Lwando Mbana

Chapter 21

I've spent a week in mourning, but it feels like it's time to act. Grieving won't bring back our lost child. Ayola is healing, and the prescribed pills are doing their job. I watch her sleep, get dressed, and make my way out. In the passage, I encounter my mother.

"Don't do this, Lwando," she pleads, placing her hand on my arm. "You have a daughter and a wife."

"I don't want to hurt you, Marhadebe," I reply.

"I'm your mother. You'd never hurt me. I'm asking you not to do what you are planning on doing," she implores.

"She killed my baby," I state.

"I know, but Lwando, you hurt her. Do you mean to tell me that you didn't play a part in driving her to do what she did? Think about it, Lwando. Had you not hurt her, none of this would have happened," she reasons.

"Let go of me, Marhadebe. Tell Ayola I went to therapy," I say, walking past her, grabbing my keys, and driving to the warehouse.

I park my car and enter the warehouse, finding them tied to chairs with a table of weapons nearby. Siphe looks at me with fear in her eyes. I remove the gag from her mouth.

"Lwando, please just let my parents go. This is between you and me," she pleads. I slap her so hard that she falls silent, crying softly.

"You not only took one child from me but 2," I say, walking over to her mother.

"Choose," I command, but she shakes her head.

"Please don't hurt them, Lwando. They had nothing to do with what happened," she pleads.

"So my baby had something to do with what happened between us?" I ask angrily, walking over to Siphe. She remains silent.

I approach her mother. "Did you know your daughter aborted our baby?" I ask her, removing the gag.

"Lwando, you apologized to us a few months ago. You're not this person," she pleads.

"Maybe I'm not, but your daughter has unleashed this monster in me," I say, walking over to the table. "Maybe I should kill both of them just as you killed my babies. A nice slow, painful death. Maybe have you watch your mother bleed out to death," I suggest, picking up a scalpel. "Now, if I cut your mother's neck, she'll bleed to death. It'll be messy but quick. Or maybe I should skin her to death instead. What do you think?" I ask Siphe with a devious smile, as she cries out.

I can hear her desperate pleas, but my resolve remains unshaken. Making my way toward her mother, I run my hands on her soft skin. "You once said you were closest to your mother," I remark, cupping her mother's face and forcing her to look up at me. "I'll be with you now. I need to wear an apron, or my wife will know what I've been up to," I add, walking to put on a plastic apron, wearing gloves, and then returning to her mother.

Lodging the scalpel into her neck, I run it from her hairline down to her ears, peeling off her skin. "Look at her," I command Siphe, who cries and pleads until her voice is hoarse. I toss her mother's face on the floor, questioning, "How does it feel?"

Walking over to Siphe, I demand an answer. "Answer me! How does it feel to watch your mother's face be removed just like that of an animal?" I ask, receiving no response. "Look at her!" I force Siphe to face her mother, eyes wide open. "I want you to remember the smell of her blood. Don't ever forget this scent," I declare, then move on to her father.

"It's sad how parents pay for the sins of their children at times, don't you think?" I say, his silent tears witnessing the gruesome fate of his wife. "It's really nothing personal. If anything, this is your daughter's fault," I explain before repeating the grotesque act, removing the father's face and lodging the scalpel into his neck, hitting a vein that causes profuse bleeding.

Siphe's cry is primal, echoing from the depths of her despair. Crouching in front of her, I deliver a harsh truth. "You did that. None of this would have happened if you had stayed away. I want the image of them looking like this to haunt you until you drive yourself to suicide," I declare, running my bloody gloves on her cheeks. "I want the smell of their blood to never leave your nostrils. You are a chapter I am closing and will never revisit again. The day you dare think of coming after my family, remember this day," I warn, removing the gloves and the apron before walking out, leaving her sitting there in mute horror, gazing at her parents.

Exiting the scene, I find one of our 'cleaners' outside.

"I need you to clean up the mess inside there," I command, and he nods. "Do I have any blood on me?" I ask, and he inspects me from head to toe.

"You're good, sir, though I would suggest changing your shoes," he advises. I nod and retreat to my car, swapping my shoes for a fresh pair from the trunk. I make a call to the boutique, ordering a replacement for the soiled footwear, set to arrive by week's end. I stash the used shoes in the trunk and drive home.

As I pull into the yard, Ayola calls.

"Majola."

"Where are you?" she inquires sternly, hinting that she might be onto something.

"I'm driving inside the yard right now," I respond calmly.

"Okay, cool. Bye," she says, ending the call. I park, take my phone, and head inside, exchanging greetings before making my way to our room. Ayola is in the bathroom, a towel draped around her.

"Majola," I greet, wrapping my arms around her.

"Hey," she replies, meeting my gaze through the mirror. I kiss her neck. "How are you?"

She spits, brushing her teeth. "I'm okay. How did the session go?" she asks, taking a sip of water.

"It was okay, I guess," I reply, disrobing to join her in the shower. "Let's go for our honeymoon."

She eyes me through the mirror, finishing her dental routine. "What did you do to Siphe?"

I tense momentarily, then ease myself. "I was thinking we go to Mauritius. I've never been."

She chuckles bitterly. "Lwando!" she scolds.

"What do you think?" I challenge, meeting her gaze. She takes a deep breath, and I step into the shower, inviting her to join.

"You didn't need to kill her. I thought you were done with that life," she admonishes.

I lather soap onto my hands and then glide my soapy palms over her upper body, gently squeezing her breasts. "I was never going to let her get away with killing our baby, Ayola," I state calmly, feeling a stirring reaction from my manhood at the sensation of her softness.

She exhales, whispering, "Lwando."

Turning her around to face me, I gaze into her eyes. "Ayola, I miss you. Can we not talk about this?" I implore, seeking a moment of respite from the heavy discussions.