Survival of the Optimist: Missing (Part 8)

This is part Eight of a story that I am writing in collaboration with some very talented writers on Blogadda's Game of Blogs. Our team name is 'Tete-a-ten'.

Read the previous parts of the story here:Missing-Part 1
Missing-Part 2
Missing-Part 3
Missing-Part 4
Missing-Part 5
Missing-Part 6
Missing-Part 7

Still groggy from his sleep Cyrus looked at Roohi and then turned his gaze towards the people surrounding her. He wore his spectacles and was still adjusting his eyes to the bright light that shone from the warehouse ceiling when he clearly noticed the small mob of people. Looking at the mob gathered shook Cyrus back to his senses as Roohi tugged him further towards them.

He looked at the woman in front and the man right behind her and realized they are Roohi's parents. A multitude of thoughts ran in Cyrus' head. Why are they all here? What are they thinking? Did they think he'll harm Roohi? Would they hurt him? Should he run? Where would he run? He noticed various expressions were across their faces – anger, disgust, nervousness, concern. This made Cyrus nervous. Very nervous and uneasy. Beads of sweat had now formed across his forehead. He felt weak in his knees, his hand now slipped from Roohi's grip and without realising his body was now swaying, about to give away. His head spun. Closing his eyes he held his head in his hands and winced. In less than ten seconds Cyrus Daruwala fainted at the Ballard estate warehouse floor.

*THUDDDD *

“He's fainted !” Tara exclaimed as she and Shekhar took a few steps back sensing the impact of the fall.

“Cyrus! Cryus!” screamed Roohi and looked at her mother. “What happened to Cyrus mom?” Roohi seemed genuinely concerned with tears now welling up in her eyes.

Tara scooped Roohi closer and away from Cyrus and towards one from their friends' group. Shekhar and his friend moved closer to Cyrus lying on the floor. Cautiously they approached him and saw his face clearly now. His big thick rimmed spectacles were now skewed across his fair skinned face. He looks in his early twenties Shekhar thought. Isn't he too young to be a kidnapper? he further thought. Without wasting any more time, Shekhar animatedly exchanged glances with his friend near the door and signaled to call and inform the police.

Roohi realised what was happening and was now crying inconsolably and was making repeated efforts to approach Cyrus.

“Now, Now Roohi dear. Please! Sweetheart Please!“ Tara tried to hug her tight and comfort her, but in vain.

She wiped the tears from Roohi's face but Roohi howled “I warned you Papa! You don't listen to me! I told you he would get scared if we all went together! I told you !!”

Tara saw her husband approaching a fainted Cyrus.

“Be careful now, Shekhar” voiced a concerned Tara who was now trying to console Roohi. Now Shekhar searched Cyrus' pockets and hands for any concealed knives, drugs, firearms. He checked the area around him. He got Cyrus' wallet and a note: “Mission Roohi : Do it today!”

Shekhar's head spun. He looked closely at the note, read it and reread it again.

What was this note? Why was Roohi's name over this? Why Roohi?

From a distance Shekhar could hear the screech of tyres coming to a sudden halt. Doors snapped to a close and footsteps echoed in the night. The eerie silence across the warehouse was broken as the doors opened with Inspector P N Kamble entering with his troop of constables.

“Where is he? Kuthe aahes toh? ” said P N Kamble in chaste Marathi.

He marched in and signalled his constables to the usual drill.

“Ek minute saheb. Thamba. Please wait! ” said a soft but commanding voice that came from behind the Inspector.

Little did everyone notice Dr. Sneha Phadnis walking in and said “Yes, that's him...he was missing..."

_________________________________________________

Stars dance in the moonlit skies,
Figures prance around and around
Dreams glow like fireflies,
Moving from lost to found.

Somewhere in the mischievous mind,
Images float on a horses hind,
In the gardens of endless surprise,
Laughing nights and the happy sunrise.

Figures roam in the darkness of shadows
Hope hangs within the gallows,

Moving clouds and singing rain

Butterflies on the ramp again.

Farther than the running man

Snowcapped mountains on the ceiling fan,

Dreams drift into a sleepy thatch,

Reality closes a delicate latch,

Angels sing and fairy's tell,

Hundred stories in a sea shell,

Bells ring and time to fly,

Roohi's eyes wave goodbye.