The Other Side

CHAPTER [2]

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   ¬¬CHAPTER 2¬¬
*A TWIST IN THE BLOWING WIND*

The shining bright light for a new day had risen. The man was definitely in pain.

Bandages wrapped around the head were a new route for peace. Bernard was lying in an environment with few trusted servants equipped to inform design excellence for him. In that atmosphere he familiarised himself with the stretcher while his family made sure future responsive space for his needs were provided.

A blessing in disguise for the duo.

Poshia was devastated as she saw her husband unconscious and in pain. Bearing the thought that she was responsible for putting him in that state, it mentally affected her. On the other hand, Vincent was in jubilation as the tables had turned around. He had longed to see this moment. Their home was going to be a peaceful one once again.

"Doctor is he going to alright?" Eager to know, Poshia asked. At this point, the doctor's response potentially had the ability to wash away her guilt hanging in her conscience for a while.

"Right now I cannot promise you anything, we just need to conduct a few tests then we will get to back you," he explained as he walked into the theatre room.

Confused. Filled with worry. She dragged her feet heading to a chair right outside Bernard's room. She sat; her eyes were stained with red thin faint veins, containing reserves of sorrowful salty waters on the brink to spill out. Only time was going to tell. One blink, her tears began to pave their way down her cheeks. Not a single soul could comprehend what she was going through.

Vincent was getting worried seeing his mother in that state. He knew he had to shift her into a different environment before detective Marlon arrived. His goal was to put his mother in the right state of mind in preparation of questions to the investigation. He began to harmonise a song she used to sing him when he was young. It struck her, for she had never heard him form a sequence of notes floating on this particular harmonic melody.

As she was starting to ease into it, Detective Marlon put the sentiment to stop.

"Berkley!" Detective Marlon exclaimed.

"Yes!" Vincent answered as he stood. "Detective Marlon," he formally announced himself flashing his police budge.
Vincent looked at his mother before asking the detective to take a sit but Marlon insisted he conducted the investigation while standing.

"I presume you are the witness Mr Beckley," he said. Vincent felt really honoured with the level of respect he was receiving considering the age difference between him and the detective. The man was old enough to be his father. He also was a fine and down to earth gentleman who knew how to get his job done at the point of need.
"I wouldn't necessarily call myself a witness sir, because the damage had been done when came back to the house," Vincent positioned himself on the right post with his statement.

"Fair enough, so I guess you and I are in the same boat," Marlon responded. Vincent realised there weren't any more questions for him; he then took a seat on one of the chairs in the reception. Furthermore, Detective Marlon knew there was not much information he could get from Vincent. He further proceeded with his questions but this time they were being posed unto Poshia, the so called victim.

Ironic.

It indeed was a battle between the one who sits against him that lies in a stretcher. As the victim she presented her side of the story.
"I had prepared a good meal just like every good wife would do. When he came back home everything seemed so right but little did I know it was only for short while. I have also to admit I had no idea the wind was going to blow in this direction. He looked at me like I was the only woman representing a symbol of an erotic dream. My mere appearance that night spoke signs of seduction in his eyes, it really made me feel good..."

Meanwhile as she was explaining Detective Marlon was lost in his own fantasy genre. He really found the narration quite interesting and exciting too but a voice from his profound memories was painting a different picture. Paying attention to it, he tried to comprehend where he had heard Poshia's voice. It really was familiar to him. He needed answers but this time for a personal investigation.

"Have we met before?" Marlon interrupted the ongoing explanation.

Poshia paused. She took a short stare at Marlon that was followed with a sigh.
"With all due respect Detective, I am not up for any casual conversations. If you are not willing to listen then I guess this concludes this question and answer session," Poshia poured out her mind.

Marlon was not moved by Poshia's presentation of opinion. He in fact was delighted because his memory had become clearer.
"Year 1967, Eastview High School, Poshia Anderson a worshipper down at the Baptist church Sixth avenue; Downtown," Marlon unfolded.
"Jacob!" She exclaimed, as she matched the name with her ancient memories. The two had recognised each other.

On the flipside, it really was a confusing time for Vincent. He witnessed his mother's eyes that were once a pigment of misery but now they contained spices of happiness. Even though Vincent was confused, he was certain about one thing. There was a fractured chemistry bond between Marlon and his mother. He could see it from the way Marlon's eyes pledged loyalty and how they bowed in honour before her presence.

Vincent then rose from his seat and walked towards their current position. He held Poshia's hand as though he was the alpha, his body faced in a contrary direction of the Detective. "Am I missing something here?" Vincent whispered, an enquiry that was directed to his mother.
Poshia was slow to respond as she was stunned with the way she was reuniting with her memories.
"Jacob. Jacob Marlon," the Detective acquainted himself as he stretched out his arm for a handshake. "That's a tight grip you got son," Jacob acknowledged. It was clear. Vincent's defensive instinct had kicked in but Jacob didn't mind.
"Perhaps we can continue the questioning over coffee," Jacob insisted. Watching the Detective mould his lips to utter such words, Vincent took a stare at Jacob; his face frowned and eyes fumed with rage and frustration.

It definitely was time the Detective left.

"I will leave you two. It was lovely seeing you Poshia," Jacob said while his hand gently touched her arm, then ended his gesture with a smile before leaving.

Filled with so much emotion, Vincent was so agitated that he went back inside his father's allocated room, clutched Poshia's purse and the car keys and walked out swiftly.

"Can we leave now?" Vincent said with a reference to rhetoric.
Even after falling into his own realisation that he was furious and frustrated he still felt that it wouldn't hurt to show a little compassion to the hurting lady.

Quite an absurd thing to do but it was logical in his eyes.

Vincent extended his hand in a distance within Poshia's reach. She held his hand in silence and they walked down the corridor heading out of the building. A view from a distance that looked so surreal-- a father walking his daughter down the wedding aisle.

Before exiting, Vincent's eyes came across a familiar figure that controlled a stretcher bed into the emergency room. He tilted his head to take a look. He only managed to take a glimpse of the back view and also perceived a scent that was allied with one of his memories but he couldn't comprehend which one exactly.

He ignored it and left as he thought they were signs of fatigue from the long day he had.