NEMESIS

CHAPTER 3 -THE TRUTH'S WEIGHT

Abigail's face, where she had dozed off on the couch, was touched by the first rays of dawn. Her body was slumped in fatigue, her eyes were bloated, and her hair was all over the place. Salian sat close by, still dressed as she had been the previous evening, her hands clenched, her thoughts racing.

The only sound in the dense hush between them was the early birds' chirping outside. Salian pivoted and glanced back at Abigail. The woman in front of her appeared smaller, almost infantile, as if the confession from the previous evening had sapped her last remaining vitality.

"You didn't have to carry it alone all these years," Salian muttered. Abigail twitched, but her eyes remained closed. "What are you carrying? My transgression? My shame?” Her voice broke. "Salian, you don't get it. Certain stains are impossible to remove. I believed it would get better with time, but it just became louder. Like a prayer, her words wavered. Her eyes darted to the window as she sat up, gripping her knees. The sky outside turned a pale orange. She remarked, "Every morning I wake up hoping I'll forget her face." However, Anita refuses to part from me. She appears in dreams. Sometimes bleeding, sometimes grinning.

Salian took a deep breath. "Abigail, you still have time to pursue peace. You are still able to—

“Peace?” Abigail gave a bitter laugh. "That day, peace perished with her."

Another deep quiet descended upon the room. Salian's hands felt chilly, yet she still wanted to reach out and hold her. What could she possible say? How can one comfort a heart that has buried its own sister?

There was a long wait before Abigail gently got up. She said, "I have to go somewhere."

“Where?”

"To where it all started."

Salian got up. "Allow me to accompany you."

Abigail gave a headshake. “No. I am the only one on this journey.

Salian stood in the dim light of dawn, a witness to the echo of a truth that would not die, as she made her way to the door.

The once-proud walls of the old Kayode property had faded over time, and it stood silently. With her heart racing, Abigail entered through the creaking gate. The air was heavy with the scent of dust and old rain. Every nook and cranny, every tile, shouted memories she had worked so hard to block out.

She strolled around the yard, her fingers grazing the veranda's corroded railing. There was still the old fish pond, dried and shattered. Her reflection rippled in the shallow water as she crouched next to it. She and Anita had once sat here, fantasizing and laughing.

Abigail's mouth trembled. "Anita," she muttered.

A strong gust of wind stirred the dust and leaves in the compound. The house itself seemed to recall, almost as if it were alive. Abigail gripped her chest tightly. Her voice faltered as she said, "I didn't intend to hurt you." "Yes, I was envious, but I had no idea it would go this bad."

That terrible afternoon went across her head. The yelling. The battle. Anita's pale, scared face. The shove. the descent.

After that, there was stillness.

Abigail shook her head angrily and covered her ears. She shouted out, "Stop it... stop!" but the memories refused to listen. Anita's scream, the pool of blood, and the echo of her own voice pleading for assistance too late arrived in waves.

She sobbed uncontrollably as her knees gave way and she fell next to the pond. "Oh my god, I killed my sister. I murdered her.

Like smoke, the words hung in the air. Then, very faintly, she heard a calm, gentle voice.

“Abigail.”

She raised her head and froze. Once more, the voice appeared everywhere and from nowhere.

“Abigail.”

Her breath caught. "Anita?" she muttered.

Nobody was present. Anita's favorite flower, lilies, were just faintly scented by the softly whirling wind.

"Please," pleaded Abigail. "Pardon me."

The silence that ensued seemed to be a response. Her chest began to warm up, but it was more than just comfort—it was the first spark of release.

The sun had already set when Abigail got home. Long shadows were created over the road by the flickering lighting. Salian was standing outside, pacing nervously. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Abigail coming.

"Abigail!" she said as she hurried over to her. "Where have you been? I was really concerned.

Abigail gave a small smile. She had puffy yet oddly calm eyes. "I returned," she declared.

Salian scowled. "Back where?"

"To the past." To her. A small crescent moon hung low in the sky as she looked up. "I believe... Her voice reached my ears.

Salian was at a loss for words. "You mean—"

"She called my name," Abigail said quietly. It wasn't rage. It was mercy.

The cool night air caressed them as they stood silently for a moment. Abigail looked across at Salian. You assured me yesterday that there is still tranquility. Perhaps you were correct.

Salian extended her arm and grasped her friend's hand. "You don't have to go it alone."

Abigail gave a slow nod. "I doubt I will be able to reverse what I have done. However, I might be able to quit running.

Salian's eyes filled with tears. "The first step has already been taken."

Abigail gave a feeble smile. Perhaps Nemesis wasn't there to ruin me. Perhaps she came to remind me of my former self.

The night seemed brighter in some way as they made their way back inside; it was full of possibilities rather than agony. Abigail stopped in the doorway and looked at the moon again. "I'll carry your memories, not your ghost," she muttered to Anita.

For the first time in years, she had a calmness within herself—not the quiet of guilt, but the serenity of being acknowledged.