Ravi had just worked a double shift and was having trouble keeping his eyes open. In dire need not only of sleep but a shower and a shave, he faced a four-hour drive to his aunt's house. Daylight was beginning to show itself as he walked out onto the factory parking lot towards his car. Dark clouds weakened the light from the rising sun. The fall air was crisp, and a strong breeze revived him a little. Leaves scurried along the macadam in front of him like a herd of small brown and yellow creatures escaping a predator or running to a food source. The bare branches they once occupied reached towards the clouds like dendrites without their electrochemical charge.
Ravi's aunt was ageing, and her mind was slipping. In her younger days, Yogita Gupta was brilliant. She was an honor graduate from the university and a distinguished research scientist. Now dementia was robbing her of her talents and skills. She left a message on Ravi's phone while he was working. She was in a panic, sure one of her many cats was locked in her shed, and the keys had mysteriously disappeared. He called back between shifts.
"OK, auntie, I'll come to your house straight after work."
"You promise Ravi?"
The pleading in her voice made Ravi sad. His chaachee, Yogita Gupta, had once been a tower of strength in the family, pulling everyone through hard times, getting them the papers they needed to come to America, and then following up by making sure everyone got through the complicated process of going from legal alien to citizen.
His family owed Yogita Gupta a debt of gratitude, but only Ravi was willing to pay that debt. His sister Anuttama involved in her law practice, had no time for Yogita Gupta's weirdness and had started calling her aunt "bat-shit-chaachee." His parents, although more respectful, went out of their way to avoid Yogita Gupta altogether.
"I should be there by noon, auntie. Twelve-thirty at the latest." Ravi promised her in a reassuring voice.
He stopped at a convenience store for gas and coffee. Behind the counter was a small black and white television, and the words BREAKING NEWS scrolled across the screen.
"There were four shootings along the highway last night," the anchorwoman said. "The Interstate sniper has now killed fifteen and has yet to be apprehended. No connection has been made to any of the victims. The sniper appears to be shooting at cars randomly. Police are asking for anyone with information on this dangerous criminal to come forward."
Ravi glanced up at the screen in time to see a flatbed truck with a bullet-riddled car roll by the camera. He paid the attendant for his purchases and walked out into the early morning. Before getting back in his car, the tired factory worker perused the overcast sky. He could feel a drizzle on his face. It was going to be a wet drive to auntie's house.
Ravi eased his car out onto the highway to take him to Yogita Gupta's house. Five minutes on the road, his cell phone rang, and as he struggled to dig it out of his coat pocket, he momentarily lost control, the car swerving across the lanes. It was Yogita Gupta.
"I am on my way, auntie," he said, struggling to keep the exasperation out of his voice.
"Oh, are you coming here, Ravi? How nice. I'll have to bake you something special."
"No need to bake anything, auntie. Maybe after I find your shed keys, you can make me a sandwich, OK? Maybe put on a pot of coffee while you're waiting."
"Why do you want my shed keys?"
There was no point in replaying the previous phone conversation. Ravi knew that reminding Yogita Gupta of something she forgot created confusion and made her irritable. So it was better to go forward as best he could.
The sprinkle turned into rain. The wind was up, and leaves danced on their way to the ground. Some smashed up against his windshield, obstructing his view of the road until his windshield wipers cleared them away. The rain, combined with his fatigue, made multitasking difficult. He wanted the comfortable feeling of having both hands on the steering wheel.
"I have to hang up now, auntie. We'll talk when I get there."
Suddenly, a deer darted out into the road, and to avoid hitting it, Ravi slammed on his breaks, causing the car to fishtail. He threw his phone in the direction of the passenger seat and gripped the steering wheel tightly with both hands as he fought to regain control.
Despite his grip, the steering wheel violently jerked one way and then the other while the car swung back and forth across the highway. Ravi was sure an accident was about to happen. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he was able to guide the car to the shoulder of the road.
Fear brought on adrenaline, which momentarily vanquished his fatigue. He stayed parked on the shoulder, taking deep breaths to calm himself down. He was all right, he told himself. It was a scary close call, and he was lucky there was no other traffic at the time. He turned around and looked out the rear window. He could see the deer several feet back grazing along the shoulder of the road as if nothing had happened.
Slowly Ravi pulled the car back onto the highway and gradually picked up speed. As the fear abated and the adrenaline wore off, drowsiness returned with a vengeance. He could feel his eyes getting heavy. He turned off the heat and opened his window. The rain came in, soaking the inside of his door and the left sleeve of his jacket. He rolled the window back up again. The interior was now cold enough to make him uncomfortable, but the somnolence prevailed. He reached to turn on the radio, hoping loud music would offset the hypnotic effect of the windshield wipers' monotonous rhythm.
"What are you going to do in my shed?"
Yogita Gupta's voice came from the passenger seat floor, where the phone finished up after the deer-induced turmoil. It startled him, and Ravi quickly withdrew his hand from the radio and put it back on the steering wheel. He looked over at the floor of his car
"Auntie, I almost had an accident. Let's talk when I get to your house. Hang up now, OK?"
"My house? I don't know if I'll let you in my house if you don't tell me what you are going to do in my shed."
Ravi could hear the irritation in his aunt's voice and wanted to turn the car around and go home to his apartment. Home, where it was warm, where he could crawl into bed and drift off to sleep. It was a delicious, tempting thought. Then as though she could read his mind Yogita Gupta said in a cheerful voice:
"I'll have a nice lunch all fixed for you when you get here."
"That will be wonderful, auntie. Be sure to put on the coffee. Now, why don't you hang up the phone so you can get to work on that lunch."
"OK."
"Bye, auntie," Ravi said to the floor of his car.
Save for windshield wipers; there was silence inside his car. Ravi felt himself jerk as he began to nod off. It alarmed him. More coffee, he thought; he must have more coffee. A sign told him a McDonald's was three miles away, and when the exit that would get him there appeared, Ravi felt a sense of relief. With both hands on the wheel, he guided his car into the lane for the drive-through.
At first, Ravi paid no attention to the car in front of him. Instead, he focused on staying awake. "Stay awake. Stay alive," He chanted to himself. As he waited, Ravi realized that he was looking at the back of a car just like his. The same model, make, year, and color. Its license plate was RA108, and Ravi, fond of any reference to the sun, remembered it.
As it moved forward to drive through the window, Ravi noticed that the look-alike car had a strange hole cut in the lower right corner of the trunk. It was not the consequence of some accident but deliberately cut, circular, and about six or eight inches in diameter. When it was his turn, Ravi ordered a large coffee and then returned to the highway. Steering with his left hand and gulping down coffee with his right, he slowly continued his voyage.
"Why did you call me Ravi?" his aunt's voice from the car floor returned.
Damn! Again, she startled him, and this time caused him to spill hot coffee on his lap. Why didn't his aunt hang up the phone? He decided not to respond. While her sudden and unexpected utterances from the floor of the car were annoying, he had to admit they were helping to keep him awake. He left the radio off. For several minutes he drove in silence.
"Is this CVS?" His aunt asked suddenly. "I seem to be on hold here forever!"
Ravi glanced down at the phone on the floor and thought, Oh, auntie, I hate what old age is doing to you. His bowels began churning, and a strong urge to defecate came over him. I also hate what this coffee is doing to me. He was going to have to find a stop with a restroom soon to avoid soiling himself. Ravi knew there was a rest stop on the way to Yogita Gupta's house, but he thought he might have already passed it. He squirmed about in his seat and increased his speed.
Minutes later, the sign notifying drivers of the rest stop appeared. An anxious Ravi parked as close as he could to the public restroom and sprinted in the rain. Running back to his car after relieving himself, he realized that he was falling behind schedule. Ravi had promised his aunt to be at her house no later than twelve-thirty. Would she be upset when he showed up late? Would she even remember this promise?
As he turned onto the highway's entry ramp, he found it blocked off by a state police patrol car parked sideways across the road, its blue lights methodically flashing. Then, another set of flashing blue lights appeared in his rear-view mirror, and Ravi realized that the police had boxed him in. So he slowed to a stop fifty feet short of the police car in front of him.
A van came down the ramp behind the second patrol car, and when it stopped, the side door opened, and a SWAT team in combat fatigues with automatic rifles and bulletproof vests poured out and stood on either side of the patrol car, their weapons pointing at Ravi's car. By then, the doors on both patrol cars were open, and the state troopers in raincoats with pistols drawn had taken positions behind each door.
"Put your hands outside your window so we can see them." A voice made loud and metallic from a bullhorn commanded him from behind. Ravi complied, including his head with his hand, and asked
"What is the problem?"
"Don't talk." The voice responded. "Do exactly what I tell you to do. Any deviation will get you shot. Now keep your right hand out the window and use your left to open the door from the outside. Then get out and turn towards your car with your hands on top of your head."
Ravi cautiously followed these instructions, the rain pouring down on him. Two officers from the first car came up from behind him, grabbed his hands, and, pulling them behind his back, secured them with handcuffs. The officers searched him and took his wallet. Ravi stood in silence, confused, frightened and becoming soaked while they searched his car.
"Nothing but a small bag of weed." An officer searching the car yelled to the others.
Ravi began to feel faint. He forgot entirely about the pot. Immediately he decided on an ignorance defense.
"I don't know how that got into my car." He said lamely, and he realized as he said it that fingerprints, once checked, would indicate otherwise.
"I thought I told you not to talk." It was the cop who had addressed him with the bull horn, a thick man with grey hair cut close to the scalp." We don't care about your stupid weed. We want to know what you did with the rifle."
Rifle? I have no rifle, sir."
"Oh, we will find it. It's just a matter of time." He turned to one of the two men holding Ravi by the arm.
"Put him in my car."
Suddenly Yogita Gupta's voice made the SWAT men swing their weapons around and point them at the inside of Ravi's car.
"Ravi, do you know where my shed keys are?"
"It's my aunt. She has…."
"What is it about not talking that you don't understand?" the bullhorn cop asked with threatening impatience.
"…dementia," Ravi said in a whisper.
At the state police station, he was booked and interrogated by a detective who was more tolerant of his questions.
"What will become of my car?" he asked, fully expecting to be silenced again. He wasn't.
"It will be towed to the impound lot behind this building."
"Can I ask what the charges are against me?"
"Unless you have a good alibi as to where you were last night, four counts of murder."
"I was at work last night. I got off at 7:30, and I have been on the road ever since." He gave the detective the name and phone number of his employer.
Murder! Ravi thought. Do these guys think I am the Interstate sniper?
During the interrogation, fatigue caused mistakes, and when that happened, the detective started over again. The holding cell he was put in after the interrogation had a cot. It was small and uncomfortable, but Ravi went straight into a deep sleep as soon as he laid down on it.
An hour and a half later, he was awakened with a start by a jailer and taken back to the interrogation room, where the detective told him that his employer confirmed his alibi. He also verified the reason for Ravi's detention.
"You were suspected, " the detective said with no hint of apology in his voice, "because witnesses at two of the shootings last night described a car exactly like yours speeding away. That and, you look suspicious."
The beleaguered young man was certain it was his dark complexion that made him a suspect, but he said nothing. Then, while he splashed water on his face in the men's room before leaving the police station, Ravi had an epiphany.
The car in front of him at the McDonald's was the sniper's car! Having the same model, Ravi knew it was easy to remove the back seat. A shooter could then lay prone in the trunk, point a rifle out of that hole in the back, and fire from this concealed position. He sought out the detective, and the two of them returned to the interrogation room.
Ravi was over two hours behind schedule when he finally got back on the road. The rain had stopped. Cold and wet, he drove with concentrated speed until he got to the house of his chaachee. He figured he had slept on the cot, enough to sustain him for the time being. The phone finally retrieved from the floor of the car was off and stayed that way.
Yogita Gupta was on her front steps and waved with excitement as he pulled up to her modest single-story white brick house.
"Ravi!" she exclaimed. "It's so good of you to come by. I am so sorry I put you through all this bother. I found the shed keys, and my precious Mr. Spats is no longer incarcerated. So come in, dear boy, and have some lunch." She started to hug him but pulled away.
"My goodness, you are quite damp. Did you get caught in the rain?"
"Something like that."
"We must get some dry clothes on you. Your dear departed uncle was bigger than you, but you can still wear some of his clothes while yours take a spin in the dryer."
Yogita Gupta directed her bhateeja to his dead uncle's dry clothes and told him where to take his wet clothes for drying. She gave instructions in a relaxed and deliberate manner. To Ravi, this was the most frustrating part of her affliction. One moment she could be as coherent as she had always been, and the next, the embodiment of confusion.
When the baggy dressed Ravi came into the kitchen, Yogita Gupta had a bowl of hot vegetable soup and a chicken salad sandwich waiting for him. The retired scientist sat across the table from her nephew while he ate, sipping a cup of tea.
She and Ravi looked a lot alike. Both had narrow faces, his young and smooth but in need of a shave, hers old with wrinkles and crow's feet. They both had black hair, her shoulder-length streaked with grey and wavy—his short on the sides and spikey on top.
"So, do you remember some Hindi? Aapaka jeevan kaise chal raha hai?”
"My life goes well, auntie." Replied Ravi with a smile.
Her Hindi was flawless, although she had hardly spoken it in years. How can a diseased brain shutting down her entorhinal cortex and eradicating memories remain bilingual? As they talked, he noticed her recall of past events was error-free and unconfused. At this instant, everything about her was normal. She was the chaachee he admired from childhood. So, Ravi wondered as he consumed his sandwich, where does the dementia go at moments like this?
When he finished his lunch, Ravi put his palms together in front of him and slightly bowed his head. "Thank you, chaachee, for this lovely lunch. I would like to stay and visit longer. Unfortunately, I am going to have to head home now so I can get some sleep before going back to work again."
"Why don't you catch a nap on my couch before you go? You must wait for your clothes to dry before you go anyway. I'll wake you in a couple of hours."
"That is a great idea but wake me in an hour. The clothes should be dry by then."
Ravi stretched out supine on his aunt's couch. It was much more comfortable than the police station cot, and he was back in a deep sleep in minutes. When he woke, he felt something was wrong. Looking at the clock on his phone, Ravi realized he had slept for more than two hours.
"Auntie?" he called out as he got up from the couch. His aunt did not reply. He saw his clothes neatly folded on an armchair across from the sofa and proceeded to change back into them. He found his jacket hanging up near the furnace. It was still damp but less so.
"Auntie?" he called again as he walked into the kitchen. A carafe full of coffee sat on the warming plate of his aunt's coffee maker. Ravi helped himself to a cup, drank it all down, and then went out to the front yard. The rain had stopped, and the sun was making its appearance through the diminishing clouds.
Several cats were milling about Yogita Gupta's yard, waiting to get fed. Some were lounging on the hood of Ravi's car, enjoying the warmth the solar rays had created on the metal.
"Auntie?" he shouted, startling the cats, and causing them to scatter like leaves suddenly hit with a gust of wind.
He walked into the backyard and over to the shed. Yogita Gupta was nowhere around. When he noticed her car was gone, he tried her phone but heard it ringing unattended from somewhere inside the house.
Ravi then called his sister Anuttama and explained his circumstances. He would feel a lot better if he knew she would drop by and check in on their aunt.
"Ravi, I told you I am not going to play nursemaid to that nut case."
"Come on; you live so nearby. It wouldn't take you any time at all. Anuttama, Yogita Gupta is doing much better. We had a very good normal conversation during lunch. I didn't ask her, but I think she must be on some new meds. I just don't like leaving…."
"Oh, Ravi, lighten up. If she's doing better, she doesn't need me around." Anuttama hung up on him without saying goodbye. After waiting another fifteen minutes with no sign of his aunt, Ravi decided to head home and check in on Yogita Gupta later.
Ten miles along, Ravi saw red and blue flashing lights of state trooper and paramedic vehicles. Forced to stop, he slammed his hand against the steering wheel in frustration. An accident would delay his return home. But, he soon realized it was something else.
Troopers were stopping cars and checking licenses. There was a car partway up an embankment in front of a tree line. He could not see the driver, but he did see the bullet holes. It looked like Yogita Gupta's car.
Ravi called his aunt, hoping she was already home. There was no answer.
The bull horn cop from his previous encounter was checking licenses and registrations. When he saw Ravi, he directed the young man to pull over and get out of the car.
"We have already been all over this," Ravi said with irritation. "I even tried to help you all out with the information I had about what I am sure was the shooter's car. So why are you harassing me?"
"Yes, you did suddenly have some interesting information, all right. There has been another shooting, and here you are again, on the highway where these killings are taking place. What's your alibi this time?"
"I was having lunch with my aunt."
"The one with dementia?" The bull horn cop asked.
Ravi gave him all the contact details on Yogita Gupta, but the bull horn cop snatched the phone away when Ravi tried to call his chaachee again.
"You need to come with me." He told Ravi as he stuffed Ravi's phone in his uniform pocket.
Fatigue fueled his annoyance, and Ravi lashed out angrily.
"Why? Is this something you do to everyone or just Hindus?"
"You better watch your tone with me, son. I can make your life very miserable."
"Why are you holding onto my phone?"
The bull horn cop grabbed Ravi by the arm and pulled him towards the squad car. When Ravi tried to resist, another trooper came up from behind him and hit his back with a baton. The blow knocked the wind out of Ravi, and as he began to collapse, the bull horn cop lifted him and shoved him against the patrol car. Again, he was handcuffed and pushed inside the squad car. As the bull horn cop got into the driver's seat Ravi, in pain and close to tears, asked
"Did you all not check out that license plate number I gave the detective? The one for the car with the gun port in the trunk?"
"Yes, we did. Turns out to be registered to someone with the last name Muhammad. That would make him one of your people."
"Muhammad is a Muslim name. I am Hindu."
"All the same to me, pal." The bull horn cop replied. "Y'all need to go home and leave us Americans alone."
"I am an American. I am home."
"Whatever."
"I do have a right to make a phone call."
"Did anyone say you were under arrest? No. You are a person of interest right now."
"Well, in that case, you need to give me my phone back so I can call my sister. She is my lawyer. Come on, that's the least you can do."
The bull horn cop did not reply, and Ravi realizing that any more attempts at conversation would be useless, slumped down in his seat and stared out the window. Finally, after a few minutes, he asked another question.
"Can you tell me if the victim in that car was male or female? I'm wondering if it might be my aunt. She wasn't home when I left her house."
"We don't give out details about an ongoing investigation," the bull horn cop responded.
The bull horn cop put Ravi in the same holding cell he was in earlier. However, this time he did not lie down and go to sleep. Instead, he stood in front of the barred door and began to shout.
"I do have a right to make a call. You know I have nothing to do with these killings. If you don't at least let me call my sister; I will come back with civil rights lawyers."
Ravi kept this up for the better part of half an hour. Finally, he was taken out of the holding cell and given his phone to make a call. Immediately he called Anuttama, who went on the offensive as soon as she saw who was on the caller id.
"I told you already. I don't…."
"I am in jail." Ravi interrupted.
"What?" Anuttama responded. "Why?"
Ravi explained the circumstances that led to his situation.
"I may need your legal skills, and I am worried about auntie Gupta. I saw a car like hers at the site of a shooting."
"All right," Anuttama responded. "Tell me which station you are at, and I'll be right there."
Ravi gave her the name of the station and then surrendered his cell phone back to the jailer. He sat on the cot and stared at the floor. It was time to have it out with his sister about their aunt. In his mind, he prepared and rehearsed a speech about all the good Yogita Gupta had done their family, how yes, her dementia caused problems, but they were not insurmountable. She deserved the support of her only niblings. If Anuttama refused to change her viewpoint, he would no longer come to her aid when her electronic devices malfunctioned or when she needed someone who could talk to car mechanics.
It was growing late, and he figured by the time Anuttama got him free, he would be late for work. Skipping work meant he would undo the gains he made working the double shifts, but the little naps here and there had not done much to diminish the fatigue that had plagued him all day. It had been disorientating to the point that he wondered if the lunch he had with the coherent Yogita Gupta happened.
His thoughts were interrupted by the appearance of the bull horn cop, who instructed the jailer to release Ravi and return his cell phone. As the cell doors opened, he explained.
"There has been yet another shooting. So, obviously, we are your alibi this time."
Ravi immediately called his sister to cancel her rescue mission. There was no answer. He dialed his aunt. Again, no response. As the minutes ticked by and Anuttama did not show, he decided leaving before she got there would serve her right for the lousy attitude she had toward their chaachee. He went to get his car.
After showing the necessary documents to the guard at the impound gate, Ravi walked onto the lot and passed the car he saw on the side of the road with bullet holes in the roof and side. It was not Yogita Gupta's.
The sound of a horn made him jump. Ravi turned towards the gate and saw the flatbed truck approach with another shot-up car on its bed. As the truck passed by him, Ravi felt himself grow weak in the knees. Then, a surge of grief seized him, and he fell back against the hood of his car, crying out the word "No" over and over between sobs. A NUTT, his sister's personalized license plate, was on the rear of the mutilated vehicle.