Short Stories, Tale Africa

Redemption (Part 6)

Prison Redemption
By Cynthia Ayeza, Uganda:

I know I shouldn't have walked out but I had to. We had been clear about the future: no children! Period.

I did not love Baaba. I do not think I love her. I am incapable of love – loving – or whatever it is people call it. I like her. But that is just about it. And now there is a child. A living, breathing human – ugly – but nonetheless a product of my own blood…my own DNA.

Dialing on my phone, I knew exactly what to do.

“Hey…I have a job for you. It must be quick. There can be no record of it. Clean and fast.”

When?

“As soon as possible. I'll text you the details.”

Ok.

Patrick hang up. It would be done. It was the only way.

Outgoing text: Floor 3, Ward 2, Private room 7. St Mary's Women's Hospital. P.s. There can be no link back to me.

Incoming test: Cash only.

Patrick spent the rest of his days like a breeze; unaffected, unmoved by new life or the pending end of it. It would be taken care of one way or another and no traces would lead to him. He had no way of knowing when or how it would be done but it would be done. That it would be at his door step was the last thing he expected but it was perfect! It was genuine; perfect execution. In reality it was done before the week was over. The kid did not live beyond five days.

Baaba was beautiful – she really was; inside and out. Seeing her in bed, in this hospital was sickening. Perhaps ending her life would be the right thing to do…but the doctor walked in unexpectedly. Perhaps another time. Or not. Maybe she was meant to live. Maybe we would be able to get past this. All of it.

“You should not worry much. Miracles happen all the time,” the doctor said to Patrick.

After managing to seem calm and unsuspecting, “please do whatever it takes to…to…I cannot lose her, doctor.” Patrick managed to say. A surprising sensation flooded his heart…struck by a huge sense of deep regret and remorse, he said, “I want her to live. We will get through this somehow. Please doctor, please…please do whatever it takes.”

“We will. I cannot make any promises. I am not allowed to. But as I said, miracles have been known to happen,” the doctor said.

Patrick looked like a truck had just knocked the wind out of him.

“Wait here, I will bring you a glass of water…and an aspirin,” the doctor said, noticing Patrick's downcast look, as he rubbed his temples more and more.

The doctor was back in what felt like an extended five minutes, but in reality it has been 15 minutes; Patrick took the aspirin and washed it down with the entire glass of water – hurriedly.

“I have to go; please do whatever it takes. I will call for updates on her progress…” Patrick said, as he made for the door of the private room, not waiting for anything the doctor might want to say. He yanked at the door with much force and was immediately tackled to the ground by two police men.

“You have the right to remain silent and refuse to answer questions…anything you say may be used against you in a court of law…” one of the Policemen was saying.

Patrick was confused.

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