Lucille Might Not Survive

Lucille’s POV

A surge of gratitude rushed through my mind. My brother, Lucas didn't end the call. For a few minutes, the call was silent and I had the time to regain myself and prepare myself for what was about to come.

I held onto the wall for support and in that moment, another voice rang out on the phone.

“What is it?” It was Lucian King, my father.

“Hello, Father. I–”

“Go straight to the point. You have three minutes.” He cut me off rudely. He was still so angry with me after all these years. Why wouldn’t he be though? After all, I was the reason why he lost the love of his life.

I knew I had no time to waste, “I know who killed mother.”

Those words were heavy in my mouth. The weight of it slumped my shoulders. The weight of those words could also be heard when my father started to breathe heavily.

He was silent and I anticipated his response.

“Aren’t you done destroying this family, Lucille? What more do you want?” His words cut through me like a knife but I wasn't the only one hurt, he was too.

“I'm sorry, father.” I couldn't control my cries and I bawled out my eyes on the phone. “Please, forgive me,” I whispered.

“I have always blamed myself for mother’s death and would never think of calling you. But I just found out the truth and I just want to let you know. The killer is out there still living her life and we are plunged into misery.”

“Please, father. You have to listen to me.” It was already a miracle that he had not ended the call at this point. This showed me that fate was on my side and I only needed to push further.

“You say you didn't kill my wife, who did then? Do you have proof? The last time I checked, you were the one who fed her the medicine she took and you even confirmed it.” He scoffed.

“Don’t play games with me, Lucille. Even if we have not talked in years, I can find you wherever you are and throw you in jail.” He threatened.

Of course, he was Lucian King, the hidden billionaire who could do and undo.

“Now, for the last time, do you have proof?” That question would entail a lot and I wasn't ready to fumble it.

“Yes, father. I have proof.” I affirmed.

“Cool. Where are you now? Your brother will come–”

“I am at the hospital, father. The same person who killed my mother made an attempt on my life. We must bring her to book.” I cut through his words.

I heard him sigh, “What hospital?”

I told him and a few minutes later, the call ended. The phone in my hand suddenly felt so heavy as well as my heart. The call went smoothly much more than I expected. He asked for proof. Of course, I didn't have one, other than my knowledge of the past life. But then I was going to give him the proof he needed.

With my back on the wall, I slowly slipped to the floor.

I curled up, my knees touching my bowed head while the phone fell on my thighs. The cries I was trying to suppress earlier poured out, my tears staining my hospital gown.

I sat there for a few more minutes before the door opened and the nurse walked in.

“Mrs. Lucille, are you there?” She didn't find me on the bed, so she came toward the window to see me curled up.

However, I hated that she called me Mrs. Mrs. What? Mrs. Cheater? Since Brandon was a cheater. I almost rolled my eyes, the tears in my eyes drying up.

“Are you done with the phone?” She asked.

“Yes, I am. Thank you.” I replied, handing it back to her.

“Come on, it's late. You will need to get back in bed.” She said. I let her help me up toward the bed and I got in. She tucked me in and soon, I was left with my thoughts.

___

Morning came and the nurse was dressing my wounds when I asked again, “Can I borrow your phone again?”

“Really?” She chuckled. “You didn't get enough time talking to your husband, huh?”

“Yes, I didn’t.” I grinned. Seeing me so eager to talk to my ''husband'', she handed the phone to me without complaint and then left.

I took it and took one glance at my bathroom door with a determined look before punching a new number into the phone. I wasn't calling my father this time, I was calling someone else.

“Hello, who is this?” A sweet female voice rang out on the phone.

Immediately, I changed my voice, “Hello, is this Vanessa Williams? We are calling from Eastbourne Hospital and Lucille has asked us to call you. You see, the accident has taken a toll on her and she might not survive, so she listed your name as the person she would want to see.”

I had formed those words in the spur of the moment and hoped she was going to believe me.

“Really?” She sounded surprised. “Are you sure she said that?”

“Yes,” I answered. “We would like to confirm whether you are coming or not.”

The phone went silent like Vanessa was about to say no. In my heart, I begged all the gods I could think of, so she would accept.

And her next words made me cringe.

“Of course, I will be there. Lucille is my friend after all. I am the only one she has.” With that, the call ended and I let out a sigh of relief. It really took everything in me not to curse at that bitch.

Me? Her friend? She must be dreaming.

Now, I just had to sit back and wait until she got to the hospital. Before I made the call, I calculated my moves and I knew the odds of her accepting to see me was higher. There was no way she would pass on anything that concerned me.

Back then, before she started to send troubles my way, I thought it was a show of love for me and I had only her to rely on. I never knew she was the termite, the silent destroyer, eating into my wood, my life.

I waited for one hour until I got a knock on the door and she walked in. Immediately I saw her, memories flooded my mind again. My body and mind weakened and I was tempted to cry. But I shook my head, holding myself up.

Just as always, Vanessa was dressed elegantly. She wore a green emerald dress, studded with pearls, and her hair was styled beautifully like she was going for a party.

“Are you wondering why I dressed up so beautifully?” She asked, sashaying toward my bed, her heels clicking on the floor.

“Why?” I looked from her heels, straight to her face. Vanessa was beautiful but the person behind that beautiful face was a heap of cruelty.

“Because I am here to celebrate your death. The hospital called and they said you were on your deathbed. I thought to come bid you farewell.” She smiled, combing her hand through her hair, sassily.

She then continued, “But looking at you… you don’t look like you are dying.”

“What? Do you want me dead that bad? Don’t you want me to marry a few more men so you could sleep with them all?” I said, my tone biting.

“Watch your mouth, Lucille!” She pointed at me, her eyes blazing with fury already.

“And what if I don’t?” I taunted further.

“Then I will have to finish what I started.” She dropped her bag on my bed and immediately started to crack her knuckles.

I tried not to be scared by her actions because I knew she could do me harm.

“What you started, huh? Do you mean when you started ruining my life right from my mother’s death, or when?” She looked taken aback by my words.

“How did you know that?” She pointed at me with a frown.

“Know what? That you killed Mrs. King?” I chuckled.