Blank in Yasni Exposé of Ronni Kamekona

The Misspent Life of Pascal FrancoisA short story fiction 4,214by Miss Ronni KameKona Devon is a high security prison in Lttre, Belgium. It is thirty miles south of Brussels. Devon was built with gothic castle-like architecture.  Pascal's cell is small, thirteen feet long, seven feet wide and nine feet high. It has one small sink and toilet combination; one small writing desk with a chair attached, one six foot long bed, and one closet with six drawers. After finishing his meal he and the other prisoners on his wing, returned to their cells. Pascal stretched out on the bed to relax. The past two years Pascal became close friends with the bank robber in the cell next to his, Jean-Yves Pennello, who robbed banks all over Europe successfully. If I ever escape that is what I’m going to do he thought. Pascal's Father will be buried tomorrow and he pondered ways to escape. I’ll probably at least attempt the escape when they take me to mother’s home before the grave-site ceremony. His Mother, Anaïs, is a Walloon who came from a poorer part of Belgium in her childhood. Mom will be hurt when she realizes I used her to escape. It cannot be helped. It will be the only chance I have. “I’ll not stay in this cell for fifteen more years, especially since I’m innocent of the false charges against me,” he resentfully spoke aloud to himself.  I have already had these last four years from October 21, 1989 to now stolen from me, it is a travesty. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the guard’s keys, the jingling sound grew louder with each step, as the guard approached his cell door, “Pascal Francois?” the guard yelled.  “Yah? What is it?” he said. “You need to sign this form; it is your temporary release and transport papers to attend your Father’s Funeral in the morning.”  Grumbling Pascal rolls out of bed and meanders to the cell door.  Pascal signs and the guard-orders, “Be ready at zero six hundred,” he abruptly walks away. Deep in thought Pascal resumes his position on the bed. He last saw his Flemish Father, JeanLuc Francois, five years ago. Pascal remembers his Father's blue eyes and how they stood out, brightly framed by his white skin, and his long shoulder length white hair. His long white beard extended to his belly button balanced with his mustache; always combed just right to blend with the beard, all of which was originally designed to hide his weak jaw, and seemed to get out of hand in his Father's old-age. Both he and his Father stand six-feet tall. Except for the facial hair, Pascal looks very much like his father. JeanLuc’s death is both a curse and a hopeful opportunity. He cherished his Father wholeheartedly; they did so much together his entire life. When I escape I‘ll hide someplace. When time passes, I‘ll visit Dad’s grave. Only when I think it is safe. He lost his Father now, just like he lost his home and freedom. He lived in a small remote village; where there are no trains or buses, twenty-five miles from the city of Mons, in the suburbs of Belgium. He returned from a Merchant Marine trip, there on his front stoop was his cousin Benoni's girlfriend, Enola Rellik. She told him that her ex-husband, Remi Vermeiren, tried to kill her. I remember she sprang to her feet and said: “Remember me? I met you at your Steinway piano party last year. Benoni, has a new girlfriend so I can’t go there, and I dare NOT go home to my own place in Mons either, my ex-husband might well succeed at killing me if I do. I‘ve no other place to go but here.” She begged.   Pascal remembered the brief introduction at his party and nothing more. It is raining, pitch dark and freezing cold, her face was bruised, she seemed emotionally devastated and dressed in thin wet clothes. Someone threw her down in the mud because her blouse and slacks were muddy. Her blonde hair had clumps of mud and it was full of mats.  She was shivering. Yielding to his emotional recklessness, Pascal unlocked the front door, as they both entered he said, “Enola? How on earth did you get here? Where is your car?” Enola said, “Well, I don’t drive, my lawyer friend dropped me here on his way to pick his wife up for a holiday vacation. I am his legal assistant. You’re the only one I know who is single and who I can 'safely' spend the night with.” Albeit, Pascal was reckless in many ways but he did notice her story didn't feel right, I wonder how she knows I am single? The situation and the story seemed odd. Looking back with deep regret, he thought, if only he’d put her in the car right then, drove her into Mons, dropped her off someplace else, everything would be different. Instead, I thought it would be too inhumane to toss her out at eleven o‘clock at night. Pascal flashed back again to the memory of their initial encounter: “Enola, you look like you need a doctor,” he picked the phone up to get one for her.   “No! Don’t do that! It‘s not that serious.” Enola exclaimed.   Pascal knew nothing about this person except that she was with his cousin, Benoni Francois, when he introduced her as 'his girlfriend, Enola Rellik,' in passing at his Steinway dinner party held in a local Hotel. He was celebrating the purchase of his new Steinway piano. Pascal is a licensed Belgian Merchant Marine Officer, he sailed the deep sea for Belgian Merchant Marines as an Assistant engineer. His last assignment under Pool des Marins, Marine Marchande, Antwerp, involved moving 300 tons of various natural resources to buyers in China. It was the 90 tons of Indium Ingot which brought his commission high enough to buy his own Steinway. It was delivered to his home, a week prior to the party, a dream come true. Pascal wanted all of his closest friends and relatives to celebrate with him. Over a hundred people showed up. He played songs on the Hotel’s Steinway during that lavish party.  Tired, he just gave in, “Enola you can stay this one night only, I’m going to drop you off in Mons early in the morning. If you go to your place or find somewhere else is none of my business but you can’t stay with me.” He said agitatedly. Pascal set her up in the extra room, he gave her a pair of sweat pants, a sweatshirt and pointed the way to the laundry room so she could wash her dirty clothes, and use the guest shower.  He went off to his own room and fell into a deep sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow. *** Now, this is where it all began! And only after he was arrested and charged with the Murder of Enola’s sixteen year old daughter did he begin to learn what was going on. Attorney, Didier Casimir brought him the news article that he read while in jail: October 21, 1989, Pascal Francois was arrested this afternoon for charges alleging he murdered a young sixteen year old; Ms. Vermeiren, daughter of Enola (Rellik) Vermeiren and her husband, Remi Vermeiren. Following the discovery of their unconscious and stabbed daughter, (teen) Vermeiren was rushed to the Mons Hospital, but doctors there were unable to save her, she was pronounced dead. Police then went looking for Pascal Francois. Francois’ expired driver‘s license was found under the teen‘s body when the medics lifted her for transport. Francois was taken into custody without incident at his home in Mon‘s suburbs. Some neighbors learned of the teen’s death and left gifts for the teen at the front door; flowers, cards with candles and teddy bears. "She was a nice girl," her father Remi continues, "She was real calm. She wasn't into a lot of friends and devoted to her schoolwork. She was a good child. She goes to school, comes home, and that's it," Remi said.  Pascal Francois immediate neighbor stated; "I’ve lived next to Pascal for more than ten years, and he didn't have problems with anybody, he was like everybody else, we shared barbeques, he played chess with our son. He baby sat for five-years whenever he was home from his sea journeys. It is impossible to believe he could do this thing he’s charged with.” Enola (Rellik) Vermeiren speaks through hysteria and tears:  "I love her. I love you my beautiful daughter. I love you forever."  Pascal Francois is charged with murder and criminal possession of a weapon (knife). Authorities have matched the knife to Francois very own kitchen set which is missing a knife. Authorities state that Francois comes from an upstanding family, he is a brilliant pianist, highly educated, sells precious minerals for his company through the Belgian Merchant Marines. Francois has never been arrested in his life, and has never taken drugs. Further investigations are under way. It appeared in the investigation reports, ten months later-on, that Enola was definitely not a legal assistant, and had even been in prison in her past. Of course, if he had known a tenth of what he learned about Enola’s past, after his arrest, he surely would not have allowed her to stay the "one" night. He would have tossed her out into the near midnight hour to walk down the road, with no feelings of regret what-so-ever. He would have never been captured because of Enola’s machinations, which became part of police reports. Moreover, he would not have wound up in prison for a twenty year sentence! The investigation revealed Enola went several times to his village. The investigation did not reveal the reasons for Enola’s visits to the village, except that she had visited someone who lived on the same street as Pascal. That person, the investigators stated, denied knowing her and denied she visited him. Maybe she targeted me from way before the night she was on my stoop. I do not know and I'm not paranoid to the point of imagining that I was chosen to wear the hat of a murderer.  During the investigation, another of Pascal’s neighbors wrote a statement saying he had seen her as a passenger in, “a small green car." Pascal’s neighbors were not questioned until at least a year later-on, which, to Pascal's disadvantage, made exacting a date impossible. However, the investigation revealed Enola’s machinations resulted in destroying the careers and lives of two lawyers, Pascal himself and a banker. The investigation revealed the guy driving the “small green car,” was a man named Elio DeRupo. Elio is still wanted for questioning.  Attorney, Didier Casimir lost Pascal’s case and out of deep concern he vowed to never give up until Pascal was released from prison. Didier took care of Pascal’s estate and affairs. He rented Pascal’s home to a musician who is making good use of Pascal’s luxuriously furnished home, and his Steinway.*** Pascal fell asleep and re-awoke at three in the morning. He dressed and readied to leave his cell in a few hours determined to never return here again.  He mentally said goodbye to items of sentimental value, but it was worth leaving them behind in exchange for his freedom. He spent the time rehearsing his escape over and over in his mind. The sound of chains jingling grew louder the closer the guards got to his cell, the keys jingled and the door opened. “You know the position Pascal,” the guard barked out the order. Pascal was chained at the hands; and with hobbles at the feet. Both the hand chains, and foot hobbles were linked to the waist-belt.  Guards escorted him to the prison’s exit bay and unchained him there, so he could put on a funeral suit. When he leaves the prison there are no handcuffs or chains until he returns to the prison. There are; however, four armed local policemen accompanying him to his Mother’s home, from there to the funeral, and back to the prison. Dressed in his funeral suit, he was handed over to the four officers. They led him to the police car. The heavy rain cleaned the air and Pascal took in large breaths as he exited the prison. Prison lights, and street lights reflected off the rain brightly. Clouds overhead darkened the day enough so that the glittering light reflections seemed brighter, and everything seemed cleaner. Pascal climbed in the back seat in-between two officers, and two more sat in the front seat. The car is cold when they first start the drive, “It is my duty to explain protocol for this temporary funeral release,” sternly barked the officer in the front passenger seat. As the officer read the orders to Pascal, his voice faded behind the sounds of the heavy rain and windshield wipers flapping, mixed with the humming sound of the heater fan in the car. Pascal gazed out at the city streets and houses which were closely situated next to each other and intermixed with small businesses increasingly more as they neared his Mother’s home. Pascal’s only focus was on his thoughts to escape out of the two story high bathroom window at his mom’s place. The lower part of the house was rented to a tenant as income for his parents. The upstairs was cordoned off and made into a one bathroom, one bedroom apartment. He figured he’d have time to escape because the staircase was so small that the men would need to walk up partially sideways. Going down fast would not be easy for four coppers, this would give him more time to escape.  Pascal’s mother, Anaïs Francois, was standing on the sidewalk with her umbrella, in front of her home, eager to see her son. The car pulled to the curb and Pascal’s heart began pumping more excitedly the closer he got to that bathroom window. His hands began to shake from his mixed emotions and adrenaline swirling through his body. He imagined over and over, squeezing out of the window doing all he could to escape swiftly. He knows that entire house inside and out, he grew up there. He put a new roof on it with his father a few times in his life. Pascal was so deep in thought; he could barely focus on greeting his Mother. He barely focused on the initial conversation. He barely focused on the small talk the coppers had with his Mother after all of them squeezed their way upstairs to Mom‘s apartment.  Anaïs offered coffee and pastries for everyone to enjoy as they waited for the funeral home's phone call alerting them it was time to leave. His heart leaped into his throat when he spoke: “I need to use the toilet.” The copper to his left said “Just a minute, I‘ll go with you Pascal.” Anaïs, opposed to his tone said, “Oh, don’t be silly; besides there is no room for two men, it is a converted closet and only room for one man.” The copper firmly stated, “I will stand just outside the door.”   Pascal was numb by the time he entered the bathroom. His entire body ached to be free. His hands were trembling as he shut and locked the door, as quietly as possible he put the plunger and toilet tank cover end by end on the floor between the tub and the door in an attempt to help keep the door shut, maybe buy a little time.  He stood on the toilet seat, and quietly slid the window opened. Took off his coat, and draped it on the window frame to help him slide out better, he flushed the toilet, stepped on the tank and slid through the small window opening before the flushing sound stopped. He slid head first out of the window on his hands; his body followed onto the small edge of the roof. The houses are only four feet from each other. He hurriedly, and as quietly as possible, walked to the back of Anaïs home and jumped to the next house; then ran as fast as he could, over five rooftops, leaped to some side stairs on the sixth home, and hurried down those steps.  He ran into the alley across the street and looked back at his Mom‘s home. The coppers did not catch on yet, they were not by the car and still upstairs.   Pascal kept running into the alley, he wondered if he should hide under someone’s back porch and hide until the next day. Just then, he notice the back door of a house opened. He could hear people talking, whoever it is, they left their bike leaned against the railing by the steps leading into the house just under the awning. Pascal stopped running and began to stroll along at a moderate pace. He walked a little closer, and closer to that bike. As quietly as he could, he took it, jumped on it, and feverishly peddled.  He made it five streets away when he heard the copper's car siren screaming, back at home.  He peddled his way off into the streets with a goal to make it from his Mom's home in Wallonia province over to the northern part of Belgium.  His father’s neighborhood as a child is in the province of Flemish Brabant. I have family there who will help me escapee thought as he peddled more wildly. The sirens were fading and he felt certain he will not get caught.*** Pascal awoke to the sound of cars on the overpass above him, removing the newspapers he used as blankets, he stood and stretched. The rain stopped last night and the sun was beaming brightly. He was unsure exactly where he was, based on the nearby businesses he guessed he wasn’t far from his Cousin Benoni Francois’ place.  He greeted other homeless vagabonds that showed up in the night. My first morning living clandestinely, he was hungry, dirty, sore and tired still.  More than that, he was elated to be free. Pascal took his time casually peddling now, so he could enjoy the feeling of the warm sun blanketing him. He missed the feel of the warm sun and the smell of clean air after a heavy rain. The sounds of the horns honking and traffic punctuated the reality of his freedom. Jean-Yves Pennello, his cell neighbor, shared everything he knew about robbing banks for the past two years. It became his goal to escape and rob a Kasterlee bank, in the Campine region of Flanders. If he succeeded he’d rob them in Wallonia too.   I have to steal a different bike.  Tonight will be the time for that. He excitedly pondered the details of his clandestine lifestyle all the way to his cousin Benoni's home. I’ll take a shower, change into some of Benoni’s clothes and find a way to hide my face for the bank holdup. Benoni owes me; it was Benoni who introduced Enola to me. It was Benoni who MUST have told Enola where I lived. Were it not for Benoni, I would never have been set up unlawfully for the murder to begin with.  Benoni will pay by helping me stay free.*** Pascal robbed banks successfully during a period of eight years more. He peddled his way around Belgium living clandestinely and wore always different disguises at each bank robbery. Although he lived in the most humble way, riding his bike everywhere he went, he also ate the best foods, wore the best and finest clothing and rode the most expensive bikes money could buy. He leisurely enjoyed time at the beach and many places he was sure his friends, relatives and Enola Rellik could not afford to be, thereby he successfully avoided capture. Newspapers all over Belgium hailed this bank robber as being a “Genius.” Outside of their awareness this “genius” is Pascal Francois, the notorious escaped Belgium prisoner.*** The last five months Pascal lived at the prestigious Hotel De Pastorij in the city of Leuven. His looks changed over the past eight years to the point that he no longer feared being captured by appearance.  Pascal grew a long beard and mustache; he grew his hair long to his belly and kept it died dark brown. He got the idea of hiding behind this look by remembering his Father looked like that four years before he died. He enjoyed visiting with tourists during his various meals at local cafés and restaurants, spent time at museums, churches and other places. He was sure to avoid deeply intimate friendships, which he did not want anyway. Pascal sat at a café near his Hotel De Pastorij enjoying his special breakfast and sipping on Belgian’s finest coffee. He hears patrons at the table next to him, “Honey, look at this. Remember that Belgium prisoner who escaped? This article is all about him. It is very good news for him.” The wife hands her husband the paper. "Let me see," her husband reached forward for it. Pascal slowly and nonchalantly heads to the toilet and on his way back he stops at the counter, buys a paper, and returns to his seat. He hurriedly opens his paper and front page news has a photo of him some eight years prior that looks nothing like him now, the article states: DECEMBER 5, 2001 BREAKING NEWS; New information in the case of Escapee Pascal Francois, convicted of Murder October 21, 1989 to serve a twenty year prison term. Mr. Francois has been found “not guilty” in absentia last week. He has received a full pardon, and his records have been expunged. The only requirement attached to this current order is that he signs a promise to never sue Belgium’s high court for damages in exchange for charges against him being dropped for his 1993 escape from custody during the Funeral of his Father, JeanLuc Francois. The Pro Bono Attorney, Didier Casimir, who represented Francois in absentia, was able to prove Enola Rellik had an adulterous affair with her accomplice Elio De Rupo. Both Enola Rellik (then, Enola Vermeiren) and Elio De Rupo, did conspire to murder Enola and now former husband, Remi Vermeiren's, teenage daughter out of jealousy October of 1989.  Enola’s lover, Mr. De Rupo, told the Attorney Didier Casimir, “She should be put to death, but I should not because I was a victim of Enola Rellik’s web of lies. I should not be put to death because I came forward to confess the crime of the murder that I participated in with Enola. I should not be put to death because it was only Enola who murdered her daughter and my part was to help her successfully blame Pascal Francois.  I did not physically murder the teenager, Enola did that alone. Enola thought I was having sex with her daughter sometimes when she slept with her husband at their home. I was not having sex with any underage teen. Nothing could convince Enola of that, she was insanely jealous and killed her daughter out of a jealous rage.”  “Enola is a career criminal, she started as a teenager stealing, looting, performing scams of every sort, just to name a few of her crimes,” Attorney Casimir continues, “Enola spent the night at my clients home October of 1989, before he awoke she stole items from his home and placed them at the scene of the crime to implicate my client. Enola is going to receive the death penalty by the same court that ruled my client, Pascal Francois, guilty. I am pleased to successfully prove my client innocent. It is only a matter of time before he contacts me at my office, and we will talk about Pascal’s options at that time.” Pascal set the paper down, and wondered if the whole thing was a ploy to get him to surface. He saw no need to hurry up and contact anyone. After all, he successfully accumulated enough money to live a very comfortable lifestyle for what remains of his life. He truly wants for nothing. He uses the Steinway pianos in the various hotels to play whenever he desires, as the mood strikes. Pascal is concerned about getting caught for bank robbery now. After all, I am now guilty of eight years of robbing banks all over Belgium. His money bought the best fake identification available; he is prepared to never use his birth name again. Since his mother died four years ago, he has no need to surface.  Pascal enjoyed the brilliant bright sunshine beaming down outside the window; he knew the flurries of snow which fell last night in all directions would mostly melt before this afternoon. For now, he enjoyed the geese and swans eating the food thrown to the ground by patrons at the nearby bakery. Pascal continued to eat his special breakfast with mixed emotions. Sipping on his expensive Belgian Coffee he resolved to make no contact. If they put Enola to death, I might approach Attorney Didier Casimir. If not, I’ll enjoy what is left of my life, as it is.