Different Senses (58 page)

He kept staring at me, gripping
my hands almost painfully tight. “I need—”

“What? Tell me. I want to
help.”

He let my hands go, and grasped
my shirt instead. “I want to feel...not like this,” he whispered.
“Alive.”

“Shardul, maybe that’s not such
a good—”

He kissed me. Desperately,
almost angrily. I tried not to encourage him because I knew he was
vulnerable and not in his right mind. But his need, his desire, his
pain swamped my thoughts, until I could no longer tell what was me,
what was him. When he pushed me down to the sofa, I let him, even
though alarms pinged hard and insistently at the back of my
mind.

“Shardul, love, take it easy.”
He lay half on top of me, hands busily groping and seeking, his
mouth trying to silence me. I had to push him back a little to get
the words out.

“No. No, Javen, please. I need
you.”

“
You have me. Always.
Oh
sanity...
” He’d wrapped his hand
around my cock and squeezed. “If you do that, I’ll
come.”

“I want you to come. I
want...Javen, I want—” He stared at me, his desperation drenching
my emotions. “Please....”

His eyes filled with tears, and
it undid me. “Oh love, don’t,” I whispered, kissing his cheek, the
corner of his eyes, licking away the salty wetness.

He let me comfort him for all
of two seconds, then he pushed back, hard and violently, the
desperation now coloured with ugly self-disgust. “I’m sorry. Let me
up. Sorry.”

I held his arm. “Hey, it’s
okay—”

“I said, let me up!” He pushed
again, and unbalanced, I fell to the floor where I lay, blinking
stupidly up at him. “Sorry. Javen, just go. Please. I apologise.
This is—”

He scrambled off the sofa and
bolted into one of the other rooms. After a moment or two while I
wrapped my mind around what had happened, I got to my feet and
adjusted my clothing. My erection had disappeared—nothing like your
object of desire freaking out for quenching your libido.

I bit my lip. Should I stay or
go? Shardul was a mess, much worse than I’d realised. I hadn’t
liked the idea of him being alone before and I sure as hell didn’t
like it now. I played for time by putting the food and beer in the
kitchen. Shardul still didn’t emerge from his hiding place.

Nothing for it but to look for
him. I found him in the bathroom, leaning over the sink, braced on
his arms. “You have cause to complain to the police,” he said, no
emotion in his words, his disgust and sorrow filling my mind. “I
assaulted you.”

“That’s crap. I wanted it as
much as you did.”

“
I
don’t
want it. I don’t
want you here. You’re the wrong person.”

I wished he’d picked up a knife
and shoved it up my nose, than say those words. “All right. So who
do you want here? Let me call someone for you.”

“I don’t want anyone. Please
go, Javen. I regret...but I have no reparations to offer.”

“I don’t want reparations. You
did nothing wrong. I want to help you.”

He turned to look at me with
empty eyes. “You can’t. You have the wrong skin.”

I bit down the anger and the
retort. “Can I...call someone?”

“Please just leave. I
don’t....” He heaved in a breath. “I don’t want to talk about this
again.”

“You want me to pretend it
never happened?”

He nodded.

“Fine. Whatever you want. You
have my number.”

I walked out angry, but
aching too because I could feel how much pain he was in, felt it as
sharp as if it were my own. He’d struck out like a wounded animal,
and it wasn’t his fault that the claws had been sharpened by years
of experiencing prejudice and hate from my people.
But I’m not like them,
I wanted to yell. No point. Wrong time, wrong
guy too.

Outside, I called Rupa. “Oh
Javen, are you all right?”

“More or less. How is
Roshni-ji?”

“Much better now she knows you
are both safe. She wanted to speak to Shardul but wasn’t sure if he
would be busy.”

“Rupa, that’s why I’m calling.
He needs someone...one of his own kind,” I added, my mouth twisting
on the bitter words. “But he’s shutting people out. I’m worried
about him.”

“Why? What happened?”

“Traumatic stress, because of
the way the police acted when he left the hall. He thought he was
going to be shot.”

She gasped. “Would they?”

“I can’t say there was no risk.
Whether the threat was real or not, isn’t the point. He needs to
process that. He’ll be okay, I hope, but only if he doesn’t lock it
down.”

“I will call him, and try to
let him talk. He won’t speak to you?”

“No.”

“Javen...do you need someone
too?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. “I have my
family and friends, and I wasn’t affected the way he was. Look
after him. Call me if you need to.”

“I will. Spirit guide you,
Javen. Sleep well.”

I doubted I would. What was the
time, anyway? Sanity, only eight. It felt like midnight, so much
had happened today. I hadn’t even said hello to my new niece, let
alone congratulated her mother, or my nephews.

I looked up at Shardul’s
apartment. No lights on in the front. Perhaps he’d gone to bed,
which might be the best thing for him. Tomorrow he might feel
calmer, and we could talk about what had happened between us. By
then, I might even understand it myself.

My body remembered his hands on
me, his lips on mine, yet my mind knew it had been an aberration
Shardul never intended, that had revolted him as soon as he
realised what he was doing. At least now I knew for certain
whatever fantasies I’d entertained, Shardul was never going to come
willingly to my bed, and I didn’t want him anything but willing.
The best I could hope for was that our friendship might survive.
Right now, I had no idea if it would.

I drove back to Yashi’s house.
His auto was in the garage, so instead of heading to my own flat, I
walked into the main house. I found my brother asleep on the sofa,
the media screen on but muted. The siege was still the main topic
of the news reports, with footage of my father and I separately
emerging unharmed from the hall being shown in between talking
heads. Tomorrow I might hear what the water tests showed. I
wondered how Ekanga was doing, and where his wife and son were
right now.

I shook my brother gently.
“Yashi.”

He woke with a snort and a
jerk, blinking stupidly at me. “Javen? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Tara?”

“Asleep, ages ago. I stopped
off to see the boys, but Hita thought it was best for them to stay
where they were tonight.”

“Agreed, but I can take them
tomorrow. I planned to take time off when the baby came. How is
she?”

Yashi smiled. “Beautiful. Tiny
and perfect. She won’t be coming home for a couple of weeks, but
Tara will be at least a week in hospital anyway.”

“Had supper?”

He wiped his face. “No. Hey,
you didn’t tell me about that thing today!”

“Yeah, because what you really
needed was to stress about something which was already over and
done with, while your wife was in surgery. Is there any food in the
cooler? I have some in my place.”

“I think there is. Have a look.
Dad said there wasn’t any real danger, but the news reports said
there was a gun and a bomb, and the man was crazy.”

“No, he wasn’t, and the gun was
empty and the bomb a fake. Come into the kitchen. I’ll feed you and
you can go to bed.”

I kept him off the topic of the
siege because I didn’t want to talk about Shardul’s role. Yashi was
too tired, coming down from high anxiety, to notice my deflection.
I did learn my new niece was to be called Nita. “After Tara’s
grandmother,” he said.

“Lovely name. When can the boys
see her?”

“Tomorrow. I’ll take them to
the hospital in the afternoon.”

“Okay, then I’ll take care of
things here when we all get back.”

“You don’t need to, you
know.”

“I want to. I take being an
uncle seriously.”

“Yes you do,” he said,
radiating pleasure. “Uh...have you and Mum and Dad made up or was
that for my benefit?”

“Not sure where I stand, but it
wasn’t for you. Dad was amazing today.”

“They showed footage on the
feed from inside the hall. I was so proud of him. And you. You were
both so calm.”

I shrugged. “Being hysterical
wouldn’t have helped.”

“No, I suppose not.” He propped
his chin on his hand and peered at me. “Are you all right, Javen? I
mean, really all right? You’re a bit subdued.”

“Been a long day, and...well,
the story that came out was pretty horrible.”

“Think it’s true? That the
local officials covered things up?”

“Yes, I do. Once I’d have
thought it exaggerated, but I’ve seen too much now. And Ekanga was
too sick and desperate to be lying.”

“What’ll happen to him?”

“I have no idea. Mercy, I hope.
Justice too. But the cynic in me doesn’t believe that.”

“I hope the cynic in you is
proved wrong.” He yawned and stretched. “Beloved reason, I’m
tired.”

“Then go to bed. I’ll collect
the boys and take them to school. Call me when you’re ready to go
to the hospital and I’ll meet you. Anything you want doing around
here?”

He shook his head, and we said
goodnight. I cleaned up and went to my own flat to shower. Under
the clean, safe stream of water, I thought about Tara, lucky enough
to live in a city with modern health facilities and delivering a
healthy child despite a dangerous medical condition, and Ekanga’s
wife, poor, isolated, poisoned by the very necessities of life. No
happy outcome and rejoicing, just another load of grief on top of a
fresh sorrow.

Even if Shardul rejected my
help, I would press my father on this, and keep pressing. Work with
the media if I had to. No parent should lose a child when it could
be prevented. No one should die because of greed.

No one should think they’re
about to be shot to death because they’re the same race as a
criminal.

I leaned against the wall and
let the water pound on my aching skull. I wanted to be with
Shardul, look after him, comfort him. Fight with him against the
evils we both hated. Argue with him about the different ways we saw
things.

I wanted to love him. I did
love him, but he would never love me back. I didn’t think I could
bear that.

But I had to. What choice did I
have? Only to act with grace and kindness, or be a complete dick
about it all.

Arguing with the man would hurt
both of us, and do no good. Pushing my claim would make me a
stalker. So the choice was simple. If behaving with a shred of
dignity was all I could do for Shardul, then that was what I’d
do.

Even if it killed me.

Chapter 1

Case closed, invoice
submitted, paperwork finished and our big, necessary insurance
client completely satisfied. I thumbed mentally through my office
diary. How much of my time the trial would chew through? Too much,
with all the work we had on. So many of our cases ended in criminal
investigations, I’d spent the equivalent of weeks in court this
year giving evidence in fraud prosecutions. Sometimes felt just
like being back in uniform.
Maybe I
should leave the reserve and rejoin the police force for
real.

For now, I’d have to shuffle
appointments around, shift some of the work off onto the team. I
climbed into my auto and turned on the news feed audio.

“Repeating the breaking
news—the trial of Kaushik Denge for corporate murder has ended
within the last hour with the jury returning a verdict of ‘not
proven’. A spokesperson for the government prosecution said it was
too early to decide if they planned to appeal. Sri Denge has not
yet made a statement to the press. Two weeks ago, Denge Corporation
was found guilty of gross corporate negligence amounting to
manslaughter, but the personal charges against Sri Denge—”

The case against Denge
had been watertight, but the all-Kelon jury hadn’t agreed. Why was
I even surprised? I turned off the audio, my hand going to the
control for my phone before I remembered calling Shardul wasn’t
possible any more. I didn’t need to call him to know how he would
feel about this. I knew how
I
felt about it.

Something else to make me think
about rejoining the police. I wasn’t so old and cynical that I
thought good people couldn’t make their mark even in a society like
ours. But if even my father failed to lock up Kaushik Denge when
he’d killed more than a dozen children, what hope did the rest of
us have?

I started the engine and
reopened the news feed, masochistically listening to Denge’s lawyer
gloating, and the choked disappointment of my dad’s lawyers saying
the government believed it had a good case against Sri Denge and
would make no apology for bringing it. I’d spoken to these people,
worked with them to make their case. Every one of them had wanted
to nail Denge to the wall for what he’d done. But in the end a jury
of bloody-minded citizens had overturned all their hard work. I
wanted to punch a wall in frustration. Or punch Denge’s smug face,
which would be much more satisfying.

I walked into our offices in a
grim mood. Hamsa greeted me, her green eyes glittering with the
anger rolling off her. “You heard about Denge, Javen?”

“On the feed just now. I can’t
believe that jury.”

“I can,” Prachi snapped. My
assistant hadn’t risen as I came in. Her hands gripped the edge of
her desk as if she had to fight to control herself. Her fury and
disappointment, powered by the passion and strength of youth,
battered my empathy and made my head ache. “None of us believed
he’d be convicted. Yet Ekanga goes to prison for six years—”