His mistaken Identity

Chapter 11

Christopher’s new house hadn’t seen many visitors since he had moved in weeks ago. That was, of course, because of the letter he had received at his previous house. He had preferred to keep his new address under the radar. There was safety obscurity.

However, the few people that had visited his house, Thomas included, had had a better reaction to the one he was getting from the woman he had just brought home.

From the moment they had reached the main gate, she had looked at the houses in the yard as though every brick personally offended her. Seeing the inside of his house only seemed to increase her anger in astronomical proportions.

She walked into his house, still holding her child tightly against her chest. Christopher was yet to see the child. The entire drive to his house, she had kept the child covered with the baby blankets, to the point he had to wonder if the child could breathe. Even when the baby had gotten agitated, the woman found a way to somehow open the blankets and attend to the child without leaving room for him to catch a glimpse.

Christopher would have made a comment, but he decided to save his energy. Picking his battles and all that. Even now, the words ‘make yourself at home’ superglued themselves to the roof of his mouth. He had a feeling that to utter them would be the equivalent of setting a lit match stick to a drum of open petrol. The explosion alone would level the house and everything in its path. Christopher certainly didn’t want to witness that.

“Could I get you anything?” he finally asked after several tense minutes had gone by. He immediately wished he hadn’t. The look she gave him, one would have thought he offered her poison. Seriously, what was wrong with this woman? Christopher wondered.

“Okay… I can offer you nothing. But maybe you can take a seat?”

She was still standing in the middle of his living room, glaring at everything around the room.

But finally, reluctantly, she lowered herself onto his leather couch. Although, she sat at the very edge as though she expected to stand at the drop of a hat.

Christopher would have probably laughed if the circumstances were different and he didn’t think she would take that as a dare to rip his head off. So instead, he took a deep breath and sat down on the other couch. He made a point of making himself more comfortable than she was. There was really no point in making an already strange and difficult conversation more complicated with discomfort. “Ok. Can we start by telling me your name?” he asked.

“Is that a joke?” She immediately snapped without missing a beat.

“How so?”

“Enock, whatever game you are playing… I want no part of it. I just wanted to confirm you were alive. Alive and shamelessly enjoying life after faking your death like a miserable piece of sh...”

“Listen, woman,” he interrupted before she could finish raining down insults on his head. “Let us reach an agreement here… we talk… like adults. There is really no need for name-calling. Speaking of names… you keep referring to me as Enock… But my name is not Enock.”

She scoffed and shook her head in disbelief.

Christopher decided to ignore that and continued, “My name is Christopher.”

“Bullshit! Do you think changing your name will make it more believable that you are a different person? I know you. I have known you for years! Or at least I thought I did until you faked your death and abandoned me pregnant!”

A very intense, unforgiving migraine was beginning to pound just behind his eyes. Christopher pressed his fingers to his temple and tried to massage some of the pain away. With a sigh, he said, “I don’t know how we are going to have this conversation if you keep shouting and calling me names. I ask you, please, calm down so we can get to the bottom of this.”

Jane was just about to tell him what she thought of his advice to calm down when her vision suddenly blurred. She blinked slowly, trying to clear it.

“Hey? Are you ok?”

Christopher was on his feet and next to her in seconds. He could tell something was wrong. She had gone quiet and kept blinking rather strangely, slowly. She also swayed to the side before jerking back upright.

“Here, let me take the child. Sit back and try to relax,” he offered.

“No.” Her protest came out low and weak. Her arms tried to tighten around the baby, but it was clear she was having a hard time finding the strength to complete the action.

Christopher ignored her weak attempts and took the child. “Stop being stubborn. Would you rather you drop your baby?”

That seemed to cut through her muddled brain and she stopped trying to hold on to her son. Gently, Christopher pressed against her shoulder with his free hand so she could lie back on the couch more comfortably.

His mind was now working fast. Did he have to call for an ambulance? He looked at the woman whose eyes were now closed. Her forehead was creased in a frown, but other than that she didn’t look to be at death’s door or anything that serious. He hoped his amateur diagnosis was correct.

Hoping she was still conscious, he asked. “When was the last time you ate?”

Silence met his question.

Christopher shook her shoulder gently. “Hey, woman, come on… when did you last eat? Maybe your body just needs fuel. Hunger and stress make bad buddies, you know?” She did look like she could use a couple of good meals.

Again, only silence. Christopher sighed and stood up with the child in his arms. From the silence, he guessed that the baby was asleep.

He glanced at the mother for a second, making sure her eyes were still closed. Then he unwrapped the baby in his arms. To his shock, the baby wasn’t actually asleep. Brown alert eyes locked with his the moment he uncovered the face.

His heart skipped a beat, then slammed against his rib cage hard enough to make him gasp. He blinked, trying to clear his sight and confirm the data his brain was receiving.

Looking at the child in his arms was like looking at one of the many baby pictures his parents had kept of him. But that couldn’t be possible.

Still shocked, he looked up and found the woman now watching him.

“Meet your son… Tony.”

Christopher swallowed. He looked down at the boy in his arms again. The child couldn’t be more than three months old. He shook his head. There was no way he had fathered this child. There had to be a logical explanation for all of it.

But even as he thought of all the possible explanations, his eyes remained glued to the boy, who looked up at him in awe. His heart skipped a few more beats, then squeezed.

“Give him to me,” she demanded.

Christopher was only too happy to do so. He gave the child back to its mother as carefully as he could muster and then stepped away, running a hand through his hair. His breathing was fast and shallow. Sweat began to collect on his forehead. He looked back at the mother and child. He didn’t know this woman; he was sure of it.

“Could I have a glass of water?”

Her question snapped him out of his twirling thoughts. He shook his head again and cleared his throat. “Uhm… water won’t serve you any good if you haven’t eaten. You need something with…” His thought trailed off as he once again looked at the child in her arms. Christopher had to clear his throat again before he could continue. “You need food and maybe a glass of juice.”

He suddenly made a decision. He also needed food. His brain was beginning to feel like it was running on fumes. Maybe after eating and a bit of rest, things would begin to make more sense.

The house had a sort of open-plan style. The kitchen and living room were only separated by half a wall. Christopher walked to the kitchen and threw the freezer door open with a little too much force.

“How does a stir-fry meal sound?” he asked a moment later over his shoulder.

When there was no response, Christopher was forced to turn and look at the woman. She was exactly where he had left her. “Look. Clearly, whatever needs to be sorted out here will not happen in the next three seconds. You are drained and so am I. I will cook us some food. We can eat… then talk.”

After a moment, she gave him a nod. It was reluctant, but he would take it as progress.

“So, Stir-fry sounds good to you?” he asked.

“Ya… it’s fine.”

“Great.” Christopher removed all the ingredients he needed to make their meal.

Quickly, with jerky movements, his jacket found the back of the chair and he rolled his sleeves.

Movement in the corner of his eye then caught his attention. She had stood up from the couch and walked into the kitchen.

“Woman, you should really just sit and save your energy.”

“Jane.”

“What?”

“My name… which you are pretending to have forgotten… it’s Jane. Stop calling me ‘woman’.”

Anger radiated from her in waves and saturated the air around them. Christopher looked at her a moment before he spoke. “I hope we can get to the bottom of this very fast, Jane. Because I definitely want to know what the hell is going on here.”