His Wet Nurse

Delirium (7)

Images blurred, words echoed, and her breath seized as gruesome thoughts filled Jema's senses—her lover's hands severed horrifically, leaving his body in tatters.

Despite her denial, the familiar ring on his finger spoke a different truth. Clutching her phone with trembling hands, Jema, after ending the call with her Gran-gran, gazed at the gory pictures sent moments later, realizing her initial hope had been shattered.

She was ready to abandon everything for him, even contemplating boarding the next train to Hartwood just to confront him, to witness his lies and dismantle them. Closure was what she yearned for, but this was far from what she had anticipated.

Her legs gave way, and her chest tightened with anguish. Despite her phone incessantly vibrating since the disturbing image arrived, Jema couldn't find the strength to respond to her gran-gran. Instead, she let it slip through her trembling hands, watching it fall to the floor.

Pushing open the double doors, Jema hurried to the veranda. The cold air filled her constricting lungs, and she took a deep gulp, releasing silent wails into the night.

"Jacob," she whispered, tears flowing like water streams from above a cave. She struck her chest forcefully, desperate to quell the pain, the agony, the unending misery engulfing her.

Accusing him of ghosting and abandoning his family for seven months, she built her hate and resolve on false assumptions. The weight of the truth hit her, and she found herself curled on the cold floor, shivering in tears. Wretched sorrows filled the quiet night as she drowned in grief and self-guilt.

She didn't know how long she lay there until she felt the sensation of water squashing over her as if she had been dropped into a cold, wet river. Shivering, she tilted her head behind to investigate the source of this sensation.

In her boisterous suit, Madame Evana stood by the door, holding an empty pail in one hand. Jema, tears now mixed with water, couldn't discern the expression on her face. She sat up, wiping the wetness from her face.

"What madness is happening here? I've been calling for you endlessly, yet you seem completely detached," Madame bemoaned, her face displaying a killer look, shoulders rigid as a brick, and eyes squinted in horror.

Collecting herself, Jema rose, her undergarment dripping with water as she walked inside. Grabbing a towel from her bed, she began wiping her face, hardly acknowledging the older lady.

Lost in her thoughts, Jema's world had crashed right before her, leaving her helpless.

"Jema! I'm talking to you, answer me!" Madame Evana exclaimed but received no response. Rushing over, she shook Jema to life.

"What happened?" The older lady inquired, her breath catching at the disarray in Jema's appearance.

Shaking her head, Jema struggled to find words to convey the harsh truth. How could she reveal that the man she had held responsible for her misery was innocent, brutally killed, and denied even the chance for peace?

"Jacob..." she whispered.

"Jacob? Your lover," Madame questioned in shock.

Jema retrieved her phone from the floor where it had slipped, showing the older lady the heartbreaking picture of her beloved.

Madame Evana grimaced, turning away from the gruesome image. "So, he didn't just disappear, he was murdered," her gaze then shifted to Jema, who sat on the bed, lost in thought.

Sitting beside her, Madame Evana spoke, "I understand how you must feel right now, Jem, but Jacob is in the past. This here," she gestured to the mansion, "is your future, and you need to focus on that. Get yourself together and concentrate on the job you're here for. Let the past be in the past. The baby has been crying non-stop for you; it's time to feed him."