Triggers on a Leash

Based on two very different blogs by yours truly, and drastically adapted and written as a play by Naren Weiss and uniquely shot as a short film by Ashwath Nair - Presenting, Triggers on a Leash!

The original short stories on which this short film is based are here on Storywheel.

See Transference and The Heist

Enjoy and share the joy!

 

Escape

The alarm sounded signaling the end of the hour. The watch tower had a change of guard. Superintendent Jackson had tightened the security protocols after the riot that broke out two days ago. One guard had been killed in the violence. Some said Jackson was pissed at the thought of such an atrocious incident under his watch. There were others who had a conspiracy theory that Jackson staged the whole thing to get rid of the guy for reasons unknown without having to face a departmental inquiry from the Bureau.

Jackson was a short and stout man with his balding forehead. One would mistake him for a store-clerk or a restaurant waiter except that the nasty scar that ran down his right cheek was evidence of a much darker character. He cut his teeth as a gunnery sergeant in the wars and joined law enforcement after leaving active service. He specifically asked for a job within the Bureau of Prisons and was granted it without much difficulty thanks to his war credentials. Now, he runs the Lunar Penitentiary Colony where the worst offenders are shipped off from the Earth to lead life sentences. Jackson ran a tight ship and held an enviable record. No one has ever managed to escape from his prison, yet.

* * *

Jeff Rhodes a.k.a. Prisoner #3092 at the Lunar Penitentiary Colony, lay on his bed in his cell with palms locked behind his shaved head and looking up through the glass ceiling. Beyond that reinforced unbreakable glass ceiling were stars, distant galaxies and dark space that seemed to extend to eternity. Somewhere, definitely outside the small viewport that the ceiling in his confinement cell offered him, a beautiful blue marble called Planet Earth was spinning around. Jeff Rhodes dreamed about it all the time. If everything were to go as per his plan, he would be on his way to the Earth in less than twenty four hours only happy to leave this godforsaken place.

He turned to his side and caught a figure in the shadows, standing by the gate and staring at him. He could make out the unmistakable contours of Jackson in the darkness, standing there almost like a wax statute. Jeff closed his eyes and mentally started running through the sequence of his escape plan for the tenth time. He didn't know when the tiredness took over his body and when he fell asleep.

* * *

Blaring alarms. Flashing lights. Prisoners lining up for a roll-call. Jeff avoided eye contact with Jackson and the other guards. He sat alone during breakfast, looking up occasionally to count the number of guards on duty. He knew that one of the guards was on special leave and had left for Earth last week due to the untimely death of his wife. Jeff had taken care of killing another guard during the riots last week. The reinforcements sent by the Bureau were enroute and would take two more days to reach the moon base. Meanwhile, Jackson's short-staffed crew would make mistakes. Jeff was counting on it. He hoped that no one would notice him slipping away after breakfast when the prisoners are sent back to their cells.

* * *

The alarm went off and the prisoners got up from their seats and filed into two lines. One of the guards signaled them to move towards the cell block. The prisoners in their orange jumpsuits started walking. Jeff had carefully picked his breakfast table so that he would be towards the end of the line with just a couple of men behind him with the rear guards following them. The prisoners had to navigate two sharp turns and Jeff was planning to slip away between those two turns and hide in a wall recess he had identified. The challenge was to do it without the knowledge of the other prisoners and the rear guards.

The leading prisoners made the first turn to the right. Jeff coughed and stopped temporarily as the rear guards looked up. He avoided meeting them in the eye and let the two other prisoners who were behind him to pass and took the last position in the line. The guards didn't notice and seemed to be relaxed and engaged in trivial banter. He was now just a few steps away from the first turn himself.  Jeff made the turn and quickened his pace. Small beads of sweat formed on his head and ran down over the dragon tattooed on his neck. The rear guards were invisible and were at least ten steps behind him. Another four seconds... and he would reach the wall recess.

As soon as he got there, Jeff deftly moved sideways and cramped himself into the small space offered by the wall recess and hid in the darkness. He could hear the footsteps of guards. Jeff was acutely aware of all his senses and time seemed to slow down as he waited with bated breath. He could see the rear guards passing by. He waited there for a minute and then tiptoed his way to the transportation bay. He reached the door. There was not much time left. There will be a check done after all the prisoners get into their respective cells and his escape would be discovered. He had to be on his way before that.

He took out the key from his pocket... the key that he had taken from the dead guard during the riots. He opened the transportation bay door. He had almost made it. A few seconds away from freedom. He could sense it.

A steel casket ready for dispatch lay in the center of the dimly lit room. The casket held the dead body of the guard he had killed. It was destined to leave for the Earth in the next robotic cargo freighter out of the Lunar Penitentiary Colony. Jeff thanked the broadminded designers of the steel casket for making it large enough to fit two bodies. Of course, he didn't know or care that it was designed that way for saving costs.

He could see the cargo freighter's lights blinking a short distance away as it approached for docking. He quickly got into the casket, by the side of the embalmed corpse and closed it shut. Once the freighter undocks, he would be free to get out of the casket. Every casket had an unlock provision from the inside in case someone was accidentally shut in. He was willing to endure this minor ordeal with the corpse until the freighter was on its way. 

The pod bay doors opened and the freighter completed its docking maneuver. The casket moved into the freighter and the doors closed. A few seconds later the freighter undocked and glided away from the Lunar Penitentiary Colony. 

* * *

Superintendent Jackson finished typing his report on the strange happenings that week.

CASKET A314.

CONTENTS:
 - OFFICER MARK RICKMAN (38/MALE), LPC RIOT VICTIM.

 - PRISONER #3092 JEFF RHODES (29/MALE), LPC RIOT VICTIM.

CASKET A314 SENT TO EARTH.

CASKET A314 DISPOSED IN SPACE AS PER NEW DISPOSAL POLICY AND COST REDUCTION DIRECTIVE 37.

Identity

The Police had cordoned off the area at the corner of Sutton and Main streets.  The place looked like a warzone.  Curious onlookers stood behind the police roadblocks trying to get a glimpse of the disaster that had engulfed their community.  The red brick building which housed the Perfect Spirits liquor store in the ground floor was reduced to smoldering ruins from the fire.  The road was coated with soot and rivulets of black water flowed down the street into the drains.

Precious Cargo

Image Credit: extranoise via Flickr

R

aghavan walked to his desk dressed in a white bathrobe. He pressed a button and a monitor sprung up on his desk and lit up. It seemed to be a busy day ahead for the Minister of Transportation.

An instant message popped up from his daughter Manju in Cleveland. She had moved to the United States with her husband, an American citizen about a year ago. Raghavan opened the message—‘Please send a bottle of spicy mango pickles!’

A Perfect Plan

Image Credit: Splatter by jain7th, on Flickr

I

t was just like any other November night in Pudhupettai. The tea stall was busy with about a half a dozen men standing with half-full glasses in an animated discussion about state politics. There wasn’t much of traffic on the road. The vehicles that did pass through carefully avoided the small puddle on the side of the road from the previous day’s rain. Kasinathan and Sridhar stopped at the stall.

“A pack of Wills cigarettes…” Sridhar asked the shopkeeper.

Kasinathan looked around, studying the place.

Dimple

Image: Light Post Before The Storm by Darren Larson, on Flickr

M

adhumathi was in the kitchen. The TV news was on. The weatherman who gets his share of limelight whenever a cyclone forms over the Bay of Bengal was giving his opinion. The city was going to see a heavy downpour. Cyclone Dimple would make landfall this evening. The Meteorological Department did have a sense of humor—in naming cyclones, of course.

D is for Diabolical

T

he restaurant wasn’t too crowded. Prabhu sat with her at a corner table sipping his coffee while she slurped the milkshake.

 “So, the policy will be issued for two crores?”

“Yes, I know that our underwriting department has cleared it last week and the policy was mailed out yesterday. You should have it on hand either today or tomorrow.”

Deliverance

I

t was a cold December night. The rebels gathered at the dilapidated building in Kotturpuram which used to be one of the world’s largest libraries in an earlier era. The children were led to an enclosed hall for night school while the others discussed their survival strategy for the next few months.

“We need the armory to ramp up production. Our ammunition stock will be depleted in three weeks,” said Pandian.

Vegas, baby!

C

harlie Ferris had a splitting headache thinking about how he landed unconscious in the men’s room of that Chicago bar. The restroom was empty. He walked up to the mirror. His suit was crumpled and his shirt had patches of blood. He lifted it up to reassure himself that it wasn’t a stab wound. His jaw was sore. He wiped the streak of dried blood from the left corner of his mouth.

He splashed cold water on his face, looked at himself in the mirror and tried to recollect the events of the last few hours.

Genome

T

he year was 2052. Manoharan was the Mayor of Chennai city. The Coovum river that was at one point considered beyond redemption due to the city’s drainage being diverted into it for a large part of the twentieth century had been successfully reclaimed 15 years ago. One could travel from Arumbakkam to the Marina beach in a speed boat in less than ten minutes.

Maverick

F

ranz von Papen, the Military Attaché at the German Embassy in New York was at his desk that morning. He held the paper to the candle flame as orange flames engulfed the letter. He held it up for a few seconds before dropping it into the dustbin. It confirmed the arrangements for shipping the guns to San Diego.

John Devoy, the Sinn Féin’s powerful ally in North America, had put his assistant Joseph McGarrity on the job. McGarrity had ensured that the guns would be taken from New York via an Irish-American steamship to Galveston, Texas and from there to San Diego by rail.

Franz von Papen smiled to himself.

Messiah

I

t was early morning. The milkman had stopped at the next door neighbor when Sivaramakrishnan was tying the laces of his running shoes. He walked out through the picket gate and closed it after him. The December dew dropped from the avenue trees that formed a canopy over that suburban street. He started jogging towards the park and reached it in three minutes.

Newsmakers

A

njali stepped into the elevator clutching her purse in one hand and a coffee cup in another. She smiled at the girl in the elevator who worked in the display advertising section.

“You look fabulous!” said the girl.

“Do I? I thought this outfit made me look too skinny…”

Anjali tried to hide her happiness beneath the matter-of-fact expression on her face.

“Busy day?” asked the girl.

“Looks like it. I am going up to attend the stand-up meeting with the editors.”

The elevator stopped at the next floor.

“See you later!”

Anjali stepped out and walked towards the conference room.

* * *

“I just got a call from the office of The Commissioner of Police. There is a press conference at 11.00 AM. It looks like they have made an arrest in the Kamini murder case.” Editor Sridharan, a man in his early fifties, paused and looked around the room.

Kamini was a leading actress. That was until she was murdered a week ago. Her body was found in the hotel room with multiple stab wounds.

“That’s an hour from now!” remarked Anjali.

“Yes. You will take the lead and cover the interview as you have been on this case for the past few days.”

“Ok. I am on my way out. I will call back as soon as I find out.”

The rest of the people in the room got to the other news items for the next day’s issue.

Anjali walked out of the room with her scooter keys jingling when her cell phone rang. It was from Prashant.

* * *

“We have solved Ms. Kamini’s murder case today. We have arrested Mr. Prashant, son of the general secretary of the ruling party.”

All the journalists clamoured to ask questions.

“I will take questions at the end. We have strong evidence to tie Mr. Prashant to the murder of Ms. Kamini.”

The Commissioner continued with the details of the investigation. Anjali wasn’t there at the press conference.

* * *

Prashant wasn’t just any ordinary man. He was the son of the general secretary of the party in power at the state.

Anjali was just getting out of the conference room when he called her cell phone.

“I am in deep trouble, Anjali!”

“Why? What happened?”

“I am being arrested as the prime suspect in the actress Kamini murder case! I am being framed!”

“What?”

“Yes. You and I know that this is ridiculous. But I think there are people inside and outside the party who want to take me down with this murder allegation.”

Prashant was a rising star in the party. If everything went well, he was poised to take over the reins of the party from his father.

Anjali knew Prashant right from college. They were friends first and slowly it had morphed into an intense relationship. Over the years, their relationship had changed hues, especially after Prashant’s marriage. The marriage was a political convenience that Prashant’s family wanted. Prashant and Anjali continued with their secret affair. Anjali was fine with the nature of this arrangement and had no qualms or sentimentality attached to it. The only thing that she cared about was keeping this affair under wraps.

“They are saying that the knife that was found at the scene of the murder has my finger prints! Ok, I have to go. The police are here!”

The call ended.

* * *

Anjali knew that Prashant was innocent. She was his alibi. On the night of the murder, Prashant was with her. There was no way he could have committed the murder.

It was clear that she had to come out of the closet in order to save Prashant. She decided that was the right thing to do. She will meet his father and let him know. He is a senior party leader. Maybe he can do something to save his own son.

* * *

“You want me to believe that my son has been having a secret affair with you for many years!”

“Yes. That is the truth.”

“Did anyone from the opposition party put you up to this to tarnish the image of my son and family?”

“Sir, the only reason I came here is to make sure that your son doesn’t get framed for a murder that he didn’t commit.”

He clutched his heart and winced in pain. His chest heaved and he fell to the ground, dead from a massive heart attack.

* * *

The entire editorial team and correspondents were gathered around the table. Editor Sridharan cleared his throat.

“Do we have the photographs of all the people?”

“Yes! Everything is ready.”

“Can I see the article draft?”

Politician’s wife shoots reporter and kills herself.

OUR STAFF CORRESPONDENT, Oct 5, 2010–Leading state politician Prashant’s wife killed newspaper reporter Anjali who was covering her husband’s murder case. It may be noted that Prashant was arrested yesterday for the murder of actress Kamini…

* * *

Anjali was shocked to see Prashant’s father suffer a massive heart attack right in front of her eyes. That’s when she noticed Prashant’s wife with a .22 Magnum revolver in her hand walking towards her.

“Here’s a newsflash, dear! Prashant was seeing that golddigger Kamini. When I found out, I decided to get rid of her and punish Prashant as well by framing him for her murder. I got his fingerprints on the murder weapon when he was fast asleep after a few rounds of whisky. I am sorry I have to do this, but I cannot tolerate this infidelity!”

She shot Anjali and then pointed the gun to her head.

Snatched

T

he year was 1983. It would have been a very ordinary summer afternoon at The Fritz Memorial Home for the Elderly except that one of its residents had passed away a few hours ago. The nurse dialed the chief doctor to let him know about Bernard Mickelson’s death. Bernie as everyone called him was a long-time resident at the home and must have been more than 90 years old.

Premonition

T

he instructor stood near the driver of the bus and clapped his hands. There were about twenty people in the bus including Suchitra and Anand.

“Attention, people! Welcome to The Great Smoky Mountains here at Tennessee and thanks for choosing Bill’s whitewater rafting. Have any of you done whitewater rafting before?”

Literati

The police control room was busy. Agent Bhagavathy picked up the call that landed just a seconds ago.

“Thank you for calling emergency services. How can I help you?”

There was a woman at the other end. She complained of her husband who had gone missing. She started crying as she spoke.

The Trip

R

aghavan had one message from the Med Center waiting for him in his inbox. He knew for sure that it was bad news and dreaded opening it. He left it unopened for a while and went about his morning chores. Half an hour later he sat down for his breakfast. He had finished half a toast when he stopped eating, pushed his plate away and walked towards his computer.

He opened the message. It was bad news as he had predicted. He was going to die in 5 days. The Med Center had fixed an appointment for him in an hour to discuss.

* * *

The chief doctor at the Med Center had explained the situation to Raghavan.

The uneasy silence between them was broken by the doctor’s secretary who peeped in and said “Trasportation Services is on line 2!”

The doctor picked up the handset. He must have heard some very good news because he almost jumped from his seat. He profusely thanked the person on the other end, looked at Raghavan and rubbed his hands together unable to contain his excitement.

“Son, get ready to travel. You are going to meet someone very special.”

* * *

Raghavan was onboard the TTX2. He wore his favorite dark blue suit, a new white shirt, a silk tie and silver cuff links. He had a dossier marked CONFIDENTIAL that was given to him when he boarded the vehicle. The dossier contained information he was not aware until this moment—There was a version of himself alive in a parallel universe and he was going to meet him!

The Time Travel Express departed on schedule.

* * *

Raghavan did not know what to say. He felt very awkward sitting before someone who looked exactly like him. On second thoughts, he was probably overdressed for this occasion meeting his other version who was dressed in a round neck tee and shorts. He wore dark glasses and seemed to stare at the horizon, except that he was blind. He had a small scar an inch above his left eyebrow.

“Do you know that Transportation Services has never allowed someone to travel on these grounds before? Although you and I are genetically identical multiple versions that spawned from a single spacetime event, we are different because of the environment in which we grew in… and I am going to die if I don’t get a bone marrow transplant. You are a natural match and Transportation Services made an exception on humanitarian grounds.”

“I am sorry to hear about your condition. In my universe, I have had a lonely life. When my parents—our parents—took the decision to make that trip that eventually led to your creation, I was orphaned in this universe. I grew up missing a lot of things that you probably would have taken for granted. ”

“You do understand that I did not know anything and had no part to play in that decision, right?”

“I know!”

He was silent for a few seconds and then said, “I will do it. But, I need a favor from you!”

* * *

They were waiting for their train when a well-dressed young man in a dark suit, white shirt, silk tie and silver cufflinks approached them. He was in a hurry and was not wanting to be noticed.

“I am Raghavan, your son from the future that you are going to create.”

The couple was shocked. Raghavan’s mother started crying unable to bear the revelation and the insanity of the situation. His father was trying to pacify her.

A few seconds later, the train arrived.

“Why did you take this decision?” asked Raghavan.

“We were supposed to go back in time before you were born and take care of the defect that caused him to go blind through genetic engineering at the right time. The scientists told us we had to leave him here since we were going back in time when he was non-existent!”

Raghavan thought about what he was going to say.

He said, “You need to abort this plan. Get back home and take care of little Raghavan. He needs you more than I need you or the two of you need me!”

His parents left the station, thanking him in their minds for saving them from a big blunder they were about to commit.

Raghavan sank into a bench on the station and loosened his tie. That’s when two agents from Transportation Services came to him and said, “Mr. Raghavan, you are in contravention of time travel rules. We are taking you into custody for deportation proceedings!”

He looked at his watch which showed that he still had three days to live. 

The Consignment

There was someone banging the door. Moolchand was annoyed and yelled, “I am coming! Wait a few seconds…”

Moolchand opened the door and was surprised to see the King’s men at his doorstep. The messenger handed over a scroll to him and waited. Moolchand read the scroll and his face lit up. He was to deliver a consignment of goods within two months to the location that the King had ordered. He would be paid a premium price. The King wanted nothing less.

* * *

“I need the job very badly sir. My wife is seriously ill and I need the money to pay for her care. The medicine man is very expensive!” pleaded Natwarlal.

Moolchand pondered. Natwarlal was a trustworthy man with a family here. He could definitely use him to deliver the consignment.

“I have other people waiting to take this. If I were to give this job to you, I will only pay you 80% of what I would pay the others. Are you willing?”

Natwarlal nodded his head in agreement. His sick wife was his priority and he was ready to sacrifice some cash for a job that would keep him busy for the next two months.

“Ok. You will be paid by the King’s treasurer when you deliver the goods. Your family is collateral for me until you return with the cash. Collect your dues on delivering the cash to me!”

* * *

Natwarlal left the village in the bullock cart on the long journey with the King’s consignment. It was a perilous journey. Halfway through, he was waylaid by dacoits. They beat him black and blue and left him when they found out that he did not have any cash.

One of the bullocks fell down while navigating a treacherous path and injured its legs when he was about two weeks away from his destination. Natwarlal had to trade that bullock for another one at a nearby village and he was lucky enough to find a buyer. The bullock he got was much smaller and weaker than the one he had earlier, but at least he could move on with his journey.

He was worried about meeting the time commitment.

* * *

Natwarlal reached the outskirts of the city. He could see the huge construction work going on. He was happy that he had reached on time. The King loved his wife very much and was building a monument for her. King Shahjahan called it the Taj Mahal in memory of his queen Mumtaz. The King’s consignment of white marbles from Rajasthan, one among the many hundreds from all over the country had finally made it to Agra.

“Deliver the marbles there and collect your cash!” ordered the soldier at the checkpoint.

* * *

Natwarlal was happy to return back to his village. He gave the cash to Moolchand.

Moolchand counted the cash and was happy that everything was in order. He then gave Natwarlal his due.

Natwarlal counted his money and was surprised to find it less than the 80% that he was promised. He was seething with anger. “It looks like I am being paid less. That is not fair.”

“When you were away, your wife died. We couldn’t hold her until you returned, you know. So, I paid for the funeral. I have discounted those charges from your wages!”

Natwarlal fell to the floor and cried inconsolably. Even the hard-hearted Moolchand was shaken by Natwarlal’s grief.

After a few minutes, Natwarlal gathered himself up and said, “I would like to buy some marble for my wife’s tomb with this money. Can you help?”

“Yes,” Moolchand nodded his head.