Friday Fiction: Secret Lives (2)

Secret Lives (2) a continuation of Secret Lives here.

The man’s body was heavier than the two had anticipated. On trying to lift it up from the bed, they had lost balance and dropped it.

Patrick’s face twisted a little. He began to imagine this giant man sweating on his wife. Wondering how she was able to hold all that weight. Looking at his own body and comparing it to the corpse’s.

“Is that why? Because he was taller than me? Stronger than me? Is that why?”

Jane kept quiet. She didn’t even turn to look at her husband. The leaves of the big mango tree rustled more. The ghost was shuffling his hands again.

She finally let a word out.

“Let’s first get rid of the body.”

Patrick, badly wanted to strike her again. However, the sight of the body wrapped in blood stained sheets in their bedroom began to worry him. There was also the stapler he had used. He looked at his blood stained hands and it began to dawn on him, he had become a murderer.

He motioned to her and they both tried again. This time they managed to place it on the floor.

Mondays were Pastor’s days off. Everyone knew this, which is why Solomon had chosen today to go see Jane.

He had first seen her during the prayer service. A tall light skinned woman with big round eyes. She wore a thick coat of red lipstick and her nails complimented it.  Her hair fell back on her shoulders. It was easy to confuse it for a hair piece.

She had come to the front to be prayed for. It was the way she said “Help me Pastor”, that got his attention. The tall woman had a tear lingering in the corner of her eye when she got to him.

It was a rule in church that women prayed with women. And it had to do with the Pastor’s wife. She did not intend to have her husband be touched by any woman except herself. “Women these days, even church women, move with charms. One touch and your husband would be their slave forever.” She had told a friend.

However, during that prayer service Solomon’s wife was not around. She had not been able to overcome her stomach cramps in the name of the Lord, and had stayed home to rest.

So when Solomon saw the tear lingering in Jane’s eyes, he had hugged her and told her it would be alright. She held onto him as the tears flowed. They both wore red. Him in a red suit, her in a red bodice and gypsy skirt. Her body pressed tighter into his, savouring the feel of his muscles through his shirt and taking in his smell. She recognised his perfume, the same one her husband used.

Solomon worried a little, it was prayer service after all, and this was becoming too intimate.

“What’s the matter?” he had finally said pulling himself away from her.

“My marriage.” She had said.

That had been 4 months ago.

During those prayer services, he would usually ask the congregation to come forward with their best seed to be prayed for.

This seed thing was good business. He had thought to himself. He had read all the books about it. The whole world was about seed and harvest. You sow, and reap. His congregation never once doubted when he had started the sermons.

On that day, four months ago, Jane had not come with a financial seed.

They had begun having counselling sessions every Thursday morning. She would come over to his office, which was on the second floor of the church building. There they would talk and consequently pray.

“Patrick is a nice guy. I mean that’s why I married him. He opens the door. Pulls out the chair, cooks. I mean what could a girl want more?” Jane would say as her eyes ran over him. From his well shaven head, to the curves of the biceps on his arms, to the belt on his trousers.

“We’ve been going to the same restaurant he proposed in ever since we married. I’d like to try other things.” She would continue.

“He does all these things well except what he should do well.”

She hadn’t married a man. She would say.

Solomon’s responses had first started out with proper Biblical diagnosis. He quoted verses on marriage. A faithful wife. The blessings of union and everything he had learned from the Theology diploma. However, whenever she cried, he would be forced to go to her and hold her.

It was an accident. The kind of accident that involves forgetting the gas on and lighting a matchstick. When she had reached to kiss him and he kissed back during that last counselling session, the fire exploded. However, he was aware this was office. Anyone could walk in. He never closed his door, after all he was an open man.

“Not here, Jane.”

“My place then.”

“Monday.”

“I will wait.”

His eyes had not left her gypsy skirt as she walked out of his office. For a moment he had realised his wife never dressed this way. He had also realised that thinking about his wife did not remove his thoughts of Jane. And that kiss that begged for more.

The congregation had been fiery that Sunday. They had been enjoying his sermon. He had decided he would go to sermons.com to pick one of the popular ones. The focus verse was Psalm 21:6-7. His car key holder actually had that same verse.

Solomon had paced to and fro, interjecting the sermon with loud Hallelujahs, Somebody say amens and Oooooo Somebody hear- this’s.

“The king trusts in the LORD Almighty; and because of the LORD’s constant love he will always be secure! Amen?!”

And the congregation would say amen.

The message tugged at his heart. He would not go to Jane’s tomorrow. He decided the kiss was a mistake. The Lord’s constant love would keep him secure.

He looked into the congregation and scanned it. Looking for Jane. He did not see her and he heaved a little.

After three sessions of the same sermon and looking into the congregation to find Jane and not finding her, Solomon decided he would check on her afterwards just to see if she was fine.

He sent several texts that Sunday night and Monday morning, she never responded. He decided he would go to see her unannounced.

It was Monday at 3pm when he arrived at her place. The Google directions she had given him on their last counselling session were exact. It was at the end of the tarmac on M Village. It was a two story house with dark grey walls and black windows. He hooted and the gate automatically opened. He immediately noticed the blue of a swimming pool, a large compound dotted with lilies and roses, and a high arc for the main door.

“Posh place,” he thought.

He parked his Rav 4 next to a Blue BMW, the one he would usually see her driving; got out and went to the door to knock.

She opened the door, in blue jeans pulled an ample distance below her waist so he could see the lace panties she wore; and a satin white top.

Solomon tried hard to remember the image of his wife but couldn’t. He tried hard to recite the Psalm he had so passionately preached the previous day but he couldn’t.

When Jane said come in, he did not even hesitate. He entered her house on what would be the last afternoon of his life.

To be continued?

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