Nothing eats at the heart like infant guilt.
After placing Lizwe in the boot of Muzi's car, they closed it and went back to the open floor of kitchen – accompanied by dreadful silence that screamed nothing else but jitters and agitation. Muzi was still in his study, downing his alcoholic bitteries. Betso proceeded to attack the floor, scrubbing relentlessly as a means to 'remove' the blood.
"Forensics can detect blood no matter how hard you try. You've done enough scrubbi—", Evelyn suggested from a place of exhaustion and Betso shot at her within one bat of a poked eye.
"What would the forensics be doing in this house?! Are you gonna call them?", she spat out – frustrated. Her mother-in-law raised her hands in surrender.
"I am just saying. The blood is gone. Lwa will not see anything. You can stop", she tried to sound as calm and consoling as she possibly could.
"I don't need your permission to do shxt! You have done more than enough damage. I don't need anything from you", Betso breathed out fire before she could turn and walk back to the spot where she was scrubbing. She then turned back in Evelyn's direction.
"Actually no...", she said as she took off the yellow household gloves and Evelyn heard them spatter violently on the matte tiles.
"You know what I need? I need you to get the hell out of here. That's the only thing I need!", she shot out before leaving her and running up the stairs. Muzi, who had been standing there hard-faced and silent, caught her before she could smash into him. Betso broke down. He held her neck and kissed her forehead.
"Ngiyaxolisa..." (I am sorry...), he whispered and blinked only once, looking ahead. Hearing his voice was like pressing play on the whole traumatic incidence in 3D. She yanked herself out of his hold and proceeded to run up.
Evelyn just stood there as her palms began to sweat, expecting almost anything including the impossible to occur. Muzi also stood there as he unflinchingly participated in the stare contest – making his mother reach the peak of all known discomfort. She only knew a pint of redemption when his phone rang. He informed whoever was calling that he would open the gate for them.
A short moment later, two neat guys walked in. One of them was Tebogo.
"Skhulu...", they both greeted.
"Sho", Muzi greeted back.
"Usibizile maye siyasabela" (You called. We're here now), Mbhejane said, expecting an elaborate briefing. Only then did Muzi come down from the rest of the stairs, hands in the pockets of the grey sweatpants he had changed into.
"Where is he?", he asked his mother, who looked like she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
"In the boot. He's the boot!", she replied as promptly as her to tongue possibly could.
"WHICH ONE?!", Muzi snapped.
Muzi's phone rang once more. He looked at it once and answered. His contact from the police station was calling.
"Maseko yini manje?" (What is it?), he questioned – irritated.
"We received a tip-off about some funny business going on at your house I tried to stall and distract him but Detective Ndlovu won't let it go and you know they've been wanting to place your head on the chopping board for years now so now we're on the way there and..." , he rambled and never stopped to breathe.
"Whoa. What do you mean you're on your way here?", he frowned even harder. Maseko kept quiet. Muzi cut the call and scratched his forehead, trying to squeeze out an intelligent idea from there.
