VECTOR

Chapter 5 Infection

CHAPTER 5

Infection

Jasmine exited her secret account, and she knew her computer would excise the site from her browser history. She didn't bother shutting down the entire computer. If Ravi entered and found the computer in the midst of a restart, he would be suspicious. Better to leave it running. Let him click through the windows. He would find nothing. Hiding her anxiety, she stood and moved to the stove. It was time to start dinner. She hoped Ravi had not had too much to drink.

When the door opened, Jasmine turned with a smile.

“Good evening,” she said. “Welcome.”

He smiled and crossed to her, and she kept her smile. He had never been easy to read, and she did not speak first. She had learned to wait; the wrong word often bruised her.

“Good evening, Jasmine,” he said and grabbed her arms.

She did nothing. Shrinking back or even moving forward might be a trigger.

He smiled and kissed her lightly, tenderly, something that was not customary. She did not fight him but accepted his attention.

“I have missed you,” he said.

“I am here for you,” she answered, fearing that what he missed was beating her.

“You are the better part of me, and do not think that I have not noticed.”

She bowed her head. “You flatter me too much.”

He lifted her chin and stared into her eyes, and she had the feeling he knew far more than she could imagine. Fear’s icy grip wrapped itself around her stomach. What was he planning? How would he hurt her?

“You are both beautiful and intelligent—and you give yourself to me.”

He kissed her again before he turned away. “When dinner is ready, call me. I have work to perform before then.”

“Yes, my husband.”

She watched him leave, and she trembled despite her effort to tame her fear. A kind and complimentary Ravi was far more dangerous than the angry Ravi. The angry Ravi was predictable. The whip, the beating, the taking of what he wanted. She could see that coming, and she could prepare for it. But the kind Ravi, the thoughtful Ravi, that man was mercurial. He could change direction in a heartbeat. A hug might end up in a choking, a kiss might turn into a bite that made her lips bleed. Often in the past, she had succumbed to his ministrations, to that kind gesture. Always, always, it was a mistake. Whenever she opened up to him, allowed herself to hope and love, at that moment, he transformed into the monster. Always, she cursed herself for being stupid. Always, she promised never to be so gullible again. Always, that promise was broken.

Always…before Jacques. After Paris, after Jacques, she was not going to forget her vow. There was a better life for her, and she wasn't going to forsake it. It shone like a bright star. All she had to do was remember what Ravi had done to her, remember what Jacques had done for her. No matter how attentive Ravi might be, she was not going to turn back. The vial in her sock was tangible proof that she had stepped across that imaginary line. She was taking the initiative. She was going to be free.

Ravi be damned.

At dinner, Ravi was every bit as nice as he had been when he came home. Jasmine thought that perhaps he had consumed the perfect amount of whiskey, just enough to soften his character, but not so much to make his evil twin emerge. But she thought that for only a moment. No, Ravi was being nice for a reason. She knew him too well. He wanted her to lower her defenses. He wanted her to hope. Because if she hoped, his quick change would be even more devastating. She reminded herself of that over and over, even after dinner ended. She reminded herself when she fixed his after dinner drink, his Rabri Doodh, something he took every night. And this night, she added a dollop of the sleeping powder she had acquired when insomnia punished her. She still suffered; whip marks and bruises often did not allow sleep.

He kissed her hand when she served him his drink. She smiled, thanking him. Had he slapped her at that moment, she would not have been surprised. He was a beast with two faces, and he had few restraints. Smiling, she retreated. She returned to the kitchen and her computer. Her heart beat faster than usual, and she guessed that if she stayed close to him, he would notice. He was clever that way. If he suspected her, he would beat her until she gave him the answer he desired—but not too soon. She could never be broken too quickly. That, in itself, was suspect.

She surfed the net, hunting for clothes. That was a safe topic. She had heard stories of people, especially women, who made the mistake of visiting web sites not approved by the hardline imams and their enforcers. Jasmine was fully aware that everything she did online could be intercepted and recreated. Not even the dark web was safe. The women who had been outed were subjected to punishments worse than what Ravi administered. Jasmine reminded herself of that every time she was tempted to pull up a porn site some other woman might send. She smiled as she imagined what she might do once she had escaped Ravi and Karachi. She believed that she would literally a new life.

She waited over an hour before she went to check on her husband. He was not yet asleep, but he was drowsy. She picked up the empty glass and gently helped him out of his chair. He smiled and did not protest. She helped him into the bedroom even as he told her she was an angel, the answer to all his prayers. No man could ever have a better wife. Other men envied him because he had her.

Jasmine did not take his compliments to heart. She helped him out of his clothes and into his night shirt. Luckily, he was still awake enough to do most of the work. All the time, she thanked him for his kind words and said her own kinds words in return. She imagined that her words were as false as his. For a moment, she wondered just how husbands and wives came to lie to each other. It seemed like a universal truth. Sooner or later, people lied despite their sure knowledge that what they said was a lie. She supposed peace in the home was better than truth. In her home, she peace trumped everything.

Jasmine locked the doors and turned out the lights before she returned to the bedroom. Ravi was on his stomach, snoring softly. When he turned onto his back, he would sound like a bull elephant, or what Jasmine thought a bull elephant would sound like. She touched him, and he did not move. He was completely out.

Working quickly, she put on rubber gloves and a surgical mask. Neither would protect her if she became careless, but it was the best she could do. She retrieved the vial from her sock and a syringe from another drawer. Before she filled the syringe, she raised Ravi's nightshirt to expose his lower back. It was not the optimal place for an injection, but it was good enough, and it was a place he would never see. If it proved a bit sore, it would be ignored. She knew her husband. He was not about to ask someone to examine his back. In a day or two, it would be forgotten—but not by her.

She filled the syringe, but she did not check for air bubbles. There was no way she was going to lose even a drop of what was in the vial. It was far too dangerous. She looked at the syringe and its deadly load and began to shake.

Jasmine had reached the point of no return. If she continued, there was no going back. If things didn’t work out as planned, terrible things might happen. Even if they worked out exactly as planned, it would mean the end of Ravi. Did she have the courage? Could she condemn him to death? Was she that kind of person? Never in her life, had she knowingly caused a death, and while this was not pulling the trigger of a gun, it was, nevertheless, a killing. The chances of Ravi surviving were less than one in ten. She knew that. She knew what she was doing.

Jacques.

The name flamed up in her brain.

Jacques.

His hands and arms and legs and smile cascaded through her mind. Paris smiled at her. Claire's laugh tinkled in the background. Wasn’t Jacques worth this? Wasn’t Jasmine’s life worth this? Without this, the future would be incredibly bleak. In fact, Jasmine was almost certain that if things didn’t change, she would find a way out of this life. She had come to believe that death was preferable. If she couldn't escape…

She knelt on the bed and touched the spot she meant to use.

He snorted, and for a moment, she couldn’t breathe. If he woke now and saw her with the syringe? She would be dead before the sun rose.

He settled back into sleep, and she willed her heart to slow. The needle shook back and forth. Her whole body seemed out of control. It was as if she had drunk a dozen coffees one after another. Her very eyeballs seemed to quiver.

A deep breath and she touched him again.

Nothing.

She set her lips and lowered the needle. She did not bother to sterilize the site. Did she care? With any luck, Ravi would be dead long before the wound became infected. She inserted the syringe, and he shifted an inch.

Fine.

She pressed the plunger and emptied the contents into Ravi, into her husband. She couldn’t get it back. She had cast the die, and she would live with the roll. She pulled out the needle and dabbed at the tiny wound with a tissue. Pulling down his shirt, she retreated.

She burned the tissue before she did anything else. She the syringe inside a plastic bag. She added her gloves and mask to a second bag. Then, she washed her hands with pungent, rough soap. She rubbed her hands till they were red. When she was finished she poured alcohol over her hands and scrubbed them a second time. She understood the danger involved far better than most, far better than Ravi who considered her work much like curing the common cold. She smiled. If he only knew…

When she joined him in bed, he was had turned. The bull elephant had returned. She had learned years before how to handle such nights. From the nightstand, she removed ear plugs which she inserted with sure experience. They weren't soundproof, but they would do. She moved as far from him as the bed allowed and closed her eyes. She thought she might be too excited to sleep. She was wrong. She fell asleep almost immediately, and she slept without dreams.

The morning sun had not yet risen when Jasmine left the bed. Ravi slept. If he didn't rise within the hour, she would rouse him. That was her job after Ravi spent an evening with his brother. But first, she readied herself and made breakfast. No matter what, she knew the routine must continue. Nothing could change, not yet. She would work, and he would work, and she would keep a careful eye on him. According to everything she knew, he would show no symptoms for a week. When he did, she must be prepared. It was incredibly important to be prepared.

Just before she went to wake him, she logged into her secret email account. It was terribly risky, and she knew that if she were caught, her life would become a living hell. Yet, she was too excited not to share something. She sent the email to Claire.

When the corner is turned, one should be surprised by what lies ahead.