Justice Beyond the Grave!

Part 2 of my 'Justice Series' on Sulekha.

Justice Beyond The Grave! by Rajiv Ramaratnam on Sulekha
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I have not met the grim reaper yet. I am beginning to think he is part of someone's creative imagination. Yes. I can still think. I can see too. If you can call it that. Seeing with one's eyes that belong to the material world. It belongs to the senses. I have no senses. However, I can see, think, remember and emote. I can see in the darkness of this casket, despite the absence of light. Philosophers and scientists argue that thoughts originate from sensations. In this realm, that simply is not true. My thoughts are only caused by my memories. Some are nostalgic. The others torment me. I cannot escape the latter. They are part of me.

Anger helps me rise. I rise effortlessly out of my body. I glance at my form without turning. I look so serene. I thank the undertaker. My charred corpse found in my decimated Corvette was not easy to restore. I rise through the wood of the coffin. I pass through the layers of the earth and view the cloudless blue sky. I have traveled at least a foot more than the proverbial six feet.

We are told that we are the sum of the choices we make. That part is true in this plane also. I am not ready to leave. All of Heaven's benedictions or Hell's fury will have to wait. My burning need for justice comes first.

I had more than a comfortable life on earth. I had achieved career highs and thought I had met and married the perfect woman. I could not have been a bigger fool. She was at this very spot, just a few hours ago. She played the grieving widow to perfection. Black suit, blood shot eyes, the works. Those tears would put any crocodile to shame. She finally left in the limo. My limo! The fury engulfs me. I have to use all the rest of me to fight it. I see a piece of paper several yards away. I see an image of her dropping it down when she was here. Unnoticed, it has stayed there, waiting for me. I can read it from several yards away, without moving even half a step closer to it. It reads, 'Serena Mystique. 9 pm.'

I know the handwriting. It belongs to Al.

I glance at it, burning with anger. A turbulent wind howls suddenly, blowing the paper into oblivion. Did I create that gust? I'll have to try it again later. There is work to be done tonight.

There is no waiting in this dimension. I simply move into the evening still several hours away. It is almost wondrous to see the sky change color from its azure blue through several shades of blue and gray into darkness.

I drift to the Mystique. It is resting a few miles into the ocean. I had paid a king's ransom to buy this yacht, just months before I met her at the fundraiser three years ago. We had made passionate love on the upper cabin from the very first time I had brought her on it. Even the thought of that night makes me sick.

Tonight, my manager Al and my 'grieving' widow have planned a rendezvous on my 'Serena Mystique'. “Leave it to Al,” I had said several times in the good old days when I used to have skin and bones. He sure took care of things!

They are both on the deck at the front end of the mystique. Only the railing protects them from the furious waters below. She is seated across him on this cloudless night. She is wearing that sexy red outfit, the one she wore that evening we were here together for the first time, the one that made me lust after her like a dog in heat. Her sensuous lips, the twinkle in her eye, her firm, round breasts and her round shapely hips. I did not stand a chance. I remember my heart skip a beat each time she turned to look at the waves behind her, as her naked back glistened in the moonlight.

I pulled her into my arms and kissed her full lips that night. She moaned and then it was our animal passions that got the better of us. Or was it just my animal passion? Anger floods my soul again. The ocean mimics the fury I feel. The wind howls. It speaks for me. It gives me a voice now. Did I just create this wind? Could my fury be a link to the material world? Could I summon those winds again?

She turns around and glances in my direction, seeing through me, at the murky water below.

“You ok?” Al asks her.

“Let's go inside,” she says firmly. Does she feel my presence?

He steps closer, placing a hand over her bare back.

“You must relax,” he tells her. He moves beside her. “I'll take care of you.” His fingers knead into the well-toned muscles of her shoulder. He spins her around and plants a kiss on the lips that I thought belonged to me and me alone. If I had hands, I could strangle him. I watch helplessly, crippled by the lack of existence.

She moves away from him.

“Have you taken the necessary precautions?” she asks him.

“Don't worry. I took the corporate jet from North Carolina. The pilot will take it back there. He is someone I trust…and take care of. I took a cab almost three miles from the hangar and got off about three miles from the harbor. I walked all the way here. No one will ever know. You must learn to relax now. As far as anyone else knows, I was never here.”

She considers for a moment.

“You're right,” she tells him. “Bring out the champagne.”

He steps into the cabin and returns, holding the champagne bottle and two glasses. He twists open the cork of the bottle until a loud pop is heard. He fills the two glasses and hands one to her. They kiss yet again and then sip the champagne.

“To us,” Al toasts.

“To us,” she repeats and sips.

She puts down the glass suddenly. She is gasping for breath. Something is not right.

“Asthma,” she gasps. “Get me the spray. It is in the little cupboard by my bunk.”

He steps inside again. She was lying. We had done a lot of rock climbing last summer. She had no breathing problems. Her hand moves underneath the table searching for something. Her fingers find a small bottle fastened to the underside of the table with duck tape. She tears off the bottle from the table, empties its contents into her palm and then drops them all in his glass. She has another bottle stuck to the dinner table inside. This is an added precaution just in case Al had agreed to go inside. Treacherous bitch.

The winds howl even more. The waves lash furiously against the sides of the yacht. The anger I feel now is very similar to the emotion in the material world. However, it is not the same. It is activated by strong thoughts. It is untainted by other human emotions like fear or jealousy. The roaring waves again speak my emotion.

As Al steps towards her, she offers him his glass.

“Bottoms up,” she says holding up her glass.

As they finish their drinks, she eyes him curiously. He watches her expression, his eyes growing smaller. He fights to focus and then realization hits him. In a sudden motion, he pulls her towards him and then pushes her against the railing.

Shocked, she glances for an instant at the furious waters below, her eyes mirroring the terror she feels.

“Al, what are you doing?” she cries.

“What did you put into my champagne, you fucking bitch?” he asks her, his strength slowly dissipating. His eyes are drifting away.

She senses this. She punches him hard in the face and then stabs him in the groin with one knee. He winces and lets go of her, tries to steady himself by holding on to the railing. She kicks him on the knee. Al crumbles on the deck. His knee barely intact, he holds onto the railing for support and slowly rises.

“I thought we were in this together,” he gasps. “All that I did was because I love you.”

He did not need to say more. The images appear before me. They are not like a flashback in a movie. They are more like intuitions than actual images that one sees. Al and I had this routine of Thursday evening tennis. This was an appointment I always kept however busy I was. When I was having my customary deep tissue massage, after a few sets, he had gone to the dark and empty garage and installed the bomb in my Corvette. He had an hour-and-a-half to get the job done. The bomb was set up to engage as soon as I turned on the ignition. Al was only working the plan. The credit for buying the bomb and masterminding the plan goes completely to my lovely widow.

She is no weakling. All those hours at the gym are more than adequate to take care of an injured dying man. As Al holds on to the railing to find his balance, she clutches his Adam's apple.

“Sorry, honeybunch, I have other plans,” she says in her mocking, singsong voice. “I do not see a future for the two of us.”

I survey the situation. Even if I had been in flesh, I would have felt little sympathy for Al. Nevertheless, if I left things to fate, only half of justice would be served.

I only have seconds before she hauls him overboard and walks away with my earnings scot-free. Unfortunately for him, Al had covered up his tracks too well. In this realm, a few milliseconds are an eternity. It is as if I can bring forward-moving time to a standstill. I think of all the times we had shared. I think of all the lies she had said. She had spoken of having children and growing old. The waves swell up as I try to focus on all her deceptions. I summon all my thoughts and feel their heat rise. The ocean grows more furious as I focus my thoughts. A single wave swells up. It rises from the water like a snake of myth, raising its monstrous hood several feet above water. It strikes the rear side of the Serena Mystique with all its fury.

The impact is sudden, swift and brutal. My wave has found its mark. For an instant, it looks as if the wave will topple the Serena and send it to the bottom of the ocean. My 'heartbroken' widow's body forcefully collides against Al, as his back strikes hard against the railing.

The two of them topple over the railing and are thrown into the icy waters. I know Al has lasted almost beyond all endurance and has little fight left in him. I let nature handle his fate and turn towards her.

She looks above the waters in desperation. The cold turbulent ocean carries her down as she fights in vain to reach the surface. Her eyes now stare at me in disbelief. For a moment she 'sees' me. I 'know' this. I see through her as water fills up her lungs. Her lifeless body travels down to the abysmal depths of the ocean. Finally it finds the bed. Her eyes are still open.

There is no light leaving her body. There are no angels from heaven or spirits from hell to take her soul away. The ocean is turbulent, still raging, but my serenity is finally here.

On the surface, I marvel that my majestic Serena has found her equilibrium. She stands with all her pride, victoriously over the very waters that tried to bring her down. I drift into the early hours of dawn, into an unknown destiny.