Monday, January 4, 2016

A Tailored Dilemma - A Short Story

She walked hastily into the white room––dark glowing skin. Fear made her brown eyes bigger than usual. She was five-eleven feet tall, easily mistaken for one of those dark exotic models in magazine covers. Without waiting for the middle age blond woman to offer her a seat, she took the one in front of her and laid her Michael Kors handbag on the floor next to her. At that moment, it didn’t matter how expensive the handbag was, it wasn’t doing a damn thing to help fix any of her problems.

The seat burned, so did her heart––the secret she’d been carrying around for a month. She was slowing turning into dust and fading into thin air. Sleep was now an enemy to her. She’d been staying awake every night for the past one month, protecting herself. The first step to ending all of this was speaking to someone who would believe her. That was why she was here––to speak to a professional.

“I’ve been hiding in the closet.” She blurted out in a perfect New Yorker accent, looking around the room timidly. She was either about to make the biggest mistake of her life or she was about to regain her many sleepless nights.

“Okay, let’s take it slow.” said the woman who was dressed in her usual white coat. She preferred to create a friendly atmosphere with her patients before asking them to speak about the real reason they’d come to her. It usually helped to lighten the air. But after eleven years of doing this, she knew some secrets were better said before fear kicks in.

“Why don’t you start from the beginning then.” She told the lady who was looking out the window as if someone she didn’t want knowing she was here was waiting for her outside.

“No, I don’t think you understand what I mean. This is the beginning; I have really been hiding in the closet and I need to come out of it, or else––” she swallowed her remaining statement, smoothing her sweaty palms on her blue skirt.

“What’s your name?” she decided to start from somewhere again.

“Heather, Heather Webs.” She answered, absorbing the terror that rang with her surname. She then forced her attention on the cup of pens in front of her.

“Okay, Mrs. Webs. I’m Dr. Gibson. I’m your therapist for today and since this is your first time visiting, I’ll like for you to sign this paper which states that it was in your freewill to speak to me. You weren’t forced to reveal any details you wish not to. Are we clear on that part?” she removed a pen from the cup in front of her and laid out some paperwork in front of Heather.

“Do I have to sign it?” she asked, she thought Linda had already spoken to the doctor before she arrived. She needed this to be done with any documentation of it.

“Yes, I know Linda directed you to me and you didn’t have to go through the hospital rules before seeing me, but you do have to sign this ma’am, or else we can’t proceed.” Heather gave it a quick thought and then signed the paperwork.

“Good.” Dr. Gibson collected the signed papers. “Now where were we?” she asked attentively. 

“I think my husband killed his wife, or wives.” Heather announced out of the blue. The doctor hadn’t expected her to be so raw and revealing in her details, at least not yet. But what she didn’t know was that Heather no longer had any time to spare. It was either her suspicions were correct, or she was making too much of the evidence she’d come across a month ago.

“How could your husband have murdered his wife when, like you said, he’s your husband and you’re here.” She asked awkwardly.

Heather shouted out of fear not out of anger, “How else?! The man has been lying to me for two years! He said he wasn’t married when we met. That was another reason why I could, and married him. If I knew he was a married man, I would never have stooped so low as to be a second, or third, or fourth wife to anyone.” she answered defensively.

“How long have you been married to him, and do you have an official marriage license?”

“Two years and yes, I do, I needed it for im––” she stopped mid-way. She couldn’t trust anyone, not even her doctor. She couldn’t tell her why she’d really needed a marriage license. Dr. Gibson thought Heather should really be speaking to a divorce lawyer and not a doctor. But murder?

“Why are you suspecting your husband and why haven’t you gone to the police instead of coming to see me?” She was asking a loaded question, Heather had answers to all but she couldn’t tell it all. So she started from the bottom.

“Like I said, we’ve been married for two years. A month ago, I found some pictures in his closet when I was doing some housing remodeling.” She brought out the pictures from her handbag and handed them to the doctor. “My husband is a very wealthy man; he owns several businesses…he’s a philanthropist even. A good man to many…” she explained as the doctor looked over the pictures.

Dr. Gibson didn’t know what to make of the happy family portrait in the first and second photograph. A white male of middle age and a beautiful black woman no older than twenty-five was smiling next to him; the wedding band on her finger was vivid for all to see. Now in the other picture, another woman, dark skinned of the same age also stood smiling next to the same man, but this time, the husband was smiling done at a new born baby. Dr. Gibson couldn’t make out the sex of the baby not that it mattered at this moment. What really struck her were the similarities in appearances and age between the women in the photos to the one sitting in front of her.

“Is this your husband in both photos?”

“Yes, that’s him, that’s Luke.”

“I see. And he never told you of both previous marriages…but why then do you think he killed them? And his child?”

Heather quickly answered, “After the first year of our marriage, he started to act really really strange. The things he would say to me, the way he would crawl up on me in bed. His demands when we have sex became too much and out of the ordinary. I feel like a tool to him. And I’m afraid that once he’s done with me, he’ll kill me next.”

“Why haven’t you gone to the police? Why wait till now to speak to someone about it?”

“I can’t!” she cried. “I couldn't just go. If I go to the police, then I’ll have to tell them­––” she halted.

“Tell them what?” the doctor urged, completely prepared for whatever bizarre words would come out of her mouth next.

“If I go to the police and they start asking questions, they’ll find out that I came to the U.S. illegally and I can’t risk them finding out. I just can’t. I can go back to my country,”

“And where is that, your country?”

It took her a moment before she answered,

“Kenya, I can’t go back there. I can’t go back home.” she stated in a Kenyan accent that no one would have suspected had been there before.

“Mrs. Webs,” Dr. Gibson scooted closer to her desk, her eyes fell worriedly on the young woman in front of her. “What’s your real name, Heather?” she asked.

“Mwatabu, Mwatabu Daudi.” Heather answered.



  1. Woow wow , to be continued !

    Nice suspense

    1. I was hoping you'd read this one. Knew you'd like it. I'll be posting the last 2 parts soon.

    2. Lol... as fast as I can get to writing.

  2. i just stumbled on your blog... you got me hooked. nice one

    1. Thank you Dotun! I hope you stick around.


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