(Mysterious)
[Disclaimer : All names, characters and incidents in this story are completely imaginary occurring in a fictional locale. Any resemblance to any real-life incident(s) and/or character(s) is purely accidental.]
He stares and stares at her, until he is aware of what he is doing and quickly looks away. But not for long. Like a moth to a candle flame, his eyes are dragged back to rest on her face. It is an interesting face, not particularly beautiful or even pretty, but for some unknown reason he cannot take his eyes off this slim girl sitting across the aisle from him in the subway coach. (Mysterious)
He looks down at her and suddenly, for a moment, the entire space around them – the escalator, the landing, the teeming subway station, the constant stream of people flowing in and out, the rows of ticket counters, everything in fact – flickers and wavers. Just like the ripples on the surface of a still lake when a pebble is dropped into it.
“Is it her eyes?” he wonders. Well, they are almond shaped, dark, luminous, fringed by long lashes curving upwards. But nothing extraordinary. A perfect oval face framed by soft wavy brown hair, a short but chiselled nose, and well-shaped lips, over a firm but sensitive chin. She looks to be in her mid-twenties, of medium height and delicate build.
She is dressed in a full sleeve pink and white cotton checked shirt, which sets off her creamy complexion, tucked into a pair of well-fitting blue jeans. Sparkling on the waistband of her jeans is a large, obviously fake, diamond stud. Unaware of his gaze, she is absorbed completely in the book she is holding in her slim pretty hands.
“What is it about her?!?” He scratches his head mentally for the fifth time in as many minutes. The train lurches as it approaches a station; she shifts her position a bit, and just at that moment… (Mysterious)
“Wait! What….?” He rubs his eyes in disbelief. “What the hell… ??” he mutters under his breath. “I must be dreaming!” He gives his right forearm a hefty pinch with his left forefinger and thumb and at once realises that he isn’t. (Mysterious)
Reflected dimly on the slightly tinted glass pane of the window right behind her head, sprouting just below her shoulder blades, are a pair of wings. (Mysterious)
WINGS?!?!
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He can see the snow-white feathers shimmering in the glass emitting a soft ethereal golden glow. In the next instant, just like that, they are gone! By a superhuman effort of will he checks the startled yelp that almost slips out. (Mysterious)
She has put the book down on the seat beside her and is lost in thought, with inward looking eyes, her face slightly averted, still oblivious to the dazed expression of the young man opposite her. (Mysterious)
To hide his confusion, he starts fiddling with his smartphone. He pulls up his phone browser and, just for fun, enters a search string “can humans have wings” and is once again astounded by the number of results the engine spits out. Two billion????? “You gotta be kiddin’ me!” he whispers, amazed at the quantity of trash that masquerades as information on the Internet. (M
And out of that sudden haze her eyes stare at him – two eerie pools of dead, dark water. Who knows what terrors lie hidden beneath the surface? Their erstwhile luminous glow seems somehow to have given way to something rotting, a festering of the mind, perhaps? Something mysterious, something beyond words. His head swims for a second and he grips the handrail next to him tightly. And then almost at once, it is gone. All of it.
Suddenly he is aware that the train has stopped at a station. The doors of the coach have slid open. There is a bustle of people getting off, the girl among them. She has stepped out of the coach onto the platform and is walking away. (Mysterious)
He looks at the seat she has just vacated and notices her book lying on it. In a trice he picks it up, and a single leap carries him through the opening, just a fraction of a second before the doors slide shut. Once on the platform, he looks around quickly and spots her walking at a steady pace towards the escalator about thirty feet ahead of him. (Mysterious)
“Excuse me…Ma’am…please…Hi… sorry to bother you … you left your book behind…!!” He finds himself panting a little.
“Oh my god! Thank you so much! How kind of you,” she lifts her dark almond eyes and smiles up at him as they step on to the escalator together. (Mysterious)
He looks down at her and suddenly, for a moment, the entire space around them – the escalator, the landing, the teeming subway station, the constant stream of people flowing in and out, the rows of ticket counters, everything in fact – flickers and wavers. Just like the ripples on the surface of a still lake when a pebble is dropped into it.
And out of that sudden haze her eyes stare at him – two eerie pools of dead, dark water. Who knows what terrors lie hidden beneath the surface? Their erstwhile luminous glow seems somehow to have given way to something rotting, a festering of the mind, perhaps? Something mysterious, something beyond words. His head swims for a second and he grips the handrail next to him tightly. And then almost at once, it is gone. All of it.
“Serves me right for skipping breakfast!” he chides himself silently. “Either that, or there’s something distinctly off about this girl!! I swear, Marcus is gonna skewer me alive if I pass out halfway through the 11:00AM briefing session!” Marcus is his boss and the editor-in-chief of the newsroom at the New Ebony City Chronicle, an up-and-coming English daily that has created waves recently by its spectacular exposé of a major public service recruitment scam in the city, sending several gubernatorial heads rolling. (Mysterious)
As soon as he says that she stops in her tracks and wheels around to face him. And in that moment, his jaw drops. There they are again – the wings – reflected in the shining chrome and steel panel behind her, feathers stirring as if in a breeze, and letting off a soft golden glow.
She slips the book into her handbag, but not before he notices that it is a Penguin paperback edition of ‘Paradise Lost’. They step off the escalator and walk out through the turnstiles towards the exit.
“You like Milton?” he says in a desperate attempt to prolong the conversation. The mystery of the wings is clawing at his innards. He knows he is running late for work, but he simply cannot stop himself. “My favourite too. What a coincidence…!” (Mysterious)
As soon as he says that she stops in her tracks and wheels around to face him. And in that moment, his jaw drops. There they are again – the wings – reflected in the shining chrome and steel panel behind her, feathers stirring as if in a breeze, and letting off a soft golden glow. (Mysterious)
“You can see them, can’t you?” a shadow of apprehension crosses her face. Her eyes hooded, she stares at him with an unfathomable expression that sends chills down his spine. “My wings?”
“Y-Yes! I mean… NO! I mean… I don’t know what the hell I see…!!” he stutters, fumbling for words, which is strange. This rarely happens to him. He prides himself as a smart, confident go-getter – articulate, with all the trappings of a cub reporter of great promise. It’s got him thus far in the journalistic circles of the city, right?
Something in her touch makes the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end. His journalistic nose twitches at a familiar scent – this may yet be the scoop of the century. And he knows Marcus has boundless faith in this superpower of his.
All the while she is scanning his face, as if trying to gauge whether she can trust him. Finally, she nods imperceptibly, as if coming to a decision. (Mysterious)
“Listen,” she says, cutting him short. “I don’t know you from Adam, and you don’t know me. But I need to talk to you… Hell! I need to talk to someone. You’re the only one who… Say, do you have half an hour? There’s a coffee shop just around the corner…” she says all this in a single breath and then suddenly stops, as if realising her forwardness. He doesn’t quite get what the urgency is all about but finds it impossible to ignore.
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“Yes, I know the place you’re talking about. Let’s go. My name’s Vivant, by the way. I am a journalist with the New Ebony City Chronicle,” he sticks out his hand, with an engaging smile. “It’s a new venture but has already done some good work in investigative journalism.” (Mysterious)
“I am Sanaya. I teach high school Physics at Saint Anthony’s School. I am a fan of your paper. Nice to meet you,” she takes his hand in a firm grip. Something in her touch makes the hairs on the nape of his neck stand on end. His journalistic nose twitches at a familiar scent – this may yet be the scoop of the century. And he knows Marcus has boundless faith in this superpower of his.
To Be Continued…
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Prateeti is an English Lierature major from Presidency University Kolkata who took up the technology challenge without an Engineering degree in 1993 and embarked on a full-fledged technical career, becoming a RDBMS expert. She worked as the CoE Manager for Sybase products, platforms and technologies at SAP Labs India Pvt. Ltd., Bangalore. She is a great admirer of Augusta Ada King and Marie Curie.
She is also the author of ‘Green Rose Wild Earth’ a collection of poems published by StoryMirror Infotech Pvt. Ltd.
