PROLOGUE

PROLOGUE

By L.A. Lutara

The room reeked of disease, of decay and of the last fetid breaths of the dying. It reeked of skin ripped from muscle, of muscle shorn from bone. Sweet and sickening the smell tickled his nostrils, constricted his throat, tore at his eyes making them tear…

It smelled of flesh, this room; burnt and burning, rotten and rotting…human…

Collin hid his nose in the cleft of his arm. Smelt Sulphur on skin. Smelt infection. Smelt the ebb of his very existence. And as much as the smell terrified him, in the end, ultimately, it was preferable to the stench that clung onto and dug its knarled fingers into the throat of air around him.

The room was dim, the curtains drawn. Not a ray of sun; no, no light of any kind had pierced Collin’s retinas for as far back as his crumbling mind could remember. His eyes, however, had grown accustomed to the darkness. Had come to crave it even. They traversed the room. Four walls…a chest of drawers…beer bottles, coke bottles, medicine bottles… a king sized bed…

Collin’s eyes focused on the bed. A vicious and vampirous swarm of flies and mosquitoes were buzzing around it. Around her. Never quite touching down on the mass of rot the bed cradled but seeming to keep guard. Staking death’s territory. Warning: No Life Beyond This Point.

Sweat broke out on Collin’s forehead. The air was muggy and stale and the room was like an oven. And yet he shivered. An indefinable cold seeping into his bones. Rendering them arthritic and painful to move. Was it fear, this internal frost that gripped his limbs? No, it couldn’t be. Collin had accepted his fate, they had accepted their fate. The both of them, together. To love each other was to kill each other. If they wanted to live, one of them would have to leave…

Collin wiped his forehead with the heel of his palm. His cheeks on the shoulders of his shirt. Steeling himself, he took a step towards the bed. Then another. Then another. The buzzing of the insects seemed to pause, leaving the dense air silent. The cloud almost seeming to part before him as his knees bumped the side of the bed. Turning, Collin sat down. Reached a hand out towards Helena, or at least what had once been Helena but then thought the better of it.

She’s gone. Collin told himself. She’s gone…

And then the guilt hit.

If only he had gone. If only he had gotten up and left. Because no matter how much Helena would have cried or cursed or lashed out, it would have been better than this. Anything would have been better than this. At least she would have been alive. At least she would have been breathing. At least she still would have had a chance had happiness, even if not with him. Collin’s selfishness had killed her. His unwillingness to leave had left her a rotting hunk of meat.

A sob broke through the silence and thick tears forced themselves from the corners of Collin’s eyes. Their descent was slow leaving slug like trails down his cheeks and Collin waited a moment before he wiped them away with the finger tips of his hands. Blood. He was crying blood. One of the very last things that had happened to Helena before she had died.

Collin sighed. His ragged breath coming out a rattle. This was it. Next were the ears, then the mouth, then the nose. His body would slowly and painfully bleed itself dry using every orifice in his body to rid itself of life. His already lesioned skin would then begin to peel, falling off in slops, exposing raw muscle. And then finally, too weak and into much pain to move, his heart would seize and he would die.

Slowly, Collin lifted his legs and stretched out on the bed. Laid his head down on the pillow.

Breath in…breath out…breath in…breath out…breath in…breath out…

Making a decision Collin reached a hand behind his head and under the pillow. Carefully and deftly feeling around he pulled out a razor blade. Peered at it in the murky darkness. Helena had said that if he had to he could. That she would not resent him for it.

Breath in…breath out…breath in…breath out…

Collin raised his other hand in front of his face.

Breath in…breath out…

Then just as carefully and just as deftly as he had pulled out the razor blade from under the pillow, Collin dug the blade into the flesh of his wrist and made a deep and neat vertical incision, cleanly severing the radial artery of his right arm. Then switching the razor blade from one hand to the other, Collin made an identical slash severing his right wrist’s twin. Then, blood tripping down both arms, Collin slowly lowered them allowing them to come to rest at his sides. Looking up at the ceiling Collin took another deep breath…and waited.

For Everything A Reason...Pt. 9: The Reason (Series Finale)

I threw back the covers. Jumped out of bed. Stumbled, still half drunk on sleep across the room to my desk where my phone was charging. It was gargling its spacey sequence of bells and whistles and as I pulled out the charging pin, I pressed the 'answer' button and put the phone up to my ear.
It was Sharon.
“Hello?”
“Why aren't you answering your phone?”
But it wasn't Sharon. At least it didn't sound like her.
I pulled the phone from my ear and checked the caller ID. It said Sharon all right. I furrowed my eye brows in confusion. Lifted the phone back up to my ear.
“Hello?”
“Sharon’s in the hospital. She's been trying to call you-- we've been trying to call you for almost two hours. Why the hell aren't you answering your phone? The woman pregnant with your children tries to call you in the middle of the night and it doesn't occur to you that there might be something wrong?”
And then click-- everything slid into place, made absolute sense...shit.
“What’s happened? Is she okay? Are the babies OK? Where are you?”
It was Sharon's sister Beverly on the phone. The one who had given me hell since day one. The one who had always, always suspected from the very beginning that I was up to no good. The one who had tried to come onto me that one time when I had run into her at some wigged out house party while Sharon had been tucked in safe and sound at home. Nothing had happened though so I hadn't seen any reason to mention the little incident to Sharon...but Beverly had, putting her own spin on it too. It took me forever and a day to convince Sharon that I didn't do anything. Needless to say, I didn't like the chick.
“We're at Hale, ward 3H. You better hurry. And I swear, I swear to God that if she loses those babies Ben, it’s going to be on you.”
“Beverly, what happened?”
“She woke up bleeding, tried to call you, couldn't get through to you and so she called me. Rachel and I picked her up and brought her here.”
Rachel was her live in girlfriend...don't ask 'cause I don't know...
I let what Beverly said sink in.
“I'll be there soon.”
I hung up and in a whirlwind of movement pulled on a pair of jeans, threw on a shirt and grabbed a jacket. I was more than a hundred steps from the house before I realized that I was still in my slippers. Dashing back I slid my feet into a pair of African sandals. Dashed back out.
Covering my ear with my phone I called my midnight boda guy, Joze.
He picked up on the fourth ring.
“Wanji?”
“Are you working?”
“Yes boss.”
“Where are you?”
“At the stage.”
“You come down towards home, I'm coming.”
“Okay boss, let me come.”
I heard the motorcycle engine roar to life in the back ground and then beep-beep-beep the connection was cut and he was gone. Stuffing my phone into my pocket, I quickened my pace.


***

I hate hospitals. Try my best to avoid them as much as humanly possible. But then I’ve never really met anyone who actually does like them. Not even doctors. Heck, most especially not doctors.
How anybody can stand the antiseptic smell that clung relentlessly to your clothes and the stench of sickness and decay that the antiseptic was supposed to mask that mercilessly dug its way up your nose, sliding down your throat, nauseating you and bubbling bile in your stomach I don’t know.
Yeah, I most definitely hated hospitals.
Jumping off the boda, I walked across the parking lot, up the ramp leading up to the entrance, through the automatic doors and up to the reception desk.
I tapped on the counter,
“Excuse me,”
The receptionist looked up from her computer, registered my presence, her eyes widening in recognition.
“Ben.”
I forced a grim smile.
“Flavia.”
I had forgotten that she was working nights.
“What happened, Ben? You never called me back. Wait, lemme guess, you lost your phone and my number along with it, right?”
I sucked in some air; I didn't have time for this. I needed to get up to Sharon, to the babies. And they weren’t just “the babies” anymore. We had decided to name them Blake and Blair. Blake for the boy and Blair for the girl.
What if they weren't okay? What if Sharon lost them?
Up to that point I hadn't allowed myself to think about it. The possibilities scared me. But even more than the possibilities, the fact that I secretly hoped that she did lose the babies. That she would bleed them out and would be left hollowed out, void and empty. And me wishing for that horrified me. What kind of person hoped for something like that? Was I really that selfish and callous? And the sad thing is; deep, deep down I knew the answer was “Yes.”.
“Where's Ward 3H?”
Silence...and then,
“You're seriously not going to talk to me?”
I let out an exasperated sigh. Tried to keep calm.
“I'm kind of in a hurry Flavia. Can we talk about this later?”
Flavia eyed me and I could tell that in that moment that if she had a gun she would have shot me dead. Executioner style. One in the back in the head, rolled me over and then two in the heart just to make sure.
Flavia let out a sigh of resignation.
“Take the elevator to the third floor. Once you're out, turn right and go all the way to the end of the hall. It's on your right.”
I turned to go.
“Is she your girlfriend?”
I stopped. Turned back to face her.
“What?”
“The girl in 3H,” Flavia said, “is she your girlfriend?”
I stared at her.
“It's a small hospital Ben.”
I blinked. Blinked again. Swallowed. Set my jaw.
“Good night Flavia.” I said and without another look, walked over to the bank of elevators.

***

Ding! The elevator doors slid back in on themselves and I stepped out of the elevator, right foot first. As per Flavia’s directions I turned right and walked down the hall. The smell of bleach and antiseptic was stronger up here. Probably because more people died up here. Clamping my hand over my nose and my mouth I sneezed once, twice, three times. Pulled out my hankie, wiped my hand, wiped my nose.
The corridor was deserted. Florescent light tubes lined the ceiling making the corridor stark and white and ugly. As I continued to walk, sniffling every moment or so I read the plaques on the doors; D...E...F...G...H...
I stopped in front of the door. Took a deep breath, sneezed, wiped my nose and shoved my hankie into my back pocket.
The handle was one of those flat types that you pushed down on. And no, not one of those ornate ones that you see sometimes either. It was plain and ugly. Much like the rest of the hospital. Sticking out a shaky hand, I gripped it.
Another deep breath and pushing down on the handle I opened the door.
Five sets of eyes turned to look at me as I stood in the doorway holding open the door. Beverly, who looked none too happy to see me, Rachel whose expression mirrored her girlfriend's, Sharon's other sister Christine, some guy that I didn't know...and Patricia. Patricia who I hadn't seen in months. Patricia who had ended her friendship with Sharon the moment she found out that her and I were dating. Patricia who when she had found out that Sharon and I had split had invited me over to her new place in a text saying, “Just moved, super lonely, come over and let's get crazy.”
What the hell was she doing there?
I had obviously walked in on a conversation but none of them said anything now.
I looked around the room. It was a small one. With three beds. Each one separated by cheap looking, aqua colored curtains which at the moment were pulled back. Two of the three beds were patientless and the five visitors had made themselves quite at home on them. Spreading out themselves, their bags, jackets, shawls and other stuff.
I glanced over at the one occupied bed. Sharon was in it and she appeared to be sleeping. She didn't look well. An ashy pallor coated her skin, her mouth was turned downwards and her eyebrows were furrowed.
I nodded in her direction,
“How is she?”
I made sure to moderate my volume so as not to wake her.
Everyone exchanged glances.
“Let me talk to you outside.”
Beverly said standing up. She brushed past me, “Come on.”
I did a quick examination of the others to see if I could get a clue as to what was going on but all I got was a wall of poker faces.
This is bad, I told myself. Very, very bad.
I turned; let the door close behind me. Walked over to Beverly who was waiting a few paces down the hall.
“What's going on?” I asked, folding my arms across my chest.
For once, Beverly seemed to be at a loss for words. She swallowed, paced a little, stopped, rubbed her hands on the thighs of her jeans--
“Just spit it out Beverly.”
She stood up straight. Licked her lips.
“Fine.”
Her voice was stone.
“Sharon lost the babies. We got to her too late.” Her voice cracked. “She doesn't know.”
Involuntarily, my hands went up to my face and cupped my nose and mouth. I could hear my breath coming ragged. My legs felt like jelly. I leaned my back against the wall.
“If you had picked up your phone, the babies may have had a chance.”
I was so far gone inside myself that I barely registered what she said.
“And Sharon doesn't know?”
Beverly gave me a small shove.
“Did you hear me Ben?” Her voice was rising. “This is your fault. She tried to call you for half an hour while trying to stop the bleeding herself. In which time she could have been here and those babies would still be alive and my sister would not be lying in that bed in there,”
Beverly pointed towards the room,
“half bled to death.”
Still in shock, still trying to process, combined with the fact that it was almost 3 o'clock in the morning and I was tired as fuck, I was not in the mood to argue with her. So instead and with much effort I stood up straight and said,
“I need to see her.”
Beverly grabbed my arm.
“No you don't. And you won’t.”
She gripped my arm even harder, moving closer to me. “What you're going to do Ben, is turn around and leave and let me deal with this.”
I’ve never wanted to hit a woman so much in my life.
I swallowed. Unclenched my fists that had somehow clenched themselves without me noticing. I decided to try and be diplomatic.
“Beverly, come on. She's my--”
“Your what?” Beverly interrupted. “Your what Ben? Tell me, what is she to you exactly? A human incubator? An expired sex slave maybe?”
I felt my hands slowly begin to clench themselves again.
“Because that's exactly how you treated her.”
Beverly gave me a leery smile.
“You want to hit me don't you? You do, I can see it,”
She jutted out her chin.
“Go ahead, do it. I dare you.”
I glared at her. She glared back...I was the first to give.
Wrenching my arm from her grip, I pushed past her, went down the hall, banged through the door leading to the stairs, took them all the way down to the reception and skulked out of the hospital.

***

“And so you just left?”
I could tell that my mother didn’t want to believe that.
I shook my head.
“What else could I do? I wasn’t about to get into a fist fight with her.”
The sky had cleared. It was still chilly but there was no sign of rain and so my mother and I had stayed in the hotel garden.
“I think you still should have tried.”
I took a sip of my third vodka and tonic. I was starting to feel the punch and hoped to God that I would be able to walk straight when it was time to go. Tipsy was one state I didn’t want my mom to see me in.
Maybe I should get some water, I pondered to myself. But instead of giving it any serious thought I said,
“I did try to call her though. Day and night for about three days. Finally I just decided to go over. I practically had to fight my way through the door, Beverly and Rachel were taking turns playing watch dog. And with good reason to. When I finally got to her I found out that Beverly had managed to convince Sharon that the night she had the miscarriage Beverly had finally managed to get through to me, I had said that I would come but then never did. And seeing as Sharon had already put partial blame on me for the miscarriage, it was not that far of a stretch for her to believe that I had not turned up at all.”
My mother poured the last of the tea into her cup from the small aluminum kettle, tore open a small sachet of sugar, poured it in and stirred.
“How did she look?”
She took a sip of her tea. Added another sachet of sugar.
“Not good. She looked like she had aged by about five years. And she was sad. Like unbelievably so.”
“I can only imagine. Did she believe you when you told her that you had gone to the hospital? And that Beverly had blatantly refused you to see her? Even though she really had no such right.”
I shrugged.
“Right then? Maybe. I don’t know. And even if she did, Sharon was in no condition to go at it with her sister. She did call me sometime after wards though, to apologize for her sister’s behavior. So at some point I guess she did.”
“Have you seen her since?”
I set my jaw. Lowered my gaze. Took a sip of my drink. The answer to that question was something I was kind of ashamed of.
“No.” I said shaking my head.
“But I do try to call her from time to time. Find out how she’s doing.”
My mother nodded. She got it. Got why I would not want to go out of my way to see Sharon. With everything that had gone on between us, it was bound to be hard.
“How is she?”
I took a moment to think about that.
“Coping.” I said thoughtfully. “As best she can I guess.”
I could feel my mother’s eyes probing as she asked,
“And how about you? How are you doing?”
I took a sip of my drink.
“Me? I’m fine.”
My mother pointed.
“That nice looking ring on your finger seems to think that you’re lying.”
I looked down at my hand. So it was back to the ring then. Things had come full circle.
“I wear it as a reminder.” I told her.
Well you’ve told her everything else, I reasoned with myself, you might as well tell her this.
“And now you know what of.”
My mother nodded. Didn’t say anything for a moment. It was a lot to digest, I know. She took a couple of small sips from her cup, and then setting the cup down on its saucer she pushed it away from her. She glanced at her watch.
“It’s getting late Ben, how about you walk me to my room?”
My smile was faint. That was my cue.
“Yeah, sure.”
We got up from the table.
“Wait, what about the bill?”
My mother waved away my question.
“They’ll add it to my room bill. Now come on.”
Walking over to me my mother took me by the hand. It had been ages since she had done that. She gave my hand a squeeze. It was her way of saying that she got it, she was sorry and that everything would be okay. She knew that no amount of words could say it better than that. Giving her hand a squeeze of my own that said,
“Thank you, I love you and that you’re the best Mom in the world.” I walked her back to her room.

THE END