* * *
—
In the darkness of an unlit pavement beneath a neem tree, Ajay smokes a cigarette and takes a closer look at his gun. An 8-round Luger with the serial number shaved off. The driver told him: it’s tough, it’ll do the job. He checks the safety by the grip, slips it into the front of his jeans. He opens the map again, gets his bearings, heads into the alleyway ahead of him. Halfway down the alley, on the left, a change in the brickwork marks the place where one property turns into the next. This is the point to climb in. Once over, he leaps into bushes and crouches, listening for dogs.
Feels his heart and his head throb.
With great care, he looks out onto a pristine lawn and the squat colonial bungalow beyond. The place seems quite deserted, only some lights on at the front.
He crouches, silent.
Waits awhile.
Waits.
Feels the reassuring weight of the gun.
* * *
—
Sunny sits alone on the crest of the mound that shields his wilder party from prying eyes, peering down into the strobe-lit hollow with its sweaty, dancing bodies, its laughing, screaming faces, its bar, its tent, its fires. He can’t touch a thing of it. But he’s waiting with a stomach full of butterflies for the fruits of the MDMA to arrive.
The MDMA.
Yes.
He’s taken a heroic dose.
He can feel it in his nausea, in his glitchy eyes, in the ebbing molecules of life.
He’s waiting for it to tell him everything will be all right.
* * *
—
He feels him before he sees him.
“You’re looking the wrong way,” Vicky says. He eases himself to the grass with a surprisingly vulnerable groan. “I’m getting old,” he says, and looks at Sunny tenderly.
Sunny shudders at his immediacy.
“What do you want from me?”
* * *
—
Ajay makes his way around the perimeter to the front of the bungalow. The front door is open, and there are lights on inside.
How long should he wait here?
Should he climb onto the roof?
Should he peer into every window? Or should he just walk in?
He tries to get his story straight, but he doesn’t have one. Only withdrawal from Mandrax and a gun. He takes a step into the driveway, and a fat black dog trots out from behind the door. Waddles toward him, leg wagging.
“I see you’ve made a friend!”
From the garden to the right, a young, stocky, bearded man appears, wrapped in a heavy shawl. He shows no surprise, no fear. He doesn’t seem to think Ajay is out of place.
Ajay doesn’t know what to say.
“Don’t worry, she won’t bite. She only farts! But that’s a small price to pay for keeping me warm at night.” He puts his palms together. “I’m Brother Sanjay, by the way. Are you lost?”
“Yes,” Ajay hears himself say.
“Can you speak?”
“Yes.”
“Perhaps you need to rest?”
“I’d like some water.”
“Of course, of course! A fundamental right to all!” He guides Ajay inside by the arm. “And where are you coming from, my friend?”
“Nowhere,” he says.
“Oh dear,” Brother Sanjay replies. “A bad place to be! Though they say ‘ignorance is bliss,’ don’t they? But I prefer knowledge, isn’t it? Well, you’re clearly in need of a wash and meal. Believe me, you’re not the first!”
Beyond the reception room, an ancient book-lined study with a fireplace.
Warm light.
Peace of mind.
* * *
—
“What do I want from you?” Vicky acts surprised. “Nothing! Nothing at all!”
“Then leave me alone!” he cries, and he’s sickened by the way he sounds like a petulant child.
Vicky lays a hand on his shoulder. “It just hurts my heart, that’s all, to see what you’ve become.”
What is he supposed to say to that?
“Yes, it hurts my heart,” Vicky reaffirms.
“What have I become?”
“You’re falling apart.”
Sunny shakes his head.
“But it’s OK,” Vicky goes on. “I’ve studied your charts. I saw it all from the start. Everything you’ve done, the depths to which you’ve sunk, the misery you’ve endured, it’s leading you to this. Today’s the day you’ll become a man.”
* * *
—
“Who’s there? Who’s there?”
Brother Sanjay leads Ajay deeper into the bungalow.
“We have a guest!” Brother Sanjay shouts.