Cascade

By Feyishope

He was aware of nothing but his thumping heart. Its steady racing was a lone thread linking him to reality. Everything else had receded to blurriness.

Then the words that crashed his world to pieces came back to his mind, echoing in whispers progressing to a loud cacophony.

He laughed. It was a short harsh burst that tore through the silence of the room.  The lady across the table from him was startled. It was rare for her to see people who took the news that way; seeing someone laughing after such news was a novelty. It crossed her mind to refer him to a psychiatrist after their session.

He laughed again, a longer, harsher burst. His eyes were glazed over, and his face expressionless after the laughter. She reached out, and took a hand. He started.

He looked into her kind eyes and found no succour. He withdrew his hand. He didn’t want to hear what else she had to say yet he could not stand up to leave. Fortunately, she kept quiet.

It was not going to be fine. It was going to be fine only if he was just in a bad dream. The pain in his left arm from the syringe needle told him that his situation was as real as real gets. It was not going to be fine. It was getting worse. With each passing second, more truth in all its accursed bitterness came to light. With each passing second, he sank deeper into bleakness. The life had been bled out of him. Slowly, steadily, the colour seeped out of everything.

Her face came to his mind, in uncanny vividness. For the first time since the doctor broke the news, his eyes misted over. The angel I worshipped never was. I loved a phantom. The pain in his chest was a merciless fire burning away his very essence. He looked into those kind eyes again, and felt like spitting into them. That ghoul’s eyes too were kind, pools of peaceful waters he wanted to drink from, swim in. How was he sure that the kind looking doctor was not a blood sucking daemon too?

He got up. She got up too.

“Mr Akerele, please sit down. I would still like to discuss certain things with you.” Her voice quivered slightly.

He looked at her, and smiled. She was scared. Maybe it was good. There was a time he could not hurt a fly, and friends teased him for wasting the taut muscles on his six foot four inch frame. Standing there, in that room that still had a faint smell of disinfectants despite all efforts, he didn’t know what he was capable of anymore.

“I can’t wait, I need to go.” The soft voice sounded strange in his ears; how could he muster such calmness in the midst of the tempest raging within him?

She made to speak, but stopped. She reached into the breast pocket of her white-coat and took out a card.

“You can reach me on this number any time,” she scrawled across the back of the card, and proffered it.

He took the card, muttered a thank you, and left the consulting room. The next conscious thing he did was open the door of his car. He got in, not before his keys dropped from his trembling fingers more than once. He had walked a busy corridor, got into an elevator, left the building through an even busier lobby, and crossed the car park to his vehicle unconsciously. Like a zombie. The last thing he remembered was shutting the door of the consulting room. What would happen if he got home? That is if he got home, if he did not drift away, and end up a corpse in a mangled vehicle.

He sat there, and tears came to his eyes. He wiped his eyes dry, not minding that he was getting grime on the sleeves of his white shirt. It was futile, for the tears kept coming. He cursed his analytical prowess for the first time, the forte that got him a mansion in Ikeja GRA, and another in the works, in Lekki. And he was still in his twenties. It would have been better if it took longer to figure out. The truth hit him immediately the doctor broke the news. He had never had a blood transfusion, she neither. She was the only woman he had ever known. There, what he knew ended. Sade had questions to answer.

Mr Akerele, err, your test results reads that you’re positive. You, err, you carry the virus. Those life changing seconds came to his mind. His mind went on another journey, to a time when he wore school uniforms, to a day when the madman whom he gave part of his lunch allowance at times grabbed him, and said in a fierce whisper. Sora fun obinrin. Obinrin lo ma b’aye re je!

Sade. Sade. What have you done? Anger came along, and chased away his despair. Sade, two faced. Who are you really? He turned the ignition, and pulled out of the car park out of the hospital. The consuming rage gave him a sense of purpose, kept him conscious as he wound his way through the traffic. He wanted to look into her eyes, to see for himself. He had acquired new eyes, being forced to discard the old ones which told him that same morning that having her made him the luckiest man alive. He wanted to see her for what she really was. He didn’t expect any explanation that would make everything a series of unfortunate events she had no control over, ridding her of any culpability. That kind of scenario was reserved for romantic novels.

He darted through the traffic, in a manner that elicited expletives from some of the other road users. Even in the GRA, he tore down the quiet streets and parked in front of his gates with a screech. He didn’t get out of the car immediately, despite his mad rush to get home; he remembered his trance like state and dreaded what could happen when he went inside. An image of a bloody knife in his hand, and her fair body lying lifeless at his feet flashed through his mind. He forced it out.

He got out of the car, leaving it outside the compound. He pressed the remote that opened the side gate, and thought of jumping over the fence, for the gate took a long time to open. He charged through the lawn, abandoning the stone path. The door was unlocked, and he flung it open.

“Sade!”

His heart stopped cold. He called her name again, but this time he could only muster a croak from his suddenly dry throat.

She was on the sitting room rug, contorted in a position he’d never seen her assume, under her elder brother. They were going at it like crazed beasts. His legs gave way under him, and he crumbled to the floor. Let me just die. I want to die. What is the fastest way? His pistol was in his bedroom safe, too far. There were many sharp knives in the kitchen, better option. The pain? That was going to be nothing. There was no pain greater than what was ravaging his being, threatening his sanity.

“Segun! Segun!” her cries seemed to be coming from a faraway place.

He crawled along the cold marble floor, the kitchen’s woodcraft masterpiece of a door his ultimate goal. It was a long crawl, during which time all he thought he knew about life came to mind, in a bid to understand what he just saw. It was to no avail. Maybe in death, he would understand.

The knives were beside the sink, in a stainless steel rack. He still couldn’t stand up, so he struggled to his knees and managed to knock the rack down. The knives clattered to the tiled floor, sounding much like cymbals clashing, heralding the planned exit of his soul. He picked the one with a narrow blade; he knew it would puncture easily.

He remembered the countless times he had taken her in the kitchen, the rapturous look on her face, the words she breathed into his ears… Lies! It was all lies!

“Segun! Joo!!” Sade shouted.

There was anguish in her voice. Was there?  Or was it just one of her pretences? No, it couldn’t be true. He didn’t look to where the voice was coming from, didn’t want to. He raised the knife up, and brought it down…

This devil is a woman, dressed in skimpy raiment. This devil is not dark, no; she is fairer than the ripe pawpaw fruit. Her eyes, yea, her eyes are lodestones. Her smile does a quicker work than Mesmer ever did. Her figure is perfection to behold. Her words are a sticky sweet web of lies. You were but prey.

He couldn’t do it. The man he was before he met her, that man he buried when he first saw that accursed smile, came back to life. No, he wasn’t going to die and leave his estate to an incestuous slut. He had fallen for a woman who wasn’t worth it, hardly any were anyway. He would have to live with the consequences of his folly, and die on his own terms. Not because of some sick woman. He separated himself from the pain, descending to that dark place only the resurrected man knew.

He got up, easily. Dropped the knife. She was sprawled on the floor some distance away, bawling. Yes, she was a fine specimen of a woman, but why did he fall for her in the first place? They were never worth it. Her brother was nowhere to be found.  She cringed when he got closer. He stooped down beside her.

“Sade, I’m going out now. When I’m back, there must be no traces of your existence in this house. ”

He got up. He didn’t care for any explanations. She was dead to him.

He was dead too. The resurrected man was a zombie. In expunging her, he seared his heart. No more. He hurried out of the house, out of the atmosphere heavy with the stench of unholy passion and failed dreams.

Love was for stronger men. He was not. He ventured, he lost—came out a zombified HIV positive man. Well, the way of the hunter was appealing. And hunt he would. He was declaring open season on womenfolk. They were going to pay.

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