ONE HUNDRED AND EIGHTY-EIGHT

DYLAN'S POV

Since my mother had begun to curse at my wife, before she, my mother, was sedated, I saw that it was proper to move my wife away from the emotional abuse. I went with her to an empty ward and told her to sleep on the bed. She was crying. I did my best to comfort her. During a time of mourning, did my mother not know any better than to abuse my wife? We were all in mourning, and letting out one's pain through hurting others was a big no for me.

It took a while before Anisha fell asleep, and I ordered a nurse to keep an eye on her. As soon as I exited the room, I met Mrs Silva.

"How is ma'am Anisha" her voice was low and shaky

"She's asleep now. She will be fine." I assured her.

"I will sit in the room with her," Mrs Silva did not wait for me to respond.

She slid the door and silently crept in. It was in the wee hours of the morning, and although part of my heart wanted to urge Mrs Silva to go home and sleep, I ended up deciding to let her be. I went to see my mother, who had been given yet another tranquilizer.

"How is she?" I asked dad.

"She is very violent. She broke a lot of things, and she is acting really crazy, it's as if she has lost a part of her brain, I tell you," my father shook his head slowly, facing the floor.

"Dad, do you know that mum is involved in a lot of shady things?" I could not help but tell him.

"Things like what?" my dad snapped at me.

"You might not want to hear this but dad, I have more than enough evidence to prove what I am about to say. Mum was involved in that case of attempted rape, when Logan almost raped my Anisha. And before Anisha and I got married, there was another case of drugging…she managed to escape, but you do know the Carter and Lisa story?"

"Carter…the university lecturer or something like that?" he sounded unsure.

"Yes, that one. Mum, unfortunately, was involved in that too. I have valid reasons to believe that she planned it. And today , dad ... you might hate me for what I am about to say, but I strongly believe that mum has something to do with all this." I held my breath, waiting for the worst.

My dad looked squarely into my eyes and spoke through clenched teeth;

"I just lost a daughter, Dylan. My wife, who happens to be the biological mother of our late daughter, is failing to hold up. She is crying and going mad, because of pain. And you think this is the time to bring up your allegations? Wild, rootless charges against a poor woman who is mourning her child? How dare you speak such evil against the woman who carried you for nine whole months? Get out of here, Dylan!"

I blamed myself for bringing up the topic during such a time. Bad timing – I apologised to my dad and left the place.

Arianna and Pete had left to go home. I walked towards an empty chair and sat silently on it. Ciera. Did it really have to be that soon? My memory went back to the time of our childhood. Ciera was always the no-nonsense one, but we all loved her all the same. I remembered out little sibling fights. My memory went back to many years ago, when I was about five or six years old. Ciera and I used to take showers together, while wearing our swimwear. We did it just for the fun of it. Our mum, of course, never allowed that, but we did it anyway. I recalled how I always turned off the hot water, knowing that she disliked cold showers. I would stand by the door and block it; forcing her to endure the cold shower. She usually fought back by pouring way too much shampoo in my hair, and when it got into my eyes, which it usually did, I cried. She, failing to wash it off completely, ended up crying too, and calling for help. Iris, the person who always came to our rescue, always told us never to do it again. We both promised her that it was never going to happen ever again. But we did it again. And again. And again.

My mind went to the time when Arianna was born. On that day, I was very sad, for I wanted a little brother. Our parents knew that they were having a daughter, but they refused to tell us, making us wait until the day that Arianna was born. Ciera was very happy, for she wanted a little sister. And then for the next few months, I would beg my mother to have another child, and I emphasized that it had to be a son. Mum always comforted me, telling me that I already had a brother: Pete.

My mind went to the day that she got hurt at school. She was playing baseball and she fell, hurting her ankle. I recalled how I carried her in my own arms and brought her to the stretcher bed. That day, I was so worried that I failed to eat anything. I kept thinking about my sister Ciera, hoping that she was going to be fine. I recalled how she used to examine my eyes. Soon after obtaining her qualification as an optician, Ciera always wanted to examine everyone's eyes. She was on our case, calling us in daily, and checking our eyes! Ciera! Ciera! Did it really have to be that soon? I was not aware that I was crying. I only saw some large drops of tears falling on the space between my feet, and I knew that my heart was stabbed.

I looked up to see my dad standing in front of me.

"Come and hear what your mother is saying," he said before turning around to leave.

I quickly wiped off my tears and followed him. In her ward, my mother's arms and legs were fastened to the metal rods She had begun to inflict pain on herself; so they told me. Only the three of us were inside, and she looked very fierce. Her hair was a complete mess, her hands bandaged. She cut herself when she broke windows and other glass furniture, and she even hit a nurse with a lamp, and hurt her on her face.

"Yes!" her voice was deep and scary, her eyes blood red. She laughed loudly before staring at me. I began to get seriously worried and scared.

"What did the psychiatrist say?" I asked my dad.

"I'm not calling anyone in here. Wait until you hear what she is saying." Dad slowly untied mum's hands, but her legs remained tied.

"Yes! Yes it was all a mistake, Ciera should be alive!" my mother spoke in her scary voice. "I never wanted her dead! That was not the plan!"

I moved closer to her and asked, "what do you mean, mum?"

"You know exactly what I mean, you undisciplined child! You refused to listen to me! You refused to obey me! Now your sister is dead! She is dead! That was not my plan at all!" she fiercely shook her head and made a huge groaning sound. "He made a mistake! He made a mistake! He made a mistake!" she repeated the words over and over again.

"Who made a mistake, mum?"

"That man, Israel. He told me that his name is Fletcher. But I know. I know that his name is not Fletcher. His name is Israel Bassard. He is Israel Bassard. He's also Eden Salatto. I can see him! I can see the old man in a wheelchair. I see him now! I see the old man now! Dylan please chase him away! Chase him away from me! I know that it was me; I donated the fifty wheelchairs; did I not? Huh, Roderick, didn't we donate the wheelchairs? It was all his plan. Chase away the old man, Dylan! Sometimes he is an old man, and then he is a young handsome man. I think he is here to talk about the wheelchairs that we donated. Chase him away from me, please, my son!" she cried, her face looking very scared.

"Which old man, mum?"

"The one in a wheelchair! That's him! He said we must donate wheelchairs. We donated them, didn't we? We donated wheelchairs."

She sniffled and cried softly. My dad went closer to her and gently rubbed her back. Like a scared little girl, using a tiny little voice, mum started to talk,

"Logan is dead, did you know that? Logan is dead. The old man in a wheelchair killed him. And …and those two, those two, Carl and the other one! Lisa! Her name is Lisa! And then he said we must donate wheelchairs. He said we must donate fifty wheelchairs. And we donated. Dylan, do you know that it's all your fault? You don't listen to me, Dylan. Listen to mamma, Dylan. Listen to your mother, my son!" she cried softly.

I felt sorry for my mother. I held her in my arms and patted her back softly. Her voice became smaller and more pitiful, "…you need to listen to mamma, Dylan. You need to listen to mamma. Now look, Ciera is no more. Your sister is no more. You don't listen, Dylan. I told you that Logan died. I told you that Israel told me to donate the wheelchairs. And you did not listen….why do you love her that much? I told you that she is not good enough for you…"

Dad and I exchanged glances, and dad whispered, "things have gotten out of hand."

My mother held me, forcefully pulling me until my head rested on her chest. I could hear her heavy breathing, and her sobs.

"Don't cry, Dylan. Don't cry, my son. I am here for you. Even if she is gone…I know that Anisha is gone, but don't worry. You will be fine. Don't cry, Dylan. That girl was not good for you. It's good for her to go. Let her go, Dylan. Just let her go. I have someone better for her. Delicate Zamara. Delicate Zamara is good for you, Dylan. Anisha is gone. Let her go. Israel killed her. Just let her go…Delicate Zamara….Delicate Zamara…" her muffled voice trailed off and she closed her eyes to sleep.

Dad and I exchanged glanced. "Delicate Zamara. We spoke about her, son" My dad said.

"I know her." I sighed, asking myself in my heart, what did you do, mother?

SOUTHRAIN CITY NEWS ONLINE

BREAKING NEWS: …in very disturbing news that we have just received, doctor Ciera de Milo Octavia, the first daughter of doctors Roderick and Shimmer de Milo of the de Milo Group of Hospitals, passed away last night…. was the CEO of the Roderick Eye Centre….survived by her husband, Keith Junior Octavia…