Cracked Sources – B03E02

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The morning after was no better, Anna’s mental health was still in
very bad condition.
Two days after the greatest explosion the city of Lagos had seen in recent memory, and things were still very
far from normal.
Anna turned her head away from the window. She didn’t want to look at
the doctor, but the pain of seeing Mark’s apparition by the window-side was
becoming overwhelming. He was speaking to her, but she couldn’t hear anything.
“I’m sorry for your losses,” the Doctor said.
Anna only nodded her head, her tears still flowed; she wondered how the Doctor
could have the conscience to keep repeating his consolation; each wish he gave
was a hard reminder of her present reality – no man nor child to look forward
to. All she could think about was leaving the hospital to an asylum, faraway,
as soon as possible.
Beatrice paced the aisle on the third floor of The Pavilion Hospital’s; she was growing angrier with each passing
moment. The nurses delayed answering questions pertaining to Andrew’s state of
being. 
The moment she saw the update on the Network news two days ago she
started making plans to return to town, to better understand the full extent of
the damages caused by the explosion. She remembered the great pain she felt
when she saw Andrew’s unconscious body being carried out of the building on
Live-TV; the unimaginable expression of guilt she wore when she realized all
the many horrible things she said to him before she left that she hadn’t yet
unsaid. ‘Who knew life could be so fleeting?’ She thought.
Her impatience increased, she was tired of waiting for someone to calm
her fear. After waiting patiently for more than three hours, she had to take
matters into her hands. She waited for an opportunity to walk pass the nurse at
the reception.
“Ms. Beatrice.” 
The
sound of her named caused Beatrice to halt, for fear of being ousted before she
could make her move. Her relief came when she realized the call was from
another Nurse across the hall. She came bearing good news.
“He’s this way.” the Nurse said.
Beatrice
heaved a sigh of relief and walked with her head up high. Other visitors in the
waiting room whispered and gossiped amongst themselves in a fashion typical of
Nigerians. Their actions didn’t make her care for their feelings any more than
she did moments ago. On arriving the door, she panicked, thoughts flew through
her head; she was confused on the right thing to say when she comes face to
face the man she loves. The door opened to interrupt her thoughts, an older
nurse walked out of the room, shaking her head, carrying a patient’s file –
Beatrice could see Andrew’s name written boldly on it.
The
nurse paused on her steps and looked up to Beatrice. “Are you his wife?” She
asked.
“No.” The nurse who brought Beatrice answered in her stead. “She’s
just a friend.”
Beatrice
didn’t like the nurse’s tone, it held contempt. But she couldn’t argue because
she didn’t have the time to, she left both women to gossip and walked to the
window: the blinds were undone and she could see Andrew lying helplessly on the
bed. He had many tubes in him plugged into different machines. He was on life
support.
“He’s not breathing. He’s not breathing!” Beatrice cried out, her hands
fought with her hair in tears of desperation. “Why is he not breathing?”
She asked no one in particular. Both nurses still ignored her, they kept up
with their thrilling gossip, until Andrew’s doctor came by, then they scampered
in feats of pseudo-activities, much to Beatrice’s disgust.
       
     “He’s
in a coma,” the doctor said to Beatrice, “but he’ll be alright.”
In
the adjacent room, under a less tensed atmosphere, there Akin sat. His left arm
was fractured as a result of the heavy fall sustained in the explosion. A male
and female nurse attended to him, setting the bone in place. He was in pain,
yet, he refused all forms of anesthetic; he wanted to feel the pain of the
moment. Reality was beginning to dawn on him that his only legitimate son was
murdered and his illegitimate battled for his life in a coma. He wished the
pain would consume him faster; he felt the world would be a better place
without him because he had nothing more to live for. The increasing noise from
Beatrice’s wails caused chill to repeatedly flow down his spine, it fueled the only
kind of feeling he wanted at this moment – pain.
The older Nurse (who was initially with Beatrice)
entered the room still clinging to Andrew’s files. She was there to say
something important to Andrew, and all he could do was listen in silence.
            Andrew’s mother was already settled
into the police cell, where she was to be held until the time for questioning.
She was extremely agitated, dishing one threat after another to the officers on
duty if she wasn’t let out. She overhead them congratulating a young officer on
the birth of his son, and tried blackmailing him to let her out, using the bond
between parent and child. When that didn’t work, she threatened his wife and
newborn’s security, further worsening her case.
“I’ll have your baby boy skinned before your wife’s eyes, and when
she’s broken enough, I’ll have her stabbed repeatedly before you. Do you hear
me?”
“Are you threatening me?” The officers asked.
“Since you have no compassion, I might as well teach you a lesson.”
The
sergeant got angry. He hurried towards her, fuming; he would slap her if he
could, but he held his cool long enough to speak, “You’re evil. Now I believe
you killed that girl.”
His statement stunned Mother, she wanted to say something to defend
her honor, but was interrupted by the arrival of the D.P.O.
“Ms. Jasmine,” the D.P.O. called mother’s attention to him, “I have
news from your son.”
Mother’s
attention was naturally drawn. She was elated, Andrew sent her a message. She
waited impatiently for the D.P.O. to relay his message.
            “Mr. Andrew gave us enough
information to put you away for a long time,” he started, waiting for Mother to
react. “It’s in your best interest to cooperate with us.”
            “I
want to see my son. I want to see my Andrew!” Mother shouted
. Mother looked at him angrily; she stared with
hatred-filled eyes. She couldn’t what she had just heard.
Anna sat quietly at the back-seat of the taxi; her head spoke at many
turns, all to her confusion. The psychiatrist’s evaluation that she wasn’t
ready to go back into the world couldn’t stop her from leaving. If there was
one thing she was sure of, it was that grieving over Mark, her lost-fetus, and
Andrew wasn’t going to make her pain disappear, she was going to overcome the
pain with time but it had to be on her own terms, not what a John Hopkin’s trained Doctor says.
“Stop here,” Anna said.
The
Uber-driver pulled over in silence.
Anna alighted. “Thank you,” she said, as she made payment.
She looked across the road from where she stood – there was a classy nightclub
there – that was where she needed to be, to find a faster way to heal.
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