dropping it onto the plate. It was a woman’s white wedding ring. “the perfect cover up”, Mr Saeed’s words started to ring in his ears, His breath rate started to increase, the room swirling before him, Mr Saeed turned, a large Turkey Knife in his hand, eyes wide open, bloodshot, deranged, psychotic. “mad” Ankit whimpered. “so you see, Mr. Ankit, the lesson of the story was, there is no perfect murder, it is always the perfect cover up. For no one to ever find out.” he whispered.