Short Story: The Frame Up 3 – the concluding part


For two weeks now I’ve kept you glued to this section with one tale that everyone can’t seem to get enough of. And we are gradually getting to the end of the riveting tale.  


In case you missed it, you’re still in luck. I have perfectly preserved the first and second parts of the story for you.

And for those of you who might not have the patience to go back to the beginnings (though I strongly recommend that you do), I’ll briefly bring you up to date.


The story so far…

When Bryan Johnson was framed and imprisoned for a crime he didn’t commit by his boss, he was aided by a revered lawyer Sandra Dennis, who also happened to be his fiancee to flee and start a new life. But Bryan couldn’t just let go – not when he knew he was innocent and living without the woman he loved. But in his pursuit of justice, he gravely underestimated his foe, thereby endangering the one person he cared about the most.



With Bryan killed and herself framed for his murder, it is up to Sandra to get justice for both herself and her late fiance. Can she avenge her beloved, destroy the man who had ruined their lives and survive his wrath as well? Or will she fall into the abyss and lose herself just as she lost Bryan?


Let’s find out…

Sandra gazed at her target from where she stood upstairs, looking down at the man whom she was going to destroy as he strutted about in the lobby of the Lily Gate Hotel, amidst the music, food and guests that were present.

She turned away and instantly became assaulted by a glaring wave of déjà vu. Brian had broken out of jail. So had she. Brian had come to a party just like this to seek revenge. So has she. Brian was dead. But that doesn’t mean she would be,  Sandra reasoned, with all the courage and determination she could muster. She bloody well would stay alive.

She sports a short pixie cut with silver hues at its tip, which was, in fact, a wig. Her smoky grey eyes are now a perfect shade of hazel. Her brows are thicker, her face seems to have added a fair pound of flesh. Her skin tone seems to match the irate, basic, noticeable yet dismissed, persona of a well dressed and an overly accessorised person she went for.

Sandra waded down the stairs with a tray of champagne filled glasses in her hand. She walked towards Marcus, conspicuous enough that it looked like she was doing her job and very well within his sights. It worked. He hailed her for another glass, just as she knew he would. She had studied him well!

Sandra tilted the tray so it was high enough to hide some features of her impeccably disguised face, and angled enough so he would have to grab the glass she wanted him to – the glass with the special wine. He did. She very nearly screamed with joy, but instead bit back her tongue and got out of sight.

And for the honour to be here today amongst you… you people, I am grateful.” Marcus felt his anger and irritation rise. He usually had more tolerance and self-control than this but for some reason, he wanted to tell the group of ugly, useless rich pigs to go to hell.

He wiped a bead of sweat across his forehead and stepped down the podium to the awkward stares and feeble sounding applause of the guests. He got into the elevator and rode it all the way up to his suite. When he got into his room, he went straight for the vodka and downed a glass. Then another. And yet another.

He took off his tie, unbuttoned his shirt and walked towards the bed till a knock at the door stopped him.

“What the bloody hell do you want?” He bellows.

When he opened the door, his rage tripled to see his sleek and attractive lover Bisi standing there. She didn’t wait for an invitation. She walked in.

What are you doing here? Don’t you know my wife is here as well? You must be mad to come here.”
Bisi simply ignored him, walked over to the bed and sat.

Chief that’s not my business. I came here to tell you that I won’t do it. I won’t abort my child. You are responsible and you have to take responsibility for it.”

He was shell-shocked. No one had ever disobeyed his orders before. No one.
What did you say?” Marcus couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed her by the hair and yanked her towards the window made of four feet glass.

You will get rid of that baby or I would do it for you right here, right now!

Bisi began to cry. Marcus felt stifled. He had to get out of here. His body was on fire, his mind was filled with angry, murdering thoughts. He needed air.

He left Bisi laying and shaken on the floor as he called the chauffeur with strict instructions to have the car parked outside and waiting.

You better be gone by the time I get out of here and that little b*stard you’re carrying too.”

A few minutes after he left, Bisi took off her wig and the latex mask she wore and became an entirely different person. She punched in a number on her cell and a call want through to Sandra.

He’s on his way,” the actress informs.

Thank you. I’ll take it from here.”

Ma’am whatever you’re going to do to your husband for cheating on you, make sure it’s damn painful. He’s a b*stard.”

Sandra nodded and hung up.
“It will be,” she murmurs, right before she adjusted the chauffeur cap she was wearing. She was sitting at the driver’s seat of Marcus’s limousine.

Two minutes later, he got in, barked orders and she drove.

Sandra watched him as the drug took its effect on him, playing a nasty trick. Flirting with his temper, igniting discomfort and stress, and making him loose and drunken. God bless the makers of ethanol and armobarbital.

She drove and he noticed she had veered off course. Marcus yelled and bellowed for her to stop. Sandra merely puts up the soundproof glass, turns on the vents and wears a breathing mask. In seconds, the gas she had filled the vents with had Marcus knocked out, just the way she wanted him.

Marcus jerked awake, bound, confused and frightened. It took him a minute to remember what had happened, then he frantically looked around.

An abandoned warehouse. Dark, with no windows or doors in sight. The only source of air was through the air conditioning vents.
Kidnappers. Bloody b*stards. How dare they?

Where are you!?

Come out you coward!

You don’t know who I am!

I know exactly who you are,” a voice says in a deep baritone.

I am going to have you hanged,” Marcus boasts.

No, you won’t. You have no power here.”

Marcus gave a wry laugh. “Fool. I have power everywhere. Who the hell do you think you are you stupid man?

Silence!” The voice orders angrily.

I am going to kill you, whoever you are. I am going to watch you die!

The man in the shadows laughs, “you poor, rich, over-entitled idiot. You couldn’t kill a fly even if your life depended on it.

Insulted, Marcus bristled.

I can, I have and I will still. Do you doubt me? You must have been following me for some time – on the news, in person. Tell me, young man, do you know any Brian Johnson?

No. What has that got to do with any of this?

A lot. He was your predecessor. He thought he could destroy me. He thought wrong. You should learn from him,” Marcus says with a sneer.

“Where is this Bryan? He sounds like someone who hates you. He may be useful”

Oh he’s dead,” Marcus quips. “I killed him,” he boasts gleefully.

And I sent his bloody wh*re to spend the rest of her miserable days in jail for it. And all they did was piss me off. Now ask yourself, what is it you think I would do to someone like you?

The man in the shadows stood still for a while then emerged. Marcus gasped.
It was no man.

I think,” Sandra states as she turns off the voice amplifier in her hand and presses a key on her phone. She had recorded the entire conversation whilst connected to the internet and simultaneously broadcasted the audio feed of Marcus’s confession to the entire nation. Cutting off the transmission, she says to Marcus, “you would never ever forget me, that is if you live.

He was shocked, petrified. “How…? How…?” He stuttered.

She shrugged with a smile. “Don’t look at me. It’s not my fault you didn’t get the memo.”

I’ve been out of jail for over two weeks. Awhhh, sweetie, don’t blame yourself! The corrupt rats you paid to keep me in there probably didn’t want to tell an even bigger rat that a woman had defeated and outsmarted them.”

Marcus struggled to break free of his minds, a hateful glare in his eyes.

There’s nothing you can do. I won! I won! You’re a criminal, everyone knows that. So was your fiancée. You’re a criminal. Somebody help! Help!

Sandra rolled her eyes in disgust. “God what a drama queen,” She mutters.
She yelled for him to shut up and when he refused, punched him in the face. She had his attention.
Can you smell that?

Smell what?
Marcus made an effort to sniff and he perceived the scent of… The scent of… His nose wrinkled as he tried to place it. When he did, his eyes bulged in sheer terror.

You wouldn’t.

I would.

To prove her point, Sandra fished out a lighter and waved it at him.

Its what you would do wouldn’t you?

Sandra gazed at him hard. The corrupt, evil and heartless b*stard who’d taken so many lives in his pursuit of power. Countless innocent lives. No more.

His confession was out, once this blew over, she could have her name cleared and be a free woman again.
But Marcus Obaje should, would never ever see the light of day again.
That was justice. That was vengeance.
There was not a prison in the world that could hold a ruthless, conniving b*stard like him.

“Goodbye Marcus. I hope you enjoy hell.”
“No. No,” He pleaded as she sauntered off.
“I’ll confess, I’ll clear your name. I’ll give you your freedom back. Don’t you want your freedom?”
Sandra paused, turned and looked him straight in the eyes as she got to the door.
“You already have.”
She opened it and walked out.
Marcus breathed heavily, his heart pounding like an angry fist in his chest. He tried futilely to break free of his chains. He couldn’t. Tears came now, whether out of fear or remorse, he couldn’t be sure. But they came.


Sandra stood outside, a safe distance away from the warehouse. She sighed and threw the lighter to the floor.
She missed Bryan. She loved Bryan.
She knew he wouldn’t want her to do this.
She knew he would disapprove.
But He wasn’t here. Not anymore.
Sandra pulled out her gun, aimed at the warehouse and shot.
She watched with a keen sense of satisfaction as it exploded into angry, roaring flames of justice.
Marcus Obaje was dead.

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