Jiel Narvekar
“Did you check the link I sent? Murder mystery from the 80s,” said Mona as she plonked on the couch gathering the remotes around her.
“I did, 8.1 rating on IMDB,” Ricky said, settling into his La-Z-Boy next to Mona. “Did you get the chips from the kitchen?” Ricky asked Mona.
Mona just lifted the packet to show him the chips and other snacks assembled on the table.
This was their thing. Friday night binge fest. Cozying, having a drink or a joint if lucky, ordering in and binge watching frenzied psychopaths unleashing their terror. True love.
“This series is hyped”, said Mona through a mouthful of chips. “I can predict the end. All these series have a similar template”, she explained. “Troubled childhood, screwed up adolescence and then a crime. The detective is a brooding tough guy cop. Split from his wife. Or a pregnant lady”, she said rather smugly.
“You should write a series, Mona. I’m telling you, you’re in the wrong field. You could make a lot of money and then I don’t have to work”, said Ricky. His attempts to be funny.
“You’re complimenting me or trying to weasel out of working?” Mona asked, laughing.
“Pause the TV, I must tell you this!” said Mona excitedly. She had that sparkle in her eye. She moved closer to Ricky and began talking with her hands. “You know the guy who lives on the first floor?” she asked.
“The weird looking fellow with a ponytail?” asked Ricky.
“Yup, he was dressed like a vagabond, roaming around talking to someone on the phone. I overheard him arguing and abusing someone.”
“Must have fought with someone,” said Ricky rather dismissively.
“No, it wasn’t a normal argument. Very heated. Seemed off. I must stalk him and find out more,” Mona said gleefully.
“He was at the store earlier and I saw him buying nonsense.”
“Like what?”
“Asking for duct tape and rope to hang clothes. Neither was he able to explain what he wanted nor could the store people understand. Can’t speak Hindi.”
“Duct tape and rope? Kidnapper or murderer?” Mona asked. She was excited at the prospect. “What if he is planning an abduction? In our building and few floors below! Yikes!” she squealed.
“Maybe he was yelling at his wife, girlfriend or boss? What if he’s a corporate hitman! Demolish everyone in the way of your career. That would be a cool idea for a series,” Ricky said.
***
“Let’s order in,” Ricky stated firmly.
“You read my mind. I am in no mood for cooking,” Mona lamented.
Mona took her place on the couch. Ricky settled into his La-Z-Boy. She was on her phone scrolling furiously with one hand, the other hand suspended at the television. “What are you doing?” said Ricky, snapping his fingers at Mona’s face, trying to break her out of her scroll trance.
“I did some digging,” Mona said, eyes still fixed on her phone. “There! Take a look.” She shoved her phone in front of Ricky’s face.
“Okay, so you stalked the first floor guy—and?” Ricky asked, looking at Mona.
Mona took the phone back.
“Who posts shit like this? I told you something is off about him. And this girl who appeared in so many of his posts up until two years ago. Now nothing!” She exclaimed.
“Maybe they broke up?” Ricky tried to rationalise.
“So here is where it gets interesting. I checked this guy on Instagram, Facebook and LinkedIn. He, his weird posts and the girl, all there. But just till two years ago. All her social media activity stopped two years ago,” Mona said. She had that crazy glint in her eyes.
“Okay former agent Mona, so the girl has not been active on social media. What does that mean? She’s dead. Could also mean they broke up.” Ricky tried to play the devil’s advocate.
“Why would she go off social media if they broke up?” Mona asked.
Ricky opened his mouth to speak but she stopped him.
“Okay maybe she may be off. But two years? Two years is too much to be off social media. She could have blocked him. Deleted that profile and created a new one,” she said.
“Okay, valid point”, said Ricky.
“I checked missing persons, deaths and—”
“How can you check deaths for all the people in the country?” Ricky interrupted her.
“Let me finish! I checked in groups the guy, Paul, is in. People from their circle posted some messages to this girl, Ritu, saying please come back, we miss you, etc. etc.”
“Come back from where?”
“Exactly! Come back from being lost, from death, no idea.” Mona said.
“What if he killed her?” Ricky asked.
***
“Hey did you get any leads from your subreddit?” Mona asked as she was sticking a Post-it on the new investigation board in their bedroom. She had got Ricky excited about the ‘true crime’ mystery in their building. She created and updated the investigation board. Ricky scoured the internet for leads.
“Nothing concrete,” Ricky said, sounding disappointed.
“Why would Paul relocate to Mumbai? He is a freelancer so he could operate from anywhere?” Mona rationalised.
“Did the broker say anything?”
“I probed him and he too agreed that Paul was strange. But nothing concrete. Not much luggage when Paul moved in. Nothing Asad said stood out.”
Ricky went back to his laptop. His forehead was furrowed and jaw clenched. Mona realised something was not right.
“Paul is on to us,” said Ricky stoically. “He posted on my Reddit thread.”
Mona looked over Ricky’s shoulder and read the post. ‘Stop the speculation and get a life!’
“So now?” said Mona, sounding worried.
“He would not know that it’s you under this username,” Mona said, trying to be logical.
“The way I cracked his username, maybe he can do the same for me?” said Ricky, thinking out loud.
***
“Ricky, wake up,” said Mona, shaking Ricky. “Where is the investigation board, my suspect board?” she sounded frenzied.
Ricky woke up rubbing his eyes. Disoriented.
“What are you talking about Mona? What’s the time?” Ricky asked. He glanced at the clock, it was 6.00 a.m.
“Why are you up early on a Saturday? What board?” asked Ricky, still hungover.
“The suspect investigation board I had created right here,” Mona said, animatedly motioning an area where the board should have been.
“I have no idea,” said Ricky.
Mona was fuming with rage. She wanted to slap Ricky.
“Ricky, the board I made to solve the true crime case we are working on!” she said, halting and emphasising each word as if she were explaining instructions to a toddler.
Ricky just stared at Mona as if she were speaking Latin.
“It’s too early. Can I get back to bed?” he asked.
“You know about Paul right? The weird guy on the first floor. We are trying to find out if he is behind Ritu’s disappearance.” Mona sounded exasperated.
“Who is Paul? Did you have a bad dream?” asked Ricky sounding concerned.
“Ricky, I swear, when we went to bed last night, the investigation board was right there,” Mona said, tears rolling down her face.
Ricky hugged her. “Mona, you are dreaming. There is no Paul, no investigation board right now, not last night. Please let’s get back to bed,” he begged.
Mona was sobbing. She opened her laptop and was searching frantically.
“Nothing. It’s erased. You think Paul did this?” she asked through sobs.
“Mona, there is NO Paul,” Ricky said firmly. “You are dreaming,” he yelled.
Mona closed her laptop and drew the covers over her face. She was crying on her pillow. Ricky spooned her and kissed her neck.
***
Mona marched down to the first floor and rang the doorbell. Ricky was at work and she decided to take the day off. It had been almost two weeks since she was trying to convince Ricky about Paul. Ricky had the entire episode erased from his memory. Reddit board vanished. Mona’s system reset, no search details.
“Mona, maybe it was an elaborate dream. Stress at work has got to you. It happens love,” Ricky said to her when she was trying to explain the incident.
He brushed off Mona’s theories. Mona had resolved to solve this mystery with or without Ricky.
“The best way to figure it out is to see Paul in the flesh,” she said to herself.
There she was with bated breath, heart pounding at the door of the first-floor flat.
“Yes, tell me,” the woman who opened the door said. She had a tired expression on her face. Wore a t-shirt and track pants. Her hair tied in a messy bun. She was expecting Mona to say something. The girl was Ritu. All social media posts showed a better dressed Ritu but this was normal Ritu.
“Is your internet working fine?” blurted Mona. That was her plan, ring the bell to check the internet connectivity. She could say her internet was slow and she was checking with the neighbours. The idea was to complain to the service provider. Mona was thorough with her plan.
“Yes, it’s okay. Are you from the company?” asked the woman, sounding annoyed. Mona didn’t look like a person from a broadband company.
“No, I live on the fifth floor,” blurted Mona. “I was just checking around as my internet connectivity seemed slow.”
“Okay then, bye,” the girl said, closing the door. Mona was shocked.
Racing back home, she leaped for her laptop. She typed in ‘Ritu’ and her usual search options and nothing came up.
“Where’s my bloody phone?” she said, scrambling around. She checked the society WhatsApp group and found Ritu. But she was not Ritu. The display name showed Rhea Naik.
Mona went back to social media and searched Rhea Naik. Sure enough, the similar, not same posts she had seen earlier appeared. Most recent post was yesterday.
“Damn, she’s been posting and no sign of Paul,” said Mona to herself. She searched all files on her laptop. Went through her folders, her search engine. Her phone rang, it was Ricky.
“Hey, just called to ask you what’s happening?”
“Did you know that a lady called Rhea Naik lives in the first-floor flat,” Mona said.
Ricky groaned on the call. “Stop it now please. I think you need a psychiatrist.”
“Okay forget it, I’m okay, what’s happening?” Mona said, sounding distant.
The conversation was short. A cursory check-in call. Mona ended the call. “Hey, listen, I need to get into a work call in 5 minutes, got to hang up. See you.”
There was no work call. Mona was on her laptop when Ricky called. She disconnected as soon as she saw a word file titled “True Crime and Other Side Effects – Fiction Story”. The file was updated five minutes earlier. Mona hovered the cursor and saw that the author of the file was JN.
She sucked in her breath and opened the file.
“Did you check the link I sent? Murder mystery from the 80s,” said Mona as she plonked on the couch gathering the remotes around her.
This was the start of the story titled “True Crime and Other Side Effects”. Mona scrolled below, reading the rest. It was still not finished. The last lines typed were: “Okay forget it, I’m okay, what’s happening?” Mona said, sounding distant.
Mona shut the laptop. She walked to her dresser and chugged some water from her Stanley cup. She looked at herself in the mirror. Devoid of any make-up, her hair in a messy bun, glasses on, wearing her top and tracks. She peered inside the mirror.
“Go on then,” Mona said to her reflection. “Finish it. I want to know how I end.”
Jiel is a poet and storyteller whose haiku and poems have appeared in Cold Moon Journal, Failed Haiku, Wee Sparrow Poetry Press, Trash Panda Haiku, King River Press, The Alipore Post, The Piker Press, 100SUBTEXTS, and Coffee and Conversations, among others. Her short stories have been featured in Kitaab International, Muse India, and Mean Pepper Vine. Jiel self-published a poetry anthology in 2024 titled Melancholy, Maybe.
Featured photo by Cottonbro Studio (Pexels)
