THE WEDDING GUEST
A story by Somtoochukwu Benedict Ezioha (Sezioha)

Ironically, I loved weddings, and marriages; the events of my recent divorce did nothing to dampen my spirits as I stepped into the foyer of the Grand Luxury Hotel. I’d wanted to arrive earlier but my work schedules were bent on keeping me busy till the last minute. We — I and my partner, Jude — had a tough criminal case to handle. It involved a man who killed his boss because he had found out the boss was having an affair with his wife; the wife was very remorseful of her acts, and the man, well, only God could save him from the gallows. I hated losing, and I wouldn’t start with that one.
True to its name, the hotel represented luxury in its grandest visage. I immediately fell in love with its Victorian outlook, which was rare in Nigeria. As I walked the length of the lobby towards the reception area, I could not help but appreciate the marble floors (obviously of the highest quality), the high columns, the walls which were painted in hazel, and the chandelier, just exquisite. It was a paradise for travellers.
Destination wedding! That was what I was here for. Africans had a knack for copying almost every western culture, and although I loved weddings, this was the height of it. How can you have a wedding in a hotel and arrange accommodation for the 150 guests? Even the church ceremony will be held in the hotel! Incredulous, that is what I say. But I could not say that to Lanre Peters — whose daughter was getting married to the son Bartholomew Umeji, one of the biggest names in the world of Nigerian law — I came to ease off the stress of fighting with my ex-wife in the law court for 14 months. The money was theirs to spend.
The receptionist, when I approached her was a tall, dark girl with a face meant for fashion magazines. Her hair was braided with blue attachment, and she showered me with an ample smile.
“Good afternoon sir. How may I help you?”
“Afternoon lady. I’m here for a wedding. Can you please check —” I was cut off midsentence by tap on my shoulder. I swiveled, and faced a short, stocky man.
He wore a brown suit which were a tad big for him; he was almost raising his shoulders to prevent the jacket from sloping down his arms. It reminded me of my first suit, my elder brother had given it to me when he went to the university. I always looked like a monkey in a jacket whenever I wore it to church — which was the only place I ever wore it to.
The man was grinning ear to ear. He took my hand and pumped it with so much force that I feared it would just fly off the socket. He was incredibly strong.
“Hello, Mr. Martin, right?” he inquired. When I nodded in assent, he continued, “I’m Tunde, Chief Peters’ personal assistant. He wants me to escort you to your room. He says he would be with you shortly.” As I turned to thank the black beauty at the reception and follow the short man, I saw something that hit me in the solar plexus. My wife — ex-wife — was coming out of an elevator with a young man in tow. From their mannerism, it was obvious that they came here as a couple. It was just what I needed, another reminder of what that singular act had cost me.
Whether by sheer luck or because she was too enamored to care, she passed me without even a sidelong glance. This wedding was turning into something else I never foresaw. And as if kismet was intend on ruining my life, Tunde went to the exact elevator the came out of. Alright Fate, I thought, show me what slowpoke I was for my actions.
Inside the elevator, the short man turned garrulous. He went on and on about how happy he was that I was a guest at the wedding. He also informed me that he and his son were great fans of mine. Sweet, I thought, so I’d gathered so much fame to have fans?
“My son — Bola — is a third year law student, and he already wants to go into criminal law. He practically idolizes you. I can’t tell you what it means for him to get your autograph. He promptly fished out a book of mine, ‘Discourse on the Criminal’ and also a pen from the briefcase he was carrying.
An autograph? You’ve got to be kidding me! I’d never done much to garner fame — just win some court cases. As it turned out, that was enough to make you famous in some circles. Dutifully, I signed the book, and using the opportunity, I asked him about something that has been niggling at me.
“How do you guys plan to forestall gate-crashers from attending the event?”
“That’s easy. The entire hotel has been booked for the whole week. Both families made sure that the only guests in this hotel are those for the wedding, including the twenty or so people from the media,” he idly replied, still beaming at the autograph. Did my signature have so much effect now?
That put things in a new — and utterly sickening — light, my ex-wife was a guest alongside the hunk she was with. A round of applause for Fate, she had totally hoodwinked me. I decided that I would have to stay out of her way as much as I could. It wasn’t that hard, was it? Out of so many people, it couldn’t be that hard to avoid her, right? The ping of the elevator brought me out of my musing as we had reached the appropriate floor — 109.
“Here we go,” Tunde announced, as he lifted my traveling bag, “Your room should be just about the corner. It says here…” He looked at the tag again, “… Room 501.”
We walked about twelve yards and located the room. “Well, thanks very much for the help,” I said, “I can take it from here.” He smiled again, and thanking me for the autograph once again, waltzed off towards the elevator. I waited for the elevator to start downwards before swiping the keycard on the door and going in.

The first thing that caught my eye was the massive king-sized bed that was at the end of room, by the corner. The sheets were perfectly arranged—it beckoned to me; it took all I had in me not to just flump myself on it without a bath. I came in, locked the door, and was arrested by the spectacular ambience of the room. It bespoke of maximum comfort. I ran my fingers on the surface of the upholstered furniture, my eyes swept to the curtains, golden brown and very expensive from the looks of it. I’ve never seen such luxury.
Dropping my bag on the side stool, I promptly started unpacking when I got a call on my cell phone.
“Barrister Martin?” a woman with a gruff, businesslike voice asked.
“Yes?”
“Chief Peters will see you in twenty minutes in the hotel restaurant.” And then click. Unpacking had to be postponed, you don’t keep the likes of the chief waiting. Hurriedly, I stripped to my underwear and went into the bathroom. I was again amazed at how much luxury this place represented. Don’t get me wrong, I’d been to different hotels, but here…it was top-notch. Switching on the shower, I started bathing, praying to be fast enough for my meeting.
I finished my bath in record five minutes, came out and went into the business of dressing up. My ex-wife, Julia, pointed out many times that the time it took me to dress up was the same as the average woman’s. Even my friends had made similar observations; I just loved looking good, and I took my time at doing so.
Choosing a fine black shirt, I decided to wear it with dark gray slacks, and finally I picked my recently bought corduroy jacket to cap it off. I chose not to wear another pair of shoes, and so wore the one I had come with; it was an Armani, it had to do. Picking up my cell phone, a few change and the hotel keycard, I left the room. Five more minutes left.
Outside, as I hurried towards the elevator, my phone rang. It was Jude. I stood and took the call.
“Jude, you’ve got to have something serious to have called me this time. Make it snappy because I’m already late for — ”
“She attempted suicide.” he cut in, his voice a mask of concern.
“She? Who? Don’t tell me it’s — ”
“Yeah, it’s the same person you’re thinking of. She was being assaulted from all angles. Her husband’s people recently released a statement calling her — and I quote — 'a shameless harlot, who had always wanted her husband dead’. The media had had a field day with a comment like that. Someone even went to her home wanting to have an interview with her,” he informed me, making those hissing sounds he made whenever he was angry, usually at anyone with a press badge.
“The guts of those bastards!”
“Tell me about it. She was found by her son in her bathroom with her wrist cut. Luckily — and a big thumbs up to them — the emergency unit arrived early enough. She’s in intensive care but stable.”
“The poor woman,” I empathized, “Do well to check on her please. And keep me posted. I’m already late for a meeting.”
“Alright. Bye then.” He clicked off. Poor woman, I thought again, as I resumed my walk towards the lift. Granted, what she did was bad, but she need not be crucified. It was her husband that needed crucifixion. Slugging his boss in his sleep was just going overboard with the anger thing. Probably, that was why I had taken up the case. I’d regretted my actions that led to my divorce, but it wasn’t something that I and Julia couldn’t have talked about and survived. It was that damn anger of hers that made her to file for divorce.
Thinking about all these things, I did not notice the girl until we bumped into each other. The headset she was wearing fell on the floor, as well as my phone. She let out a string of profanities, most of them directed at whoever Cass was. Given my mood, I was ready to vent my anger on her, but as I looked her, I was arrested by her beauty.
“I’m terribly sorry sir,” she apologized.
“Uh, it’s alright. It was my fault too. I should have been more focused on where I was going and not let my mind wander.”
With that, we headed into the elevator and went downstairs. Immediately I stepped out of the lift, I spotted Chief Peters; he saw me too and waved. He was sitting at the hotel restaurant with his wife. Turning to the young lady to say my goodbye to her, I discovered that she had already walked off, perhaps to further berate Cass.
As I approached the man who would be my host for the next one week, I was again marveled at how could maintain such a trim, athletic body despite his opulence. In this part of the world, rich men were usually seen with podgy bellies, which signified good living. The medical community had been warning about the high rate of cardiovascular diseases, and linking then to eating excessive food and alcohol consumption; most people didn’t bother, as their mantra was: ‘you only live once’. He shook my hand with vigor and introduced me to his wife, who was sitting quietly. She smiled, but the smile did not reach her eyes. I sensed that something was wrong.
“Martin, my boy! How are you? Hope your trip was OK?” he asked. No one called me `my boy’ anymore, except the sixty-five year old billionaire.
“I’m fine sir, and yes, the trip was great,” I answered, still feeling that his greeting was a tad forced. Turning to his wife, I said, “I hope you are well, Madam?”
“Well, I am. It’s only the problem of —” she replied, as her husband cut in.
“What will you take? Champagne? Vodka? Or just beer?” he invited, as he cast his wife a furtive glance of pure sorrow. What had happened? I wondered? And why call me?
“I think I will go with the champagne,” I said.
“Champagne then.” He clapped his hands and a buxom waiter appeared, he gave the orders and she left. He then said: “I know you must be wondering why I called you when you’ve barely settled in.” I nodded, and he continued, “You see, my son, Ayo, was involved in a scuffle with a young man, and he mistakenly shot the boy.” At this statement, his wife let out an unconscious gasp of horror.
“My God!” I shouted. I was genuinely shocked, this forebode of a disastrous wedding for his daughter. But instead, I inquired, “How did he get a gun? Isn’t he supposed to be in school?”
“Yes, he currently a student. As for the gun, only God knows where he procured it from. He’s still in apparent shock, and won’t talk to anyone.”
“Where is he?” I asked.
“In his room. He only said he would make an appearance at the wedding because of his sister. His sister, Yemi, is distraught.”
“So, what do you need me for?” As he was about to reply, the waiter returned with our drinks, he paused as she poured out the drinks. When she left, he replied.
“I want you to find out if there’s a way we can settle with the boy’s family, and prevent a litigation.” The woman, who until now had stoically listened to the both of us, started crying.
“My only son! He didn’t mean to kill the boy oh! It was just an accident. Mr. Martin, tell me you can save him, tell me, please,” she wailed, drawing the attention of the other people around to our table. The husband quietly told her to get hold of herself.
“Our son will be alright,” he promised.
Not knowing what else to say, I assured her that I would do my best, but I had a sick feeling about all this. I got up, and downing the last drops of my drink, asked for Ayo’s room, and left to see him. I wanted to hear from the horse’s mouth, the full details of the whole fracas. As I was about to get into the elevator to go to room of the boy, I sighted my ex-wife, and she saw me too. Was she omnipresent? The fancy man was nowhere near her. She gave me the iciest look she could muster, and was about to go past me, when I held her arm.

To be continued...

For more breathtaking stories, visit www.thezenpens.com

I totally hate you for the "to be continued."

But you have a great story going on here. I love it. And your choice of words is making me swoon and sigh.

Please update soon.

“Julia,” I said, “How do you do?”
“As you can see, I am not dead,” she replied, her tone dripping with scorn.
“Can’t you be a little civil? The fact that we are divorced shouldn’t make us enemies.”
“Civil?” she laughed derisively, “We are certainly not fighting. I just prefer being away from dogs who are looking for the nearest thing in skirts to sleep with.”
Apparently, she was determined to rub my mistake on my face any time we meet. I could have counter-accused her of indiscretion, but I reasoned, we were no longer married, so she was within her rights to go out with whoever she wished. The problem was that the thought of her with another man rankled me.
Deciding that things would only get out of hand if I pestered her the more, I let her go, and proceeded with my assignment.
When I reached Ayo’s room, I knocked, but got no response. I knocked for the second time, and getting no response again, called out to him. He then opened the door and let me in. His room was as ostentatious as mine, but had a gloomy atmosphere. I looked at him, he was obviously crying but did not want me to notice. I kindly understood, and asked if I could sit down.
“Of course, you can sit down,” he replied, still sniffing. He was indeed a very young man, and I wondered what might have landed him in this predicament. “My dad called to tell me you were coming up,” he added.
I nodded, and finding no other way around the issue, hit the nail on the head. “I was told of what happened. I’m here to know —”
“I didn’t meant to kill him,” he interjected, eyes wide with regret.
“I know you did not mean to. That is why I’m here. As I was saying, I want you to tell me exactly what happened. Do not omit anything, no matter how insignificant.”
Composing himself as best as he could under the circumstances, he began, “We were having a birthday party for my friend in a club when he came in with his lot. I was pressed, so I went to ease myself and on coming back, saw him disturbing my girlfriend. I quietly went to him and asked him to leave her alone, but he hit me, telling me to Bleep off. Well, I hit him back, and we started fighting.
“Shortly, he brought out his gun, and pointed it at my girl; we struggled for the gun and I ended up mistakenly shooting him.” When he was done, he sighed, and added, “It wasn’t my fault. And I’ve received threatening letters and messages.”
“What letters?”
“Two days after the incident, I received a letter stating that his death would be avenged; that I should better watch my back. The second threat came as a text message on my phone. She — my girlfriend — was with my phone that time. She was very scared and informed a lecturer of mine who in turn, informed my parents.”
“Do you still have the letter with you?” He shook his head. “What of the message? Did you get the number?”
“No, it was sent from an anonymous source. But I managed to get the boy’s address. I would have gone to see his parents but I’m afraid of being killed.
I nodded in agreement, took the address, and left the room hoping to get there soon enough to prevent any more deaths. In the hotel lobby, I got a call from Bartholomew Umeji, the groom’s father, and an old friend of mine. He wanted me to come to his room immediately. Oh well, I just had to postpone going to the boy’s parents for another time.
I reached his room still feeling uneasy at the way the wedding was turning out. My ex-wife was here, a woman that was involved in case tried to commit suicide, and on top of it all, I have a teenager who was being threatened by the same people he mistakenly killed one of their own. I just hoped these things would be sorted out before Sunday.
Immediately I came into the room, I was surprised to see all the parents there; Chief Peters and his wife had gloomy faces and the groom’s parents were evidently worried.
“Good afternoon everyone,” I greeted, trying to put an air of warmth in the greeting, but it did not work.
“Martin, my dear boy! How are?” That was Barth. He had always used that tone in greeting me ever since I won an argument against him in a lecture on criminal law. “I was telling my in-laws about you and the way we became friends,” he added.
I smiled at him. I loved him like a father; he had been so kind to me ever since my school days, and after that historic argument with him, he became my mentor. He had taught me everything I knew about law, tricks and all. Sitting down, I asked him why he summoned me, not wanting to show that I was in a hurry to go somewhere.
“Chief Peters has just informed me of the recent developments regarding his son,” he answered. I flashed a look at the distraught couple, and the chief nodded. Barth continued, “I must admit that it is rather a very unpleasant situation. And things have turned out worse.”
“How so?” I asked.
He fished out a single piece of paper and handed it to me. It read:
How would you like a headline like this:
“Billionaire’s son murders aboy few days to his sister’s wedding to the son of a Chief Judge”?
I’m sure it would look nice on the front pages of the newspapers. Ofcourse, we would like to hush it all up if only you would comply with our terms.
Await our call tonight.
I finished reading and handed it back to him. When was the letter received?” I asked.
This time, it was Lanre Peters that replied me. “It was left by an anonymous person at the reception. The only thing written on the envelope was my name.”
“Shouldn’t we inform the police?” Mrs. Umeji chipped in. She was a slim, slender woman who was twenty years younger than her husband. They had married after her husband lost his first wife in a tragic plane crash.
“I don’t think that is wise for now,” her husband said, “Inasmuch as it would be prudent to do so, we do not know what they want, and until we do, we can’t risk letting this issue go public.”
Seeing that as my cue, I informed them that I would be going to the victim’s family to know how things could be remedied. “I want to see the parents and also know why they would send threats to Ayo.” There was a collective gasp of horror, I continued, “When I went to Ayo’s room, he showed me the threatening letters he received. Something isn’t right here. I’m yet to put my finger on it.”
Then I left, towards the victim’s parents’ house hoping to have a positive meeting with them.

To be continued. . .

For more breathtaking stories, visit www.thezenpens.com

millieademi:


I totally hate you for the "to be continued."

But you have a great story going on here. I love it. And your choice of words is making me swoon and sigh.

Please update soon.

I'm glad you like the story. Thanks for following. Visit our website www.thezenpens.com for other well written stories such as this.

Thanks for the update

Cool story

millieademi:


I totally hate you for the "to be continued."

But you have a great story going on here. I love it. And your choice of words is making me swoon and sigh.

Please update soon.

So you're here too, Millieademi *smirks*

Well, the story is quite interesting and also suspense filled from the very beginning.

Now this is going to the author, I love love love love love your book❤️

Abosede512:
Thanks for the update

You are welcome ma'am.

Moura7:
Cool story

Thanks for following.

Oremeyii:


So you're here too, Millieademi *smirks*

Well, the story is quite interesting and also suspense filled from the very beginning.

Now this is going to the author, I love love love love love your book❤️

I'm glad you are enjoying the story. Stayed tuned for updates.

The next update is dropping in a bit. You can catch more gripping stories on www.thezenpens.com.

TheTalentedWrit:
For more breathtaking stories, visit
www.thezenpens.com

You sure gat lovely stories on zenpens, well done

Ann2012:

You sure gat lovely stories on zenpens, well done

Thanks a lot ma'am.

The drive to the deceased house was uneventful, and the traffic was smooth; in less than twenty-five minutes I was pulling into one of those public tenant houses that sprawled about the city. I alighted and asked a young boy about the house of the Afolabis, and following his directions, knocked at the door of the room I was looking for. A woman of about fifty opened the door and inquired about my aim for visiting.
“Are you Mrs. Afolabi?” She nodded.
“I am Chief Peters’ family lawyer. I’ve come to see if there’s a way we can resolve this issue amicably.”
When she closed the door to my face, I thought ‘no hope again’ until I heard her unhooking the chain on the door. The then waved me in. The room was sparsely furnished, and had an acrid smell. She motioned me to sit on one of the arm chairs in the room, by the door. The chair was as hard as wood and I had the fear that one creeping animal or the other would want to say hello to me. The rest of the room spoke of the meager living condition of the occupants — an old television set, few framed photographs hanging on the wall from rusted nails, and the ceiling fan squeaked all the time (there was no electricity in the house).
As I was about to go into details about why I came, a man with the look of a professional wrestler came in. He had a menacing look and his bulging biceps were of the same size as my thighs.
“Mama who is this?” he asked. This must be the elder brother of the deceased boy.
“He is the lawyer of Chief Peters,” his mother replied. At the mention of my client, he contorted his face in anger. Oh God, please let me return as one piece.
“Yes, you’re right,” I said, trying to calm everybody down, “Can we discuss this unfortunate incident maturely?”
“What do you want?” the woman asked.
“Chief Peters and his family gravely regrets what happened and wants this issue to be resolved as peacefully as possible. Is there a way of —?”
“Where is the so-called Chief Peters?” the young man asked, growling at me.
“Inasmuch as my client would like to be around for this discussion, he cannot make it. But I want to reassure you that anything you discuss with me is the same as discussing it with him,” I replied with as much equanimity as I could muster.
“Have you ever lost a child Mr. — What’s your name?” the woman asked.
“My name is Martin, and no I have not lost a child as I’ve never had any.”
“So you see, this issue is best talked about by people who have at least gotten children of their own.” Her mouth was pursed as her eyes blazed with retrained fury and sorrow. This was going to be one fruitless endeavor.
“I perfectly understand your mood now. But if you could —”
She cut me off with a tart question, “You know what, Mr. Martin?”
“What?”
“Till you give birth to a child and then lose it you can never understand me. And please tell Chief Peters to await our lawyer’s call,” she finalized.
There and then, I decided to play the final card I had; it would be the ace up my sleeve. “What do we tell the police about the letters sent to his son?”
The display of emotions on her face was something I couldn’t have predicted. I saw anger, hurt, indignation and sorrow, but not guilt. Her brows creased together as she asked,
“What letters?”
“The threatening letters and messages Ayo Peters has gotten will be reported to the police.”
“Whatever game you’re playing Mister, it isn’t going to work. I don’t know of any letters.”
As she talked, I darted a glance at her son. He was squirming at the way the discussion was going. Could it be that he sent those letters without his mother’s knowledge? And for what reason? Certainly if they sued, they will get enough recompense if that’s what they wanted. Why this subterfuge?
I decided to drop the issue, at least till I’m done with another angle of this investigation. Seeing that there was nothing to further discuss, I took my leave. The young man, who later saw me out, later informed me that he was the dead boy’s younger brother (not the elder one as I had earlier thought).
I decided to throw a blind punch at him, “Did you send those letters?”
A myriad of expressions showcased themselves on his face, all of them affirming his guilt, but what he said was, “I don’t know anything about what you’re talking about.”
“Of course you don’t,” I said, smiling at him. I knew he was lying, and what’s better? He knew that I knew he was lying. This situation was fast becoming something I never predicted. And something was bugging me, the only problem was that couldn’t put my finger on it.
I drove back, wanting to have some sleep before reporting to my client. The traffic was heavy this time, and as I edged on slowly, I got a call.
“Hello,” I answered, when I felt that I’d enjoyed my ringtone to my satisfaction. It was a number I didn’t know.
“Hello. Am I speaking to Barrister Martin, please?” a woman said. Her accent was that of a Nigerian who had spent considerable time abroad, perhaps in the United Kingdom.
“You are. Who is this please?”
“My name is Preye Osas. I’m a reporter for Champion News. I was wondering… uh… can you grant me an interview concerning the Onwuka case?”
What was it with reporters and disturbing people? And how did she get my number? Well, anything is possible these days. “I don’t think that it’s —”
She cut me off with, “Please don’t say it’s not possible. I’ll lose my job if you say so.”
The next thing I said was, “Meet me in the Bright Restaurant and Bar in one hour.” What was wrong with me? This was no time for distractions. Well, this was going to be the last distraction till I got to bottom of the case. I couldn’t go back to the hotel and then go to my meeting with the reporter, I had to meet with her first before heading back.

To be continued. . .

Thanks for the update

TheTalentedWrit:


I'm glad you are enjoying the story. Stayed tuned for updates.

I really love d story. The grammar, the words,the plot, the suspense.....I love everything and I'm definitely staying tuned*winks*

That thing that's bugging him is what I want to know. Like I said, the suspense is bae

The first thing about her that I noticed were her extremely long and sexy legs. She was seated at the back of the restaurant (perhaps to provide maximum privacy for us) and uncrossed her legs as I ate up the distance between us with long strides. When I reached her, I took the hand she offered.
“Thanks for coming Barrister Martin, I really appreciate it,” she said as she rubbed my hand with her other hand.
“It’s all right. Let’s get to it.” I was a little grumpy because of how things were turning out.
“You mind if I record this interview?” she asked, and when I shrugged, brought out her phone, and turned on the recorder. Then she began, “Few months back, you got involved in a case involving a man who killed his boss because he caught him in flagrante delicto with his wife; and just few days ago, it was reported that the woman in question attempted suicide. What is your general view on the case?”
“My view is plain and simple: he committed a crime and will have to pay for it.”
“But morally she was wrong,” she insisted.
“Killing is both a moral and legal offense,” I jibbed back.
“If you were in his shoes, what would you do?”
“Since I’m currently divorced, I can’t say.”
“Oh, that’s true! You were caught with your secretary, right?” Her questions were taking the kind of turn I didn’t like.
“Lady, I decided to come here because you said your job was on the line; but as it seems, you are looking for a cheap way of being in the limelight.”
“Sir, my aim is to determine whether…” her voice trailed off as something else caught my eye. By extreme corner of the restaurant, towards the northeast side, I saw something that made the wheels in my head start turning. It was a couple; the man’s right hand was inside the girl’s gown and she was trying hard to resist a giggle. The girl was the very same girl I bumped into while getting into the elevator. And the man strangely looked familiar. But where have I seen him before? This my memory had a way of disappointing me when I least expected it.
“… so I want to know if you’re objective about this case,” I came back as she finished.
“Whatever you’re implying, I will advice that you stop,” I glared at her, “I took up the case because I hate it when people decide to take laws into their hands. She was wrong to cheat on her husband but that doesn’t excuse his actions.”
“But —”
“I think this interview is over. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve had a busy day and need to retire.”
I left her staring wide-eyed at me.
~~~~~
As I drove into the parking lot of the hotel, the image of the boy with his hands inside the girl’s cloth came back, and this time with the recollection of where I’d seen him before. He was sporting a beard unlike the picture of him at his parents’ house — the Afolabis. That was why I hadn’t recognized him immediately. What was he doing with that girl? I’ll have to find out later. For now, sleep was paramount and nothing will deprive me of that.
~~~~~
For three hours, I was lost to the world, inside a sleep so well deserved that it took a biting hunger to wake me up. I got out of bed, ordered food, and went to the bathroom to freshen up. Ten minutes later, I was done and my meal had arrived. As I was wolfing down gulps of eba with a most delicious and egusi soup, the bride stormed into my room crying.
“Yemi, what is the problem?” I asked as I guided her to a chair.
“Oh Mr. Martin, the most awful tragedy has occurred,” she replied. Streams of tears were running down has face undeterred.
“Calm down dear. What happened?”
“It’s Tracy, my chief bridesmaid. She shot the best man!”
“What?”
“Chuka — that’s the best man — was sleeping in my fiancé’s room and that’s where she shot him. The police has been alerted and my father wants to see you right now,” she tearfully recounted.
Eating suspended, I went into the bathroom, changed and followed her to the scene of the incident. When I arrived, the place was a beehive of people. I wormed myself into the room, expecting to see the body of the best man. But he was very much alive, only that his midsection was bandaged.
I went to Chief Peter’s, and asked, “Yemi said he was shot?”
“Yes,” he said, “But he was lucky that Tracy was no assassin. She shot him in the dark and so missed any vital organs. We called for a doctor who has assured us that he has no other serious injuries.”
“Do you know her reason for wanting to kill him?”
“That’s what we intend to find out once this throng of people disperses.”
It was well over two hours before the people eventually went out of the room, each person with a different speculation about what happened. Then we all — I, Lanre Peters, Barth Umeji, their respective wives and children — faced the victim. But no one knew how to start. It was Ugonna, the groom, who broke the silence.
“Chuka, I’m very sorry for what happened to you. But please, do you know why she wanted you dead?”
The young man tried shifting his sitting position but even that was hard for him. Later, he was aided into lying down. With painful grunts and laboured breathing, he began, “Ayo, who did you kill?”
The question threw everybody off balance; those who already knew of what he was talking about were obviously shocked as to how he got to know, and those who were oblivious of that fact were looking around open-mouthed.
It was the boy’s father who replied, “How did you get to know about that? And how does that concern what happened to you?”
“I don’t know the full details, but I overheard Tracy and one man saying something about Ayo being hoodwinked. According to her ‘They will pay up without knowing they were fooled’. I was still listening when the ring of my phone alerted them of my presence. The man had scurried away and Tracy just left.
“I then came into this room to inform Ugonna but he was in the bathroom. I decided to wait for him and the next thing, I was sleeping till she shot me. I must have forgotten to lock the door in my haste.”
With this piece of information, some pieces of the puzzle started falling into place. The police later arrived and took the girl away. The boy had already absconded before the police could get him.

Ann2012:
Thanks for the update

Thanks a lot, Ann.

Oremeyii:

I really love d story. The grammar, the words,the plot, the suspense.....I love everything and I'm definitely staying tuned*winks*

Thanks ma'am.

Thanks for the update. Interesting story

Good one at that.

Read a story, tell a story.
Wurastories.com.ng

Wurastories gives you the easy to use platform where you can read stories and tell stories in different genres. You can also use her forum to express your mind on issues that partain to literary world.


Join Wurastories and spread your tentacles, the sky is your beginning.

Will this wedding ever hold

Thanks for the update

This story is so interesting. Well done op

Humbleness:
Thanks for the update. Interesting story

Thanks Humbleness.

Kindoo:
Good one at that.

Read a story, tell a story.
Wurastories.com.ng

Wurastories gives you the easy to use platform where you can read stories and tell stories in different genres. You can also use her forum to express your mind on issues that partain to literary world.


Join Wurastories and spread your tentacles, the sky is your beginning.

Thanks Kindoo. I will check your site out.