THRILLER: CHAPTER ONE

I started to write a thriller and gave up at chapter four. But anyway, here's chapter one. Chapter 2-4 to follow in the next week.

Giant white waves pound golden sands. The sky is the colour of fire as the sun sinks beneath the burning sea. She emerges then, a slim, dark shadow from the white froth of the ocean. She comes closer, and the sun's burning, dying light falls across her face. Her white dress clings to her curves, she reaches with one wet hand to push her dark hair back from her face. I see her face for the first time. It is the stuff of dreams, the face that myths and legends describe, too beautiful to be human.
She pauses as she reaches dry sand. And smiles, for the first time. It is a brilliant smile, crushing the breath from my lungs. The ground seems to move beneath my feet. I begin to understand her allure, why thousands mob the cinemas when her films released, just for a glimpse of this beautiful, shattering smile.
Someone yells "Cut!" The director, a little man in a black cap, waves his hand frantically as he jogs to the sands beside her. He starts to talk to her - they are too far away for me to hear. A moment later an assistant director announces that they are done for the day. As darkness spreads across the blood-red sky, and the stars begin to gleam faintly, the film crew begins to pack their equipment. Within a few minutes, the beach is almost empty. She, the goddess from the sea, towels her wet hair. She notices me, standing alone at the other end of the beach. With a slow, langurous wave she beckons to join her.
"Have you ever watched any of my films, Mr Gopal?" Her voice is sweet, the sound of anklets tinkling. I shake my head. I don't watch films - I don't have the time for it.
She laughs then. "All the better," she tells me, "you'll be honest with me then. God knows, I have enough flatterers who surround me. And a matter like this needs truth."
I smile, uncertainly. I still don't know that the matter is - what is she wants me to do. Just then, her mobile phone goes off. She reaches into her bag to pick it up.
"Excuse me," she says. "This is an important call, I've go to take it." I nod, she moves a little away, closer to the sea.
It's dark now. The moon casts a faint glimmer onto the seas. It's then that I hear a faint shuffle in the sands. I look up - searching for the source of a sound. But it's too dark to see anything. In the distance, I see a figure illuminated by the light of a streetlamp. It's her bodyguard.
Nothing to worry about. But it's then that a gunshot rips through the dark. My reflexes take over - I leap through the air, towards her, to push her out of the way. But I'm too late. The bullet has found it's mark. She lies in my arms, blood pouring from her temple. her eyes staring at the dark sky above.
She is dead.
I look up, and for a second I see a face - a thin, long face, with a dark beard. Our eyes meet, and then he disappears, into the sands. I get up then, leaving her corpse on the wet sands, and spring to follow him. I hear feet pound the wet, packed sands, and I follow his trail.
I look over my shoulder. Her bodyguard, torch in hand, leans beside her. He's checking her pulse. I look forward again, and follow the bearded, thin man to the edge of the sea.
It's then I notice that a big, black shape rocks on the restless waves, blocking out a patch of star-studded sky. The man, only a shadow, leaps up, across the the sands, and wades through the waters. Motors hum, it's a small boat, waiting. I run, quicker now, but the man has reached the boat, and clambered aboard. The waves, caused by the motion of the boat, hit me and repel me from the sea. I can't follow. The waters are too deep. A wave rises, and crashes over my head. I'm spluttering, trying to clear water from my lungs.
I crawl back onto the beach, the waves tugging at my ankles, trying to pull me under. I struggle, and finally make it to dry sand. Sirens wail, I look behind. An ambulance pulls up, as a pair of police cars hit their brakes. I pull myself up, and head back towards her body.
There's a small crowd gathered there now. The bodyguard, her driver, three crew members who hadn't left as yet and two fisherman. The bodyguard is speaking to a police officer, in plainclothes. Another, uniformed officer leans by the body.
The police officer in plain-clothes turns towards me. He nods towards the bodyguard, and then makes his way to me.
"I'm detective Sharma," he tells me. "You are Mr. Gopal?"
I nod.
He continues. "And you were the last person to see her? You were with her when she died?"
"Yes, I was." I pause, he watches me expectantly. "She was talking on her phone. She has asked me to come concerning a certain matter. She got the call, before she could tell me what it was. Then there was a gunshot. She fell. I looked about - caught sight of the killer, running away. It was pitch-dark, I tried to follow him, but he got away and caught a boat, that was waiting for him. There - " I point to indicate the boat. But it can't be seen, it's too dark, and too far away.
Detective Sharma squints. "I can't see anything," he says, but he scribbles something down in his notebook. As he looks writes, he continues to speak. "Would you mind coming down to the station, to make an official statement?"
I nod. "Of course," I say.
An hour later, I'm sitting in a dingy, small office. They've given me a cup of luke-warm, watery coffee. The minutes tick by, slowly. I ask for a cigarette. The officer on duty shakes his head. "New government rules," he exclaims, and smiles, grimly, revealing a row of paan-stained teeth. "No smoking allowed."
So much has happened in a day. I run my hands through damp hair, trying to make sense of the puzzling last few hours. Finally, detecive sharma walks in.
I give my statement - the same thing that I've said earlier. Detective sharma asks a few questions - seems a bit mystified that I don't know why she called me.
"Look," I tell him. "I really don't know."
"But it's strange, isn't it?" He insists, determined to extract some further detail out of me. "What would you have to do with a famous actress? What could she want from you?"
I shrug. "I don't know - I've told you."
Detective Sharma leans back then, drums his fingers on the rusty metal desk. He excuses himself and leaves.
He returns ten minutes later, with the officer on duty.
"Can I go now?" I ask him, irritatedly. "I've told you everything. There's nothing left."
"We can't let you go as yet." Detective Sharma replies.
I look at him quizzically. "Mr Gopal, we are arresting you for the murder of Ms Rupa Chakaravarti."
"What?" I break in, shocked.
The officer on duty pulls out a pair of handcuffs, as Detective Sharma recites my rights.
Everything happens so fast. They pull me along, through a series of corridors to a cell. It's only as they shut the door on me, and I'm alone in a dark cell smelling of urine and vomit, that it hits me.
I've been arrested for a murder that I didn't commit.