Crybaby - Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Seven of the blockbuster new novel, Crybaby by best-selling, multi-award-winning author Mark Watson...
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CRYBABY
©Copyright 2024 by Mark Watson
CHAPTER 27
AHANNA, RAHUL AND RAJ
Ahanna found Rahul sitting alone at the edge of the camp as his shift ended. The forest stretched out behind him, an endless wall of inky blackness that seemed to swallow all sound. He didn’t look up as she approached but tilted his head slightly, acknowledging her presence.
“Rahul,” she said, keeping her voice low but firm. “We need to talk.”
Rahul leaned back, resting his elbows on his knees, his expression unreadable. “I’m all ears,” he said flatly.
Ahanna hesitated for a moment, then spoke. “I saw him,” she began, her voice tinged with a mix of fear and something almost like reverence. “That first night after I arrived. Behind the shaman’s house. He was as close to me as you are now.” She paused, her eyes narrowing as she replayed the memory in her mind. “He could’ve killed me—snuffed me out like a candle.” She clicked her fingers sharply. “Just like that.”
Rahul turned his head slightly, still listening but with his eyes fixed on the treeline ahead.
“For a moment,” Ahanna continued, her voice softening, “when I looked into his eyes, I saw death. Madness. Destruction. Murder. But then, in the next instant, I saw something else. Sadness. Loneliness. Despair.”
Rahul’s jaw tightened, but he remained silent, his gaze distant.
“I know what he’s done, Rahul,” she pressed on. “I know he killed your brother and so many others. I know he destroyed the village, tore apart lives, and left devastation in his wake. I know you want revenge—I understand that. But we have to think beyond what he’s done and ask why he’s done it.”
Rahul’s silence felt like a wall, but she pushed forward.
“You’ve known Crybaby for years,” she said, her tone sharpening slightly. “You’ve known him as the friendly giant who gave rides to children, who wanted nothing more than to be with his people—his mahout, his shaman. And then, one night, all of that was ripped away from him. Everything in his world changed in an instant, and he didn’t know why. Suddenly, there was someone else leading him. Someone cruel. It drove him mad, and yes, he’s killed lots of people. But he’s not a person, Rahul. He doesn’t think like we do. He doesn’t understand the world like we do. He’s an animal, an intelligent one, but still an animal. And when his world changed, it drove him crazy, he lashed out.”
Her voice trembled slightly but steadied as she continued. “We see this all the time in the ranger service—an elephant attacks its mahout or kills someone at a zoo. But when we dig deeper, there’s always a reason. Past abuse. Sudden change. We think we know everything about these animals, but we don’t. We use words like ‘rogue,’ ‘demon,’ ‘revenge,’ but those are human words. Crybaby doesn’t understand revenge. All he knows is that the people he thought of as his herd were taken from him and replaced, replaced by a monster.”
Ahanna stopped, watching for a reaction, but Rahul remained motionless, his gaze fixed on the forest. She sighed and knelt slightly to catch his eye.
“Killing an animal in revenge isn’t justice, Rahul,” she said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. “It won’t bring back Nisheed. It won’t undo the pain he’s caused. You can’t take it personally. This is his nature, shaped by what happened to him. There are dangerous animals all over India—tigers, snakes, crocodiles. We don’t kill them just for being dangerous. We can’t. Every creature has its place. Crybaby’s no different. If we can catch him, we can give him a new life, somewhere safe, where he’ll be cared for like before.”
Rahul finally shifted, glancing at her briefly before turning back to the darkness. His voice, when it came, was quiet and cold. “I think you’ve got this mixed up, Ahanna. It’s not me who wants revenge—it’s him.”
Ahanna didn’t flinch. “But not in the way you think,” she countered. “Crybaby’s rage and desperation drive him, but that makes him predictable. Beatable. If we sink to his level—if we act out of vengeance, not responsibility—we become worse than the animals we hunt. We lose our connection to nature and abuse the role we’ve been given.”
She leaned forward, her voice firm. “We can’t put ourselves above everything else, Rahul. These animals share this land with us. They’re part of the rainforests, the mountains, the rivers. They remind us that we’re not untouchable, that we’re not invincible. When things like this happen, it should humble us. Killing them all won’t fix anything—it’ll just prove we don’t deserve this land at all.”
Rahul let out a bitter laugh, his hands tightening into fists. He wanted to scream, to tell her the truth—that he’d killed men for nothing, not animals, men, real people, that hunting for sport was as easy to him as breathing. He’d hunt an elephant for the price of its ivory, the price of its hide. He was a born killer and some speech from a bleeding-heart ranger wasn’t going to shift a lifetime of blood from his conscience. A conscience he listened to less than this foolish woman and her bullshit about humility. Crybaby’s death wasn’t about justice or balance. It was about obligation. It was about finishing what Nisheed couldn’t. If he could have found the elephant and chopped it up piece by piece he would and he’d enjoy every second of it. A bullet through the head was the least he could do to satisfy his desire but it would probably have to do, what was she going to do about it? Shoot him for doing it? She wasn’t in his plans and now he had the gold in his backpack qand Raj in his pocket she’d be in for a shock when she tried to stop him. He breathed out slowly and looked her in the eyes.
He shrugged, a mask of indifference slipping over his face. “Sure,” he said lightly. “Whatever you say, Ahanna.”
She studied him for a long moment, her gut telling her there was more behind his calm facade, but she didn’t press. Instead, she stood, brushing the dirt from her knees. “Get some rest,” she said quietly. “Tomorrow’s going to be hard.”
Rahul watched her walk away, her silhouette blending into the shadows of the campfire. His eyes flicked down to his rifle, resting against the log beside him, and then to the inky blackness of the forest beyond. The night felt heavier than before, the weight of unspoken truths pressing down on him.
Rahul shifted on the log, the flickering light of the campfire dancing over his face as Ahanna turned back toward him, pausing just out of reach of the fire’s glow. Something in his posture, the way he smiled to himself, made her hesitate. She crossed her arms and studied him for a moment, her sharp gaze cutting through the calm mask he wore.
“Rahul,” she said softly but firmly, “I need to know something. Are you here to help us stop Crybaby—or to kill him?”
He looked up slowly, his expression inscrutable, though his jaw clenched just enough to betray the tension simmering beneath the surface. “What does it matter?” he asked, his voice measured. “As long as he’s stopped, what difference does it make how it happens?”
“It matters to me,” Ahanna shot back, her tone hardening. “We’re not just here to stop him. We’re here to do it the right way. You know as well as I do that Crybaby isn’t a monster. He’s dangerous, yes, but he didn’t ask for any of this. If you’re here for revenge, you’re a liability. To me, to the team, and to this mission.”
Rahul smirked, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “You think I’m a liability, do you? Funny, considering I’ve saved your life at least once already.”
Ahanna took a step closer, her eyes narrowing. “You saved my life from the bandits because it suited your plans. Don’t pretend it was anything more than that.”
Rahul leaned back, his smirk fading. “You don’t trust me,” he said plainly.
“You’re right,” she replied without hesitation. “I don’t. You’ve got your own agenda, and I don’t know what it is. But I do know you’re carrying something heavier than just grief for your brother.”
Rahul’s eyes flashed, and for a moment, it looked as though he might snap. Instead, he let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “You’re sharp, Ahanna. I’ll give you that. But you don’t know me. You don’t know what I’ve lost, what I’ve had to do to survive.”
Ahanna’s expression softened just slightly. “You’re right. I don’t know you. But I know people like you, Rahul. People who think they can bury their pain under revenge. It doesn’t work. It eats at you, piece by piece, until there’s nothing left. Is that what you want? To end up hollow and angry?”
Rahul stood abruptly, his shadow stretching long and jagged across the ground. “Don’t judge me Ahanna,” he hissed, his voice low but venomous. “You think you understand it? You think you understand me? You don’t. Crybaby didn’t just kill Nisheed—he tore him apart. My brother didn’t deserve that. He was trying to help, trying to protect the village, and that... that animal made him suffer for it.”
Ahanna held her ground, her voice calm but unwavering. “And killing Crybaby will bring Nisheed back? Is that what you think?”
Rahul’s hand twitched toward the rifle at his side but stopped short. He let out a ragged breath, his shoulders sagging under the weight of her words. “No,” he admitted finally, his voice barely above a whisper. “But it’ll stop him from doing it to anyone else.”
“It will,” Ahanna agreed, stepping closer, “but not the way you want to do it. If you go in there looking for blood, you’ll lose more than you already have. Let us do this right, Rahul. Let us catch him, not kill him. It’s what Nisheed would’ve wanted.”
Rahul turned away, his face hidden in shadow. For a long moment, he didn’t speak. Then, without looking back, he muttered, “You don’t know what Nisheed would’ve wanted.”
Ahanna watched him retreat into the darkness, her chest tight with a mix of frustration and pity. She didn’t trust him, not fully, but there was something in his pain she couldn’t ignore. She just hoped he wouldn’t let it consume him—or them.
Raj sat by the fire, staring into the flickering flames, his face cast in an amber glow that revealed little of the thoughts racing through his mind. Around him, the jungle hummed with its nocturnal life—the rhythmic chorus of cicadas, the distant calls of night birds, and the occasional rustle of unseen creatures in the undergrowth. The others were scattered around the camp, some resting, some keeping watch. Rahul’s tent was set slightly apart from the rest, its flap tightly zipped, a faint glow from inside flickering like an unspoken invitation.
After a long pause, Raj stood, brushing the dust from his hands. His movements were deliberate, almost lazy, as if he were simply stretching his legs. He cast a casual glance toward Ahanna, who stood watch at the edge of the camp, her silhouette barely visible against the pale moonlight filtering through the canopy. Satisfied she wasn’t paying him any attention, he began walking, his steps measured and silent.
He moved toward Rahul’s tent with the kind of precision that came from years of practice, his footsteps soft on the jungle floor. Pausing just outside the entrance, Raj listened carefully. The steady rhythm of Rahul’s breathing—deep and unbroken—confirmed he was fast asleep.
Raj slipped inside, his movements fluid and quiet, like a shadow folding into the fabric of the night. The air in the tent was thick, carrying the mingled scents of sweat, jungle dampness, and faintly metallic gun oil. Rahul was sprawled on his cot, his head turned away, completely still save for the slow rise and fall of his chest.
For a moment, Raj crouched there in the dim light, his gaze flitting over the contents of the tent. His eyes lingered on Rahul’s belongings—his rifle leaning against the tent wall, his pack resting on the floor, and scattered odds and ends around him. Raj’s expression was unreadable, his eyes sharp and calculating as if weighing his next move.
Then, without a sound, he shifted, his hands moving deftly as he worked on something unseen. His motions were deliberate, his breath steady, and his focus unshakable. Whatever he was doing, it demanded care and precision.
Outside, the jungle continued its symphony, oblivious to the tension inside the small tent. Rahul stirred slightly, muttering something inaudible in his sleep. Raj froze, every muscle tensing as he listened. When Rahul’s breathing evened out again, Raj resumed his work, moving with the same fluid precision as before.
A few minutes later, Raj straightened, his task complete. He stood silently for a moment, his gaze lingering on Rahul’s sleeping form, before turning and slipping out of the tent as quietly as he had entered.
Back by the fire, Raj sat down in the same spot as before, his face calm and impassive as if he had never left. The flames reflected in his eyes, giving away nothing of what had just transpired. Around him, the jungle continued to sing its endless song, the night pressing in like a watchful spectator.
The fire crackled softly as the group settled into an uneasy rest. The jungle loomed around them, vast and unyielding, its secrets hidden in the shadows. Crybaby was out there somewhere, watching or waiting, and Ahanna, Raj and Rahul knew it.
The night was far from over.
END OF CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
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