Man: Wanted: Chapter Seven - Part Twelve

When I got outside, I was so busy thinking about what I might say to Billy that I didn’t see the person on the drive until I walked right into him.

“Oh, sorry,” I blurted, then I looked up into his face and scowled. “Rasheed? What are you doing here?”

He towered over me and his own face was curled into a grimace of anger. “I came here to find Sangeeta, and to tell you and your brother exactly what I thought of you.”

“Get out of my way,” I snapped, pushing him in the shoulder; but the action enraged him and he grabbed my upper arms tightly.

“It’s your fault things aren’t working out for Sangeeta and me – you and that brother of yours. You keep whispering in her ear that I’m not right for her. If it wasn’t for you we could have been spending all this time together. We could have been falling in love.” He shook me and I gaped at him helplessly in alarm. He was far bigger than me and maybe one and a half times my mass.

“Why do you have to interfere?” he demanded. “Why can’t you mind your own business?”

“Let go of me!”

“Bloody English! It’s nothing to do with you! We’re Indian. It’s all been arranged. If you could just keep your little mouth shut then we could be happy together. I could make her happy!”

“Get off me. You’re hurting.”

He shook me again, harder. “I’m sick of all you English, thinking your ways are better than ours; corrupting the way people think; tricking them into thinking English ways are better! Why can’t you stop interfering?”

“Let go of me. Please. You’re hurting me!”

“I wish I could hurt you,” he said, thrusting his face into mine, forcing my head back. “Perhaps then you would understand how important this is to me!”

He shook me again, even harder, rocking my head back and forth. I was getting dizzy, terrified of what he might do and in a panic, my hands searched desperately for the open top of my bag.

Rasheed took hold of my face in his strong hand, yanking me forward by my upper arm. “You have to learn to respect other people’s cultures. You have to learn to respect men. None of you English whores do.”

“Respect you?” I said, sliding the ring on my finger. “I don’t even like you.”

The first flash came, dazzling him, and his grip loosened.

I felt my form swell; my chest broadening; my height shooting up, then the second flash came, blinding him and breaking his grasp as he staggered back.

I batted his clutching hands away with big muscular arms.

Then the third flash came and I cracked my fist up into Rasheed’s chin, knocking him back.

 He gaped at me in wonder and alarm.

“How does it feel to pick on somebody your own size, you idiot? Huh?” I grabbed a fistful of shirt just under his neck. “How do you like it when you meet someone big enough to give you what you deserve?”

I smacked him one hard on the cheek, whipping his head away, then stepped in to follow up and roundhoused a smacker into the other side of his head sending him sprawling to the floor.

“Now stay the hell away from me,” I said, “and stay the hell away from Sangeeta. If she wants to be with you she’ll come to you. And she doesn’t want you. Alright?”

He glared up at me, nursing his face, confusion and hurt blazoned across his features. Then we both heard something that jerked our attention back toward the house.

“Geoff?”

I turned to face her. Sangeeta was on the step outside the front door, staring at the two of us. And I realised with a pummelling in my gut that she hadn’t just appeared. She’d heard the shouting through the open door.

She’d seen everything. I could tell by the look in her eyes.

I looked back at Rasheed. He’d seen it too, despite the flickers of light. The incredulity was evident.

“Geoff...” Sangeeta went down a step as though she might come to me but stopped there, wavering. “I saw... Geoff. What was that?”

I shook my head, backing away.

“Geoff, wait. Tell me what that was. I saw Alison. You were Alison.”

“I can’t,” I stammered. “I have to go.”

I went to the van, fumbling for the keys in my pocket.

Sangeeta was down on the bottom step now. She was coming toward me. Rasheed was staggering to his feet.

I turned the key in the ignition. The engine bucked and roared.

Sangeeta was at the side of the van. She was calling my name.

But I didn’t listen to her. I stuck the gearstick in reverse and backed sharply off the drive and onto the road.

Sangeeta came after me, down to the edge of the pavement, still calling my name as Rasheed stood behind her.

Then I was gone, blasting down the road, leaving only chaos and confusion in my wake.