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That feeling of foreboding got even worse.
“Just tell me,” I whispered.
DV took hold of my hands and gripped them tightly.
“Baby, he confessed to what he did in a note, just before he hanged himself.”
The air left my lungs in a whoosh and my mouth went dry.
“He did…what?”
“Samar’s team tracked his phone down to a small flat in Panjim. They knocked on the door but he didn’t open it. The security guard said that he had come in late last night and hadn’t left the flat all day, so they broke into the flat. They found him hanging from the fan in his bedroom.”
I hadn’t eaten much all day, but whatever I had eaten threatened to make a hasty comeback.
“But… why?”
“Samar says his little flat was a shrine to you. There were pictures of you all over his wall.”
“I had no idea,” I whispered.
Vishal hadn’t seemed so obsessed with me. He had taken my rejection in good spirit, and I had felt comfortable enough to attend a few more of his yoga classes until I gave up in defeat.
“What else did Samar say?”
“He couldn’t talk more because they’d had to call it in, and the local cops weren’t happy to have their crime scene contaminated by Samar and his team.”
“Crime scene?”
DV nodded sombrely.
“The death has to be investigated even if it looks like a clear suicide.”
“Oh, God! This is going to blow up, isn’t it? In the media, I mean,” I cried.
I’d had enough of being hounded by reporters when my mother was arrested. It was a high-profile crime and all the gory details had been printed in minute detail. They had followed me for days, and Samar’s team had had to smuggle me out of Nagaur House in the middle of the night when I decided to move out. I had thought I was safe in Paradiso, but my infamy had followed me there, as well. In fact, it was safe to say that my notoriety was about to take on a life of its own.
I felt awful about having driven a man to take his own life, even if I wasn’t directly responsible for it. And now everyone else would blame me for it, too. People who knew nothing about me would judge me all over again. I knew I was being very selfish right now. A man had died, and all I could think of was how it would affect me. But I wasfrightened!
I felt DV rubbing my back, and I heard his voice coming from a distance as the world around me went hazy. My hands and feet tingled with pins and needles, and my breath seemed to be stuck in my chest.
“Tasha, baby… breathe,” urged DV, as he pushed my head down between my knees. “Please breathe. Just once.”
I tried, but I couldn’t get my lungs to cooperate. The world started going black around the edges, and I knew I was about to pass out.
Like hell, I would, I decided grimly. I was done giving in to my panic. I hadn’t done anything wrong. I chanted that in my mind, over and over again, as I ordered my frozen lungs to move. I refused to go under.
With great effort, I opened my mouth and took in a big gulp of air, as if I was drowning.
“That’s my girl. Now, do it again. One more time. Breathe in through your nose and breathe out through your mouth.”
DV coached me back into consciousness and I realised that we were both sitting on the floor by the bed. He was still in his boxers, but that moment of passion and madness was long past.
I haven’t done anything wrong, I chanted again silently as the panic threatened to overtake me again.
“Of course, you haven’t. None of this is your fault. This is on him, and him alone,” said DV fiercely, and I realised that I had said it out aloud.
“What if the cops don’t believe that?” I whispered. “Or the media.”
