His mistaken Identity

Chapter 3

The next morning, Christopher discovered he had a newfound appreciation for painkillers. As his body slowly but definitely came awake, Christopher silently thanked every scientist that had been responsible for the discovery of analgesics. If there was a way to detach his head from his body and only put it back in place when it felt more human and less painful, as though a madman had been handed a sledge hammer and told to have fun, he would have done it. Unfortunately for him, science was yet to get that far.

Christopher was in so much agony; he grunted and moaned like he was on his deathbed. He could barely open his eyes. Every muscle in his body felt like he had incurred a debilitating illness and was in its worse stages. It was official; he needed a new head and a new friend; he thought. One who wouldn’t encourage him to kill himself with excess alcohol consumption.

As Christopher tried to remain perfectly still, hoping his head would hurt less, Thomas walked into the spare bedroom where Christopher had spent the night. “I can hear you all the way in my room,” Thomas said with an amused chuckle. The man didn’t even have the decency to pretend he had possession of a sympathetic bone in his body.

Christopher growled and then immediately winced and moaned pitifully into the pillow before he complained in a hoarse, rough voice. “Keep it down, man. My head is killing me.”

“I should keep it down? You are the one composing a soundtrack for the dead in here. Anyway, a shower, some food and some painkillers, and we will have you feeling human again in no time.”

Arg! “Don’t talk about food… that is just heartless,” Christopher whined as his stomach turned unpleasantly at the mention of the offending word. He vaguely remembered that he hadn’t had a proper meal the day before. So, he knew, even if his stomach expelled its contents, there would be nothing there to puke out. Except perhaps whisky from last, if it was possible.

Thomas chuckled, clearly enjoying the moment at his friend’s expense, and left the room to return a moment later with a glass of fresh orange juice and a bottle of painkillers. “I brought you juice and painkillers. Try to take the whole glass. There is no need to upset your stomach by taking painkillers on an empty stomach. I’m sure your liver has already been stressed enough… Let’s spare your other organs the same ordeal.”

Christopher slowly opened one eye and glared at his friend. “Are you practicing to be a stand-up comedian by any chance?”

“You would make a very poor choice for an experimental crowd, if I was,” Thomas quipped.

“So glad we can agree on that.” Christopher agonizingly slowly moved his body until he sat on the edge of the bed and held his head in his hands dramatically. “This is your fault. I will never drink again, I swear.”

Thomas burst into a full belly laugh, to Christopher’s displeasure. The man laughed enough to have tears spill out of the corners of his eyes. To add to the insult, it was as though his friend hadn’t even drunk a drop of alcohol last night. Nothing about Thomas suggested a hangover. Not even a mild one. That just wasn’t fair, Christopher mused bitterly. Thomas was at least a year older than him and had been throwing back the liquor just as hard as him as far as he could remember. His friend should have been just as wrecked, if not worse.

“Oh, man! I am so sorry to laugh but… we all say that after a terrible hangover. But by tomorrow you will forget all about it and we will both laugh as we share another glass.” His lips twitched as though he was trying to hold back another round of laughing, then added, “Maybe a bottle even. I just remembered I got a bottle of Grey Goose just the other day.”

He really needed a new friend. The thought flashed through his aching mind. Christopher didn’t bother to comment on the Grey Goose. Vodka was the last thing he wanted to think about while he felt like death warmed over. Maybe Thomas was right, but he still made a promise to himself to stay away from any alcohol in the future.

Thomas was right on another point; his liver was not healthy and happy this morning and that was not ok. Christopher planned to live a very long healthy life. Killing himself by alcohol intoxication was not in line with his plan.

He lifted his head and looked at Thomas. “When you are done laughing, do you think you could assist me in getting into the bathroom?” It hurt his dignity to ask, but Christopher was not an i***t. He knew there was no way he would make it on his own without embarrassing himself and giving Thomas more reason to laugh like a hyena high on c***k.

Thomas thankfully sobered. “Sure. Drink the juice and painkillers first, though.”

Christopher glared at the glass and tablets in his friend’s hands. “Thomas, my mouth tastes like something crawled into it and died.”

Thomas winced and suppressed an involuntary shudder. He put the glass and tablets on the bed-side table, then reached for his friend. “Bathroom first, definitely.”

Two hours later, Christopher could almost believe he wasn’t going to die. Although he was nowhere ready to jump into his car and drive anywhere. Definitely not back to his empty, potentially dangerous house.

The benefit of running his own business, he only had to call the office and make sure everything was running smoothly, then he lounged in Thomas’ living room, browsing the channels on his friend’s MultiChoice decoder.

His mind could not relax though, his thoughts wandered back to the woman and her baby constantly. He had a powerful urge to do something, but he didn’t know what he could possibly do.

An uncomfortable feeling of hopelessness and guilt came over him. It almost felt like he was failing the woman in the picture. It made little sense. He had no reason to feel guilt over a matter that technically didn’t involve him. But it didn’t matter how many times he told himself that, he still felt he should do something. He still felt it was his responsibility to keep the woman and her child safe. To rescue them from whatever lunatics held them captive.

Christopher frowned at the TV. He never suffered from a hero complex. He never dreamt of being a superhero saving the world from villains. Or some citizen vigilante rescuing an anonymous damsel in distress captured by wicked men. The feelings running through him were as alien as snow in Lusaka.

The more time passed, the greater the frustration crawled up his spine. No matter how much he told himself there was nothing he could do and should stop thinking about it, his mind wouldn’t let him.

Christopher stared at the TV and signed.

***

Jane Hoara instinctively tightened her hold around her son and flinched as the man shouted angrily across the room. The man was on the phone, but he was screaming enough to include everyone in his conversation. And by the sound of it, it was not a pleasant conversation.

“What do you mean that i***t has not been back?” the man bellowed into the phone.

Even from the distance that separated them, Jane could see how tightly he gripped the phone. She was actually amazed the little black device hadn’t cracked yet. Or even melted from the heat in the man’s voice.

Jane assumed he was the one in charge. There were five men in total that she had seen so far. She was yet to see any of their faces, but she knew them by their voices and behaviors.

They all wore identical ski masks at all times that only allowed her to see their eyes and mouths. Their clothes were equally identical, comprising black t-shirts and black jeans. A casual version of men in black, Jane mused when she first saw them. The only thing that had somehow helped to distinguish them was their physical build. Jane hadn’t missed the muscles hugged by the material of their shirts and the height differences, but their behaviors and voices remained the easiest way to tell them apart.

So far she had noticed they always made sure at least three of them were in the room at any given time, as though fearing she would do something stupid like attack one of them.

Attacking the men was not an idea Jane wanted to entertain. Not only for the safety of her son, but the differences in body mass and build put her at a great disadvantage. No, such action would lean more towards suicide than salvation. Of that she was certain.

Suddenly, the man that had been on the phone turned and stormed over to her. She could only see his dark brown eyes, and the glare he gave her was enough to cause her to shudder in fear.

“Your boyfriend thinks he is smart, doesn’t he?”

Jane suppressed the urge to sigh in exasperation. She was tired of repeating herself, but she tried one more time. “I told you… Enock is dead. Please, just let me and my son go, I beg you.” Miraculously, her voice didn’t shake despite the real fear coursing through her body.

“You and your boyfriend seem to think I am an idiot.” The man snarled, then took his phone and stared at the screen before he shoved it at her. “Does that look like a dead man to you? I would say… your dear Enock looks like he’s enjoying my money.”

Jane fumbled with the phone before she had it steady and upright for her to look at the picture the man was showing her.

Her mouth fell open slowly. The man in the picture had a striking resemblance to Enock. Jane blinked and looked again. If she didn’t know better, she would say she was looking at a picture of Enock. He was dressed better, sure, but she would never have failed to recognize him. The picture was taken as he was about to enter an expensive-looking car.

Jane shook her head. “That is not possible,” she whispered. Enock couldn’t be alive. She had moaned over his death four months ago. She looked down at her one month old son. A son who she now cared for alone because his father was dead.

Her chest tightened painfully. She knew Enock was capable of a lot of things, but he wouldn’t have let her believe he was dead and abandoned her with their unborn child. Even at his worst, he had never given her reason to believe he could be that selfish.

“It’s not possible,” she said with more strength and conviction in her voice. These men were lying. It was either an old photo or a very good manipulation of technology. Her Enock was dead. She opened her mouth and told them exactly what she thought. “That must be an old picture or something. Enock died four months ago in a car accident.” Unfortunately, her words came out shaky. She didn’t really believe her own words anymore. A tiny seed of doubt had been planted. She, however, still tried and kept a straight face and showed the man she spoke the truth, the only truth she knew, anyway.

The man, unfortunately, didn't look the least bit impressed. His lip curled into an ugly sneer. “That picture was taken yesterday… just after his girlfriend left with her suitcases. I think she didn’t appreciate finding out about you.”

Jane remained perfectly still, ignoring the fact that everything in her shook violently. The only outward reaction she showed was to hold her son closer to her trembling chest.

The man looked at her, then looked at the bundle of blankets that protected her son. “Your boyfriend has pulled yet again another disappearing act. If I were you… I would start praying to all that is holy. Because... if he has indeed run away yet again and the deadline we gave him passes… I will send his son to him in a box.”

Jane’s heart didn’t just skip a beat, it stopped beating all together. Her son was her life. The best thing to have ever happened to her. The thought of these men doing any harm to her precious little boy made her furious, very fast, and very desperate.