Operation: Dard and Devotion

8 | Dislike & Disdain

Still handcuffed to Ahsan, Faizan led the two of us under the church archway and into the inner courtyard. I eyed the premises. There were supposed to be flourishing hanging gardens and vibrant plant life here. Now, it has all reduced to withered, dry leaves.

I snuck a sideways glance at Ahsan, whose eyes looked grim as though he was not looking forward to whomever Faizan had wanted us to meet. If even he is uncomfortable with this, then surely something is bad.

"Zaakhir sahib!" Faizan called out. "Our guest is here!"

I frantically searched the courtyard and froze when a man emerged from between the colonnades in the courtyard.

A middle-aged man slowly stepped forward. Like Faizan, but unlike the others, this man's face was not hidden, revealing a scraggy greying beard that climbed his face. Thin wisps of hair straggled up his sunken cheeks like etiolated vines desperately seeking daylight. His face was brown, weathered and leathery, perhaps from too much sun exposure.

Donning military-styled cargo pants, jacket and boots, Zaakhir seemed to be as intimidating as Faizan himself, despite the growing smile that had plastered on his face. He had dark, glinting brown eyes and stood precisely at my eye level.

Just when I was mentally thankful that all this man could see of me were my eyes, Zaakhir abruptly lifted the niqab, exposing my face, and his eyes brightened even more than before.

I cringed under his stare, feeling every bit naked even though I was completely covered elsewhere. My heart pounded and I felt my head spin as I tried to fathom how much worse my life could possibly get.

Then suddenly, out of nowhere, Ahsan's gloved hand gently squeezed my bare left hand. He gazed straight ahead, perhaps warning me not to look his way for too long. Instead, my eyes, widening in utter surprise, stared at the cracked pavement I was standing on.

Was he trying to comfort me?

It did not seem as though either Zaakhir, Faizan, or the other men had noticed the gesture.

"You've fetched a good one here, Faizan; you never fail to disappoint!" Zaakhir slurred disgustingly in approval of my face. "What's your name, darling?"

My lips trembled, suddenly losing the ability to form speech, and the rest of my body completely immobilized.

Zaakhir's smile faded within a second, and he stood inches away from me, his tone becoming fatal. "I said, what is your name?"

"H-Hayat," I mumbled meekly, not meeting his eyes.

"Hayat! Life!" He exclaimed the translation for my name, even though, ironically, life itself was dwindling away from me with each passing moment. "A beautiful name for a beautiful prize!"

Ahsan's hand squeezed my own a little tighter and then immediately let go as Zaakhir pulled out a gun from his waist band.

Involuntarily, I felt my eyes enlarge in fear at the sight of the weapon and I stepped back, to the amusement of Zaakhir.

"Ah, don't worry, my sweet." He brought the revolver up to my forehead and lustfully traced my face with the end of the gun slowly. "I wouldn't ever hurt you."

He lifted the medial chain connecting the cuffs around Ahsan and I. "Now that you're here, there's no need for this."

Zaakhir raised the center of the handcuffs at arm's length, and a bullet raced out of the revolver in the speed of light, causing shards of the metal cuffs to fly and scrape my hand.

I barely had any time to process what had just happened.

"Now," he began, gripping my upper arm tightly and dragging me into the main sanctuary of the church. "You wait in here until I come back."