THE SECOND SIGHT
Chapter 45
NICOLE
I kept on leading my mundane life from morning to morning.
I had given Leo br@nd all the authority to look after the monstrous inheritance I had come into.
He would see to it that whatever ventures my old man had engaged in were continued until I could get the time to study them all thorou-ghly and continue from then. He was a loyal and honest man, and I knew my as-sets were in the right hands.
I paid off the domestic staff handsomely, and save for a housekeeper and her husband who came in three days a week – the man was the gardener, and I more or less gave them permission to use Uncle Basoah’s cottage anytime they wanted – the big house was virtually empty most of the time.
I had maintained the services of the private security agency, and almost all the time four would be on the premises. Two at the gates and two patrolling the grounds.
And then, exactly two months after the burial, I was in my father’s study engrossed in a book about the great Rapture when the melodious tones of the doorbell rang across the silent room.
I swore softly and got out of the chair with some difficulty.
I scratched the bristles across my jaw and frowned darkly as the bell chimed again. I hadn’t had a shave for a long time, and the beard was kind of getting uncomfortable now.
I was halfway across the living-room when the bell was pressed a third time. I swore hotly un-der my breath, and by the time I took hold of the door handle and pulled the hu-ge door open I was in a little rage.
Normally there was an intercom connected to the main gates where the guards could have buzzed me and informed me of any visitor.
It had malfunctioned the previous day, and I had informed the telephone company, who had as-sured me that a serviceman would come that morning to repair it, but it was well past noon now.
I wondered if he had now arrived.
The person on my doorstep was far from a serviceman or, for that matter, any other man at all.
She was all woman.
She was tall, almost reaching my shoulders, probably in her early twenties. She was built like a dream. She wasn’t as exquisite as Elaine (there probably wouldn’t be any woman as exotic as Elaine, no doubt), but she had curves at the right places.
Her face was oval, framed by the riche-st darkest hair I had ever seen, curling beautifully across her shoulders. A stubborn wavy curl fell across her smooth brow, and this she swept back as our eyes locked.
The stubborn lock of hair stayed briefly, then almost in slow motion it came tumbling back down.
Her eyes smiled; they were a pene-trating grey and absolutely beautiful.
Her eyelashes were long, giving her eyes and whole appearance a rather exotic look. Her nose was small and finely-chiseled by a master. Her li-ps were full, the lower one slightly fuller, glistening with light li-pstick.
She had the clearest and smoothest skin I had seen.
Her grey slacks were perfectly-tailored, fitting her slender wai-st and lovely legs like a dream. Her white shirt was silk and hu-gged her frame perfectly.
She was a smashing beauty, to say the least.
She had that magical blend of pure innocence blooming into maturity. She was the kind of woman men fantasized about when they imagined themselves as superheroes.
For a moment I could only stare at her, until she colored slightly and held out a beautiful slender hand; her fingers were long and delicate.
NICOLE
(in a sweet voice)
Mr. Yaw Boat, I presume? My name is Nicole. Pastor Paul Anderson asked me to deliver a message to you.
I let her hand go then, and all the anger sort of boiled up within me and came spewing out of my mouth before I could help it.
BOAT
(angrily)
Paul Anderson? The ugly, swindling little mother******!
She grimaced, and co-cked her head to one side slightly. There was something in her eyes – disappointment, surprise, unease? – as she looked at me, evidently reevaluating me.
NICOLE
(softly)
I forgot to add that the man in question happens to be my father.
BOAT
(embarras-sed)
Oh! Do come in, miss. I must apologize for my coarse manners. I’m sorry.
I said and tried a tired smile to hide my embarras-sment.
Who would’ve thought an ugly coot like Anderson could father such an angel anyway?
I stepped aside.
NICOLE
(impressed)
I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a lovelier room. That Van Gogh is real, isn’t it?
She sat down, keeping her knees together.
I nodded as I headed for the bar.
BOAT
Cost a fortune. The old man had no qualms about men of God enjoying the fringe benefits of life. A drink?
NICOLE
(softly)
A lemonade would be fine, if you have it.
I brou-ght it to her and sat down beside her.
She drank a little, paused, drank de-eper this time, and when she set the glas-s down it was three quarters empty. She turned slightly to face me, and I could see the questions lur-k-ing de-ep down in her lovely eyes.
NICOLE
(gently)
Sorry about your father. His sudden death was a shock to all of us.
Maybe it was because she sounded so genuine, or maybe it was because of the closeness and that air of intimacy, but her words tou-ched something de-ep down within me, and for a very terrible moment I thought the waterworks were going to burst open again.
The pain-center was still raw and active, and I had to concentrate ha-rd on the antics of the fishes in the aquarium and swallow really ha-rd before the tears became tiny watery sheens that glittered on my eyelashes.
She reached out and tou-ched my hand gently.
It was sisterly, an expression of kindness, and I was grateful for that. She was probably the sincerest person I had seen so far since the death of my old man.
NICOLE
(softly)
Father wants you to come down to Portville as soon as you could, Mr. Boat.
I frowned darkly for a moment.
BOAT
Portville? I thought he was in Takoradi. That’s what he told me anyway.
NICOLE
(gently)
Portville is just a couple of kilometers from Takoradi, Mr. Boat.
BOAT
The name’s Yaw. Call me Yaw.
NICOLE
(softly)
Then I am Nicole to you, Yaw.
We smiled tentatively at each other.
My name sounded nice on her li-ps, the way she said it.
I was again struck by her beauty. She was the kind of woman I would have hit at in those days of sin, and my mind would have conjured up all sorts of situations I could get her into, but not now.
It was amazing, but somehow my mind seems to be cured of that sick portion where I saw only nu-de women. Now she was an exquisite creation, a work of fine art that I could admire without consulting my loins.
BOAT
(coldly)
I don’t think I want to see your father, Nicole. He should’ve been at my father’s funeral. I believe it was the least he could have done.
She looked at me again, and once more I was struck by the querying look, and a fleeting expression that could have been fear or desperation.
She pushed that stubborn hair off her brow again, and this time it came tumbling down again without hesitation.
NICOLE
(in a rush)
Yaw, what is going on, please? What’s happening to my father?
This time there was no disguising the fear in the depths of those lovely eyes.
I looked at her with some kind of surprise.
BOAT
The last and only time I met him he was very okay, I think. Is there something I should know about him?
For a moment that look was back, and then she looked away with a little nervous flic-k of her head.
NICOLE
(softly)
My father has never been as charismatic a pastor as your late father, Yaw, but he has been a good one, and as I grew up he was my hero. His specialty – his
gift , actually – was casting out demons, and this he has done all his life. Lately however, he has changed.
She was quiet for a long time just staring across the room at the fishes. I leaned forward slightly and tou-ched her arm.
BOAT
(gently)
How has your father changed…Nicole?
She looked at me for a long time as if making up her mind about something.
NICOLE
(worriedly)
Maybe I’ve said too much, Yaw, but believe me I am very desperate, and scared. You mentioned earlier that you were expecting my father at the funeral. Well, what will you say if I tell you that since he heard of your father’s death, Pastor Paul Anderson has changed so much that he has never left our house?
I felt a sort of coldness spreading throu-ghme as her fear reached out and tou-ched me.
I could not make head or tails of it, but somehow I sensed that Paul Anderson knew with a certainty that the host of demons were out there, and they had had a hand in my old man’s demise.
Also read – The Second Sight – Episode 17
Somehow it was all tied together.
Anderson’s sudden fear of isolation baffled me a bit. Hadn’t he said he was also a Banisher? What then was happening to him?
BOAT
(gently)
What exactly do you mean by he has not left your house?
Her gaze was direct, pleading, seeking.
She absently-mindedly lifted the glas-s and drank all the lemonade, and then she carefully set it down again
NICOLE
(softly)
Exactly that. He has not presided over a single church service since your father died two months ago. Oh, I know it was un-der the pretext that he was seeking the face of the Lord, and this seems to have gone down with the church congregation, but I know better. He has been a great man of God all the time, but suddenly I see the fear in his eyes. He always wants to be in the company of one of us, and he has great difficulty sleeping. At first I thought he was having a nervous breakdown, but I’ve come to realize that it is something de-eper. And you know what is worst? It is my mother. She now lives in absolute fear, and each pas-sing day it becomes worse.
Those desperate eyes were fixed on me, filled with abstract hope and de-ep anxiety. Here was one lady who loved her parents exceedingly and also carried their crosses.
NICOLE
(tremulously)
The maddening thing is that no one is telling me anything, Yaw. I’m twenty-six, but they still treat me like a kid, can you believe that? Can you help, Yaw? Mother said maybe you could, but after meeting you…
Her voice trailed off.
I smiled without humor and stood up. I looked down at her, wishing I could ease her worry, but the image of my father’s head crashing into that concrete roof was still fresh on my mind, plus the fact that I just might have lost my gift, and I knew that her hopes just could be displaced.
BOAT
(with a wan smile)
You were expecting someone older and more experienced, right?
She shook her head at first, and then she nodded.
BOAT
(softly)
I don’t know whether I can be of help or not, Nicole. Fact is, I think I nee-d your father’s help even more than he nee-ds mine. You see, that man came into my life and f*¢ked – sorry, forgive me – he really messed up my life. The way I see it, I won’t know what’s going on until I see him. So, if you don’t mind, I’ll just pack a few things and we’ll be on our way, okay?
I called Leo br@nd and informed him that I would be gone for a while, and he promised to look after things for me until my return.
I used a br@nd new Chrysler.
It was black, big, comfortable and powerful. It fairly ate up the miles as we headed for Portville.
Nicole Anderson turned out to be a great companion; she showed me some of the spectacular sights as we pas-sed them. I knew she was dying for some answers, but as if by mutual agreement we steered off the business of her father and me. Our stops were rare, mostly to allow her to freshen up and to grab a bit to eat now and then.
She was a year older than me, and was a top management staff of Dash Securities, the new multi-million financial institution everyone was talking about. She was as-sistant Director of the Portville Sector.
She was the older of two children. She had a younger brother who was yet to graduate from the university.
BOAT
(a bit too casually)
Married, betrothed?
She gave me a peculiar look.
NICOLE
(carefully)
Well, not married, but let’s say I have an un-derstanding with a young man. He’s impatient to tie the knot, but marriage isn’t one of the priorities in my life now. I will get to it eventually, though. With him, of course.
I said nothing for quite some time after that.
My priorities were now on getting even with those demonic uglies which had done my father in. Seriously – and sensibly, I guessed – a R0m-ntic involvement was the last thing I should be dabbling in.
There was also the little matter of the one year age difference to consider. I knew a lot of folks who held the notion that age didn’t matter in relationships, but I didn’t go for that.
For plain old s-×ual reunions I guessed it didn’t matter so long as partners were in the mood, but when it came to the nuptial part it did matter a whole lot to me, especially if the woman was older.
I had money, yes. I was probably the wealthiest young bachelor on the block, but apart from that I had nothing to offer. For some girls money would be all that mattered, but I had a strange feeling that it wouldn’t be for a woman like Nicole Anderson.
NICOLE
(with a chuckle)
Penny for your thoughts
I turned to her.
BOAT
(startled)
Huh?
NICOLE
(smiling)
You seemed miles away, Yaw. And now you – are you courting too?
BOAT
(with a wan smile)
Courting. Such a nice word. No, lady. I’m not courting. I’ve had enough of women to last me a lifetime.
There was a little frown now on that lovely brow of hers, and the truant lock of hair shook slightly as she co-cked her head.
NICOLE
(softly)
Did I say something wrong, Yaw? It seems I have tou-ched a moody nerve in you.
BOAT
(smiling ti-ghtly)
Everything’s fine, Nicole. Everything’s just fine.
We made small conversation from there until we got to the lovely little town of Jackson Peak.
We had been driving for close to three hours, and I was tired. The sun had long gone down, and the night lights were already on.
NICOLE
(gently)
I think you should rest, Yaw. I know a little hotel down here. We can spend the night there and continue tomorrow morning.
BOAT
(yawning)
That sounds like a good idea to me.
I wasn’t concentrating.
I felt a little buzzing in my skin. I had been sensing that uneasy vibr@tion just before we entered the town. It was a most uncomfortable feeling – almost like there were some tiny insects crawling just beneath my skin.
I had never experienced anything like it before, and it greatly disconcerted me. For a moment I thought I was coming down with the flu or some rare and dangerous disease.
I didn’t want her to know about it, though, and I was greatly grateful for a chance to rest and relax. I was convinced Jackson Peak would be a haven, at least for the night, and I would wake up refreshed in the morning.
The hotel was called Hotel Bliss, and it was a little paradise nestled in the heart of the little town. It was a flat structure with pure white painting, neat tiles and a lot of glas-s.
It was fronted by a beautiful garden and tall royal palms. It was close to the beach, and as we walked toward the main reception area I could faintly hear the waves lapping on the shore, and it brou-ght nostalgic memories of my father’s home, the two of us playing on the beach, sharing one of our beautiful moments together.
I had a terribly ha-rd time pushing back the waterworks, and the painful lodge in my throat stayed with me for a long time.
As we stood in front of the long mahogany desk I heard live jazz music filtering throu-ghfrom one of the doors leading off the reception.
A smart-looking attendant registered us. Two opposite rooms were what we got.
We took the keys and a bellhop took us to our rooms. He kept a frozen smile on his face and just couldn’t keep his mouth shut, possibly because we carried little luggage and he hoped his friendliness would guarantee a tip.
I obliged by giving him a blue note that quickly disappeared into the folds of his uniform. He spoke with a plastic smile stretching his inquisitive nose.
JASON
My name is Jason, sir. Call me if you nee-d anything!
Nicole smiled and shook her head at his retreating back. There was a little awkward moment as we stood facing each other.
NICOLE
(softly)
So, I hope whatever was nettling you has been put on hold for the time being.
I managed a tiny smile of my own.
She looked really beautiful, and there was nothing better I would have wished than a walk with her at the beach or to sit and listen to the live jazz music.
But I felt really tensed up.
That strange feeling in my veins just wouldn’t stop, and I felt sick all over. It was as if something within me was struggling to burst out, like a crazed terrier that had sighted a limping rabbit.
TBc…