Hush (2 page)

PART ONE

Chapter One

The rain slicked against the dirty window panes as I sat in the bench seat with my knees pulled up to my chest and some cheesy romance novel in my hands.

As I watched the rain instead of reading the words on the page before me I felt like even the weather was mocking me.

Six days had passed since Dev’s funeral and not one tear had slid from my eyes.

I leaned my head against the glass and breathed fogging it up. Idly, I drew a frowny face.

“Please,” I begged. “One tear. It’s all I ask,” I said to the empty room.

One tear didn’t seem like too much to ask for. But no such luck.

The coffee maker chimed letting me know it was done
.
Startled, I jumped,
I had completely forgotten about it. I
hopped
up in my slippered feet and scurried over to the stove. I grabbed my favorite chipped, orange, tea cup and poured the steaming
dark
liquid. Ev
er since I was a little girl coffee
had always calmed me.
Maybe that’s why I was so short. Didn’t experts say that coffee stunted your growth?
I blew on the steaming hot liquid and took a tentative sip. It was hot but at least it didn’t burn my throat.

I tiptoed over to the comfy denim sectional and turned the television on. I flipped through the channels and found nothing of interest. T.V. didn’t much occupy my mind. I took another sip of my tea and then set it on top of a magazine on the coffee table.

I could hear Dev’s voice in my head saying, “Babe, please use a coaster or
something
. I don’t want you to ring the furniture.”

A laugh bubbled between my lips at the memory.

A laugh! Not tears or even
a
tear.
But a laugh.

I’m a twisted being.

Sloane, your boyfriend dies and you laugh instead of cry. Tsk, tsk.

Shut up, I said to my conscious.

I brought my legs up on the sofa and sat Indian style. I picked absentmindedly at a loose thread on my sweat pants. It was Saturday so I didn’t have to go to work.
Altho
ugh, I would have appreciated the
monotonous sound of the click clacking of fingers on keyboar
ds.
I worked for a small local magazine
. The money I made hardly paid the bills but it was a start and a start I desperately needed.

Ever since I was a little girl I had aspired to be a journalist. Travel the
world,
meet new and interesting people, that sort of thing. I had come here to Londo
n before, on a school trip, and decided to come here for college
.
Somewhere along the way, in the corner of a library,
I met Dev.
Returning to America never occurred to me after I met him. I was happy here and I was happy with him. London had become my home. My mom didn’t understand
.

I had found the job at the local
magazine
and suddenly my ambitions seemed silly. I became content to work and be with Dev. That had become my life.  But now that Dev was… gone… maybe I shouldn’t give up on my dreams. Maybe I could make it to The Times. Maybe I could finally sit down and write that book.

I shook my head.

Oh, Sloane, you always did live in your head.

I finished my coffee
and washed my cup. My cereal bowl was still sitting in the sink with a couple other pieces of dishes. I washed those too. I dried my hands on the old rag and forcefully shoved my bangs back away from my face. I hated those things and couldn’t wait for them to grow back out.

A knock on the door startled me. I peered around the flat ashamed. It wasn’t exactly ready for visitors. In fact, I never had visitors. I didn’t have any friends here. Besides Dev who was now gone. Even back home on the States I had only had one or two friends at the most and we had long since lost touch. I was a loner and I was okay with that.

I stepped towards the door with a quizzical furrow in my brow. Who could it be? I looked through the eye hole and saw that it was Mr. Kapur.

I opened the door. Too late, I realized I was wearing dirty sweats and a cami. Definitely, not appropriate attire.

“Sir,” I said trying to mask my horror
that
I was dressed like a homeless person.

“Sloane,” he said and stepped past me into the flat like he owned the place. Which he did of
course.
He bought this place because Dev and I wanted it. He hardly approved but whatever Dev wanted he got. But Rajas made me pay him rent every month. It was a small amount. But still couldn’t the guy cut me some slack? Rent? That couldn’t be his reason for being here. I had just paid him. Why was Rajas Kapur in my apartment?

“Would you like some tea?” I asked clearing my throat.

“Yes,” he said stiffly
,
settling into one of the chairs at the kitchen table. Oh, no. He was here for a chat. Chats with Rajas Kapur never went well. He looked around the flat with disapproval in his eyes. “I never understood why Devak liked this place,” he said giving me a significant look while I poured his tea.

The flat was in an old historic building off the beaten path but still close to the city. The floors were an old hardwood that was covered in various stains and scratches and dents. The walls were a warm beige color. The kitchen wasn’t stainless steel and granite but it was clean and cute. Unfortunately there was no dishwasher. Dev and I liked the charm it held. The crown molding, the window seat, it was lived in. It was home.

Rajas’ home was cold and modern and clinical. Like a doctor’s office. Everything was white. Void of color. Void of life. So, I knew why this place didn’t appeal to him.

“It’s home,” I said shrugging my shoulders and setting the cup of tea in front of him with his customary two cubes of sugar. I sat down across from him and laced my fingers. I met his black eyes with my gold ones. “Sir, I know you’re here for a reason so get to it instead of wasting your time and mine,” I said.

He smiled a slick smile. “You know me well. You’re a smart girl. You’ll go far,” he said his black eyes shining like a panther.
A slick, slimy, no good, panther.
Dev may have worshipped the ground his father walked upon but I saw through the man. I didn’t trust him as far as I could throw him, which wasn’t far.

“Sir,” I prompted him to get back on track.

He leaned back in the wooden chair and crossed his ankle over his knee.

“Since Dev is gone I have no reason to continue to keep this place,” he said spreading his arms wide. “It holds no value or want for me.”

“I pay my rent,” I whispered barely audible.

He smirked. “You do but I should charge you three times more but you would be unable to afford it,” he said
, knowing he was right.
I couldn’t afford it. I was trapped.

He was quiet waiting for my reaction. “What are you saying?” I whispered.

“You have until next Saturday to find a place, pack your stuff, and be out of my hair. If you’re still here I will personally put you out on the street with nothing but the clothes on your back,” he hissed menacingly.

My mouth gaped open in an O of surprise. I knew Rajas Kapur was a bad man but this was
bad
.

“Do you understand?”

“Yes sir,” I said.

“And anything you leave will become mine,” he said.

I clamped my teeth together to resist the urge to yell at him. Yelling wouldn’t help my cause. But it was difficult to find an empty apartment to rent. Or even a room. A week would not be long enough.

Demurely I asked, “Can I have more than a week, Sir. A week is certainly not long enough.”

He smirked. “You now need to be out by Thursday.”

I bit my lip
to contain the expletives that wanted to shoot from my mouth
and saw red around my vision. I
hated
this man more and more.

“I’ll see myself out,” he said smiling. He opened the door and said, “Thursday.”

Oh no.

The door closed soundly behind him finality ringing in the room.

I put my head in my hands. Could things get any worse? Dev
dies,
I get kicked out of my house, what’s next?

“Sloane you have the worst luck ever? Didn’t your mom tell you that breaking a mirror brought seven years of bad luck? Do you never listen to your mother’s words of wisdom?” I groaned into my hands. No, I never listened
to my crazy, superstitious, dog
loving, crystal ball reading,
mother
.

“Better start now, S
loane,” I said, “maybe she’s on
to something.”

I emptied the tea cup and washed it but instead of putting it away I left it one the counter. That would cook his goose. Yes, I would definitely leave this cup behind.

I stared around
the flat a
t my big sectional and coffee table.
The TV and entertainment center.
My books and the bookcase.
The rugs, the lamps, the pillows, the blankets, plates, cups, forks, knives, spoons, where was I going to put everything? I couldn’t afford a storage unit and I didn’t know if I could find a room let alone an apartment to rent.

Ugh, I
was
going to be homeless and Mr. Kapur knew it.
The evil bastard.
No wonder his wife left. I wondered if he was the reason Siva left.

Idly, I thought, Dev dies and I don’t cry and now I’m losing my home and I don’t cry. Am I heartless? What’s wrong with me? Am I broken?

More importantly, if I am broken, am I also fixable?

* * *

“Hi, I’m calling to inquire about the flat available? Oh, I see. Thanks anyway,” I said and hung up. In frustration I threw the phone across the room and groaned. That was the fifteenth place I had called. It was Wednesday. I had asked if I could work from home so that I could spend time apartment hunting and my job had complied. I was thankful for it but I had yet to find anything. This was bad. Tomorrow I would be out on the London streets.

A cry of panic escaped my lips. I picked up my phone off the floor and dialed the last number.
My last hope.

“Hi my name is Sloane, I’m calling to inquire about the room available?”

“It’s been taken,” said the gruff man.

“Are you kidding me?” I shrieked into the phone. “As of tomorrow I’m homeless!”

“I’m sorry,” he said but I could tell he didn’t mean it.

I hung up and slammed the phone down on the table. I stormed over to dryer that was now beeping. I dragged my clothes out into the laundry basket. I slammed the dryer door closed and screamed, “That stupid, arrogant, hypocritical jerk!”

A loud knock on my door stopped my tirade. If that man was here to kick me out early I was ready to spar and I would not back down.

Not bothering to look through the peep hole I opened the door roughly letting it slam into the wall.

“I certainly hope you weren’t yelling about me in there,” said the silky voice of Siva.

I gulped like a cornered mouse.

“What are you doing here?” I asked in a whisper. This man seemed to manage to steal my voice. Today he was wearing a sharp navy suit and a pale blue button down shirt. His inky black hair was combed back except for one piece that constantly fell forward. Unconsciously, he pushed it back. His violet eyes bore into mine like he was searching my soul.

I silently thanked God, or whoever was listening, that I was wearing my nice pair of jeans and my coral colored sweater. I had run out of sweats and cami’s to wear. 

“I was under the assumption that I was rescuing a damsel in distress?” He said.

“I’m not a damsel in distress,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Invite me in and we can discuss this matter further,” he said challenging me.

I put my arm out granting him access.

He strode forward and sat down on the denim sectional like he owned the place. I closed the door and glanced at him.

“Can I get you something to eat or drink?” I asked, calling on the southern hospitality my mother had drilled into me.

“I don’t plan to be long,” said Siva crossing his legs.

I nodded my head. “Okay then,” I said and sat down on the section where I could face Siva. “Why are you here?”

“It recently came to my attention that you are to lose this flat,” he said with his arm thrown across the back of the couch.

“How did you find out?” I asked in a small voice.

“I know things Sloane,” he said.

I narrowed my eyes. I had only met him briefly at the end of Dev’s funeral. How could he possibly know about this?
How did he even find me?
As far as I knew he never talked to his father and what interest should I hold for him?