Wicked Girl (THE FIRE Book 1)

by Mcebo Michael Metfula

  I proceeded to the darkest corner and took down the boxes where we stacked our old mail. I thought probably, someone sent us a threat, and we didn’t open the envelope. And that person was probably the one baying for our blood. I lifted boxes to the table one by one. However, my attention was drawn by one I had never seen before. It was made of wood. And it wasn’t dilapidated and moldy like the others. I pushed off the others and placed it on the washing machine, then to the sorting table. But it was secured with a padlock.

  I grabbed a hammer under spider webs at the corner and broke it. It looked like it belonged to my lovely wife for most things were unfamiliar to my eyes and were written in her handwriting. Mainly, there were three sections: photos, mail, and journals.

  My hand was drawn to the photos. I took the stack already feeling my stomach shrink. I had seen her beautiful face on the one on top. She was smiling as always. Dimples decorating her cheeks. “My God,” I whispered.

  I sighed and removed the rubber band that tied the whole pile. But when I looked at the second one, my eyes bulged and my hands lost their grip. The pile dropped on the floor. My mind just shut down.

  9:15 AM

  I took a few steps back, horrified to look at the other photos. I dropped on the old couch behind me and took a deep breath. My system was failing to facilitate a normal breathing process. I took a deep breath again. But still, I couldn’t breathe. I grabbed a bottle with water and took a big gulp. The water was stale but I swallowed it. I had no choice. My breathing revived a bit. However, the entire basement didn’t stop spinning. It spun slowly, and I could feel that if I tried to stand I would fall. I took a deep, deep breath. I drank the dirty water again.

  I looked up at the ceiling. It spun too. Everything seemed to be spinning except the picture in my head of Grace passionately kissing Travis, her boss. I wished to die. I also wished to rise from the couch and inspect all the other photos. Probably, there was something wrong with the one I looked at or there was something wrong with my eyes or mind. But I couldn’t rise. There was no strength in me. After all, I had seen the photo clearly, Grace was sitting on her office desk, both her feet tightly wrapped around Travis, kissing him very hard. I wished to die; my life was over. My entire body vibrated violently. I felt abnormally thirsty. Tears rolled down my cheeks.

  It flashed in my head again: Grace’s legs wrapped around Travis mauling him with a kiss. I bawled like a dying cow. When I raised my hand to slap the couch, there was not enough strength in my muscles. My hand couldn’t rise high enough. And I only managed to tap the couch softly. I ha –

  The door flung open. “Should I bring your breakfast here? It’s getting cold,” Chloe shouted from the door.

  She sounded as if she was shouting in a vacuum. I quickly shut down the bawling but my mind was very slow in processing what she said. So I didn’t respond. Even when the response was ready, I couldn’t formulate the words. My tongue was heavy and my mouth was sticky. I was dead.

  “Are you okay, El?”

  “Don’t bring it. Close the door.” I said.

  She stared down at me. I felt her eyes staring at the back of my head. She seemed like she was hesitating walking down to me, but luckily she closed the door and left.

  My world wasn’t spinning anymore, and it wasn’t stable either – it was swaying slowly, side to side, like a boat on a calm sea. I staggered to my feet and walked slowly to face the worst fear of my life. The fear far bigger than the one of getting the news that Grace was dead.

  I sighed and bent to collect the photos. I collected them quickly trying not to look at them. I thought it was best to look at them sitting on the couch lest I collapsed on the floor if I saw them having sex. I staggered back to the couch. My body never ceased to tremble, and I overheated. I was dead.

  9:31 PM

  Literally, my hands holding the photo pile shivered. Even my thighs shook. My whole body was shaking. My soul was shaking. And my mind could not even take a single step on what to make of this. It only hid me behind the small leaf that my mind went overboard and created stuff that wasn’t really there in the photo.

  Hands still quaking, I put aside the photos I hadn’t seen. I stared at the kissing one. I carefully inspected it. Unfortunately, it wasn’t my eyes. It wasn’t even my mind. It was Grace and her boss kissing in her office.

  I tore up the photo. Tears rolled again. But I regretted I tore it; I had to keep all the photos. I would need them as proof when divorcing her. I was instantly sure that I had to flash her out of my heart. I couldn’t be with a woman who sleeps with other men. A whore. She obviously had to leave me and my kid and move in with her new man.

  I shook my head, failing to believe that indeed the greatest fear of my life had caught up with me. Disappointment had indeed found me, finally. I had evaded it all of my life, by all means possible – from when I was a kid. It has always been my most dreaded phobia. At elementary school, I would prefer missing some games than being smacked in the face by “There is no money” response from Mom. But on the dusty couch, I learned the hard way that no matter how much you try to outrun disappointment, it will catch up with you as so long as you care – so long as you love. It caught up with me, and I felt small, useless, clumsy, and dead. The wicked woman killed me.

  I felt even smaller when I realized that even other people at her workplace knew and accepted the affair because the photo wasn’t a selfie. It was taken by a friend who was with them when they decided to make out. Mila obviously. Clearly, I was the only fool in this.

  I took the pile, still scared of it but my heart was ready for the worst. In the third one, there was nothing much – they were holding each other hand in hand on a busy city street that looked like Chicago. Yes, it was Chicago. “Jesus,” I said, recalling that my wicked wife frequented Chicago for weeklong conferences and workshops. I slapped the couch countless times with the back of my hand. Somehow, tears had stopped. I guess it was because I had deleted her from my heart – there wasn’t even a need to think about it. But one thing that killed me horribly inside was the pain in my heart. I truly loved and trusted Grace. It never ever crossed my mind that she would even cheat on me. Never. Not only was she a lovely wife and mother, but she was a genuine Christian. I thought. Some days, she would even pray for three hours. Even four. Not even praying for herself and family, but she would join me in praying for people we aren’t even related to. Praying for them to be saved – to have purpose and direction in life. We recorded all those people in a big notebook we nicknamed the “Book of Life.” Everybody we knew was in that book – neighbors, friends, relatives, strangers – everybody, even the president, even the weather man on channel 139. And we would pray for those people on a daily basis. For hours. I shook my head, failing to wrap it around the fact that that was pretense. Grace was pretending. Pretending to be somebody she wasn’t.

  I ran through the rest of the pile. Nothing much. In most of them, they were in public places – restaurants, hotels, parks – holding hands, kissing, chatting or laughing. One that made me smash the pile against the wall and overturned some old coffee table with a kick was when she was bathing with him in a Jacuzzi. The dizziness hit again. I picked that photo. Indeed, it was her in a steamy Jacuzzi. She was naked, laug –

  11:33 AM

  I was shocked to find myself on the floor – on the remains of the coffee table I had kicked. I could not remember how I ended up on the floor. The only thing that remained fresh in my head was the picture of Grace enjoying a cozy bath with her stupid, ugly boss. Even the pain in my heart was fresh. I didn’t pay attention to the one in my hands and chest. It was just enough I wasn’t bleeding.

  I collected the photos on the floor and put them back into the wooden box. I took the three journals in the wooden box. I feared them more than the photos because I was sure they would give me details of everything Grace did with Travis. Details that would kill me the more.

  I felt like a hopeless imbecile. I couldn’t believe Grace outsmarted m
e. Fooled me. I couldn’t believe she pretended successfully. When she refused to be intimate with me, she was sleeping with her boss! I couldn’t believe all that. It was like I was watching a horror movie where I was the victim. But I had pinched myself many times. Unfortunately, I was conscious. None of that was a nightmare. All of it was my life. My fake life.

  I recalled that in one of the photos, she took a selfie on a big road, in a convertible Porsche – Travis driving. I felt so small. Grace chased after money exactly like a whore. I felt small because I took the last savings and bought an affordable Honda Civic. But she was just looking at a broke fool trying to please her with a stupid, cheap car. “My God! Why did you let her treat me like this?”

  I felt small because I would come home to celebrate with her if our blog had made a hundred dollars in a week. When she jumped all over the bedroom with me, I thought she was genuinely happy like I was. When she flew like a missile to kiss me when I surprised her with our Honda, I thought she was genuine. I thought she was truly happy. But she was just fooling a broke fool.

  I hated Mila. I couldn’t believe she did not only turn Grace against me, but she degraded her into a whore like herself. I swallowed some saliva, feeling even smaller. It bothered me that Grace must have told Mila, the girls at work, and Travis our secrets. In my troubled mind, I saw her telling them that her hopeless, pathetic husband celebrated like he had won the lotto when his “stupid company” made a lousy hundred dollars in a week – just a little above ten dollars a day. I bit my bottom lip as I saw them responding with stitches of laughter. I felt very insignificant. Microscopic.

  As if I had not felt the worst, I wondered if Kimberly was indeed my child. Instantly, I threw the journals back into the box and left the entire box in my office and locked.

  Suddenly, the small box of my greatest disappointment and shame had become the most important thing in the house. I had to make sure I kept it safe and dare never forget where it was. It wasn’t different from a bridge I would have to walk on when crossing over to the other side. It was obvious that Grace wasn’t missing; she ran away with Travis to some fancy holiday destination.

  I dropped the key in my pocket and slapped my forehead when I thought that she probably would come back pregnant and claim that the child was mine. Undoubtedly, I needed the evidence in the box to divorce her. There was no way I could be that wicked girl’s spare wheel kept just for security – Plan B – just in case there was trouble in paradise. “Never. Not me.”

  I paced to the veranda.

  Deep inside, I knew I also deserved someone who would be a genuine wife to me, not some wicked pretender who wants to reap the pleasures money can buy from some rich fool and then come to me for genuine care and love. It never happens that way. Yes, Grace never met her real father, but I wasn’t his replacement either. In her, I required a wife. A good wife. But obviously, she played me like a piano. Or drums because she hit my fragile spots very hard.

  I stood on the veranda watching Kim race with Chloe.

  12:17 PM

  I watched Kim still playing with Chloe in the yard like I had never seen her before. My head moved up and down – from her head to toe – toe to head. It was paramount I spot at least one feature on her body or gestures or habits that scream Elijah Turner. Later, she waved at me. I waved back at them. I wished to blow a kiss as I normally did, but I found no courage in me to do that. They proceeded running all over the place, screaming. “Join us, Dad,” she shouted.

  I forced a smiled. “Later,” I said with my normal tone. I couldn’t scream enthusiastically like them for I wasn’t even sure she was right to scream “Dad” to me. But the way she loved clapping her hands scared me a lot for even Travis had that habit. Every time he appeared on television representing his company, he always got an excuse to clap his hands, even in one-to-one interviews. But neither Grace nor I had that habit.

  “Kim. Come here,” I said.

  She left Chloe, still panting and ran to me. I took her to the bathroom mirror.

  She did look like me but I couldn’t be sure since Travis too wasn’t that different from me. And one other detail that troubled my heart was her blue eyes. Grace had green ones. I had brown.

  “Why are you looking at me, Dad?”

  “Did you bathe?”

  Kim giggled. “Gotcha. Yes, I did, Dad,” she said with a very lovely and innocent smile. I even felt a bit guilty. “Aunt Chloe was with me. She can be my witness if you don’t believe.” She giggled again.

  I laughed too. But mine wasn’t genuine like hers; mine was the admiration of innocence.

  I put her down. “Okay, go back to Aunt Chloe and finish her.” She dashed out of the bathroom.

  I also dashed to the office. I had to confirm the color of Travis’ eyes in the photos he took with Grace. Deep in me, I was praying he had any eye color but blue.

  Grace had fooled me. Leon was dead. So Kim had to be the only reason I live.

  With quaky hands, I opened the office. I snatched the pile of photos from the box on my desk. I picked the one where his face was close to the camera. Unfortunately, his eyes were blue, like Kim’s.

  I felt my insides shrink drastically. I dropped on the chair, clueless, hopeless.

  The whole thing continued to suggest that Grace wasn’t missing. She only ran away with Travis. I nodded my head feeling the dots connecting easily. Travis was the only relevant person in the company who wasn’t even investigated by the police. They said he was in Europe for a lengthy vacation. So it seemed he ran away with Grace to Europe. Probably, she had made up her mind she would never return to the U.S. But I couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that she could agree to leave her baby behind. After all, she knew Kim was her child with Travis – if the eye color theory is right. But I thought I had to verify the theory lest I disowned my own child.

  Again, the whole thing seemed to suggest that Grace and Travis or Travis alone was behind my shooting and Leon’s death. Probably, Kim survived because she was theirs.

  I was badly crushed inside. I had no idea what to do. Tell the police and they investigate Grace and Travis? Or continue alone. But I didn’t see why I had to bother myself anymore. There was nothing of interest to me; I didn’t care about Grace anymore. Whether she was dead or alive or pregnant or rich or poor, I just didn’t care. The only thing that deserved my investigation was Kim’s paternity. And I also had to get justice for my dead son and my shooting.

  I shook my head, not believing that Grace was such a dangerous villain to me. My lovely Grace! The evil Grace! The wicked girl! I had never pictured Grace as my worst enemy. I truly, truly, truly, truly, truly loved her. “Jesus.”

  Sincerely, I wished somebody would come and tell me that the whole thing was a prank. Or be told that there are no cheating photos or secret journals, but it was my sick mind playing games with me. The amnesia just stepped up its game to the point of making up things. I deeply wished something could prove Grace innocent for I truly loved her. It was near impossible for me to imagine her in another man’s arms. Each time that crossed my mind, my heart shrunk. I also couldn’t imagine myself with another woman. She would divorce me for calling her Grace and unintentionally demanding her to resemble Grace.

  1:10 PM

  I picked the three journals from the box and locked the office. When I passed through the kitchen, I realized I hadn’t eaten breakfast. The breakfast Chloe prepared for me was still languishing. The coffee was dead cold. I didn’t even have the appetite for the brownies. I proceeded to the bedroom and locked the door.

  I lay on the bed and picked the most recent journal. Surprisingly, in my heart, I was done with Grace, but I still feared the journals. My love for her was still alive and sound even though I had deleted her from my heart.

  I recalled one of the most powerful things my father taught me: ‘Son you should never fool yourself; love never dies. If it dies it rises again because it is a spirit. Even on the cross it died and rose on the third day. One thing
that is delicate is trust. Trust is delicate, son. That’s because it ain’t spiritual; it is intellectual. You kill it, then it’s dead and it will never ever rise again. But then what is a relationship without trust? Yes, the love would be there, but such a relationship ain’t different from a beef stew without salt and spices. You just eat to get the protein; you don’t enjoy it.’

  I scratched my head. “Jesus Christ.”

  I knew I was not strong enough or matured enough (never would be) to care only about the protein. I was the kind of guy who also wanted to enjoy the eating process. I didn’t want to be like the men who check on their wives with landline calls from time to time to be sure they were in the house. Or hire PI’s now and again. No. I honestly didn’t want to be that man. Even though I still felt Grace’s love – unfortunately, but I had to divorce her as soon as she showed up.

  I literally felt like the Germans after World War II, except that most of their things, which were destroyed were physical – people, buildings, cars, ships, and aircraft. In my case, nothing tangible was destroyed, only the invisible, fundamental stuff: love, trust, hope, zeal, courage. I felt as if I had been emptied.

  I opened the first pages of the journal and my eyes almost fell on it.

  As if to save me from the torment, Nick called. I took the cell phone on the bed. “Hello.”

  “Hello man,” Nick said. “Still nothing new?”

  I sighed unsure what to tell or not to tell my best friend. Updating him about the affair would be fair but I found it too soon. Above all, the affair thing was extremely embarrassing. Everybody considered our marriage to be exemplary. In church, friends, colleagues, even enemies considered us the cream of the crop. Even our pastor asked to feature us in some article he was writing for some family magazine. I refused but Grace begged me until I said, “Okay fine.” But I was confused why she wanted our life on billboards because she was also private like me.