The pre-conclusion of Secret Lives. To see what happened before this, read part 2 here.
Jane and Patrick kept exchanging glances while looking at the mummy in their room. The body had proved too heavy to carry.
“We have to make it easier to carry.”
“How?” Jane asked,
“We have to reduce its size.”
Jane’s eyes shot up at Patrick with shock.
“I am not cutting up Solomon!” She protested.
“Solomon! That’s his goddamn name?!”
“You just killed a man, now you want to cut him up?! Are you crazy?”
“Don’t act all righteous on me Jane. Don’t.”
Jane moved a few steps away from where Patrick was standing. His voice was getting angrier. She worried he might start hitting her again.
She began to think that the Patrick she had met a year ago was not the Patrick standing next to her.
The charming suave man that smelled like something she could eat was not the one standing with his arms akimbo staring at the dead body in their bedroom. A year ago, he was wooing her with with everything a girl could be wooed with. Food. Flowers. Chocolate. Conversation. Comfort.
When he had began to woo her, her friends, Maria and Daniella laughed at his boldness. She was 2 heads taller than him. They would tell her, “Are you going to marry a man you look down on?” She would always giggle but respond that love was not motivated by height or weight. “A good guy is a good guy.”
Their romance had blossomed as fast as mushrooms by the wayside. It hadn’t taken long before those mushrooms had been picked to make soup. The wedding happened and the soup was made. Not once had Patrick lifted a finger against her. Until a few minutes ago, he had been as gentle as he was when they first met, in the corridor of the Senate building of Makerere University. He was exiting an office in a hurry and had walked straight into her chest, apologising profusely while asking for her number to complete the penance.
“Eeeeen!!!” She suddenly woke up from her thoughts and looked at him.
“I said, are you going to help me or not?” She looked at him in this state and worried that this might all be her fault. The dead pastor was her fault. If he hadn’t come to her house, he wouldn’t be dead. Patrick’s new insanity was also her fault, she could have chosen a hotel room at the very least. She could have spared him this madness.
“Patrick, I’m sorry.” She said. He said nothing.
“I don’t know what came over me. It happened so fast.” She thought how this was a lie. She had wanted Solomon badly since that kiss during the counselling session. He was taller. She could look up to him. She never admitted to her friends but she thought she’d never find a man tall enough, sexy enough, man enough, not even in a church building. Patrick had got boring, mushroom soup goes bad after some time.
“I said will you help me?” Patrick continued, his voice a little softer than before. She heard the softness and took the opportunity. He was boring but predictable. And predictability offers some sort of security. She walked to him, knelt down and placed her head in his belly while clutching his back.
“Baby, I am sorry.” She held tightly onto him, and remained there for what was about five minutes. It wasn’t long before she felt his hands on her head, slowly caressing her scalp and twisting her hair. A smile formed at the angles of her lips. . .
This story has three endings. A tragic ending, a very tragic ending, and a happy ending. You decide which one you want me to write. Leave your thoughts in the comments section and I will have a proper ending next Friday depending on what you have chosen.
Photo : culinairemagazine.ca