[15: “Excuse me, sir...”]

Meera nearly tripped on Uncle Ram, sprawled in the hallway, his silver and
black hair splayed out in every direction. His robe hung around him awkwardly,
twisted as he had fallen, tangled in his underclothes.

She rushed to him, but paused before she touched him. Images of his severe face
flashed in her mind, and the memory of the sharp sting of a slap to the head or
hand if she bumped into him clumsily at a meal.

He was breathing, raggedly, but wouldn’t wake. She prodded him in the chest,
poking him hard, shaking him a little. Nothing but a vague groan or wheeze.

He looked so fragile, now. She tried to lift him, but while he was thin, gaunt,
even, the bulk of the man much taller than she was was too much for her to lift
alone.

*Bloody hell. Why wasn’t Sama here?*

Not that her sister would have helped Uncle Ram. She’d received the more harsh
treatment from him, and the air between them was like ice at the best of times.

She stepped over him and raced down the stairs to the first floor. She slid on
the tile floor, an abrupt change from the carpeted stair, and crashed into the
wall as she fell. She winced as she heard a crack.

She stood, gingerly, pulling herself up with the bookcase in the hallway.

She put weight on her leg, and pain shot up and she felt like she was going to
pass out. 

She bit her lip and nearly pulled the shelf out of the bookcase.

*Slowly. You can do this.* she wasn’t sure if she was talking to herself or
just thinking it at this point.

She braced herself and tried to hop toward the study. More shooting pain and
she stumbled a little, barely avoiding pounding her injured leg on the ground.

Hop. Wait for her vision to clear and head to stop pounding. Hop. 

The study was only twenty paces away, but it felt like a mile. 

Hop.

The study was littered with papers, not the usual tidy workspace Uncle Ram
kept, but piles of varying heights over every inch of desk and floor. She
groaned and hopped toward the desk and phone. She nearly lost her footing as
she landed on a pile of papers. 

She spun the desk chair to face her and landed with a heavy thud, the old wood
and leather creaking under the sudden force. 

She dialed, the discordant tones of “9, 9, 9” sounded like a mis-tuned train
whistle in the early morning silence.