His mistaken Identity

Christopher Baker unbuttoned one more button on his dress shirt and pulled loose the tie he had been forced to wear for the meeting that afternoon. If he was hoping for a miracle, it didn’t happen. The adjustments to his clothing did nothing to improve his comfort levels. He wondered how people survived in them all day. He personally thought a necktie belonged on the list of a thousand ways to die. His healthy imagination could vividly picture the knot of his tie tightening mysteriously and choking him to death right there in his car like something from Final Destination. A soft chuckle slipped through his lips. Christopher shook his head. He was probably exaggerating, but he was exhausted, hungry and sweaty. So everything irritated him and felt more frustrating than normal. And the list of culprits was endless. Starting from the damn black suit he had on to the dust he could see settled on his dashboard, mocking him as though reminding him that he needed a long shower and his car needed to visit a carwash too. Another thing to add to his frustrations was the traffic he was currently stuck in. He tilted his head to the left and tried to look past the smoking rust bucket of a car directly in front of him. All he could see was an unending line of red taillights. God have mercy, he thought. He wasn’t getting out of there any time soon, by the looks of it. Christopher Baker lived in Lusaka, and if there was one thing the capital city in this southern African country was well known for, it was the traffic that could drive a sane person mad. So, in all honesty, he was no stranger to his current hellish conditions. He even knew its usual patterns like the back of his hand, so it shouldn’t have gotten to him so much. But Christopher was still agitated. He owned his own company, for heaven’s sake. Which meant he had found a way around the particular problem. As a personal rule in self preservation, Christopher always left the central business area of the city before 4 PM. By the time everyone else was knocking off from their jobs and getting stuck in traffic, he was already home with his feet up, a cool drink in his hands, and a smile on his face. Today he was not so lucky. The meeting had taken longer than expected and he was stuck in traffic that was crawling at a snail’s pace. Actually, Christopher thought. A snail would have reached his house by now. This didn’t even qualify to be called bumper to bumper. It was worse. He hadn’t moved an inch in the last ten minutes. Christopher sighed and turned on the radio for some music, something local with a nice beat to help pass the time. The catchy music immediately filled the car and pulsed in the air. With little hesitation, and despite his irritation, he tapped his finger against the steering wheel and tried to forget where he was. Just then, like an answered prayer, the car in front of him finally moved an inch forward and then released enough black smoke from its exhaust pipe to temporarily blind Christopher. Even though his windows were firmly shut, he held his breath as though scared the dark smoke would somehow attack him like a deadly fog and choke the life out of him. It definitely looked like something from a thousand ways to die. Once it cleared and he could see the front of his car again, Christopher chuckled and shook his head. “That car should not be on the road,” he murmured under his breath. He released the brakes and moved his car an inch forward. “Great, at this rate we will be home before midnight,” he sarcastically spoke to himself. Two hours later, he reached home and breathed a sigh of relief. Well, it wasn’t midnight like he had predicted and he was grateful. The only thing he needed was a hot, long shower and a hot homemade meal. Then he was sure he would feel human again. Dragging his feet just a little, he entered his house expecting to catch the smell of a hot meal already waiting for him and his girlfriend dressed in something sexy, equally ready to tempt him into a quick one even before he took his shower. That was his usual routine, and he enjoyed it. He was, after all, a very healthy young man at only twenty eight, and he was yet to hear a complaint from his girlfriend. To his shock, however, that was not what he found. Natasha was dressed in a pair of very sexy bum shorts that gave him an appetizing view of her voluptuous figure. But the rest was not as he expected. His high expectations took a sudden nose dive. There was no tasty smell in the air of good food waiting for him and his stomach growled in protest at the idea that he wasn’t getting a meal anytime soon. And God, he was so hungry. Christopher thought his stomach acids were just about to get started on his spine and intestines. With effort almost beyond him, he tried to drag his mind away from his stomach and take in other details around him. He quickly noticed the strangest thing, but not unfamiliar, which was the angry look on Natasha’s face. What was totally odd, though, were the suitcases lined up near the front door. Christopher gently dropped his jacket and laptop bag on the couch closest to the front door. He bought himself some time by unbuttoning his cuffs and completely removing his tie from around his neck. “So, what is going on?” he finally asked quietly, when he couldn’t stall much longer. He carefully remained as far away from the woman as possible by remaining close to the door. “You even have the guts to ask me that?” the woman snapped and pointed at her chest as though there was someone else in the house he could have addressed. Christopher looked down for a moment and tried to hide the grimace he felt pinching his facial muscles. Natasha had been his girlfriend for almost two and a half years. And Christopher knew just how much she liked to start her dramatic arguments. He took a deep breath and prayed for an extra dose of patience from whichever angel was on duty up in heaven at that moment. He wished like hell she hadn’t picked today of all days for one of her theatrics, but one did not choose when it rained. So he mentally took out his thick umbrella and waited for the downpour to hit. And by the looks of things, it was going to be one hell of a thunderstorm, Christopher mused with a twitch in his clenched jaw. Unfortunately, his silence as usual infuriated her, and she screamed at the top of her lungs. The ear-piercing sound sent an outbreak of goosebumps all over his body. He hated it when she did that. Her tendency to scream like an ill-mannered two-year-old throwing a tantrum was at the top of the list of things he despised most in the world. And that was saying something. Even their neighbors complained about it. It was a constant embarrassment for him to face them after she had screamed like a banshee for no good reason. The first time it happened, the couple next door had believed he was trying to kill her. It took him almost an hour to convince them it was not the fact, and the police weren’t needed. Two and a half years down the line, she still carried on the practice with shameless pride. Christopher liked to believe that her good qualities outweighed the bad, but at times like these, he actually wondered if he was being delusional. “Natasha, please,” he begged in what he hoped was a soothing voice. The woman stood up suddenly from the couch she had been occupying and marched over to the door where he stood. She threw something at him violently and Christopher flinched and covered his face on instinct before he realized it was just some papers. Christopher strongly believed there was never a good reason to strike a woman. Only a lesser man would raise a hand on a woman. At that moment, though, he wondered if there was a lesser man in him too. The urge was almost too hard to resist. A beat passed, and they stared at each other. Then with a clenched jaw, he flexed his fingers before he slowly bent down and picked up the papers from the floor. He wasn’t sure he wanted to take his eyes off Natasha, but eventually, Christopher looked down at the papers and frowned in confusion. One was a typed document. It appeared to be a brief letter. The other was a photograph. He looked at it closely, hoping to find some clue to all the madness. It was a picture of what appeared to be a young woman with a small baby tucked in her arms. Christopher was even more confused. He gave himself a few seconds to search his brain, but when nothing came to mind, no spontaneous answers or explanation, he looked up at Natasha and raised an expectant brow. “What is this?” Natasha chuckled. It was dry and brief, and when she spoke, her voice was full of accusation. “Do you think I am a fool? Two years of my life I have wasted on you!” she screamed at him. “What on earth are you talking about?” She snorted. “I have heard that some men can deny even when they are caught naked in bed with a b***h… I did not think you were one of them,” she told him with a disgusted up and down stare. Christopher could feel a serious migraine starting behind his eyes. It throbbed at his temple like a strike from a hammer. At that moment, he would have rather been stuck in traffic another three hours than face his girlfriend in an argument in which he had no idea what the topic was. He tried to calm down and asked again, “Natasha, what has upset you? I can’t fix what I do not know.” She looked at him. The disgust on her face got even uglier. “You can’t fix it, Christopher. You already have a child with her.” With that, Natasha moved around him. She kept a wide berth as though he had a contagious disease she didn’t want to catch. And then she grabbed her suitcases waiting near the front door. While he still stood there, perplexed and paralyzed with confusion, she left his house. Christopher was in shock. So shocked, he didn’t call her back or go after her. At least, that is what he told himself. That wasn’t relief he felt floating in his chest. It wasn’t. He was just confused about whatever was happening. A long, silent moment passed. He then remembered the other paper in his hand. Christopher had been so focused on the picture; he hadn’t looked at the letter. In a dazed state, fighting the start of a migraine guaranteed to put him to bed. He blinked and focused on the words typed on the paper. Mr. Baker. You thought you could hide from us? We have your girlfriend and your son. We are done playing games. You either pay us back our money WITH INTEREST or we send them both to the afterlife and mail you the pieces. You have two days to organize yourself. We suggest you use your time wisely.