SCANDAL IN THE AIRPORT ROAD

CHAPTER 1

It was a dark, rainy and misty night in the Dhaka city. The dogs were howling, trees were drizzling down and horror stroke back. Streets were empty, lamp lights were lessening and people at their homes were listening to radio, nostalgic about older stories and hailstorms were such that, they only took mangoes from the ground. Then, a chauffeur got dressed up, just to go for the airport. The television was switched on, as there were no channels broadcasting, except glitches. He switched on and hoped up to the car. He drove slowly.

He was thinking a lot about his own issues such as family, money and love. On the other hand, he was listening to the news in the radio:

Hi guys,

This is Farcy from R. Foorty news. Today's newsflash is about the recent accidents in the airport road that were particularly happening. Looking at the situation, The Government of Bangladesh advised us to take another route, only from 12 to 6 pm at midnight.

Another news is a returning journalist from 'The New Age Bangladesh', have expose the fraudulent means by the Village Matriarch. However, certain circumstances killed her at the spot and the patriarch was not in the state of recovery to have trial in the court.

Finally, the weather is about 15 to 25 degrees due to a drizzling rain, will be chilling in the way.

This is Farcy and you're listening to R. Foorty News. Thank You So Much!

The broadcast automatically switched off. Until, he stopped to a woman with a white clad sari. Her red lips were bitten and snapped. But her eyes were covered with scrawny hair and she was beautiful that way. The chauffeur hoped out of the car and slowly approached the girl. Rain continued to drop and drizzle high as ever.

"Are you alright?" asked the chauffeur.

The woman needlessly was quiet. But it was a sign of yes. Moreover, her hands were like of an anorexia patient with a slightly long nails. The chauffeur was quite a gentleman, indeed. However, after his divorce of his dominating wife, he was lonely and upset but looking at a beautiful woman, he was happy. He was only to drop her.

"What's your name?" asked the chauffeur.

"AIRPORT ROAD" said the woman in a deep voice.

"Airport road? Strange name for a woman. Where do you live?" said the chauffeur.

"TO THE HIGHWAY" said the woman.

"I'm going there, too" said the chauffeur.

"JOIN US" said the woman.

"To where? You're a weird woman. You just need to take rest, will you?" said the chauffeur.

"Don't you want to join us" said the woman all of a sudden with a change from a low pitched vocal to the high pitched ones.

The chauffeur was petrified and freaked out as such that, he looked at the glass window. Behind the seat, there wasn't a single reflection upon the woman. Looking at the back, he saw her head spun. Her head looked like red scarlet eyes. On the other hand, her face might be beautiful but half-burnt, unlike a clichéd ghastly figure, she resembled a sleepwalker or a 'dead-ite' from an older dreadful film.

"NOW IT'S OUR TIME!" said the woman.

The car started to lose its brakes and as the road was runny, it was dancing off. Then the radio started to switch on such as mysterious songs from the 80s to the early 2000s were swinging. The man was petrified to look at his car to run. After that, the car crashed through the railing of the bridge and jumped through the lake. The chauffer was choked underwater that he succumbed to his wounds.

In the morning, the police rushed through the sight and saw the car which was half-broken and doors were open. Pulling off the crane, a cold body of the chauffeur with a fishy odor had the police filled with disgust and moreover, skeptical. They took the body to the postmortem.

Then Mr. Benazir Chowdhury from the 'New Age Bangladesh' arrived, hurried into the morgue, but with a low profile. However, he was so famous that the doctors and the police immediately recognized him from the face, not even his identification card. He asked the doctor "what happened to him?"

"He was poisoned from a strange toxic waste that is underwater. However, his hands showed his signs of depression and negative mindset" said the doctor.

Mr. Chowdhury thought of a one happy note that he was about to spread. It would be a bigger challenge for a person to bring out his best efforts.

"Oh poor guy! The accidents have been so frequent. I know someone who could investigate this matter. He is one of our best journalist" said Mr. Chowdhury.

"Wahid Azad? He's a scoundrel!" exclaimed the doctor.

"A scoundrel he is, but not the swine that at least he would get off of his ethics" said Mr. Chowdhury.

"He exposed the ghastly incidents, sir" said one of the police.

"Alright, call him when he is ready" said Mr. Chowdhury.

He got back to the office and called Wahid from his cellphone.

"Hey Wahid, I received all your journals and photos from your mail" said Mr. Chowdhury.

"Sir, I have a last part of the journal, getting to the account" said Wahid.

"Will receive it too. By the way, nice music" said Mr. Chowdhury.

"It's my dad who's playing" said Wahid.

"Oh, your dad? I must meet him in person! Anyway, you got a new case to handle" said Mr. Chowdhury.

"What case?" asked Wahid.

"There had been accidents on the airport road, lately. You need to come back to Dhaka, right now!" said Mr. Chowdhury.

"Wait, what?" said Wahid.

Mr. Chowdhury's phone was accidentally cut off. However, he realized that Wahid was already in the village, hence the network would swing off and on. Hence, he continued to investigate the case but the music that impacted on his mind was soothing. That's why he rested for a while. Quite unusual for a head editor to sleep for a simple flute music.

Until, his secretary, Partho arrived at the scene. Partho, looking at Mr. Chowdhury who was sleeping on his cabin.

"Sir, are you alright?" asked Partho

He woke up and rubbed his eyes.

"Yes, Partho" said Mr. Chowdhury.

"Will Wahid arrive?" asked Partho.

"He will, probably tomorrow because the village is hailing him now. His stories will be published and being viral tomorrow" said Mr. Chowdhury.

Meanwhile, Wahid was sleeping on his bed inside Khalil's (Now Marco's) guest house. However, his dreams started to flash again. On the other hand, Marco looked at the photo of Sultana, reminded of his memories. Ama Didi, Mursheda, Mahima and Khalil rebuilt the roadside restaurant that a lot of people praised the new items that they were distributing. Arshad and Talma got married the night after the problems faded away.

Everyone in Meghpur were joyous due to unveiling myths and ghosts being exposed. It was a hell of a ride for all the people there who were suffering for nearly thirty to forty years. It was such a carousel of emotions with a roller-coaster element that had opened all the suspense. But what had waited for Wahid is his story to be fleshed out, whereas it was Marco's story at first.

TO BE CONTINUED.....