The Forced Bride

Chapter 6 - Retaliation

I IDRIS I

"I know nothing of it! I swear on my wife and kids!", the man begs, his voice coarse and broken from screaming for hours. Blood trickles from the edges of his mouth, and the various bloody bruises and cuts on his face and body, lets one know that the man has been suffering for some time.

Not enough. Still not enough. The man has not suffered half as much as his mother.

"Leave your wife and kids out of this", Idris says, his voice icy and void of any sympathy for the man begging on the floor by his leg.

"I swear, I only came across the woman you speak of, when she was being dragged to the warehouse! I have never seen her before or after that day! I swear on everything that I hold dear!", the man cries out, clutching at his white salwar pants and Idris knocks his hand off his leg.

"Tch! You stained my pants with your bloody hands! My sister is very observant, you know. And now I have a wife to worry about too", Idris mutters as he tries to wipe the blood from the pants but it's a lost cause.

"I--I'm s-sorry-y-", the man croaks before breaking into a fit of dry coughs.

"This isn't going the way I want. I need names, Saleem. And you need your life. Don't you think it's better to cooperate than die pleading for mercy from a man who knows no kindness, such as myself?", Idris asks, folding his hands against his chest and leaning back against his chair.

"I-I swear, I know nothing more about what happened after I saw them take her there", Saleem cries out, as panic rises inside him.

"I don't like liars. They remind me of my father too much. So, you better drop the act if you wish to live", Idris says, quickly running out of patience. And from the look on the man's face, he knows too, that he doesn't have much time.

"Alright, then. I'll ask you a different question. You saw a woman being dragged into that warehouse by a group of men, and decided to do nothing and forget about the whole ordeal. So, what punishment should I dish out for doing such a thing?", Idris asks, his heart thundering in rage inside his chest. But his face was a mask of cool and aloof indifference. The image of his mother being dragged into that building by all those men, as Saleem had narrated earlier was enough for him to destroy everything around him in rage. But he cooled himself down. He needed a clear head to deal with all of this.

"I d-don't-t k-know!! P-Please!!!", Saleem's annoying voice was grating on his nerves now.

"Wrong answer. Well, then. I will send your regards to your wife and children. Not that they'll miss you much seeing as how much of a sadistic bastard you were", Idris says as he stands up, making the metal chair creak in protest.

"No!!! P-Please!!! I d-don't remember their n-names or f-faces!!", Saleem's voice cracks as he lunges for Idris' feet, who quickly sidesteps to avoid another disaster of the man's bloody hands staining his pants.

"Don't exert yourself. I believe you. Now let's see if you remember their names when you burn in hell", Idris smiles before unsheathing the knife from the waistband of his pants.

The knife was a rather valuable possession of his. It was a gift from Bhupinder, a friend from college. He came to know that Idris had a fondness for such antique and well-crafted knives, and as a parting gift when they graduated college, he had given him a very special knife that has been in his family for atleast four generations. It had been a gift from a British officer to Bhupinder's forefather, who had aided the British in some matters. Idris had refused at first, since the knife was so valuable and must have a sentimental value to him. But Bhupinder dismissed his concerns, saying the knife was unwanted in his hands, since he didn't care for it much.