Harrowed Fate.

EPISODE 06: The Reckoning II.

He was still seated upright on the bed when Clara walked in, his face devoid of any semblance of visible emotion,  save for his poignant gaze ---  there he sat; bereft and distraught at his devastating discovery. She sees the paper in his trembling hands and at once gleaned from his demeanor that he knew. Her long held abominable secret had been revealed. She pauses in her stride, then begins to take cautious gaits towards him, keeping an intently focused glare on him, refusing her eyelids any respite to blink. She knows him to be impulsive and mean-spirited in his response to provocations, ergo she must be proactive to mitigate the consequence of the potential damage wrought.

“Frank, please don’t jump into any rash conclusions. There’s a logical explanation…” She softly spoke, sitting beside him and slowly reaching for his arm when she had settled.

“Don’t!” He snarled, his face promptly taking a dreadful form than when she walked in, the utterance suddenly sparking to surface all that he had fought to conceal until now, as his brows furrowed and jaws clenched, causing his teeth to grit, mildly. She startles back and withdraws her hand in compliance, not seeking to further enrage him. And sitting quietly, she clasps her hands between her thighs and allowed her head hang low in false remorse, uncertain of the daunting sequence that would unfold hence.

“Just answer me this...” He started, breaking the strained silence that had followed his stern reproach,

“How long has it gone on for?” His tone was mild in asking, seeming almost as one who appeared to have struck peace with his demons, when in truth it held the ominous telling of a calm before the storm.
“What do you mean?” She quipped, raising her head to his eyes.
“My father, you slut!” He barked as he sent the letterhead flying at her face in exasperation. She takes it and glances over as if in serious consideration of its content but her mind spun in quick flashes to construct plausible harmless schemes that adequately fit the narrative of the reality she held in her hands. She found none, except the evident truth, yet she could not come to grasp with the terms of forfeiting all she has worked to earn for the truth.

Although, having carnal affairs with father and son was certainly not a plan she had set forth to accomplish but how was she to know Chief Henry P. Onome was his father?  And even when she eventually came to knowledge of their relation, it had become too intricately tardy for her to stop without jeopardizing a prominent source of informal income, she could not burn that bridge --- Chief’s benevolence is a rare virtue, one she opines to enjoy.  But, she loves Francis. She had felt so strongly enamored with him since that day he came over for brunch with Lola and had since worked diabolically to make him completely hers. No, she could give neither away, she thought.

“Answer me!” Frank’s coarse baritone rang angrily through the room, abruptly interrupting her musings as he grabs her by the arm, puffing heavily with quickened rage. She could have sworn she saw the devil in his eyes sinisterly peering back at her in that brief moment; a cold chill ran down her back in fright.

“Four months…” She muttered, his eerily fervid intimidation compelling her to divulge the truth, for fear he might turn to brutal force as tensions rose.

“Four months,” he repeated, releasing his hold of Clara and solemnly receding to repose his back against the wall, bemoaning his fate in short exhaling breaths. His dad, he thought; could he have known? Of course not, but how did this happen?  He knew just how and cursed himself for not seeing it long before it happened. He begins to feel the pangs of remorse for his atrocities to Lola; the good-natured, demure woman on whom he has inflicted unspeakable outrage.  He shuts his eyes as his heart sunk at the gory images of that dreadful night, and he prayed with an excruciating measure of anguish, that Tolu was fine. The fright and repentance that emanated from those thoughts caused him to wonder yet again, how he was capable of so despicable a disposition.

“You daughter of Jezebel…you got all you wanted. You used me, I was too blind to see it, too proud to let anyone see my faults, my weaknesses…not even Lola and you helped me hide it. You hid it well. Fool that I am; I thought you rescued me, when you were really laying ruins to a generation” He narrated through sobs, his eyes looking toward the window drapes turned from Clara.

“I’m sorry, Frank. I couldn’t bring myself to tell you and…” She began but got caught mid-sentence.
“Just go!” Francis yelled with sobs still in his voice.
“Get out…go, and never return!”

She made no further attempt to plead --- his resolve was limpidly imprinted upon his demeanor and there were glints of suppressed fury in his eyes, neither of which she would bother to provoke. She stands, evincing a faint sigh to rue her lost love in Francis, then proceeds to walk to the table on which her bag was kept, but before she could turn to bid him a heart- felt farewell, the door squeaks open and the doctor walks in.

“Mr. Francis,” the doctor began, taking a quick survey of the ward, measuring a comprehensive view of Clara, who now stands hesitantly at the door with half the heart to run back into Francis’ arms, if at least to hold him one last time. The doctor feels the palpable stiffness about the room and paused but Francis; barely finding his voice urged her to proceed.
“I don’t know how to say this,” she continued. “But I am afraid; I have some disturbing news for you, Mr. Francis…” Her still voice echoed through the deafening silence.


Watch this space for the next episode...