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Rashmi (Ray of Sunlight) Darzi

Chicago Tuesday, February 3, 2015

“Ohhhhhh.” Rashmi moaned as she rolled over underneath the thin blanket. Her body ached all over. Suddenly she was awake, her heart pounding. She sat up in the darkness. This caused her head to spin and she had to lie back down. The room was frigid and she was naked under the sheet and thin blanket that covered her. She pulled them tight around her and curled into herself to try to stop the shaking. It wasn’t just the cold; it was fear, and hopelessness. She angrily brushed tears as she tried to stop crying.

How long had she been a prisoner in this cold little room with nothing more than a narrow bed? She had no watch, and her phone? Who knew? He probably had it along with her clothes.

She knew who ‘he’ was. He was Mr. Patil, maybe fifty years old and a sometime business partner of her father’s. He had told her as he beat her that he ‘owned’ her now and the sooner she came to terms with that the better off she would be.

Patil had tricked her; otherwise she’d have never got into the big SUV with such a dislikable person. He had always made her uncomfortable when he visited her parents’ home or he was a guest at some social event they attended. She had tried to avoid him but would often catch him staring at her with those heavy-lidded dark eyes. He was like some dark-haired character out of a cheap horror movie and his gaze always made her skin crawl.

It was just after school when it happened. But how long ago? She’d been hurrying through the fresh snow to the ‘L’ elevated train platform – wanting to be home and out of the weather before dark. Not that home was any place she wanted to be other than for her physical needs. Her father was a tyrant and her mother lived in fear of him. Rashmi’s sweet fourteen year-old sister, Mani was the only family member she really cared about.

That day, as usual, she had ignored her mother’s warning about the approaching storm and had dressed only in her school uniform, a dark blue skirt, white blouse, and burgundy sweater with the obligatory crest for the private school she attended. At her mother’s insistence she had thrown on a light jacket as she left home.

She had tried to fit in with the WASP girls at the private girls school she had attended since the fall when they relocated from London, but she was an oddity; a tall and thin light-skinned girl of

Indian ancestry who spoke English with an upper class British accent. Despite the fact she’d never been anywhere near south Asia, Rashmi knew that behind her back she was known as ‘Ms. Bollywood.’ She didn’t think she was nearly as exotic as those women who starred in those frothy ridiculous musicals which were made in India. So, as part of her efforts to assimilate she knew it would never do to show up bundled in a parka or heavy coat as if she had to take public transportation instead of being dropped by parents driving the newest Mercedes, BMW or Audi. But she did have to take public transportation.

Her mother, raised in India, married at nineteen and who had spent the last seventeen years in London, was petrified of driving on the ‘wrong’ side and limited her driving of her Mercedes to dropping Rashmi at the train in the morning, and picking her up in the afternoons, with an occasional foray to some local shops. Their cook did all the grocery shopping.

Rashmi’s father Amit, educated in the UK, and a vice president for a multinational bank, also drove a Mercedes and he traveled into Chicago most days, but refused to go out of his way to take her to school. He wasn’t very happy with what he considered the lack of discipline at the school, but wouldn’t consider sending either of his daughters to public schools where they’d be in close proximity to young males each day, and worse, could pick up those corrupt ideas so prevalent in western culture, especially concerning women. Her father prided himself in keeping an ‘Indian’ home, and he was a tyrant.

Even before they relocated they’d started having arguments about her appearance, namely her ‘immodest’ dress on the infrequent times when she was allowed out. Her father didn’t think even conservative jeans and a sweater were appropriate in public. In London she’d also gone to a private school but it had much more of an international flavor. Rashmi had made several friends at the school and had become a master of deception, borrowing clothing freely from her friends when they went out to the shops or the cinema. She and her father had argued about how she spent her time outside their home, which was usually just with friends. He wanted to know where she was at all times and if she was allowed to go to the cinema he had to approve of the film.

Recently he had even taken to delaying his departure for work in the mornings until after she was ready to go to school so he could inspect how she wore her school uniform. More than once he had sent her back to her room to change into different color tights or a longer skirt. One evening he had flown into a rage when she had forgotten to wash off the makeup she had put on at school. The only reason she had a cell phone was so he could check up on her. If she was out of the house he required her to check in every hour. She suspected he had also installed some kind of location device on it.

She tried her best to follow his rules and she was a straight ‘A’ student but she never received any praise for her efforts from either of her parents. Excellent grades were expected. As he examined her last report card he had asked her why she hadn’t received ‘A+’ grades, and didn’t seem to believe her when she explained an ‘A’ was as high as could be earned at her current school.

Another problem raised its head just after school resumed for the current quarter when she had come home and announced over dinner that her school counselor had encouraged her to start thinking about colleges where her skills in mathematics and analytical problem solving could be further developed. The counselor had given her several brochures and told her that most prestigious schools had scholarships available for students with her grades and aptitude. Her father had scoffed at the idea that she should go to college at all. “So you can become just another one of those childless unmarried women who think they are equal to a man?” He had thrown the brochures in the trash, but she had retrieved them even more determined that she would find a way to go to college and eventually be free of the man.

It had gotten to the point that just after the beginning of the year she had overheard her father talking to his parents in India about how out of control she was and that she was turning into just another disrespectful and immodest girl in the American mold. He had asked them to consider having Rashmi come to live with them to get her away from ‘evil influences.’ She could only hear one side of the conversation but it was obvious from his expression and tone, her grandparents were telling him something he didn’t want to hear.

So that afternoon, poorly dressed for the weather as she hurried along the snow-covered sidewalk toward the ‘L, ‘ Mr. Patil pulled up beside her in his SUV. Through the passenger window he told her that Mani had been in an accident and had been rushed to the hospital and he had been asked by Rashmi’s parents to pick her up and bring her directly to the hospital. Unthinking, she had climbed into the big vehicle, grateful for the warmth and being out of the snow, but very much concerned for her fourteen year old sister. She pulled out her phone to call her parents but Mr. Patil had insisted that they shouldn’t be disturbed in the emergency room.

At the next stoplight Mr. Patil had leaned over as if to say something and she had spotted the poorly concealed syringe in his hand. He pushed up her skirt and tried to jab it into her thigh while she struggled. She then felt the sharp pinch as the needle broke the skin but she continued to struggle as he started to push down the plunger. A car behind them honked as the light changed and while Patil was startled and she was able to push his hand away which pulled the syringe from her thigh. He immediately back handed her and her head bounced against the window, briefly stunning her, and she tasted blood in her mouth. She could feel the drug start to take effect as she tried the door handle as the car moved away from the light, but it was locked. Soon her world got hazy and she slumped against the back of the seat.

Rashmi didn’t know how long they drove as she sat stupefied from the drug. It must have been powerful because even the partial dose he had injected meant she couldn’t will her body to do anything. Her eyes got heavy and maybe she was unconsciousness for a time. The next thing she knew he had the car door open and he pulled her out. She almost collapsed onto the snow-covered sidewalk and would have had he not had his arm around her.

“Walk damn you!” he demanded

The cold air seemed to revive her a bit and she began to struggle as he half-dragged her up the sidewalk toward a darkened single-story brick home. She gathered a breath to scream but he covered her mouth. She then tried to bite his hand but he was too strong and finally they reached the front door. He held her with one arm as he opened it and then he flung her inside where she ended up sprawled on the cold linoleum floor. Adrenaline surged through her body, and that plus her fear and anger helped to overcome what remained of the drug. When he turned to use the key to lock the door from the inside and she jumped up and attacked him from behind, arms flailing. Patil was not a big man but he was strong and he turned and easily fought off the efforts of the slight sixteen year old girl. She landed hard on the floor again. In the struggle she had managed to rake his face with her nails. He put his hand to his face and his fingers came away bloody. He reached down and grabbed Rashmi’s arm, twisting it as he pulled her to her feet, and said with menace, “So that’s how it’s going to be huh?” He pulled the unwilling girl into the small living room where the only light came through the thin curtains from the streetlight outside.

“Well we’ll see how tough you are after a few days as my guest. You’re mine now, I own you - bought and paid for and the sooner you recognize that the better off you’ll be.”

She spat in his face, and without hesitation he backhanded her again. His powerful slap caused her to see stars as she was flung across the room and onto the bare wood floor, hitting her head. He stood over her and losing his temper he started kicking her. “I’ll teach you, you little bitch!”

Rashmi curled into a ball trying to protect her head and stomach as his kicks pounded her sides, legs, and back. Soon she was gasping for breath and sobbing. She barely noticed as he stripped her, ripping her clothes from her body as she pleaded with him to let her go. When he was done he dragged her across the floor by her legs down a hallway and into a small bedroom which was to be her prison. The last she heard of him was his keys in the outside of the door to the room. At that point she lost the contents of her stomach and spent several minutes retching and crying. Eventually on hands and knees in the dark she discovered the bed and collapsed, rolling into a ball.

How long ago had all that happened? It was dark when he brought her to the house and it was dark now. Then she vaguely remembered awakening sometime and that’s when she had discovered the bathroom just off the bedroom. There had been daylight through the tiny bathroom window set high on the wall. She had found a light switch and there was only a very small single bulb over the rust-stained sink. During that sojourn she had wrapped the blanket around herself and used the bathroom and taken a long drink from the bathroom faucet and then she used the dim light from the bathroom to explore the bedroom. The bed had a battered metal frame and the mattress was uncovered. There wasn’t even a pillow. Next to the bed was an ancient looking wooden kitchen chair. The door to the rest of the house and any chance of escape was steel and locked with a sturdy deadbolt. The only window in the bedroom was boarded over with thick plywood and the light fixture in the ceiling over the bed didn’t work when she tried the light switch.

Escape? Hadn’t he said something about that too? Yes she remembered. When he dragged her into the bedroom he had said, “You’ll never escape and if you ever do, I’ll find you, and I’ll make you wish you were dead.” Rashmi shuddered when she remembered those words.

This time she was much more awake but her entire body ached as she walked into the bathroom, her feet becoming numb from the cold linoleum floor. When she turned on the light she was shocked by the face that squinted back at her in the rust-flecked bathroom mirror over the sink. Long gone was the fresh-faced sixteen year old that had walked out of school whenever that was, replaced by someone much older who sported a black eye so swollen that she could hardly see out of it, a purple bruise that covered half the other side of her face and swollen lips, the lower one split badly and oozing blood. Her long black hair was tangled and filthy with dirt from the floor and what looked like dried blood. She also had a headache that throbbed from the lump on the back of her head where she’d landed on the floor during one of his assaults. The Rashmi in the mirror was unrecognizable.

As she stared at the damaged face in the mirror she got angry. He was too big to take on by herself, she had found that out already, but there must be something she could use as a weapon. Rashmi walked slowly back into the bedroom, her body aching with every step and in the dim light from the bathroom she looked at the two pieces of furniture. The chair was light enough for her to lift but probably would do no good if she hit him with it. The metal headboard and footboard on the bed were one piece and no help. The bed frame was also bolted to the headboard and footboard.

She went back into the bathroom and looked at the sink and toilet. Could she break the glass in the mirror and use the shards? Maybe. At least she might be able to cut him. She pulled off the top of the toilet tank and looked inside. There was the usual ball apparatus held by a metal rod. Could she use that? She unscrewed the ball from the rod and her body protested as she worked the ancient copper rod back and forth until it came out of its socket. She felt a sense of satisfaction as she held the foot long piece of copper. Would it do any good? She’d need surprise and to locate a soft spot on his body to stab him, like his neck or stomach. Whatever happened she vowed to fight him when he returned. If he killed her then she’d be no worse off than being ‘owned’ by Mr. Patil.

Sunil Patil was nervous as he drove up to the house. He looked around. It was after six pm and was dark and snow threatened again. There was no one about – no one to see him or his SUV parked in the driveway next to the house. He had specifically picked this neighborhood to buy this house. It was on a quiet cul-de-sac and the nearest house just across the drive was abandoned, and the house on the other side was inhabited by an old man who seemed deaf and who kept to himself. Across the street were a vacant rental and an empty snow-covered lot.

No one would hear the little bitch’s screams as he trained her. He touched the side of his face and felt the scabs over the marks she left on his face. She was a feisty one, but he would soon ‘train’ that out of her. He got out of his Navigator and took a canvas messenger bag with him. Inside were a number of restraints, a gag and a collar and leash. His client in Europe had been very specific about the girl he wanted. Patil had never gotten a request for an ‘Indian’ girl, but as soon as he had he knew exactly who he would take. He hated the word ‘kidnap, ‘ it was distasteful. He was a businessman providing a commodity and had in fact purchased the girl.

He smiled at the huge amount of money young Rashmi Darzi would bring. Of course she would need to be trained to serve and once docile he would have to let her heal. His client wouldn’t like the girl as she looked now, but between the training and the transit time to Europe she’d look much better on delivery. Patil wasn’t really sorry he’d beaten the girl. If she hadn’t resisted in the car she would have been unconscious and would have awakened in the bedroom. Instead she fought him. Well, it was too late to do anything about that now. Hopefully she’d cooperate. It was only yesterday – twenty four hours – she’d be hungry by now and with the heat very low in the house, cold too. Yes, he expected her to be much different from the girl who fought him yesterday, just like the other girls he trained.

As he walked up the sidewalk to the house, a thought struck him. If the client was happy with Rashmi, perhaps her younger sister, who was equally pretty, could also be offered to the man.

He had visions of an exclusive vacation spot in a much warmer place from the money that soon would be his. Chicago was awful in the winter, but his legitimate import/export business was here and successful so he had to remain, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t take time away someplace warmer. Plus his other business – finding girls for exclusive and well-paying clients, required a large city where it was not uncommon for young women to go missing.

He opened the door to the house. It really wasn’t all that much warmer than outside. Yes she’d be cold and hungry. He walked into the living room and turned on a small table lamp near the threadbare cloth-covered sofa. Her clothes were still scattered about where he’d tossed them yesterday. He needed to gather them up and dispose of them. After all, she’d not be wearing clothes anytime soon. But all in good time.

Patil laid his expensive overcoat across the back of the battered sofa and his suit jacket soon joined it. He also took off his tie and rolled up the sleeves of his expensive shirt. The one from yesterday had his blood on the collar from the scratches on his face. He’d been tempted to throw it away but decided to try to soak it first. He hated to have to waste an expensive custom tailored shirt.

He hadn’t tried to be quiet as he came in and moved about in the house, because he wanted her to hear him and be waiting, fearful and ready to cooperate. He even whistled a little popular tune that had been featured in some dreadful Bollywood film recently.

It was time. He smiled, practically trembling in anticipation. The keys jangled as he pulled them out of his pocket and he had to steady his hand as he put the key in the lock in the dimly lighted hallway.

Patil opened the door a few inches and stuck his head in to be able to observe the bed where he expected her to be. Even with the small amount of light from the hallway he was able to see the bed was empty. He was surprised, but then he saw light from under the bathroom door. He paused halfway through the door thinking about how he’d handle it. He couldn’t remember if the bathroom door had a lock or not. It didn’t really matter. He’d go to the door and try to open it. If it was locked he’d simply kick it down.

As he stepped into the dark room he caught something white out of the corner of his eye above his head. He had just enough time to look up when whatever it was crashed into his skull with a blinding pain. He was unconscious before his face hit the floor, breaking his nose.

The momentum of swinging the heavy porcelain toilet tank cover and the fact it shattered as it crashed into Patil’s head pulled Rashmi off the rickety chair. She landed hard on hands and knees on the cold floor. Her adrenaline surging, she was quickly back on her feet and without even looking at him she ran through the door and slammed it behind her. To her relief the key was still in the lock. She turned the key and felt the deadbolt go home. At that she sank to the floor, her naked back against the cold metal door, her breath coming in gasps, her body shaking as she sobbed. As her breathing started to return to normal she noticed the keys in her hand and as the adrenaline receded she felt the effect of the cold from the floor and the door. She tried to will her body to get up and flee the house but it was hard to move. Some part of her brain noticed there was no sound from within the room. Had she killed him? She couldn’t find it within herself to even care, but she also realized she’d succeeded beyond her imagining. Lifting the heavy porcelain toilet tank cover had been an act of desperation by a caged starving animal. Her battered body and arms had objected, but she had done it. She had escaped!

What now?

There were several problems. She was naked, cold and starving, her strength seemed to have been completely exhausted in the act of freeing herself, and she had no idea where she was. Rashmi had no way to call the police or anyone for help. What about the neighbors? It was freezing outside and there was snow on the ground. Too bad she hadn’t grabbed the blanket before she left the bedroom – no, she had done the right thing – she’d gotten out fast. Then she heard an airplane not far overhead and recalled hearing planes during her confinement, so most likely she was not far from the airport. What good would that knowledge do her?

She pushed herself up on shaky legs and for the first time noticed blood on her left knee and a deep cut on the palm of her left hand. It was bleeding profusely and started to sting. She made a fist to try to stop the bleeding. When she fell she must have landed on some of the shards of the toilet tank cover. She stumbled down the short hallway using her hand on the wall to steady her rubbery-feeling legs, remembering him dragging her from this direction to the bedroom. This time there was a dim light in the living room, originating from a small table lamp. She sighed with relief when she saw her clothing. They were still strewn about; reminding her of his brutality, but they were there. Her brain kept telling her to hurry but her body didn’t want to cooperate, and her ribs hurt with every breath. She desperately wanted to be clean and wondered if there were some towels or soap in the kitchen which she could see, through an alcove, just off the living room.

Rashmi walked into the kitchen keeping an ear cocked for noise from the locked bedroom, but there was no sound. There she discovered paper towels on a roller and an ancient bar of soap on the big porcelain sink. She ran the water, which eventually became warm and using the soap and towels managed to tend to the deep cut on her palm and the superficial scrape on her knee. Then she washed herself as best she could with the soapy paper towels, discovering new injuries with each gentle swipe. She thought about washing her hair in the sink but that would take too long and the paper towels were inadequate for the job of drying it, so she settled on running a wet soapy towel over it a few times as she leaned over the sink, which did little to unravel the tangles or get the blood out of it. It would just have to do. Rashmi then tore one paper towel into strips for a makeshift bandage for the cut on her hand.

Rashmi returned to the living room and discovered her bra and panties were in tatters. She did put on her dark tights despite the runs that he had caused, along with her skirt and her blouse which was missing most of its buttons. The sweater was of medium weight but after the prolonged cold felt wonderful and warming. She retrieved her flats which were across the room from each other and she slipped them on, knowing they would be inadequate for walking in the snow but they would be far better than walking barefoot. Where was her jacket? Still in Patil’s car? And her small purse and phone? She had them when she got into the car but had little recollection about where they were when he dragged her out.

Then she discovered his jacket and overcoat over the back of the sofa. She quickly looked through the pockets, repulsed by the smell of his strong cologne on the garments, and to her amazement she came up with his expensive-looking wallet from the inside pocket of his suit jacket, and his cell phone from a pocket of his overcoat. The cell phone said it was February third and it was a little before seven pm. She’d been a prisoner for just over twenty-four hours.

The wallet was a treasure. It contained almost eight hundred dollars in cash and several credit cards and his driver’s license. Now she could call the police. She started to dial 911 and then she paused. What had he meant when he said, she was ‘bought and paid for?’ Who had sold her? Suddenly a chill went through her. Could her father have done such a thing? How would they explain her absence? Gone to India to live with grandparents? Would anyone question that? She hadn’t really made any new friends at school so no one would question her disappearance. How about her mother? Surely she wouldn’t allow him to do such a thing – would she? Rashmi frowned as she set the phone down on the small table under the lamp. Her mother was too afraid of her father and she wouldn’t say anything.

But what about Mani? She guessed her parents would simply report Rashmi as a runaway. She wondered if her sister would accept that explanation. She was fourteen, what else could she do?

Rashmi wrapped her arms around herself, suddenly cold from the inside. No, she decided, she would not call the police until she had a chance to think this through. She excelled at math and loved those word problems that required creative thinking, so she decided she’d treat her predicament as a problem to be solved logically.

First, at least for now, she could conclude there was no one she could turn to, at least no one she could trust, so she was on her own. What else had Patil said? He had warned her that if she escaped he would find her. Where could she go and how far could she get with the money in the wallet? She wouldn’t dare use the credit cards since the transactions were traceable. She looked at the keys in her hand. One of them was to the SUV.

Rashmi put on Patil’s large overcoat. It was heavy and came to her ankles but it was probably cashmere and seemed very warm. She discovered some lined leather gloves in one of the pockets and put them on too. They were too big but it was blessing since it covered her make- shift bandage. The front door was unlocked and as she went out the door into the darkness she was hit by a blast of icy air filled with snow. She walked across the snow-covered lawn at the snail’s pace dictated by the aches from her badly bruised legs. She pushed the ‘unlock’ symbol on the key and was soon climbing into the driver’s side of the Navigator. Like his clothes it smelled of his cologne. She looked at the instrument panel and large steering wheel, wishing she knew how to drive.

Another plane came overhead. It seemed very low and that meant the airport wasn’t that far away. But which one? She didn’t know where Patil had taken her so she couldn’t even guess. Could she buy a plane ticket? She would have to show some identification to do that and she had none. The purchase of a plane ticket would also leave a record. Rashmi looked around in the car and eventually went back outside and around to the passenger side where she’d been seated when he drugged her. She stood in the open door with the interior lights on and looked around the seat and on the floor. She smiled, although it made her split lip hurt, when she discovered her phone and her small purse under the passenger seat. The thin leather shoulder strap on her purse was broken but the contents, her student identification and seven dollars were still there. Now if she could only find her jacket.

Rashmi then opened the back passenger side door but there was nothing. She looked at the key fob again and saw a symbol for the lift gate on the rear. That button caused the rear hatch to swing up. As she examined the items stored back there, the overhead hatch kept her mostly out of the snow but there was a steady wind which caused the snow to swirl around. Soon it covered her hair and the shoulders of the coat. She was glad she’d worn it. There was no sign of her jacket. She did find a portable shovel which caused her to shudder, thinking about what Patil might do if he caught her again. There was also a large yellow bag of kitty litter which was not unusual for people who drove in snowy conditions. She also discovered a heavy tan canvas Gladstone type bag, and when she opened it she discovered an emergency road kit. There was a small first aid kit, a new wool watch cap with a ‘Bears’ logo on it still wrapped in plastic, some emergency road flares and some reflective triangles, a flashlight and various tools. Rashmi opened the plastic bag and took out the cap, shook the snow from her hair and pulled it on, covering her ears. “Ouch,” she said as she pulled it down over the egg-sized lump on the back of her head. She took the first aid kit and the small flashlight then hit the button to close the hatch and made her way back into the house, phone and purse in hand.

Before setting foot in the open door Rashmi stopped and listened for any sound, and as she did so she tried to brush the snow off herself. She also noticed the house number on the post next to the door. She then quietly went down the hall and checked the door to the bedroom. Her heart rate slowed considerably when she saw it was still securely closed. She approached the door stopped and listened barely breathing. There was nothing. She figured if Patil was conscious he’d be making noise and threatening her and trying to get it open.