Harrowed Fate.

EPISODE 04: Catharsis.

Her face turned pale with shock as she glared aghast at the horrid scene, she promptly feel her knees become weak as she momentarily loses balance and clasped on to Clara’s arm for support. On one end stood Stanley, his visage sopping with blood, perfectly contoured to the unmistakable expression of ferocious rage, he adroitly aims a semi- automatic firearm at his sister’s husband, who stare doggedly at the weapon from the floor where the vicious brawl had taken an uneven turn ---

Stanley had walked a few paces from where his sister and her friend were seated, to curb his anger. He had barely walked five yards away, when he saw an upper body frame resembling that of Francis appear from behind the bend, the latter was leaning over the counter as he inquired information from a nurse. He was not certain about the identity of whom it was, so he treks closer for a clearer view and as he got closer he became convinced it was Francis. And in the spur of his wrath, having got close enough, he grabbed the nape of his unsuspecting brother-in-law and bashed his head on the counter and yelled; “You are a dog! I will treat you like one…I warned you! I told you!

Francis recovers quickly from the attack, staggering a few steps back before impulsively plunging forward to tackle Stanley to the ground, he sends his victim crashing head first with forceful impact on the marbled floor and subsequently following up with a string of well-aimed devastating jabs. Hospital staff and guests soon rushed to intervene, pulling Francis off Stanley with the former blurting out, “She’s a whore, a whore!” His voice echoed through the hallway.

Incensed by his words and also to have been overpowered, despite the heinous deeds Francis had wrought, Stanley tirelessly wrestled for his release from the restraint of the crowd on his end. He suddenly breaks free and charges at Francis, vigorously shoving him against the slab, the violent thrust causing Francis to lose footing as his head banged on the upright, half way through his fall. Stanley, seeing he has his counterpart at a disadvantage, nimbly reaches under his shirt and pulls out a glock, taking rigid aim at Francis --- it was at this juncture that his sister arrived the grisly scene.

“Put the gun down,” Lola calmly whispered. But fixed he stood with the weapon firm in his grip, acutely pointing it at his target, who looks up with a bloodied face at the gun, panting, partly in fright but unyielding to the thoughts of remorse or truce.
“Stanley!” Lola screams, noticing as the intent on her brother’s face grew, a face meshed in a compelling mixture of sweat and blood. He was never one to hesitate; he would satisfy his rage as long as it was justified. She always brooded over his measures for justification; the dissonance between his moral inclinations and impulsive rage.
And now she begins to wonder if he would suppress his fury and not give way to the justification of serving what he considers adequate justice to Francis’ atrocities. She waited with bated breath in the stillness of that ominous moment, frightened of what her brother’s actions could yield.

“Stan, this is not what I want.” She implored him, her tone softer; eyes fixed on her brother’s steady pose.
“I know you think this makes it alright but squeezing that trigger would only make all this worse,” she continued, now at the brink of tears.
“But I warned him! I warned him, several times!” Stanley retorts angrily, the crowd around him scampering for cover as he waved around with the gun.
“He’s an animal, he shouldn’t be shown pity! Tolu’s lying in there in excruciating pain because of him. See what he has done to you…he has to answer for all that, someone has to make sure he does!” He roared, moving toward Francis with intent on his gait and grip.
“And he will answer for everything but shooting him won’t help,Stanley,” Clara intervened, breaking his stride. And as if stung by her words, he quickly interjects.

“You stay out of this! You, snake! You, of all people want to make this right?!” He snarled rhetorically, his words eliciting an exchange of baffled stares between both friends. Lola’s lips trembled in contemplation to inquire what Stanley meant. But before she could manage an utterance, a loud deafening bang suddenly rang through the hospital. Francis was now sprawled on the hospital floor clutching his shoulder with his hand drenched in blood, as Stanley stood dazed at the discharged firearm still in his grip, struggling to fathom what malignant spirits had possessed them both ---

--- Francis had abruptly launched himself at Stanley, just as he turned from his reply to Clara, with the intent of dispossessing him of the weapon, but the latter was quick in his reflexes. He caught sight of the body menacingly approaching him and swiftly pressed his finger hard on the trigger, the fiery shot shattering the glass door at the entrance and fatally grazing his brother-in-law’s shoulder.

“Frank!” gasped Clara, to the bemusement of Lola, who stands petrified as the scene unfolded. She watched as Clara scurried to where Francis lay, smothering him with kisses and tending to his injured shoulder, while the latter groaned in agony, only then were her suspicions confirmed, albeit not entirely. She watched as a handful of the hospital crowd began to assemble round Stanley, he made no arrangement for his safety; there he knelt as one who has been relieved of a yoke, weakly holding on to the glock between his legs. Many among the crowd had contemplated overpowering him before the shot rang out but feared with his rage, it might have a devastating end and so remained dormant. Lola made her way through the crowd to where he knelt, she kneels before him.

“The police are on their way…” she whispered, holding his hand and fighting back the tears.
“I have no remorse, something had to be done.” He replied, looking to the ground, ashamed to meet her eyes.
“You can’t always fight my battles for me, Stan. This was my burden.” She mumbled through sobs.
“Lola, you needed help. The torment had gone on too long and your false friends have stakes in it. Like that one, after the affair she had with him, I don’t know why you’re still friends with her…of what help can she be?”
“Affair? Who? Clara and Francis?! She posed in sheer dismay.
“She never told you? I made her promise she would or I do it myself. I had caught them together, outside a bistro up town. She told me it was just dinner between two friends but begged me to let her be the one to tell you. We met a few days later and she told me, you understood it was nothing and that you forgave her. I would ask but you’ve been friends since you were both twelve and I did not want to further cause chaos in your home.
” He could see the surrender in her eyes as he spoke and knew he had let her down. She casts a glance over her shoulder to where both couples were and made sure her eyes met with Clara’s, as the nurses tend to Francis.

It all began to own a distinctive truth as she aligned the events that had transpired throughout the previous six months. Clara fed on her woes, very possibly the culprit of her misfortunes; she was the wolf in sheep’s clothing. How deep did her scheme run to manipulate Francis’ will, to what extremes did she run to win his heart? She thought. Did she cause him to lose his job? The singular and pivotal happenstance that would later wreak series of irreparable devastation and bring to utter ruin what was once a blissful home.

How did she not see it? How could she have been so oblivious to her own crisis? Who would come to her help, now? Where would she go, with the kids? From where will succor come? She was vehemently wrapped in these thoughts when she heard the sirens blaring outside. They have come for Stanley; she will be stripped of the only true help she could rely on. She holds on tight to his hand, he leans close and embraces her.

“Your battles will always be my battles and I will fight each one until there’s no more blood in me, Lola.” He softly whispered as the uniformed men marched in…


Watch this space for the next episode.