TWISTED TIMES
Son of Man
Novel
VINCENT DE PAUL
Mystery Books
This novel is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, personalities, real locales, organizations and institutions are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places and incidents are product of the author’s imagination; and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, institutions, or persons living or dead is entirely coincidental and not intended by the author.
Copyright ©Vincent de Paul, 2015. The right by Vincent de Paul to be identified as the author has been asserted in accordance with the international copyright laws.
All rights reserved.
Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is strictly forbidden without written permission from the publisher or the author.
ISBN-13: 978-1516829798
ISBN-10: 1516829794
Cover design by Patrick Boro
Published by:
Mystery Books, an Imprint of Mystery Publishers
For
Pauline Joseph
Arrogance and self-awareness seldom walk hand in hand.
Contents
PROLOGUE
Loss of Grace
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
CHAPTER 17
CHAPTER 18
CHAPTER 19
CHAPTER 20
CHAPTER 21
CHAPTER 22
CHAPTER 23
CHAPTER 24
CHAPTER 25
CHAPTER 26
CHAPTER 27
CHAPTER 28
CHAPTER 29
CHAPTER 30
CHAPTER 31
CHAPTER 32
CHAPTER 33
CHAPTER 34
CHAPTER 35
CHAPTER 36
CHAPTER 37
CHAPTER 38
CHAPTER 39
CHAPTER 40
CHAPTER 41
CHAPTER 42
CHAPTER 43
CHAPTER 44
CHAPTER 45
CHAPTER 46
CHAPTER 47
CHAPTER 48
CHAPTER 49
CHAPTER 50
CHAPTER 51
Grace Re-won
CHAPTER 52
CHAPTER 53
CHAPTER 54
CHAPTER 55
CHAPTER 56
CHAPTER 57
CHAPTER 58
CHAPTER 59
CHAPTER 60
CHAPTER 61
CHAPTER 62
CHAPTER 63
CHAPTER 64
CHAPTER 65
Listen To Your Heart...
CHAPTER 66
CHAPTER 67
CHAPTER 68
CHAPTER 69
CHAPTER 70
CHAPTER 71
CHAPTER 72
CHAPTER 73
CHAPTER 74
CHAPTER 75
CHAPTER 76
CHAPTER 77
CHAPTER 78
CHAPTER 79
CHAPTER 80
CHAPTER 81
CHAPTER 82
CHAPTER 83
CHAPTER 84
CHPATER 85
CHAPTER 86
CHAPTER 87
CHAPTER 88
CHAPTER 89
CHAPTER 90
CHAPTER 91
CHAPTER 92
CHAPTER 93
CHAPTER 94
CHAPTER 95
CHAPTER 96
CHAPTER 97
CHAPTER 98
CHAPTER 99
CHAPTER 100
CHAPTER 101
CHAPTER 102
Born Again
CHAPTER 103
CHAPTER 104
CHAPTER 105
CHAPTER 106
CHAPTER 107
CHAPTER 108
CHAPTER 109
CHAPTER 110
CHAPTER 111
CHAPTER 112
Epilogue
Acknowledgements
About the Author
Books also Vincent de Paul
Acclaim for Vincent de Paul’s books
Connect with the Author
PROLOGUE
Past:
The hospital was a cacophony of doctors issuing orders, nurses stomping around frantically responding to the doctors’ orders and the wails of other patients, women.
Searing and excruciating pain shot through Shannon. She had never felt like this before. She fought back tears and tried hard not to scream. She wanted to hit everybody near her.
Never again will I do this again…
“Push!” It was the command of a matronly-looking woman, a nurse, or whatever they called them. Had she to be so rude? Couldn’t she see she was hurting, that she could not do anything anymore, and that she was still a kid? Shannon’s memory was a haze of pain and incoherent commands.
“Push harder!”
Shannon tried. Death was knocking somewhere. She was sure she had heard death’s knell.
A haze of pain and inaudible orders engulfed her, and the last thing she remembered was the frail cry of a child and her saying something she did not hear herself say before everything around her went black.
“Where am I?” she asked rather ineptly when she came to. What are these… then the events started unfolding. She was not in her room, not on her bed. She was somewhere else. The place was acrid and caustic. The smell was familiar. I am in a hospital… what happened to me?
Loss of Grace
CHAPTER 1
18 years later;
“Come in,” I said noncommittally.
Mother entered the room cautiously and… “Well, how did it go?” she asked me in an attempt to sound light-hearted. I could tell that she had a lot to tell me, but I was not about to listen to her. Not this time round.
She understood me. She knew I was as stubborn as though I was descended from Pharaoh. I knew she always prayed I would change, for better, but it never happened.
“He told me his plans for the umpteenth time,” I said heavily. “It made no difference to me,” I paused as if for effect. “He is still as rigid as ever – he’ll never change. Nevertheless, I will show him I have a mind of my own! I swear I will,” I finished savagely.
“Yes, but…”
“No buts, Mom. Sometimes I wish I was never near this hell of a home you found for us.”
I saw her flinch, and I knew I had said the wrong thing. I had to be careful. Mother was always composed. She never allowed emotions to get the better of her.
“We all understand but…”
“Mom, why don’t you say you understand?” I interjected. “Time and again Dad has interfered with my plans and you say ‘we’, but this time round he’s mistaken.”
“You should be careful son, he’s your father.”
That stung me. I wanted to yell at her that he was not my father but something held me back.
What empty words you are telling me? You well know that he’s not my father.
&nbs
p; “Mother, enough of this. I just want to be left alone. If he’ll disown me for getting my way, then let it be. I will not bend to his side this time round,” I spoke with such finality that I saw Mom startled.
“Your father cares for your happiness more than you think. He wants you happy.”
Her hand was on the door knob and its movement was nervous.
“He is calling you now!” she told me. Her voice was almost frightening as she said in a hoarse whisper, “He wants to talk to you.”
She turned to go, but then halted for some time. As though she was robotic she turned to me and said, “A father’s curse is crippling, be careful.” And with that, she turned to go.
I did not even want to see him.
But long after she was gone did something tell me to follow her.
“Come on in, Ken. What a man you’ve become! We were just talking about you.” It was my uncle, Job, who said this when I appeared at the entrance of the main house. I had known that he was around when I saw his Land Cruiser Prado outside.
I went to him and shook his hand cautiously.
“Have a seat, Ken.”
I took the seat next to dad. I felt like I was going to suffocate, and I silently prayed they chitchat for the whole day and say nothing to me. Uncle Job did not waste time, though.
“Ken,” he began. I sat myself up pretentiously but remained unruffled. I was thinking of how I was going to face them.
“Sir!” I answered courteously, feigning obedience and respect.
“I am about to give you something that you will never forget. I would like you to have all the best in this life. You either take it or not.” He paused to take a sip of his tea before continuing. “I have talked this over with your father, and what I am getting is nasty bullshit that you want to go to the university. Why are you so naïve? Never ever turn down a lucrative offer. You never know which one might be your dream and you let go.”
“In fact, if I had a chance like this at your age I would be a billionaire today. Do not break your uncle’s heart by…” it was my father.
I was not ready for their small talk, and just for whatever God knows sake, I waited for them to finish whatever they were saying to me. Theirs were just empty words because my mind was already made up.
When Uncle Job was done, I was almost convinced: monies in abundance, trips to any country in the world, connections with people who mattered, and the path to all the luxury in the world besides being a kind of puppet master joining the club of those who think they make the world go round. Very tempting.
All I knew was that all well-to-do businessmen we see around were not real, they were not the make believes they seemed to be. They were dirty and they left dirty trails behind them through kickbacks, organized crime, corruption, and cults behind their success.
Despite the temptation to accept Uncle Job’s offer I felt that I needed to stand my ground. Just say it, the rogue inner me prodded.
“I don’t want your offer,” I said rather virulently. “I am not going to work for you.” I was about to say that I already knew where he had gotten his wealth from after his wife robbed him of everything and fled to another country with her lover, whom she had been cheating on him with, but something held my tongue. “I want to study first…”
Uncle Job and Dad exchanged looks and well… they were stunned. Whatever they were thinking I couldn’t know, but I guessed they thought I was more stupid than they thought.
“I will go to university. I am sorry to say that I am not interested and not ready to take a job now…”
“Ken!”
I had to leave there and then because I could see what was coming next. I rose from my seat and walked past them and went to the outhouse. I overheard my father saying, “Just leave it to me, he will come around…”
I wanted to storm back to the house and tell them to their face that I was not going to think otherwise, but I decided otherwise.
I went to my room and lay supine on the bed. I had nowhere else to run to. The minute Uncle Job left, Father stormed into the room.
CHAPTER 3
“Ken, did you have to be rude to your uncle? How mouldy of you? What kind of a person are you? Don’t you even have a little respect for visitors even if you’ve none for me?”
I was mute, listening.
“Listen to me, and listen good. There is no way under any circumstance you are going to conduct yourself like that in this house. Now, tomorrow you must go and apologize to your uncle and…”
I did not even stir.
“Are you even listening to me?” I was really getting into his nerves. “You are going to take the job, come rain, come sunshine. My mind is made up.”
I sprang up out of bed with speed that startled him. I stared at him with a despicable sneer, my heart throbbing. I was burning with such loathing that I was about to melt.
Thoughts clogged my mind like threads in a thick drapery, feeling like a hare ready to challenge the lion to a duel.
“My mind is also made up...” I said.
The biff across my face got me by surprise. I think I tasted some salty liquid somewhere. I lost my balance but tried not to fall. Stars twinkled in the darkness of my blurring vision. When the fuzziness cleared my nose was bleeding dripping small pockmarks on the floor. I closed my eyes, clenched my fists and before I could do anything that I would regret later I stormed out and left home in rage with no Final Destination in mind.
There was nothing in my past life that I could thank Dad for. In my past life. That’s what I thought as I rambled to nowhere in particular. Time and again he had interfered with my plans. Only a year-and-a-half before he had objected to my idea of studying criminology and instead ended up sending me to a slum college in Thika to study Certified Public Accounts.
“What? You want to be a criminal?” he had asked me sarcastically, and my efforts to convince him were futile. All my pleas landed on deaf ears and I knew better than to push any further. There was nothing I could do. I ended up with a diploma in CPA and Computer Operations. Despite all what he had done for me up to now, I could not heartily thank him. I hated him with passion for the mere fact that he kept getting his way.
It was time I did it my way.
CHAPTER 4
“So what?” a familiar voice said in the distance. “University! University! What does he know of University? Nonsense. ‘I am going to the University, I am going to the University’. Let me come. You will know that this home is mine, and nobody should question what I say. Aeeh! So, a little thing like you can tell me, ‘My mind is also made up.’ We shall see.”
He was back. It was his custom to drink himself to a stupor once he felt he was losing grip on something, or somebody. The alcohol gave him the guts to tell the whole world that he had, ahem, balls.
“Njeri! Njeri! I have come.”
No response came from Mother. I know she just frowned and pulled the blanket over her head and continued to sleep or pretended to be.
“This is my home. I call the shots here… Aeeeh! So somebody has the balls to tell me, ‘my mind is made up?’ I will show you that no one should question my stand on certain issues.”
I checked my bedside clock. It was 11:30 p.m. At certain times I felt I should beat the helpless hell out of him and teach him a lesson or two about disgracing us and howling our family affairs across the ‘hood. But I did not do anything. No one would forgive a son for beating his father, leave alone a drunk one.
“Njeri! Njeri!... I’m back. Do you think I’m drunk? No. You are wrong. I only tasted. Open the door for me.”
Dad was not that well-off. His primary school teacher’s salary was enough to keep us going. Mom supplemented from the shamba. His only foible was his stubbornness and drinking.
I knew why he had taken me to the slum college pronto the KCSE results were out – he wanted me to take the course so as to be employed by his brother. Didn’t he have the money to take me to the university? I never
knew. I had other plans though. I wanted to study criminology as I waited for the university calling letter.
After the altercation earlier on in the day, I had gone to my friend’s house, just to talk to somebody. By the time I was getting back home I knew that I still needed my father.
As his drunken rants pierced the night and disturbed the neighbourhood, I decided to block everything, and everybody, out.
Block out the world.
Block out the worries.
Listen to myself.
Don’t even think about him, I told myself.
The whole world was now me, myself and I.
CHAPTER 5
Job, a little dappled man with sandpaper hair and eyes like the slits of a cat, sat behind a Dell desktop computer watching the bustle of activity in the supermarket. He liked watching. That was how his life had been for the past few years.
He was at a raised podium-like place inside the supermarket. He was pleased with the sea of humanity moving around inside the building. With every minute of the hour he licked his lips as though he was moistening them. His thirst was been quenched by the unprecedented masses, mostly the bourgeoisies, who frequented his high-end supermarket.
Job was distracted for a moment by a bevy of beauties dressed in taut hipster pants and revealing tops entering the supermarket via the exit door. Why people didn’t follow simple instructions was a mystery to him. Seeing the young women reminded him of the one person he did not like thinking about.
His mind drifted off to that fateful day when the whole hell broke loose and plummeted down on him like a meteorite. He had thought he had lost everything and life was worthless, but his friend’s voice reminded him that there was still a long way to go. Where there’s muck there’s brass. That was what his friend in the Customs told him.
Within few months he was up again, but this time round Job vowed that Graces of this world will never come near him. Women with names synonymous to the qualities attributed to God were devil incarnates. Mercy, Faith, Grace, and all. He swore to kill Grace himself with bare hands, but it was as though Grace had gone off the face of the earth. But this did not mean that he did not salivate for her blood – she had to pay, someday, someway. And if she would have transited over to the next world he will torment her soul forever.