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oyestephen: who killed jamal ? it obviously looks like remi but......

nice work bro

We shall know soon enough.

Thanks for following.

They’d once again retired to their various rooms. As he stepped into his own room, Daniel immediately bolted the door. He admitted it, he was scared. He was scared of a murderer stepping into his room and stabbing him while sleep took hold. Besides, David had warned everyone beforehand to bolt their doors. Prevention was better than protection. The two police officers had been called and they’d promised to come as soon as possible. The corpse had been covered up with a white wrapper provided by the maid, and all the doors leading out of the house had been securely bolted.

But Daniel wasn’t satisfied yet; there was a murderer in the house and it would take someone much more intelligent and clever than Ayo Festus and Moses Anuku to fish out the killer. Although these two police officers had been promoted to the post of Director of Police in their various divisions, Daniel felt that neither of them was shrewd enough to tackle this murder case. It would take a very brilliant detective to take on this case and do justice to it. He knew of only one man who could do that. Only one man in the whole of the country was up to the task.

He so much wanted to go home by dawn – to go away from the strange family to meet his own family. Strangely, his thought drifted towards his biological father. He was missing him now, even though he had never known him. But he knew that his name was Sam Oliver, and he was a great man. He had never won a war, never made a law, never composed a music, never written a famous novel, but he was greater than any general, politician, scientist, composer or prize-winning novelist that ever lived. He was great because he was kind. He was great because he was humble, gentle, full of laughter. But his gentle life was cut short by a madman.

Daniel brought out his mobile phone and scrolled down to a particular number. He stared at the number for some time, trying to decide about what to say to him. It had been over three years since he’d last spoken to him. Daniel knew that the man he was about to call was retired and he might probably not come. But there was no harm in trying. He needed the man to come; a part of him needed him to come and unravel the mystery surrounding this strange family, and another part of him just wanted to see the man again and work with him once more. With the detective’s presence, Daniel knew that he’d feel much more comfortable in this house. He placed the call.

The phone rang but the call was not answered. Daniel placed the call again; another part of him fearing that the detective did not want to have anything to do with him anymore. It had been three years.

The phone continued ringing without answer, and at about the last second, the call was picked by a man with a husky voice.

“Hello,” The voice said.

“This is Daniel Famous.”

“I know. And to what fortunate circumstance am I to attribute the honour of a call from you this early morning?”

Knowing that he was talking to a man particularly difficult to understand, Daniel did not know if he should greet the detective or just report his reason for calling.

“What can I do for you?” The detective demanded, “Have you lost your tongue?”

Daniel smiled at this; he was not mistaken about whom he was calling.

“Are you in Lagos, sir?”

“What if I was?”

“We need your presence here.”

“Who has been killed?”

“A man, sir.”

“What kind of family is yours, really?”

“It’s not from my family. The killing is in another family, sir.”

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“It’s murder, sir.” Daniel replied, “You need to come and investigate the crime.”

“What makes you so sure it’s murder?”

“The victim was stabbed in the back, sir.”

“What’s the address?”

Daniel gave him.

“How much has been transferred?”

Daniel was dumbfounded, he’d forgotten that the detective would have to be paid before taking up a case.

“How much?” The detective asked again.

“Nothing has been transferred yet.”

The detective was silent a moment, “Then why are you calling me?”

“I-”

“I can’t come. I’m sorry.”

The call was terminated.

NINE

It was 2a.m that Wednesday morning on Christmas Day; most people would still be sleeping at this time, only those who were awake would be expected to be busy boxing up their presents which they would be delivering to friends, neighbours and well-wishers. But this was not a day or time for the Maliks to be putting gifts in cartons or remain asleep. The only sleeping member of the family was the deceased’s grandson, Christopher.
The powerful halogen bulb that was off all through the scream and the time of beholding the corpse was now switched on. The brilliant light glared on the ground beneath where the spectators stood and the deceased lay.

“How do we tell mother about this?” Ruth spoke for the first time.

“I suggest we don’t tell her now, she wouldn’t take it like we all did.” David replied her.

“Speak for yourself, brother,” Ariel said, “You don’t know how I’m taking it.”

“Of course, I do. You’re not grieving; none of us is.”

“We all grieve in different ways.” Esther chipped in.

“Yet, none of us is breaking down in tears after seeing father lying dead here. Only one of us here is the murderer but we all look guilty.”

“When will the police arrive?” Tunde Johnson asked Daniel famous.

“I don’t know,” The latter replied, “I’m only a stranger here, remember? It’s not my place to call the police. One of the family members can do that.”
“And which policeman would be foolish enough to answer you at this ungodly hour?” David demanded.

“I know of one or two officers that you can call, they wouldn’t mind coming immediately if you asked them. They're not foolish though.” Daniel replied.

David looked at him skeptically and asked, “Who are you exactly? A policeman?”

Daniel sighed, the past will always catch up with you. He answered, “I’m a footballer,” he paused, “But I was once a police officer.”

“I thought as much,” Daniel heard Ruth speak, “You had to be a policeman to be this dumb.”

“So, what do you suggest we do now?” David asked Daniel.

The footballer thought for a moment and said, “Let’s go and tell your mother what happened. Sooner or later, she’s going to know. We don’t want to regret keeping anything from her, do we?”

“Lady Macbeth won’t be pleased.” Tunde said under his breath. Fortunately for him, it was only Daniel who heard him.

“Are we just going to leave him here?” Anuli asked, evidently referring to the corpse.

“You heard the man, didn’t you?” David replied her harshly, “He is not to be touched. Besides, nobody will kill him again, the deed has been done already.”

“None of us is really safe,” said Anuli, “If there is a murderer among us, then nobody is safe. Our lives are in the hand of a killer among us. David, we must leave here as soon as possible.”

“No one is leaving,” said Ruth, “Not until the murderer has been fished out. Who knows, Anuli? The murderer could either be you or your husband.”

“How dare you?” Anuli spat back at her sister-in-law.

“No one should be accused of anything for now.” Daniel uttered, “Questions will be asked later and investigations will be made.”

“Can we please go inside? It’s cold out here, and I’m feeling sleepy already.” Ariel said.

As usual, David replied him with scorn, “You’re feeling sleepy? Your father is lying here dead and all you feel is drowsiness? Don’t you have a heart?”

“What do you expect me to do, brother?” Ariel questioned, “Join him in the netherworld just to show my grief? I know you were fond of him even after everything, but to me he wasn’t the best of fathers.”

“Let us all go in.” Daniel pleaded.

As they walked to the house, Daniel noticed that Remi was the only family member who hadn’t said anything since they came across the corpse. David led them all to Mother’s door. The raised white letters across the green background spelled out the name HANNAH as though the announcement should strike fear in the hearts of observers. It would help if the name was somewhat more threatening, Daniel thought. Nothing about the biblical nomenclature was remarkable, except that it could be spelled both forward and backward. Daniel didn’t for a moment imagine that he’d be entering the matriarch’s room in less than twenty-four hours after his arrival. This room was one of the sacred rooms in the house. And it would only take something as grave as murder before a crowd could gain entry into this apartment. The door was knocked and a woman’s voice commanded them to enter.

The room, Daniel reflected, was too grand for a blind woman. Neatness ruled here. The walls were painted cream and the ceiling white. There were two windows here; one viewed the front yard and the other showed the expanse of trees at the side of the building. There was a king-size bed with rumpled bed sheet; an evidence of being slept on. On a small table, a collection of antique perfume bottles sparkled. There were two single-seaters and one double-seater occupying the left side of the room. The right hand side of the room portrayed a giant television screen. It was turned off but the audio player under it was playing TY Bello’s Greenland. The volume was turned low so the music came smoothly but faintly, like a distant sound track behind a movie scene. Behind the large bed were two closed doors. Daniel presumed that one must lead to the restroom and the other the wardrobe. They could actually be leading to hallways too. The architect who drew the plan of this building must have been on something strong while working.
They found the old woman standing by her bed. It was hard to tell whether she had been standing there for long or she was just recently roused from sleep. Out of the few things Daniel knew was the fact that the human body was amazingly programmed. If any sensory organ lost its function, another or the rest worked twice as effective. Like the case of this sightless woman; if the sight was lost, the organ of hearing and of smell worked in increasingly effective ways. Most especially the ears, the cochlea responded to sound vibration with a faster rate. Sounds that would normally have escaped the hearing had the sight been intact would be sensed more distinctly when the eyes lost their functions.

With this theory, however, Daniel presumed that the woman would also have heard the scream of agony, particularly the sounds of footsteps along the corridors. The ambience of the room was cool, then he noticed that the air-conditioner was working; blowing steady oxygen.

The mistress was carefully dressed in pyjamas which revealed nothing prurient, and her face sported dark glasses. Daniel wondered if her eye sockets were just hollow spaces for her to have resorted to fostering spectacles all the time. Anuli excused herself to check on her infant.

“You’re awake, mother.” Ruth said, she moved towards the old lady and put her arm around her mother’s shoulders.

“What was that scream?” Hannah demanded immediately.

Everyone was silent. No one among them was prepared to be the bearer of bad news, since each one of them was not unaware of how kings kill the messengers of bad reports.

“Why are you all silent?” Hannah said, “It’s Jamal, isn’t it? He has been killed.”

“How did you know he was killed?” Tunde asked her, with a slight trace of accusation.

“Did that scream suggest merriment to you?” The blind woman shot back at him.

“We’re very sorry, Mrs. Malik. I-”

“keep your condolences to yourselves.” She replied immediately.

The messengers became silent again. They were all at loss about what to say next; no one could say anything meaning meaningful or helpful at the moment. Any word, no matter how sincerely put or meant, would have tasted as false as vinegar is bitter. Daniel searched everyone’s face, none of them appeared to be sorry, except Ruth who continued clinging to her mother. On Remi’s face he saw not pity but anger. The young woman was glaring at the old woman. He decided that there was really something suspicious about her now, even ever since the few discussions he had had with her in the room before the horrible scream.

“Can you all kindly leave my room now?” Hannah said, “I’d like to be left alone.”

Although she was not crying visibly, tears ran from beneath her glasses down her cheeks. Daniel felt so sorry for her that he nearly walked up and hugged her. But he knew that it would be the silliest thing of the century, he therefore restrained from embarrassing himself publicly in the private room.
In obeisance to the mistress’s request, they all filed towards the door, except Ruth who still remained by her mother’s side.

“Including you, Ruth.” Hannah affirmed.

“I want to stay with you.” Remi’s mother protested.

“I said I’d like to be left alone,” Hannah’s voice was strong, “Which part of the statement did you not understand?”

Reluctantly, Ruth followed the others out of the room. As they walked down the corridor they heard the door of Hannah’s room bang shut.

Flakeey: wowww..
just finished reading up to page 6.
i must commend ur work
it's a wonderful piece...i read Brand of Cain 2 years ago as a guest..
i bumped into this thread yesterday and i'm following it to the end...
weldone LarrySun...you are definitely going places

*now back to reading*

Oh, thanks a bunch, Flakeey. I'm glad you read The Brand of Cain. I hope you enjoyed reading it.

Kingso23: not surprised, given the hanging threat of excluding her from the old man's will,..

You may soon be surprised, trust me. Thanks so much for following.

maputohq: Boss, your boy is learning. from you ooo...I luv ur show, I mean story.

Thank you, bro. I'm learning from you too.

Believing that, somehow, Remi was in danger, Daniel quickly dashed out of the room into the corridor, he ran down the hallway and reached another adjoining hallway. Others were running in this hallway to a certain direction, the direction of the wail. That scream had been heard all around the house.
They raced down the small stairs and round the bend of the passage, past doors of the dining room and sitting room until they came to the big entrance door. Three people were there already: Remi, the maid and Esther. Daniel sighed in relief at seeing Vera without harm, and on the other hand, he was surprised to see her there. She must have been very fast to have run round the house and come to the door here. The three women were banging at the door frantically.

“The door is locked.” Esther was saying, “The door is locked!”

David pushed past and wrestled it from her. He, too, turned and twisted at the handle. He held up his hand and in silence they all listened. No sound came from outside the house except the barking of the dog.

“We’ve got to break the door down. It’s the only way.” Daniel heard Ariel speak.

“That’s going to be a tough job, brother,” replied David. “This door is made of good solid wood. aren’t you a novelist? I thought you had to be smart to write books.”

“I have the keys.” The maid suddenly said.

“Where’s it?” they all asked in unison.

“In my room.”

“Then go and get it now!” David ordered loudly.

The maid scrambled away and returned two minutes later with a bunch of keys. Soon, the heavy door was unlocked and all rushed out.

The sight that greeted them was beyond expectation. Every face under the illumination of the moon carried a visceral show of horror and revulsion.
The view before them was the landlord of the house – Jamal Malik. The man was lying on his belly, with arms and legs spread widely apart, like an octopus. He was dead; the hilt of a knife stood on his back, and even the blood that oozed out of the stab wound was visible under the moonlight.
The only person absent among them was Hannah Malik. The eight who had responded to the scream now stood watching the corpse. None of them approached the body. Like spectators at a street-fight, they all continued watching. There was no doubt about it, Jamal Malik was dead.
The first person to speak among them was Esther, “He looks so small in death.”

There was a long shuddering sigh among them all, and then David spoke:

“The moon moves slowly but by daybreak it crosses the sky.”

Daniel, taking up the duty of a police officer he once were, walked steadily towards the figure on the ground, drifted leaves crushed as hard as snail shells under his feet. Although he knew that the man was as dead as an iced mackerel, Daniel still felt it was a necessary obligation to do that, just for certainty. Perhaps, he thought, doing that was the only thing to do aside just standing and watching. The others watched him as he stepped forward towards the body. He could feel about six pairs of eyes drilling curious holes at the back of his head.

When he reached the body he squatted beside it. He could now see the face of the corpse clearly; the eyes were still and the mouth opened as if the man had died while trying to say something. As he reached out his hand to feel the dead man’s pulse, a part of him was scared that the corpse would sputter the words ‘Don’t touch me.’ Corpses don’t make such audible complaints. Not since the days on and off the police force had he witnessed such ludicrous horror. Maybe one day he’d find one suing its murderer for homicide. If that day ever came, Daniel was sure he’d totally lose his sanity, he would, of course, have to blow his own brain out or throw himself off a tall building, or both. When his hand reached the neck the corpse did not complain, but Daniel did not feel any pulse. The victim had been killed because of who he was, where he was, what he had done, what he knew. The clues to a murder lay always in the clues to life, so Daniel had learnt.
Knowing how sacred most crimes scenes were, Daniel stood up and stepped away from the body. He walked towards the six onlookers and confirmed their beliefs.

“He’s dead.” He said, then continued, “But nothing must be touched. Remember that, nothing. No one must move close to where the body lay until the police arrive. That is most important.”

No one confronted Daniel for taking a sudden authoritative mantle in a house where he was totally a stranger. As a matter of fact, they seemed not to have heard him. They were just staring at the corpse like a heard of sheep. Jamal Malik’s personality must have been more powerful in life than was its absence in death, for on no one’s face did Daniel read any meaning to grief Most times, when murders did occur, the yet mortal’s first response was usually varied as it always was: fear, pity, fascinated interest, self-importance; a surge of heightened energy at being alive; the pleasure of sharing the news among folks; the hard-shameful excitement of blood spilt which was not one’s own. Daniel knew that each of these feelings could be found on the face of each one of them standing metres away from the corpse, but not one of them revealed a grievous countenance.

Then Anuli, David’s wife, said, “He won’t be changing the will after all.”

Royver: have sent already. They took 3months to respond. Just wanted to know if they were the real deal. Thanks for your reply.

Hello sammyhoe, Princess princesa. I cant find the link anywhere. I think it went missing in the nairaland Tsunami

Was their response positive?

Royver: good evening sirs and ma's. Has anyone heard from the 1000 wands project? are they legit?
Princesa, larrysun, sammyhoe, firestar?

I think it's legit. There is no harm in putting in anyway, since they're asking that writers send only excerpts of their works (not the entire chapters).

I'm planning to send mine first thing tomorrow. I'd love it if you did likewise

Bless you, sir.

EIGHT

It was not until Daniel walked towards the door to shut it that he realized how tired he was. He presumed that everyone must have retired to bed; except, perhaps, Remi. Someone who had just wept and declared a strange determination didn’t always retire to bed to sleep the agony off. She was likely to remain cuddled at a dark corner crying her head off, all because her grandfather had suddenly decided to alter his will.

Twelve thirty. The single muffled stroke of the grandfather’s clock boomed through the walls of the rooms. The night was strangely cold, amidst the strange breeze of air produced by the ceiling fan was the swirl of the night’s coldness coming through the open window. His legs were feeling curiously weak now; he’d been standing for too long.

Daniel tried to examine his emotions as he retired to his bed. He meticulously laid a finger to his own pulse. If this was curiosity or concern, it was the kind of curiosity very different from the sorts with which he had been accustomed. A small hammer seemed to pound his temple, and his heart beat with heavy blows; but he could swear that this was not a symptom of malaria, and neither was it that of apprehension nor of curiosity.
The lights went off suddenly. The power had been interrupted. Moonlight flooded in from the window. The window itself overlooked the woods and beyond. In the faint gloom, this thicket appear to be very close to the window but Daniel knew very well that it wasn’t. it was still acres away. He could distinguish the tall timbers from the little oaks flourishing in the thickets. He moved across the room, searching, trying to find a candle or lamp. Then the lights came back on. He found himself standing before a mirror hanging from one wall. He stared at himself. He remembered someone telling him that if he looked in a mirror in the dark you could see the devil behind you. He tried to remember if he’d sensed a shadow behind him during that brief moment of gloom but he couldn’t come up with anything definite.
He saw a smooth face staring at him with rather tired eyes through the mirror and an obvious stubble around his jowl. Many times he had been complimented about his lips; they’d imagined those lips would have kissed a lot of ladies’, but Daniel knew better.

Seeing himself in the mirror, Daniel did not really take note of the pretty mouth he possessed. He saw more than mere aesthetic appreciation. His sleepy eyes hurt him, and he was conscious of a heart bumping against frail ribs. He was now struggling to keep at bay his eyes threatening to glue shut in slumber.

Staring with effort at his own reflection, Daniel missed his own quiet room in Port Harcourt, and at Kish Household. Rooms fitted with different impressive electronic gadgets and exquisite furniture. This night, he was in a strange room among strange people. He walked away from the mirror and flicked off the light-switch, but he refused to shut the window. The night was now pleasantly cool without being cold. He began to UnCloth. Sporting only his singlet and a pair of shorts, Daniel sat on the edge of the bed. He was feeling sleepy already but he didn’t know why he was forcing himself awake. He was conscious of a great drowsiness, and of the cramps in his spine from the awkward position he sat; he had not changed his sitting position for quite some time now. Somewhere, crickets began to chirp and the breeze ran among the trees with long and distant swishings. Nearly nak*d now, he could feel the cool air ran a prickly finger up his back.

There came a babel of sibilant voices from somewhere in the compound, like some people discussing, but Daniel was not sure at what he was hearing. But he believed there wouldn’t be anyone outside the house so late, maybe his ears were deceiving him. He felt increasingly sleepy; he shook his head like a stubborn doll and lay on the bed.

He roused himself out of his slumberous state but he didn’t feel like he was thoroughly awake. There is a drowsy state, between sleeping and waking, when you dream more in five minutes with your eyes half-open and you’re half-conscious of everything that passed around, than you would in five nights with your eyes firmly closed, and your sense wraps in perfect consciousness. At such times, every human knows just enough of what his mind is doing; to form some glimmering conception of its mighty powers, its bounding from earth and spurning time and space, when freed from the restraints of its corporeal associate. Daniel believed that he did not close his eyes for a moment. Swollen dreams and images, like rascals taking a pistol shot at him and an old ugly man beating the holy grail out of him, boiled through a half-waking state; all the concerns, curiosities and agitations he’d tried to repress invaded his brain immediately. The bed felt lumpy, and once, he thought he’d cried out. But he must have slept, because, when he returned to complete wakefulness, a cold pallour, not quite dawn, was visible against the window sliding glass.

Now he lay wide awake, trembling a little. His eyes were heavy, and his bones ached from exhaustion. Even in this night, birds were moving and twittering among the tendrils with an insistent petulant chorus; Daniel could hear a faint but distinct whir of wings. But he also detected some fainter footfalls which he could have sworn had been a part of his dream.
In life at night, when most things were dead asleep, only nature stood watch. And perhaps birds would stir and crickets might snore, even dogs were sometimes lazy at keeping guards.

And then, clear and high, came a scream; a horrible high-pitch scream that died away in a choke or gurgle. Daniel stood up abruptly, paralyzed, the slumber instantly cleared off his consciousness. The scream had come not from within the house but from outside under the starry sky. It was quite close to him; it seemed like it had emanated from beneath his window. He stood still for a vey short moment, trying to force rationality to his fuzzed brain, then he quickly fumbled for his nightgown. The slippers were harder to find in the unfamiliar darkness. He did not want to turn on the light; doing that would be the dumbest action in the critical moment. He found his footwears and crossed to the window, blinking out towards where he had heard the horrible footfalls; he knew he could not be the only person who’d heard that scream.

Daniel did not know whether he had leaned out of the window for too long. But the footfalls within the house continued to increase at rapid rates, like soldiers on patrol.

Then he suddenly saw a figure emerge from the bend. The figure was running. It ran past Daniel’s window at a speed he dare not guess, and Daniel was able to catch a clearer view of the form. It was a woman. He could make out the tallness of the shape, the thinness and gracefulness at which she moved even as she ran. He knew the figure – it was Remi!

rapmike: Yes, there is a 'piece' of Ariel in every writer.

You're quite right. There is a piece.

He could not believe what the lady said. He thought he must be hearing things. Was this girl trying to blame him for the arguments that ensued in the dinning room? He didn’t even utter any word there, except when he defended himself against Remi’s father’s declaration. Daniel remembered that the arguments had resulted from the patriarch’s intention to change his will. Now this girl was blaming him for that? That’s preposterous! What a family indeecd!

“Did you know that your father threatened to beat me to death if we couldn’t find you?”

“Count yourself lucky,” she replied in a manner devoid of affection. She stood up, smoothed her blouse and added, “By dawn tomorrow, you should be gone.”

“Is that what you want?” Daniel was immensely disappointed. What afflicted him therewithal was a depression of sadness which could compare to no earthly sensation more properly defined than to the afterdream of a reveler upon opium.

“Yes, that is what I want,” her face suddenly softened, “There is something going on here that I don’t want you to be involved in. You need to go.”

“What is going on, Remi? Tell me, what is going on?” He knew it! There was something behind her cold countenance, something entirely deep-rooted than the claim of he being her boyfriend. It was only a girl wanting in maturity that would be that angry over the minor peccadillo. There was something seriously sinister.

Remi carried a proud face and looked at Daniel with deep concern. She shook her head and said, “Even if I told you, you wouldn’t understand.”
He stood up and held her hands, those fragile hands. He was afraid they might snap if he held them too tightly. He directly looked into her eyes. Those eyes were now very innocent, helpless, beautiful. Her radiant face shone under the glare of the light bulb. Her lips full and sensuous. It took a lot of Daniel’s self-control to stop himself from nipping at those generous lips.

In response to her comment, he said, “Try me.”

He was meeting her gaze head-on.

“It’s about the will.” She said.

“What will?”

“Grandfather’s will; the will he wants to change.”

“What is it about the will?”

She didn’t reply immediately. She studied Daniel’s face, as if she was trying to decide if she could trust him or not. Then she finally said, “He must not change that will.”

“I think he’s already made up his mind; I’m not sure anyone can stop him now. You have to deal with it. Do you know why he wants to change his will?”

What happened next rendered Daniel speechless. Instead of answering his question, Remi began to weep. Tears rushed to her eyes. Daniel was dumbfounded; he didn’t know what to say or do. What caused the sudden tears, he could not really unravel. But he knew it came from what he had said.

Before he could rise to find a tissue or handkerchief to offer her, Remi said, “I don’t belong here. I don’t.”

She wiped off her tears with the back of her hands, smiled ruefully as she cast an embarrassed look at Daniel, “I’m sorry about that. I know that everything will be alright.”

Although he was still confused, Daniel managed to reply, “I hope so. I hope whatever is bothering you is remedied.”

“It will, very soon,” she replied, “Sooner than you think.” Then she opened the door and went out.

Daniel maintained his erect position for almost five minutes as he continued staring fixedly at the corridor beyond the opened door. It seemed like he was staring at an apparition, but he was seeing nothing; not even the door or corridor. His mind was churning wildly. His thoughts as loose as a canine unleashed. He was frowning deeply; a frown within a frown.

whitemosquito: Erm. Oga Larry. Na under which constitution or for which textbook dem talk dat one? Biko, third party narrative's are personalized all the time bro. Check up on it. Thanks all the same. Shows your carefully reading. Love that.

Okay o. My bad. I agree with you if you don't agree with me.

Nice work. It should be continued.

I want some more gory details. And some slews of pellets flying in the air.

SEVEN

Despite being publicly rebuffed by Remi, Daniel still got his moment alone with the young lady. After the dismissal from the dining room by the blind matriarch, Remi led Daniel to his room when it appeared as though the footballer would still seek repose in a wrong room even after careful description of which room belonged to him.

Unlike the other rooms in the building, the one allocated to Daniel was very small. It was painted yellow and furnished with a bed. In addition to the bed, the room contained little furniture; one night stand, a dresser and a chair. The television at the corner of the room was ancient. He suspected that if he switched it on, even if it surprisingly worked, the TV would sport only statics. Instead of rug, this particular room was floored with carpet. On one wall was a hole covered in mesh. Daniel guessed that this was an air-conditioner vent without an air-conditioner. And apart from these flaws, the room was satisfactorily neat; well taken care of. The pillows and bedsheets were new, the curtains embroidered with enough flowery designs that could have been taken for the vegetable garden in a white man’s backyard. The light was bright enough to illuminate a vermin’s nostrils, even the ceiling fan threatened to freeze the air.

Having taken all these in and nodded in apparent satisfaction, Daniel walked to the switch and reduced the speed of the blower. This action wasn’t only due to the fact that the atmosphere and breathing seemed threatened but also because Daniel feared a screw might pop loose from the mechanism, causing the swishing blades to come crashing on them. The accident might cause the parting of skulls from necks in a show of splattered blood and flowing gore. Daniel had always suffered that fear since he was a child; the fear of having speeding ceiling fans flying off their hooks with murderous intents. He didn’t know what name that fear was being called, fannophobia perhaps.

Having shown Daniel his apartment, Remi made to exit the room but Daniel stopped her. He told her there was something they both had to discuss, to finalize. She sat in the chair while Daniel sat on the edge of the bed. They silently looked in each other’s eyes for a short time, the only sounds were the hums of the ceiling-fan and the swishing of its blades. Even after everything that had happened this night, Daniel was still grateful for having the chance to see the beautiful Remi again. He didn’t believe that he would come this far. Daniel was still disarmed by the beauty of the girl sitting opposite him. Her charms, her magnetism and alluring, seductive characteristics were matching components that swept Daniel clean off his feet. He desperately hoped she would keep the promise she’d made to him in the bus or all his struggles would be in vain. He undeniably felt something; a dryness of the mouth that had nothing to do with thirst, a peculiar tingling along the nerves of his limbs, and a tremble short of weakness in his knees – if he were not sitting, he could have fallen flat on his face.

He broke the silence with a question, “Do you know what I went through to meet you again?”

She took a brief moment to reply him, “I can only imagine, considering the fact that you don’t know how to keep your mouth shut.”

“How do you mean?”

“You know what I mean. Who gave you the permission to meet my father and tell him my whereabouts?” she demanded angrily. The anger scared Daniel, her eyes were suddenly cold. The fury burning within them were un-disguisedly scorching. Daniel had learnt that anger could be a medicine, but it was never a cure, only capable of briefly numbling the pain without extracting the thorn that caused the agony.

“Not only that,” she continued her furious spiel, “You also had the effrontery to introduce yourself as my boyfriend. How dumb can you get?”

Daniel was stunned at this insult. A slap in the face could not have been more to the point. He burned with humiliation. In Remi’s eyes he saw chilly contempt that was a match for her hot anger; obstinacy as unyielding as a corpse.

Swallowing enough anger and pride that would guarantee he'd've no appetite come breakfast the next morning, Daniel said, “I already told you I didn’t tell your father that. Your dad isn’t a kid for heaven’s sake, he’s bound to suspect that sooner or later. A strange young man cannot approach him about his daughter and he’ll not have his own personal suspicions.”

“Suspicions which wouldn’t have been birthed if you had meddled at your own peril.” She almost screamed. The anger boiling in her heart was as bitter as any brew concocted in a cauldron full of rats’ blood, cats’ eyes and bats’ tongues. Daniel was beginning to refuse that this strange anger had stemmed only from the fact that he’d met with her father. He suspected that her infuriation had resulted from something particularly different from the obvious. He was certain that she was initially glad when she saw him in the waiting room in the afternoon; she’d even introduced her family members to him. She couldn’t have been this annoyed because her father had called him her boyfriend. This thing bothering her mind and invoking her ire was threatening Daniel’s chance with her.

Knowing fully well that violence was not always the solution for violence, Daniel curbed his own anger. If he responded bureaucratic arrogance and insults with as much double-barelled sarcasm and ridicule, his petty satisfaction would only come at his own mammoth loss. He kept his voice calm and his response measured, so as not to utter something he would later come to regret.

“I’m sorry about that, I really am,” he said, “I thought I’d never see you again. I didn’t have your contact address; not even your phone number. I hope you understand why I did what I did.”

“How would what you did soothe the slap inflicted on my face?” she spat in frustration, her voice was growing louder. Her face conveyed more contempt that might have been seen in a vivid expression of disdain.

Daniel forcefully eschewed Remi’s comment. The anger he himself was trying to suppress was sparkling again raw and hot; he seemed to be getting tired of the nags. He wished the person sitting here was not Remi. He wished it wasn’t a lady making all these emasculations, because he had some few befitting replies to retaliate with. But seeing that the nag was no other person than the attractive lady he had encountered, he could not return humiliation for humiliation. Perhaps she’d sleep over it and when she woke up in the morning she’d realized how terribly she’d behaved and apologize to him. Daniel would forgive her in an instant, but if he said the wrong word now, that apology might never come. Not knowing what next to do to supplicate her, he asked, “So, what do you want me to do now?” He spread out his palms.

As if she’d been waiting all along for him to ask that question, Remi replied immediately, “It’s simple, Daniel. Just carry your bags tomorrow morning and leave, before you wreak any more havoc.”

rapmike: You no fit halla at me!

I love the story, although I feel the most for Ariel, for he reminds me of the classy nerd; not a too good dresser, don't attract gals or follows them but is good at his books.

I'm so sorry, my brother! Your comment escaped me. Thanks so much for following.

Okay. You like Ariel the most, right? There is an Ariel in every writer.

Damex333: oga larry, how u doing
welcome back.
in ur story, My heart is getting glued to Esther ooooooo.

I'm doing good, bro. Nice having you back.

whitemosquito: *runs though thread screaming in high soprano* LARRY!! I missed ya. *in Madea's voice* Thank yer... The narrator is Omniscient...

The feeling is mutual; I missed you too.

If that is the case, the 'we' or 'I' should be totally avoided in the narratives, except in the characters' dialogues (which, of course, must be quoted).

Please don't leave us hanging with this o, I'm enjoying it.

Bless you, ma'am.

I'm impressed with your sense of description; a quality every writer needs but few possess. Great job, bloodsucker!

But, when a writer uses the royal plural personal pronoun 'we' in the description of events, the readers can safely assume that there is a narrator being introduced. And most times, the narrator is also usually a character in the story. We, the readers, therefore have the right to know whom the narrator is, you should at least tell us his/her name. Is it Iya Moji or Uncle Alinco?