Mr. Nabode'

Beep! Beep! Beep! “Ugh, I am sick of these machines.” Mr. Nabode’ said as he lied there in his hospital bed. “Three weeks of this; I’m over it. Nurse?” Three weeks ago, Mr. Nabode' found himself here, at St. Aneware Hospital. That day is still a blur to him as he awaits his release. All he wants right now is to get home to a sense of normalcy to try and recall the events of that night.

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The night air was warm, and the breeze felt good as Mr. Nabode'’” strode down to Amansword Avenue for a nightcap. Showing off his sleek, muscular build; deep blue jeans and grey paisley print button up shirt worn well; top buttons undone, showing off his deep chocolate skin. It was usual for him to get out a few times a week to see and to be seen. He was known for his smooth demeanor; his lingering, intoxicating scent. He owned several properties and the most popular lounge in the area. Mr. Nabode' was successful, he had no shortage of money, rumor has it, he is “the man who gets things done.” He slid into his normal booth and ordered a bottle of Pierre Ferrand, his favorite to sip, and lit his Barber Pole cigar. He was the owner and the only one with permission to smoke. The music was beating; old school disco or house music as it was so often called. He looked around casually, though, internally hoping to see the beauty he had been secretly admiring for the past few weeks. She came to every ‘House’ night. The mystery woman always came in alone, drank a glass of red wine, hit the dance floor, and danced intensely, as if she were possessed by the music, until just before closing time and left … Alone.

She was beautiful, her chestnut skin shone in the light as if it were dusted in stardust; arms extended toward the ceiling, head tilted back and eyes closed, she danced. Her hips swaying and gyrating to the music, her platforms and wide leg pants moving as though she glided across the floor. Or so it seemed to him, he was awestruck each time he watched her, as if her fingertips swaying to the beat were hypnotizing him. “She must be a dancer”, he frequently thought; but dared to approach her. It was just not his style. He bopped his head to the music, casually taking in the crowd, nodding to some of the men and women he recognized. He brought his attention back to his space and as he took a sip of his cocktail, almost choked, and immediately sat the glass down to extend his hand and stand. “Forgive me, I didn’t realize you were there, how are you? Mr. Nabode’”, he said. “And you … “, she stopped him. “No need for small talk, your reputation precedes you”, she said as she welcomed herself to sit; No one welcomed themselves to a seat at his booth. He slowly sat, retracting his hand, which was left untouched. She reached for his lighter and lit her cigarette as he sat hypnotized, yet fully aware of her every move.

She knew he had seen her; she watched as he appeared to be in a trance, so much so, that he never noticed her noticing him watching. She knew exactly who he was and the reputation he had for being the man to get things done. The confidence she had in her sensuality and sex appeal, were an integral part of her plan. She had to captivate him, and that she did. She knew it was time to approach him when she saw him arrive. She was making her way from the ladies’ room and stood watching from behind one of the pillars. He looked so debonair and smooth, as he scanned the dance floor for her. Her absence was purposeful, as she had grown familiar with his arrival times. She inched, strategically, almost stealth like, toward his table. She stood and awaited his awareness of her presence. “Got him”, she thought to herself as he, obviously flustered and caught off guard, introduced himself. She knew she must not be distracted by the scent of him; euphoric! Equally, she made sure to do all her ogling before he saw her. He was “A tall drink of water”; she had said to herself when she first saw him. Feeling her control of the situation, she said in her most seductive, yet confident tone, “No need for small talk.” As she sat and lit her cigarette, knowing she had crossed the line of no return now.

1 Month Ago

“Ah”, she winced as she touched her jaw and looked at herself in the mirror as tears fell uncontrollably; her hurt so deep she could no longer cry, the tears just fell. She wished she could figure a way out, wondered if the tears were from the pain, the hurt, or the empathy she felt for herself. Every reason to leave, but something … some feeling of something, held her there. Her jaw hurt, once again, he had lost his temper, but this was the first time he hit her; smacked her across the face. What were we even arguing about, she could not remember? There was never really a reason for him to lose his temper, it just happened. “You are Beautiful; You are worthy; You deserve to be loved; You deserve better; You will be okay”. The mantra she had begun to use to comfort herself. She turned on the shower, and sat on the closed toilet seat, lighting her cigarette as the bathroom filled with steam. He will not leave, and I cannot seem to leave; I need an out. She showered and slid into bed. Feeling a little piece of who she was deteriorate as he reached to hold her.

The next morning, she sat, in somewhat of a daze, sipping her coffee, numb … sore … empty. Daydreaming of the peace she saw in a future without him. The success that was sure to come with being able to focus; being in a space free of longing and heartache, free of mental abuse; free! There was only one person she had heard of that could get it done. She picked up her little black notebook that held all her sketches and ideas, her plans, prayers, and meditations, and began to jot down pieces of her plan; careful to leave it vague and innocent, just in case.

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Mr. Nabode’ put up a hand to stop the approaching security from coming to remove the mystery woman from the table. It was an unwritten rule. No one approached Mr. Nabode’s table unless you were invited. Contrary to what most believed, he was very pleasant and personable, which afforded him a large network. Hence the ability to ‘get things done.’ His success meant he was often shielded; protected. He smiled at the mystery woman. “To what do I owe the pleasant intrusion?” She took a long look at Mr. Nabode’, he really was handsome, and that cologne, oh my goodness, she thought to herself before snapping out of it. She reached into her wristlet and pulled out an envelope and slid it across the table before thumping her ash. She had done her research and now slid her entire savings of 20,000 dollars across the table. She hoped it was enough to ’get things done’. Besides, she did not want him dead, just gone. “Thanks for letting me rest a bit. Enjoy your evening”, she said as she stood, put out her cigarette and sashayed over to the bar for her usual, still water with lemon. Trying to keep her composure, she nearly gulped the water down in one swallow, she made her way to the door. “I cannot believe I actually had the nerve to do it”; $20,000 dollars’ worth of nerve, she whispered aloud to herself.

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“Dying? Wait, are you sure? I am healthy, young, fit. How? You are sure there is nothing you can do. He sighed as he let his head hit the pillow and his eyes closed. Thinking of the mystery woman; nameless beauty, deserving of the love I thought I would have the chance to give her. “Ah, careful”, he told the nurse sternly. Even in the state he was in, tubes and machines everywhere, he still attracted the attention of the female staff at the hospital, questionable looks from the men. “Excuse me please, I need privacy. I have to make some calls.” Mr. Nabode’ always moved with a sense of authority and commanded respect with his assuredness and tone. Once he made sure the nurses were out of earshot he reached for his cell. “Yes … Plan B … You can pick me up after dinner”. He ended the call, put the phone away and thought to himself, “This is the most disappointing $20,000 dollars, I never wanted to take”, he thought as he drifted off to sleep.