Chapter Twelve: D.O.A
The grease starvation was evident in the loud squeaks made by the wheels of the old and rusty trolley. The nurses' feet stepped at blistering pace. Life was wasting away and they needed the help of their machines, fast. There was a hustle and bustle about the hospital. Cindy heard none of it. All her attention was focused on the woman lying helplessly on the old trolley. If she departed the realm of the living, then Cindy knew she would have no one. Her family had labelled her a disgrace and to them she was a leper in ancient times. Date night had gone so wrong.
The trolley pulled into one of the rooms and one of the nurses stayed behind the team to hold off Cindy. They went in and pulled the curtain. Then the gibberish started. They screamed medical lingo and Cindy could only gauge progress from the tone in their voices. She knew the future offered her nothing. It was just bleak.
After about five minutes, the attending physician stepped out with one of the nurses and stepped towards Cindy. A wave of liquid pushed towards her eyelids while her heart engaged the volatility of a near erupting volcano. "We tried our best but I'm afraid there was nothing we could do. The axe damaged her artery and caused excessive internal bleeding." Cindy fell to the floor which still had the stains of her mother's blood that dripped from her fingers as she rode on the trolley drawing her last breaths on earth. Rewind to the last hour.
Cindy ran from her room and into the living room. She almost fainted at what she saw. Her mother was motionless. Cindy's heart began to pound hard as if it wanted to jackhammer its way beyond the confinement of her ribcage. Her hands began to shake while she took breaths at an enhanced frequency. "Hello my darlings," he said from the other side of the open door. He opened his arms and murmured, "Aren't you going to run to daddy Cindy bear?"
Only he possessed the ability to speak. Cindy and her mother stood rooted to the spots they occupied. He lowered his hands and with a grin on his face lifted his foot to go inside. At the very same moment Cindy's mother reached for the door to shut it but he pushed his shoulder forward and the door bounced off him. She was pumping adrenalin in drums but her feet felt as if they were tied to anchors. She back paddled bit by bit while he moved into the house. Cindy slowly and with a degree of stealth crept into the kitchen and grabbed a knife from the sink. She was not thinking straight and all that was happening was as a result of the outworking of instinct. Survival instinct.
Her need for survival however, ranked below the need to rescue her mother. She then tiptoed back with the knife tucked into the sleeve of her sweater. Before she could make it to the door, she heard breaking glass and forsook the need for stealth. She was coming in hot. Her mother had tried to reach for the vase that adorned the table. She figured if she smashed it into his head maybe his brains would for once start working. However, he was alert to the danger and pushed her before her hand could grip it and lift it towards him. Her hands touched the floor and met some of the fragment from the vase. She tried to get up but he gave her a boot in her midsection which sent her airborne and made her land next to the fireplace. He kept on advancing, his eyes growing redder and redder as the hands on the clock ticked on. She reached for the small axe with which they usually cut firewood when they intended to warm the room but he stepped on her back and disabled her. He then went on to disarm her and thrust the axe into her back once, then a second time.
As he pulled it out to finish the job, he felt a body land on him. He shook his daughter off with vigor coupled with anger and turned towards her, axe in hand. Suddenly, he felt something lodged in his back, very close to the neck. Cindy had plunged the knife into his back and as she lay on the ground waited to see the results of her daring act. He reached behind his back, felt the knife, and then pulled it out. As he did, blood gushed out. She saw strength being drained from him and in a moment he dropped to his knees, then fell flat on his face, still alive but powerless. Cindy let out a sigh of relief and then rushed to her mother's aid.
The police collected her from the doctor's office and took her to the squad car. She struggled to fit pieces together with regards to what had happened. How was he out of prison after just three months? Questions bounced off the wall of her mind but the answers to them remained elusive. The officers took her statement and then took her to one of their in-house psychologists. The lady tried to calm her down but she cried the entire time they were together. She needed answers, the psychologist wasn't ready to give any. When the news filtered through to her relatives from her father's side, they refused to come and claim her. After all, she had caused the death of their son. She was all alone. Child Social Services came and collected her. Her next abode was going to be in a group home. While in there she would receive counselling to help her negotiate her way past the trauma of this event. Her mother was an alien in the country and had no relatives that could be contacted to come and claim her. Hence, her body was cremated – as was her desire – and the ashes disposed of.
When she arrived in the group home, she thought maybe with the many kids there she would settle in and forge family like bonds. However, it was a stage for child politics and peer dominance. Because she was new, she was easy prey. They bullied her and because of what she had just gone through she lacked the strength to fight back. Of all the kids, only one was kind to her. But he was young and did not possess the physical attributes to rescue her from the physical punishment they subjected her to. All he could give was post bullying moral support. His name was Marcus. He had been abandoned by his mother when he was seven and his father hadn't bothered himself with the notion that he had fathered a son. It had been five terrible years in the home but bit by bit he was turning his lemons into lemonade. Their friendship helped Cindy take her mind off the bullying, but most importantly her departed mother. They hung out all the time and during meal time sat together at the outcasts' table. He was a ray of sunshine in a dark infested world. The only sense that held her brutish world together. When she thought it wouldn't grow darker, then Roger happened.
Jake listened attentively across the room as she narrated her ordeal. He felt tears lining up and begging for permission to come out. He was both choleric and sympathetic. He hoped he had the means and the black heart to track the perpetrators of all these crimes and administer vigilante justice. But he didn't. Currently, he didn't even possess the ability to rise from where he sat without external support. He gently whispered, "Cindy" while he tapped beside the spot he sat on the couch. She looked at him, read his gesture and obliged. Once by his side, she sank into his arms and he covered her underneath as a bird covers its young. She sunk in into the warmth and assurance offered by his muscular biceps. She felt weak inside but at the same time protected. Her guardian was true to his duty. They stayed underneath for a while and then Cindy rose and headed into the kitchen. Jake followed after her on his wheelchair. He was now getting used to it and faced little difficulty navigating his way to desired destinations. Cindy went to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of juice. She then summoned two glasses from the cupboard and placed them on the kitchen table. She poured one for herself and another for her man.
They returned to the living room and sat on the couch being entertained by the television. The hours flew by as they cuddled on the couch unaware of the existence of the world beyond them. In that moment, Cindy forgot that she had problems. They all dissolved and disappeared. Jake's eyes swung from the TV to the girl that lay in her arms. He partly blamed himself for all her misfortunes. If he had not watched her from afar, maybe he could have offered her a shoulder to lean on all these years. Maybe this was a friendship they should have developed long ago. Layla would have been redundant and Cindy's father wouldn't have known where they were. All he knew is that this was a second chance, the first was not a failed attempt. Rather, it was an attempt not made. And for that he blamed himself. The soft beating of his relaxed heart protruded from his chest and offered a gentle rhythm that was music to her ears. While it was beating, she felt there was life in the heart he owned. Hence, there was life in her also.
In the evening, Cindy got up and whipped up a quick meal for Jake and herself. He had insisted on ordering takeout but she felt she needed to make him something that felt like home. She prepared some pasta and a mince soup with assorted veggies that was mildly hot. As she delivered the meal, she seasoned it with a kiss on his forehead. Jake ate it all up, throwing compliment after compliment as the food slowly disappeared into his stomach. The satisfaction of his face and in his speech gave her a sense of pride. Jade had been the only audience to the showcase of her culinary skills. Jake was second. However, she knew the amount of bias in both her test subjects but she didn't mind. The multitude of doubt was however covered by the expression of the need to make her feel happy. They valued her happiness. If the world possessed a few more such people, it would be a far much better place.
At the conclusion of the meal, Cindy got up to collect the plates and prepare to restore them into their original state. As she was halfway into the kitchen, she heard a knock on the door. "I'll get it," she yelled. Upon leaving the plates in the sink, she ventured to the door and reached for the door knob. She opened it and on the other end stood the devil. Life is a gift, one that keeps on giving. In some cases, as in this one, it keeps on giving the same thing. Elizabeth, again!