DELIVER US FROM EVIL - THE MOST CHILLING THRILLER OF THIS YEAR

CHAPTER 8

"What do you want, Akhil?" spat Proteeti.

"I want a name. Who's the victim? Identify her and I promise you will get half of the money I earn from my blog,"

"You earn money from it?" she was astonished. He was a young man and most of his family didn't actually like him, for he was a loafer. And she came from a very literate family, a family of lawyers and judges, while he was being a sneaky journalist who wasn't really even good at anything but butting everywhere. "And I'm not going to give the name. You know that very well."

"Oh come on, I'm your cousin!"

"You are my second cousin! And frankly, you don't even exist for me."

She should have been more aware of the situation. He had come to see her in the weekday, after he had watched her from the crime scene. He persuaded her to come for coffee. He sent the photograph to himself, while she was in the washroom. The same photograph, she had clicked when Rudra was busy thinking. The face wasn't visible for all her hair had covered it in the picture. She did it because it was like a memory; she wanted to store and study on, to really understand why the killer did what he did. She didn't take it for the sake of defaming the family. She didn't want to hurt anyone. She wasn't going to spread it. But then Akhil comes in and steals it from her, and before she knew it, it was there, up on the website, being copy-pasted by readers. It was all her fault, now she thought about it. She shouldn't have been clumsy. Just because of her, the victim's death details have been out. Even the 2012 gang rape case hadn't been leaked, for it was treated with such delicacy.

"I just need a name. I promise I won't post anything bad. What does it matter to you? They won't catch you. They'll think I got it from one of victim's friends or family, I don't know."

"I won't do it."

"You all are trying to hide her death as if you people are the murderers. A body has been found in Delhi Ridge, nailed to a tree. That's unlikely. That's gruesome, if you ask me. And here it is, you all family and friends and witnesses are trying to hide what happened or who it happened to, when it should be out."

"I would have told you," Proteeti clenched her jaw, "but it's the question of the family's reputation. I don't want the family to go through worse than they already have."

Akhil heaved on the other end. His heavy breathing was audible. He sure seemed angry. "You know what, sister? I'll find the name. I promise that. I will. I'll dig up somewhere, bribe someone or the other. I'll find it, even if it is not from you. The identity of the victim is the public's rights to know."

"Not if the family is uncomfortable..." and it was hung up.

She sighed, tossing the phone, against the bed sheet, as she lay back on the pillow. She was angrier with herself than with Akhil.

Proteeti realized she was being an idiot. It was just a matter of time, when the name will go public, when someone with a big mouth wouldn't be able to keep it in. The major dailies wouldn't announce the name as the Delhi Police have already made an understanding with them, or even the local ones—anything that came under the private or the public. They were ready to cooperate on keeping the name of the victim under wraps, but not the freelancers like Akhil, who don't care about sentiments and just want to fish their names out for the fleeting, bubble-like journalistic glory.

Tanya Mistry will be missing from college classes, society meetings and café halls.

Someone will notice. And that someone will inform Akhil.