Chapter 5: The Bargain with Death

Walking down the hallway to the guest rooms, I lost count of how many deep breaths I’d taken.

The corridor seemed endless, each footstep echoing in the silence. The tiles chilled my feet, every shadow flickered like a warning. I whispered a prayer to Hanumanji for courage.

Luckily, the man was busy in the bathroom—I had a minute or two.

I heard water splashing—maybe he was cleaning up, or preparing. My heart thundered, loud enough for the gods to hear.

Facing a killer, anyone would be terrified.

My hands trembled, mouth dry. In my pocket, I clutched the refund cash, ready for bribe or begging, whatever it took.

I couldn’t just kick him out, so I rehearsed my excuse.

Flood, power cut, police raid—what would he buy? I ran the lines in my head, praying I’d sound believable.

No other guests tonight. I knocked softly, then harder. “Bhaiya, thoda darwaza kholenge?”

The peephole went dark—he was watching me.

My heart froze. I tried to stand tall, hiding my fear, but my eyes were wide as saucers.

"Kaun hai?" came the low, suspicious voice.

Recognizing that cold tone, I steadied myself. "Main, owner hoon. Bhaiya, ek urgent baat hai. Darwaza kholenge?"

I forced a smile, voice soft as possible.

After a pause, the door opened a crack, the chain on. He stood there, towel wrapped, eyes burning. Mask off, he looked almost normal—just another tired traveller. I kept my gaze low.

Old scars and fresh bruises marked his face, but I dared not stare.

I stammered, letting my nerves show. Sometimes, fear is more convincing than anger. I pressed my hands in apology.

"Bhaiya, maaf kijiye, par abhi abhi khabar aayi hai ki police waale iss gali mein checking karne wale hain. Chhote hotels jaise hamara, seedha target hain—you know how it is. Sorry, bhaiya."

I darted a look down the corridor as if police might burst in any second. ‘Pity and fear—together,’ I told myself.

I handed his money back, as apologetically as I could.

Money talks. My hand shook as I pushed the notes toward him, breath shallow.

At the mention of police, I saw his jaw clench, eyes narrow. For a moment, I thought he’d slam the door or worse. I braced myself.

But he recovered quickly. "Checking? Mujhe kya lena dena? Yeh koi massage parlour thodi hai."

He tried to brush it off, but the concern was clear. He was no fool.

"Nahi bhaiya, bas aap dono ke paas ID nahi hai. Police poochegi toh dono ko problem ho jayegi. Sorry, bhaiya, help kar do."

I pleaded, palms together. ‘Everyone should mind their own business,’ I muttered.

I was impressed with my own acting—pulling this off in a crisis.

In another life, I’d be a film hero. My voice only cracked twice. I swallowed, waiting for his answer.

I pulled out two more five-hundred notes. "Bhaiya, yeh lo, auto ka kiraya. Police bas aane wali hai, sorry."

Desperation makes you generous. I offered the extra cash, hoping greed would work where fear didn’t.

He fell silent, staring coldly, as if reading my mind.

Sweat trickled down my spine. My legs shook. I stared at my shoes, praying he’d just take the money and go.

Seconds felt like years. I didn’t dare push. This was a killer—anger him, and I might not leave alive.

My mother’s prayer echoed in my head. Even the ticking of the old wall clock seemed to pause.

At last, the silence broke.

"Theek hai, abhi nikal jaata hoon. Par woh ladki yahin rahegi. Main baad mein aa ke le jaunga."

Matter-of-fact, like leaving a suitcase. The words rang in my ears. I nodded.

He took all the cash, slammed the door. The sound echoed. My knees buckled, but I forced myself to walk away.

I dragged myself back to the desk, shirt sticking with sweat. The lobby felt stuffy, the ceiling fan spinning uselessly. I collapsed into my chair, heart racing.

He hadn’t taken the woman’s body, but I didn’t have the strength to argue.

Better a coward than a dead hero. That’s what my father said. At least he was gone, at least I was alive.

I mumbled a shaky ‘Shukriya, bhagwan,’ lighting another Gold Flake.

Soon after, the man left, dressed as before, bag over his shoulder. I watched through the window as he vanished into the night.

Before leaving, he snatched a business card from the desk.

He looked at me, eyes cold. "Aapka number toh safe hai na?" he asked, a thin, chilling smile on his lips.

I nodded quickly, mouth dry as dust.

"Theek hai, baad mein contact karta hoon."

His words lingered, cold as morning dew. I nodded again, too scared to do anything else.

Only when he disappeared did my heart slow. I slumped in my chair, hands shaking.

After a cigarette, I could finally think. The worst was over, but a huge problem remained.

The woman’s body was still in the room. What now?

She lay there, silent and cold. Every second, the problem grew.

Calling the police seemed best.

Maybe, I thought, they’d just take the body and leave me alone. I clung to that hope.

I could say I was alerted by the news and tricked the guy into leaving. Maybe that would work.

As for the ID, it was minor. This could count as making up for my mistake.

But as I was about to call, I hesitated.

My thumb hovered over the button. The killer’s face flashed in my mind.

What if the police didn’t catch him? He had my card, my number. I’d never sleep easy again.

He’d know I reported him. Could I still run my hotel? Lucknow remembers everything. Word spreads, and the wrong kind of attention can ruin a man.

That guy’s a killer. Police can’t protect me forever. As long as he’s free, I’d live in fear.

What if he came for revenge? Who would look after my family then?

I remembered my daughter’s laughter, my wife’s worried face. What would become of them if anything happened to me?

Thinking it over, I decided it was safest to act like I knew nothing.

Sometimes, ignorance is bliss. If I kept my head down, maybe it would pass.

Didn’t he say he’d come back for the woman?

Maybe he’d return, take his problem away, and I could forget it ever happened.

I’d wait for him to take the body, or after a day or two, ‘accidentally’ discover it and call the police. That way, he wouldn’t blame me.

It wasn’t perfect, but it was all I had. I just needed to wait.

I locked up, turned off the lights, and sat by the reception, only the blue glow of my phone for company. The night crawled. The street outside was silent, except for the occasional passing cycle or distant azaan.

But I waited and waited, all the way till morning—he never came.

My eyes drooped, but fear kept me awake. Every footstep made my heart race, but it was never him.

When the sun rose, the heat pressed in. The ceiling fan just pushed hot air. The smell of sweat and cigarettes filled the lobby.

That’s when I realized another problem: the forecast was for a heatwave. What about the body?

A chill ran down my spine. Heat and death don’t mix. Lucknow summers are merciless.

A corpse would start to stink.

Even now, I imagined the smell creeping under the door, filling the hall, alerting the whole mohalla. My hands shook with dread.

If the smell spread, not just that room—my whole hotel would be ruined.

No one would ever return. Police would cordon the place, the press would descend, my shame broadcast everywhere.

Should I call police now? Is it too soon? The timing didn’t feel right.

I argued with myself, torn between fear and hope. If only I knew what to do…

"Arrey Ram!"

I banged my fist on the counter, desperate for a sign.

Just then, my phone beeped with a new message.

The sound sliced through the silence. My heart skipped, half dreading, half hoping it was the killer.

When I read the message, my eyes widened, hands numb. And in that moment, I knew—I was not alone.

But as the sun rose and the city woke, the real nightmare was just beginning.