Two Minds to
Die
I
couldn’t save him. And no miracle could
ever change that.
**********************************
Jethro was one of those men;
loud and obnoxious. No matter how many times a woman would try to put him in his place, he had a counter-argument ready at
hand: “There’s no place for a
woman in today’s society. It would be better if they just stayed out of sight
and out of mind”. The gentlemen, and that
term was used loosely, of the 21st Century had not changed at all. They were
still derogatory towards women, still finding faults at every possible chance,
belittling them in front of other men. Looking at Jethro, at the age of thirty-nine running
his deceased father’s business, one would think that he would settle down with
a suitable woman, but no. This man
standing at six foot four with dark short hair groomed into a sleek style
and a very fanciful taste in designers had no time for women. Even though his
sparkling green eyes caused many to swoon in his presence, he regarded
them as the worst of the worst, and after only one thing in life – a man’s
soul. Once they possessed that target, the men might as well lose
their ability to live a successful life. Love and women make a man weak.
To
the outside world, Jethro
would have appeared to have been a hater of women all his life, but
there was one exception; one that only his father and mother knew of. His
relationship with his parents, when alive, was strained at the best of times; his father
ignoring his existence, focusing mainly on the family business. The only time
his father spoke was to discuss Jethro’s future. His mother wasn’t exactly the maternal type
unless you counted the marks made from leather on his back and the purplish
stains on his body. What
haunted his
mother to treat her own blood that way; no-one would ever know. More
importantly, Jethro would never receive this closure to help him move on
with his
life.
Things began to look up for
Jethro when his parents reached the end of their time. The economy grew and so
did his wealth. This was the beginning of the Aston Martin DB5’s as well as the
chauffeured Rolls Royce, freshly pressed suits, well polished shoes with a gold
plated Rolex attached to his wrist. He was living to accumulate his wealth. Nothing could ever get in his way of
luxury. He held the world in his
scrooge-like hands.
Tonight,
like any other, Jethro found himself sitting in his usual spot at the
local gentleman's club, surrounded by people he barely liked. “There
is nothing
better in a man’s world then spending your riches on such fine products”
he stated with a puff of smoke escaping his thinned out lips, a
recently lit
cigarette held between two fingers with ash ready to collapse onto
the white linen covered table. “Such
lovely sweetness of these paper notes.” he went on to say. The endless talking
about status and wealth made many of his acquaintances groan with displeasure,
save for the ones who were on the same wavelength as dear Jethro. Those were
the individuals who made his ego grew substantially larger, so much that the
world seemed smaller than possible.
“I
agree, though there is one thing I love perhaps that little bit more…” an
associate said.
“Do not say what I think you are about to say young man!”
Jethro quickly interrupted with a clear complaint. “If you say the words my woman you are not man enough to be
here.” This did not phase the fellow associate, instead he declared the words
Jethro always wanted to avoid “My woman made me who I am today” he said gulping
the malt whiskey down his throat. It was
possible to see the glare from Jethro’s eyes from the other side of the room. A look which many had been on the
receiving end of plenty of times.
“Don’t spout such nonsense in my room. This
goes to anyone and everyone. Women are nothing to us. Yes they may provide an
heir to carry on our name and wealth, the latter being important, but the women
themselves are useless. If you wish to talk about that irresponsible species
then leave.” He declared and found
himself sat alone in what would seem as a library, the walls being covered in
old mahogany bookcases, the rich fragrance of ink and paper as well as the
itching of dust. He leaned back into the darkened leather Chester Armchair, and
gazed up towards the ceiling. What had he become? A man so repulsed by the
female gender, but it was no use in thinking.
It only led to more outrageous thoughts. If he carried on the way he was
going, he would turn into one himself and that was no good. He didn’t need
anyone. He was a solitary person and it
would always be that way.
**********************************
The antique ornament isolated
in the corner of the library chimed a loud brass sound of midnight. Where had the time gone to? It was only a few
hours ago when Jethro was sipping the harsh liquor burning his throat as it
went down. He tried to focus his blurry eyes on something inanimate, and it
became apparent that he could not hold his liquor any more. That was only explanation he could think of.
“Hang on” the confused words echoed in the room. “How on earth did that appear
here?” He fixed on an offending piece of material on a small polished
chair. He pushed himself of his seat, and headed towards it, his black potent shoes tapping against the laminated wood. One look and he felt bile rise up his throat.
There resting, was a scarf. A women’s scarf.
A woman’s paisley patterned scarf.
**********************************
The
next
few days contained very little happenings, and so Jethro spent his time
holed
up in his charming office, counting the golden coins and demeaning
anyone that
dared to interrupt him. Though on a particular Monday, Jethro was
blissfully unaware that his life was not as it seemed. Removing himself
from
his cluttered desk, Jethro decided it was time to leave his hiding place
and
head out to the headquarters; the young gentleman’s club where no doubt a
few
females would somehow be there, on the prowl looking for their next
victim. Putting the scarf incident behind him, though
he still never unearthed the mystery as to where it came from, he stomped into
the coat room and stopped suddenly. Next
to his tailor-made Russian coat, was a red jacket, which
looked awfully like a young woman's. “Maybe that darn woman-lover brought
her here and left it by mistake.” But all he could think was; he hadn’t seen
any female here at all. Grabbing the item of clothing, he walked into the
lounge area, lit a warm chestnut fire, and threw the jacket into the flames.
Watching it turn to ashes, he hoped it would be the last of the craziness. He walked out the door into the front porch
facing the bitter cold in his face, asked aloud “Is this a coincidence or just
some weird turn of events?” and blew the thought into the wind.
Upon
entering the social gathering in the club, many heads turned to speculate Jethro. He could
see it in their stares; He finally graces
us with his presence, I see, or I
wonder if he drinks himself into a stupor and acts all egotistical. Why should he change who he was. It was better to speak the truth, no matter
how harsh than to lie all the way through one’s life. Advancing towards the barman, the room
rumbled with a “make mine a double scotch.” that way his presence would be
known to everyone and there was no need to queue.
“Finally
giving up on your denial of a woman?” a scrawny brunette said beside him.
Jethro gave her a wariy glance. He had no idea what to make of that
statement. “Remember me? It's Adrianna” she continued. He looked at her as
though she was speaking double-dutch. What sane woman would talk to him?
“Go away I have no
time for such witch behaviour from you.” He finally answered and began to turn
away from her.
“Look mister, I don’t care what your problem is with me, but you
clearly have woman troubles. Carrying a pair of French knickers in their pocket
is not something a man like you would normally do in a place like this.” Jethro abruptly
turned round and faced her. “Oh you’ve finally want to talk to me now. All this
time I have taken a back stage approach to you, trying to help you sort out
your problems. I have heard all about you. I have
tried to remain on the fence, but now this you misogynistic evil man.!” He tried
to search her face for something, unsure of what it was, but something. Maybe
someone had set her up to annoy him, or to cause a scene perhaps. He opened his
mouth to give a retort but she beat him to it “Don’t you dare say a word.” Her
finger pointed at him and an angry look took over her “First you walk into this
place like you own it; secondly you emotionally abuse us women, especially me,
when all I have done is defend you.” in the midst of the next phrase her voice
took a softer approach which surprised the hell out of him “I know what your
past has been like, and I admire your strength, but to act the way you do
towards women and then parade around your dirty laundry, or should I say hers,
I feel sorry for you I really do.” And with
that he exploded.
“What right have you to say such ridiculous things about me? I have not been with any woman and nor will I
ever. You wonder why I called you a witch. Well here is the answer” A loud
scoff came from behind him, the room had suddenly gone quiet. But he didn’t
care he just kept on going. “You women think you know everything when all you
do is cause heartbreak, and you just get in the way. What business do you think
you are to me? Nothing. Now I don’t care how you know my past but suggesting I
have been frolicking around is nonsense. Now move out of my sight before I say
something I would never regret.” He could feel his face going beet red and
instead of Adelaide, or whatever her name was, moving away from him, she
approached him with determination on her face, reached out towards his coat,
and somehow pulled a pair of scanty red underwear from his pocket. He finally
remembered what she had said “carrying
French knickers in their pocket” French knickers? And with that bombshell
he snarled towards those listening and left the club.
On
returning home, he bid his chauffeur goodnight, thinking of French knickers, a
red coat and paisley scarf. Had he been cavorting and simply forgot? Maybe it
was the scotch. However he soon disregarded that reason straightaway and strode
in the direction of his drinking cabinet, and poured himself a double on the
rocks.
**********************************
The next
morning, his head gave the impression that he had one too many. He couldn’t even remember climbing in to bed.
He searched his memories for some inclination of what happened. A few moments passed as he laid in his bed, when unexpectedly, just like someone had switched on a light in his
head, everything came rushing back; the confrontation with Adrianna, the double
at the club, the doubles in the lounge, sitting in front of the fire and then
nothing. Blank. His hand rubbed at his forehead to relieve the tension. In the
corner of his eye he noticed his arm wasn’t bare like it normally would be when
he went to sleep. In its place was a pale lemony coloured sleeve, the type you
would see a woman wear as a nightgown. He slowly lifted up his velvet duvet and
peeked downwards. It was definitely a nightgown. Jethro froze in place. Each of
the random items he had found in what he thought was a safe home, were his. He
quickly jumped out his bed, ripped the nightwear from his skin like it was
burning him. Burning him like plastic in a fire. Not caring about the only attire he was
wearing at the moment, being his underwear, he rushed through the house like a
madman searching for other women’s clothing. “I’m a...” the word became lodged in his
throat. Woman. “I dress in those.” He couldn’t understand what was happening to
him. To be fair, he did not even want to know? Motionless, he walked to the
harbour in his home; the cabinet. He
took a crystallised glass, and poured himself one final glass of scotch.
**********************************
Dear Miss A. Chase,
I regret to inform you that the inquest for Mr Jethro
Shaffer’s death was again ruled for suicide.
The evidence left is sufficient to support this. I have checked
his previous medical records for any mental health issues or depression
and it was apparent that his schizophrenia was left untreated. As the
records are confidential to the patient I cannot say anything further.
If you need any help
getting any closure for the victim’s recent departure...
I
couldn’t read any more. A tear fell from
my eyes, landing softly onto the letter. I was too late to save him. I,
Adrianna, who took no drivel from men, let Jethro slip away. I let him feel
alone, like he couldn’t turn to anyone.
I promised his father I would try. Even though they weren’t that close, his
father still cared. Maybe I was too young to understand what he was asking at
the time. Maybe I didn’t try hard enough. The truth was; he would never listen.
