Page 90 of The Checkmate

Throughout my childhood, my father fed me a series of lies. He had said that my mother had already died by the time he reached that hospital room to save us. If only I had seen through it earlier—the man I lived with, the one I called my father, harboured only darkness within his heart. Without regret or shame, he expected his boys to sacrifice their lives for him if necessary. He didn’t want sons; he wanted missionaries to help him rule his empire.

My mind drifts back to the past, to a time when I was hardly five years old. The sounds of gunshots and the sight of blood would send me running to seek refuge from the horrifying surroundings. But there was always one person who pulled me out of my fear—my bodyguard, Pradhan. When I was scared, he would hold me, and in his arms, I felt safe and loved, a sharp contrast to the killings committed by my father.

As a child, I watched my father take lives, attempting to justify each act with twisted logic. “Kill or be killed,” he would say, claiming that death was the rightful punishment for those who crossed his path. Pradhan became my refuge, the protector of my innocence in a world messed up by my father’s crimes.

But slowly, I adapted to the gruesome routine, accepting my father’s words as truth. Although my father may have been the ruler of his criminal empire, Pradhan was the true guardian of my life. The man who shielded me from the darkness that consumed my father. And now, the realisation hits me like a tidal wave—my father killed that one person who meant more to me than he ever did.

How many lives had my father taken? How many innocent souls did he force me to kill in the name of his skewed sense of justice? The truth is a bitter pill to swallow, and the aftertaste lingers as I sit alone in this silent room, struggling to come to terms with the revelations that have shattered the illusions of my life. The man I once admired as my father is nothing more than a monster, responsible for the sins of my past that weigh heavily on my conscience today.

My mind shifts to my twin brother, Ayaan, the other half of my existence. They say monsters breed monsters, and I might be one too, but I’m glad Ayaan is untouched by the negativity of our father. Unlike me, he wasn’t subjected to the same upbringing I did. He was raised by Kailash Shergill, a man with strong morals and principles that were very different from the evil ways that defined our father’s character. Ayaan was spared the horrors that marked my soul. It’s clear that he inherited a different kind of strength—one that comes from love, compassion and the guidance of a man who chose righteousness over the allure of power.

Even though I was standing against Ayaan all this time, knowing he was rebelling against our father, now I know he was always right to do so. I’m proud of Ayaan, proud that he didn’t share my experiences, proud that he wasn’t moulded by the same twisted hands that shaped me. He’s resilient, standing strong and walks a different path—one guided by light, not a dark shadow.

Despite being twins, fate separated us, and we were raised in different environments. But I just know somehow that if we had grown up together, I would have taken on the role of his elder brother and protected him from the darker aspects of our father’s world. As Kailash Shergill told me the other day, I am the older one between us. If we were together, my sole responsibility would have been to take care of my younger brother.

With all these thoughts swirling in my head, I feel lost. I feel overwhelmed and lonely, which is a new experience for me. While I am not afraid of facing the consequences of my past actions, I am determined to confront the dark deeds that my father forced me to commit. I vow never to look back to that shadowy world that shaped me into the monster I am today and move forward with my life.

The door of the interrogation room creaks open, and Ayaan steps into the room. The weight of the past week lingers between us, a heavy silence enveloped by unspoken emotions. Ayaan’s eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the pain in his gaze reflects the torment that binds us both. We haven’t met since that fateful day. I never thought I would meet him again, yet here he stands. The door shuts behind him as he comes ahead and places a file on the table. Ayaan stands across from me, arms crossed, before breaking the silence.

“Sign these papers,” he instructs, placing a pen on top of the file. “Feel free to go through them, but they’re merely a procedural requirement for your release.”

The term ‘release’ hangs in the air, surprising me. I can’t help but respond with a mocking tone, trying to hide the underlying shock.

“Since when did you start favouring criminals?”

“Ever since law offenders started becoming law defenders,” he replies.

Confusion clouds my expression, so Ayaan explains the real reason behind my ‘supposed’ release.

“Following your arrest a week ago,” Ayaan elaborates, “you shared extensive details about the Bat Syndicate and other notorious criminals and organisations who were on our radar. Thanks to your cooperation, many of these criminal organisations were swiftly apprehended on a global scale. Your information is critical and puts your safety at risk. As a result, you will be under constant surveillance and may be contacted by the police for further information in their ongoing missions against these criminals you’ve helped expose. With your new role as an informant, it’s a collective decision of the department to grant you freedom.”

His revelation about my newfound role as an informant catches me off guard. I didn’t disclose that information to secure my freedom. I did it because I wanted to confront the demons of my past. Yet, Ayaan suggests that my collaboration with law enforcement has redefined my status from a perpetrator to an informant, leading to my release. Doubts linger in my mind, and I suspect Ayaan’s influence within the team may have played a role in this decision.

This realisation triggers a surge of defiance within me, and I push the file away.

“I don’t need your charity or your influence in releasing me. I shared those details to seek redemption, not to have my slate wiped clean by you. “

Ayaan grits his teeth, the tension between us evident.

“You shot him despite him being your father,” he retorts. “That’s the most significant change I see in you towards the path to redemption. If I used a bit of my influence to assure them that you would never return to that awful world again, I don’t think it’s much. It’s the least I could do to express gratitude to the man who shot his father to save mine.”

“Don’t call him my father. I hate being connected to that man in any way. In fact, I want to erase even his last name from my identity from now on,” I retort, rising from my chair. “And I didn’t pull that trigger only to save Kailash Shergill. I did it because that man was responsible for killing our innocent mother, Ayaan. Even if he hadn’t held Kailash Shergill hostage, I would still have put a bullet in his head because he deserved to die. Not at the hands of the police or any criminals, but at the hands of his own son—”

“Sons…” Ayaan interrupts, nodding in agreement. “I thought the same when we learned how he left our mother to die. The moment he revealed that horrifying truth, I knew I wouldn’t let him leave that warehouse alive. No law, no punishment could have sufficed for his sins, but a bullet straight to his head from his sons.”

I sigh. “It looks like we think alike.”

“That’s because we’re twins,” Ayaan remarks before approaching me.

“But I heard that I am the elder one, that too by ten minutes, so the right to command is mine. And I don’t appreciate you letting me off the hook for my sins just because I became your informant.”

Ayaan clenches his jaw.

“Sign these papers, Raghav. I want you to have a fresh start away from the dangerous world you were involved in. While we’ll keep your involvement as our informant confidential, my team will ensure your safety from now on. We’ll release you after a brief stint in rehab, where you will attend extensive counselling sessions to help you transition back to a normal life.”

The mention of rehabilitation triggers me again.

“I don’t need counselling. I’m fine,” I scoff.

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