₦airaland Forum

11


A million images flashed across his mind as he lay on their floor. Broken glasses shattered in every direction. The house was burning down already. The air was redolent of chaffing wood and burning fabric.
Coleman bit his lip as he careened to his feet. He’d brought this upon Julia. They planted this to him. No doubt about it.
But why bring her into it?
Maybe someone had been at the diner. Maybe someone, other than Julia, had been tailing him the whole time. Who knew? They might have seen her as a threat to their mission to finish him.
No. That wasn’t it.
Julia had called twice earlier. She’d wanted to say something. Maybe they’d intersected her phone. That’s how they know where she lived.
Or, were the people at the forensic working in lieu with the ones who’d killed Hamilton and wanted to finish him before he had the chance to expose them?
Well, they were in for a ride.
But, Julia. Where was she? He hated that they caught her in between. She was innocent. How couldn’t they see that?
He had to get her back. There had to be a way somehow.
The neighbors had come out of their homes. Now, they rallied around the house. A lean guy, with hair sprayed a shade of gold, said he’d seen Julia drive in just as he was coming from the bank.
They crowded at the front door. An elderly woman bit her fingers, tears forming at the corner of her eyes.
Coleman went to her. “Don’t cry Mrs. She wasn’t in there.”
“How would you know that? How would you? Oh, my sweet Julia’s gone. She was the best neighbor I ever had.”
Coleman paused. This new revelation stirred something in him. Listening to all the neighbors speak, Coleman could tell they all held Julia in high esteem. He felt a knot loosened inside of him.
He focused on the older woman. “You won’t believe it but I was in there right before it blew up. Julia’s not there.”
“You’re sure? I could check, you know!”
“How?” Coleman asked looking puzzled.
The woman pointed up. Coleman looked to see a camera.
That was it. He could tell who’d come in and if they were lucky, he could get the license plate.
“Let’s check to find out,” Coleman said.
“Okay,” the nifty old lady said, taking Coleman’s hand as she led him away.
Once inside the house, Coleman saw her house had suffered some damage, too. Seeing Coleman worried, she told him not to worry about the mess. She had a nanny who would come in the evening to take care of the shards before she called in a repairman.
She led Coleman to a small room where a computer idled
“It’s my granddaughter’s. She’s out of town, visiting her father. Her mother, my daughter installed the camera a few months ago. I had it facing Julia’s house because I wanted to know when she came in and out. A very good lady, I tell you. She alone cares for my life in this neighborhood. She comes along every morning to check on me. She sometimes brings me chocolate bars.”
“Wow! She must be really... exciting.”
“Exciting... Yes. She’s exciting.”
“But your safety’s more important,” Coleman added.
She waved him off. “Not at all. Nothing like that. I’m old. Who’d disturb the withering peace of a woman so old? Tell you what; I’ve lived here for over thirty years. Ain’t anything like this happened before.”
“Which is why we have to study this case very well,” Coleman said, bringing her attention back to the tape.
“Aha. Yes. I’ll show you.”
She reached over, and with the mouse clicking, moved from folder to folder. For a woman her age, she had a strong hand and eye coordination. She didn’t even require glasses. And she was proficient with the computer.
“Don’t be surprised,” she said, noticing his eyes bulge. “When you’re old like Lady Patty, you get to find one or two hobbies that would keep your mind sharp and ready at all times.”
She stopped when she arrived in the last at a folder saved in the last few hours. Coleman thanked her and watched looking intently.
Mrs. Patty excused herself to get them both a cup of coffee. He told her his preference for two cubes of sugar and turned to focus on the monitor.
When she came back, he was waiting with news for her.
“Look here. This is when he entered.”
“It’s one man?”
“Yes, ma’am. Come see.”
Mrs. Patty came closer to see the man enter the porch and try to pick the lock. “Oh my God,” she said, her hands clasped to her mouth. Maybe he killed her and burned the house inside.”
“No,” Coleman said taking her shaking hand. “I promise you she wasn’t in that fire. Just watch on.”
“Okay,” she said.
They watched on. Sadly, the surveillance package didn’t come with sound. So, they couldn’t hear what was going on.
Eleven minutes after, they saw them proceed from the house. Coleman paused the tape and zoomed in. He caught the face of the men - the one who dragged Julia by the hair and the one who came out of the car to open the door.
As they entered the car and zoomed away, Coleman could see the license plate. Zooming in, he saw the numbers. He crammed them.
Seeing as Mrs. Patty was now more terrified than before, he led her to a chair where she sat and assured her he would do all he could to bring Julia back.
Coleman exited the house. It was time to call in a friend who’d been itching for a reason to be closer to Coleman.

10


Tired from the meeting with Bennett, Coleman had gone home immediately. He would never expect that a man with such gentle looks could be a great talker. No sooner had the drinks sank home than he’d begun driveling, taking Coleman through the time when he, Bennett and Hamilton had been on the same level as workers. He told Coleman how his father had made certain decisions that didn’t help the late man.
Coleman confirmed from his stories he knew Hamilton. However, Bennett, in all his stories, painted himself the saint and Hamilton the unfortunate one. Although Coleman didn’t like that analogy, he maintained composure, clamping down on the lid that was keeping his anger at bail.
One bullet wouldn’t have sat down and listened to all those crap about his father. One bullet would have drummed this man’s head on the table until a concussion would be the last thing his host would worry about.
Yet, he didn’t steer, didn’t even bat an eyelid. He listened on as Bennett painted for him a picture of a life lived to conquer one milestone after another while his friend, his best friend, continued to suffer from inaction.
Coleman was sure if his father had been alive, his story would be different.
As they’d walked the garden, each with a glass in hand, and the other hand in their pockets, Bennett had asked Coleman to come live with him.
“I can’t do that. We only just met. It would be very inappropriate to do that.”
Mr. Bennett had laughed. “You guys from the military. It’s always about this order. That order. Can’t you just do what you want for once?”
Coleman turned to look at him. “I’m sorry I’ll have to decline your request. If I want to get this investigation over as soon as possible, I’d have to work from the house.”
With that, Bennett had stopped on the matter. Then, he’d moved into his relationship, asking Coleman who he was seeing. When Coleman told him no one, Bennett couldn’t believe it was true. He re-echoed what Julia had said about every lady jumping at the opportunity to date someone in the military.
With all the petty discussions they’d had, Coleman returned home tired and dizzy. He’d jumped on his bed, forgetting that he’d purposed to call Julia back.
So, when the text came in a few minutes into his sleep, he’d ignored it. However, he woke up again ten minutes later when in his subconscious, he’d seen Julia.
He picked up the phone, dizzy eyed.
When he saw the message, he sprang up immediately.
He stopped at the foot of the bed to examine the message again. He looked at the letters if there’d be any subtle sign that would give the message away as a joke. He found none.
As Coleman got behind the wheels, he hoped the message wasn’t some elaborate prank, a subtle attempt to get his attention. If it was that, he’d give her a stern warning. No lady would mess up his life ever again.
Driving fast, like a kid playing grand theft, Coleman arrived at the described place within a quarter of an hour.
The house looked deserted. However, on closer look, he found that the door was open.
Parking his car on the curb, Coleman opened his door and touched foot to the concrete. Pulling out his gun, he edged closer. Crouching as he ran, Coleman surveyed the area to see if anyone was watching.
He cursed at the air.
Some ladies could be stupid. How could a lady as young as Julia stay in a house in such quiet vicinity? It didn’t even look like a single soul lived here. He didn’t hear TVs, didn’t hear kids playing or their mothers shouting.
Anyone could describe this place as a graveyard and wouldn’t be too wrong.
When he reached the door, he made sure the muzzle of his gun went in first. Satisfied no one waited behind the door, Coleman headed for the kitchen. He perceived the smell of gas and wondered if Julia had been cooking before the intruder had come in. Applying stealth, Coleman went through all the rooms but found neither Julia nor her assailant.
He lowered the gun, walking back towards the living room.
He turned into the dark kitchen and made to flip the switch when his better judgment kicked in. Quickly, something sinister could happen, Coleman hurried out of the house.
He took determined steps towards his car, hoping he could string a plan behind the steering.
He’d scarcely opened the door when the deafening sound of glass breaking under intense pressure reached his ears and forced him to the ground.

9

Julia Arlington came back from work early. She had complained about a headache. It wasn’t true. She wanted to get home on time to prepare for when Coleman would come over.
She had reasons to believe he would come. She had something he wanted. It would be her bargaining chip.
She was excited. Straight from work, she’d gone to get stuff for the cooking. She would thrill him to some of her best dishes.
Cooking was her regular pastime. If she wasn’t cooking, she was reading one of Nora Roberts’, her favorite author. But cooking always came first.
Sometimes when she wasn’t cooking for anyone but herself, she entertained the idea of cooking and reading. Today, her attention would focus on nothing other than cooking her best food. No way would she spoil their first time together with a poorly cooked meal.
Julia went upstairs to freshen up. She’d had to go through stress to get the forensic result. The unsolicited interview with Mr. Privet, her boss, her been an unforgettable experience.
Julia couldn’t understand why he’d picked sudden interest in this result. It wasn’t like it was from one individual who had so much at stake they couldn’t help to spoil his career. This was an ordinary workman at a shoe factory.
Nothing to break a sweat for.
Yet, she’d watched sweat roll down her brows as she constantly tried to see reasons with her boss why she had to go with the results.
Julia had played a dirty game, one she knew could cost her job.
When she’d seen that the manager was unbending in his resolve to keep the result until Coleman came for it, she’d played a fast one. She’d accepted defeat and gone back to her station. However, when the manager wasn’t looking, she’d accessed the system and made a photocopy. It would have been easier to forward the document to Coleman but then, she wouldn’t get to meet with him. Thus, she’d printed it out instead.
Now, it lay on the dining table where Coleman would find it when he came.
Before she started cooking, Julia placed a call across to Coleman. It rang and went dead.
Julia frowned. Even if he didn’t want her troubling him, couldn’t he pick up to find out if she’d made good her promise?
She walked away from the phone and began peeling the cabbage. She decided she’d prepare some salad. Most guys she knew enjoyed eating salad. Hopefully, Coleman wouldn’t be different.
But Coleman wasn’t like most men.
Julia stopped slicing as she painted an image of him; his thick iron-like chest making the T-shirt he’d worn yesterday to cling to his frame. God! Those deep-set blue eyes, his bulging biceps. She could see him putting a ring in her fingers already.
She returned to cutting the cabbage, doing this trifling task with delight.
Ten minutes later, she returned to the phone. She placed a call again. She watched it ring until the phone went silent.
Coleman was acting childish if he was ignoring her calls. Hadn’t he believed when she’d said she’d try to fast track the process?
She’d done it. She’d called her boss’s attention to the urgent request that had come in from a man who was working undercover with the FBI.
Although her boss had been reluctant, she’d gone into details how that this man had said it was a matter of life and death and that he’d owe the company one if he could get the result as soon as possible.
So, were all her efforts going to waste?
Her brows creased as she went into the kitchen. She turned off the cooker where a kettle hissed.
Julia went into the sitting room. Putting on the TV, she slumped into a chair.
When the TV came on, she watched a replay of Gossip girls. As she watched, she dazzled into sleep.
It must have been less than an hour later when she heard a sound come from the front door.
She hadn’t been expecting anybody. Anyone who knew her would know she should be at her workplace by this time.
So, who was this person?
Tiptoeing, Julia went towards the glass window and peeped out. She saw, away from her driveway and out close to the curbs, a white van with a graffiti design.
She didn’t know anybody who would have such a van.
Or, was it, Coleman, trying to give her adventure, a signature way of saying he’d finally come around?
Even though that prospect would excite her, even though it would set the butterflies in her tummy singing Michael Jackson’s thriller, she doubted it would be him.
So, she tiptoed back towards her phone. She dialed his number. She seethed as she thought about the chances that Coleman could see the call but purposefully ignoring it.
A key entered the lock.
No. Not a key. No one but she had keys to her house. Someone was breaking in, someone who knew she would be indoors.
Frantically, she dialed Coleman’s number again. Again, it rang without an answer.
Then, she quickly drafted a message. HELP. SOMEONE’S BREAKING INTO MY HOUSE AND I’M INSIDE. 12th SALFORD END.
Julia ran towards her bedroom just as the front door gave way. She didn’t turn to see who it was. She got into her room and bolted the door.
A few seconds later, someone was standing outside.
“Come on out. I don’t want to harm you but I will if you don’t cooperate.”
Julia froze on hearing the voice. With the husky voice not ringing any bells, she realized danger lurked.
She wished it would just be a thief. She hated to think someone wanted her dead.
She couldn’t bring herself to get up and pull back the bolt.
“Okay, I’ve given you enough time. On the count of three, I will break down this door and you won’t like what would happen next.”
Julia pulled into her closet, her heart pounding in her chest.
“One... Two...” he delayed with the third count.
Julia considered throwing herself out the window. However, being on the second floor, she doubted she’d be able to walk after that.
“Three.”
No sooner had he said the number than the door came crashing down. Julia’s scream rent the air as the monster approached the closet.

8

Although Coleman had clarified that he wanted nothing with Julia, he wondered if he hadn’t been too harsh. Julia might not be as beautiful and well-sculpted as Rachel, but she looked more polished, more suited for the life he wanted to lead.
While Rachel had wanted to have the spotlight centered on her forehead at all times, Julia preferred the quiet life of the middle-class families.
Coleman looked himself in the mirror as he combed his hair. A lot of knotted hair came off with the comb.
“What the...?”
He brushed his hand through the hair again and more strands came off.
Although he didn’t major in any of the sciences, Coleman knew enough to know that loss of hair was equivalent to balding. He wanted none of that. Although Hamilton had been almost entirely bald when he left unceremoniously, Coleman had taken precautions not to allow the same thing to happen to him. Adding an input into his memory pad on his phone, he decided he would stop by to get some gel or whatever would be recommended, on his way from Bennett’s.
This supposed best friend to his dad had invited him over. No matter how Coleman tried to swing him off the invitation, Bennett had been firm. He said he wanted to keep true to the friendship he’d shared with Hamilton.
So, that was how Bennett had written his entry into Coleman’s list of things to do that morning.
Bruno sauntered into the room, his tail wagging in his wake.
“Good morning to you, too,” Coleman said, bending down to rub the dog’s head.
The dog had quickly adapted to having only Coleman in the house. Unlike what Coleman thought, the dog hadn’t been difficult. So far, he’d behaved very well, even opening his underside for Coleman to tickle him, sometimes.
Today, however, his eyes looked gloomy.
“What’s the problem?” Coleman asked, half attending to the door, and half checking on the bedside clock.
It was 9:40. He’d agreed to be at Bennett’s at 10 am. He stood up and hurriedly wore his socks. Coleman hoped traffic would be good to him.
If the way was clear, he could make it in good time. However, within the past few days, it looked like California had imported more car owners from outside.
“Wait, you can’t be hungry again, Bruno?”
The dog looked up to Coleman with those massive soggy eyes.
“Okay. You win,” Coleman said, heading for the kitchen where he kept the supplies. He got the pack he’d just opened that morning and ensured that Bruno’s saucer was full.
The dog took some bites but quickly returned to follow Coleman out of the house.
As Coleman wanted to enter the car, he caught sight of the door looking straight at him. Coleman paused at the door, wondering what the dog was trying to communicate.
The dog walked down the porch and came to stand beside Coleman, rubbing its coat on Coleman’s grey slacks.
Coleman realized that he might spoil the dog by giving it too much attention. Many of his former colleagues in the army kept their dogs in cages all the time. He’d thought it too cruel and had been releasing the dog anytime he was at home. Coleman decided he would not release the dog again until he was sure he’d come off his high horses.
Coleman smiled as he thought of the word.
“High horses for a dog? Man, you can do better.”
He laughed at himself as he ushered the dog back into its cage and locked it.
Jogging back to his car, Coleman opened the door and got in. Without wasting time to check if everything was okay, he dug the key into the ignition. A few seconds later, he was speeding off into the road.
When Coleman got into the main road, he was glad the traffic wasn’t as heavy as he thought it would be.
He fired down into the road, only to remember seven minutes later that he’d forgotten his gun.
“Jeez!” Coleman screamed. One glance at his wristwatch told him there was no time to get back. He had barely five minutes left. So, he sighed and kept going.
He was two minutes late when he arrived at Bennett’s residence. Bennett was waiting at the front porch reading the day’s papers.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” Coleman said immediately he was out.
“Nothing much. Just two minutes late.”
“Oh!” Coleman said, hanging onto the word. “You were watching the time?”
Mr. Bennett shifted from his left foot to the right. “Yeah. I was. I wanted to see if you’d be like your father.”
Coleman said nothing further.
“Look, I’m sorry I mentioned his name. I know how this must hurt. Hamilton was as much a friend to me as he was your father.”
Coleman allowed the man to lead him inside.
The inside of the house was a stark opposite of what he expected giving the lack of attractiveness outside.
Bennett hadn’t bothered for any elaborate decoration outside the house. However, everything was stylish from the very doormat.
The living room echoed class with lavishly carpeted floors and exuded a cavernous appeal. Colorful chandeliers hung from the ceilings of the very spacious hall.
Bennett ushered Coleman into a seat. The chair seemed to hug him the moment he sat on it. Coleman could only wonder how his father had kept a friend as wealthy as this Mr. Bennett.
“I know you must wonder why your father never invited me over when you were around. The truth? I wasn’t always available. Being the face of the company’s marketing department, I need to do a lot of traveling. He talked about you every time. It’s a shame he isn’t here to see us meet.”
Coleman nodded.
A lady with a body-hugging black pencil skirt overlaid with a white camisole came in carrying a tray.
Coleman was surprised because he hadn’t seen Bennett order anything.
It was a bottle of champagne with two wine glasses.
She smiled when she placed the tray on a table between him and Mr. Bennett.
She turned to go but Bennett held her back. “This is Caroline. She’s my angel. The love of my life.”
The lady blushed, putting one hand to her chest and the other for Coleman to shake. Coleman shook her hand and told her how pleased he was to meet them. Caroline told Coleman she was sorry for his loss. She said he should feel at home with them.
When Caroline left, Bennett spoke. “She grew up in the same neighborhood as your dad. So, it left her dejected when the news of his demise came.”
Coleman nodded; bowing his head to look into the glass of wine Mr. Bennett had poured as he spoke. He contemplated telling the man what he thought about the murder. However, he hadn’t seen the man’s true intention yet. For all Coleman knew, Bennett could be a member of the gang that had done the killing.
“What are you thinking about, son?” Bennett asked.
“Oh! It’s nothing at all,” Coleman said, raising the glass to his mouth.
Bennett ran a finger around the neck of his glass. “You know, Hamilton was the last person I’d thought would die of a heart attack. He’d always looked so healthy, even healthier than me.”
“He’d always done exercises to keep fit.”
“See, I know what I’m saying. People die by the strangest ways these days.”
Coleman hesitated. He didn’t like that Bennett would think his best friend died of a heart attack.
It wasn’t true.
Julia’s call came in then. Coleman ignored it and silenced the phone. He asked his host a question. “Did you see the autopsy report?”
Mr. Bennett put down the glass. “Yes. I did. His heart gave way because of unexpected pressure. Maybe he’d heard or seen something that shocked him.”
Coleman dangled from one butt cheek to the other. He drew closer to the man. “I don’t think my father died from a natural cause”
“What do you mean?” Bennett asked, looking puzzled.
“I saw the body. I saw the marks. They strangled him with, most probably, a thin metal wire.”
“You can’t be serious!” Mr. Bennett said, drawing closer to Coleman.
“I’m serious. Dead serious.”
“Well, then. That’s such a pity.”
The man took another swig of his drink. “So, how’s your relationship going?”
Coleman hissed. “Aren’t you going to ask what I want to do?”
“No. I don’t expect you to do anything. If you think this was a murder case, involving the police would be the first thing to do.”
“The police could be in the payroll of the guys who did this.”
Bennett laid back. “That’s true.”
“I want to know who did it and why.”
Bennett’s eyes contracted. “You want to pursue the case?”
Coleman nodded.
“That’s a dangerous game, boy.”
“Fits me,” Coleman said, smiling.
“Okay. I’ve promised to take care of you like my son. You can always call me if you need my help.”
Again, Coleman nodded.
Julia called three more times. Coleman didn’t respond, making a mental note to call her when he got home.
He stayed for a while watching the replay of a football game, where Chelsea got slaughtered by Manchester United in the Premier league, before taking his leave.

7

Declan Shawcross cupped his right hand over his eyes like a soldier offering salutations. He was, in reality, shielding his eyes from the rays of the marooning sun. Having spent most of the day indoors, his legs were wobbly and he staggered under the weight of the trash bags.
Shawcross hissed. He would do anything to get away from the house, getting his hands dirty with work. However, the boss had advised that he took some weeks off.
Any other man would welcome a holiday. Not Shawcross. Those other men had good wives with whom to spend their holidays. Rosalie was unlike most wives.
Shawcross had made many mistakes in his life. Marrying Rosalie was on top of the list, right where the margin should be. She was the genesis to the revelation of his troubles.
Or maybe not the revelation. Not now.
Another occurrence had shuffled the list. Shawcross had done the abominable and now he had to hide, not just from the police, but from himself.
Ever since that morning when his hands had done the damage, he’d not had a sound sleep.
In every dream, Hamilton came to torture him. Despite his many attempts to plead with the man that he’d just been the hand that did the work and not the mastermind, Hamilton wouldn’t listen. Twice, the man had tried to strangle him making him jump out of bed and holding his throat much to the distaste of Rosalie.
Any other scenario, Shawcross would be glad to have a reason to piss Rosalie off. This situation, however, was different.
He was dead meat. At least, today’s dream pointed to that fact.
Shawcross witnessed, in the dream, Hamilton digging a grave and he, supervising it as the bigger man dug. Then, Shawcross jumped in and asked Hamilton to cover him with sand.
As if the dream wasn’t spooky enough, Rosalie had woken him that Melanie was digging through the front yard and had made a deep trench already.
Although Shawcross didn’t believe in fairytales and folklores from African origin bordering on voodoo, he couldn’t help thinking Hamilton was controlling the dog’s mind somehow.
At the office, Jackson, a man as black as coal tar, had said dogs digging holes in front of one’s house was an omen that death was near.
Shawcross had never given much attention to Jackson, a migrant from Nigeria. However, he was thinking there could be an element of truth in what the guy had been postulating.
Would Hamilton be roaming the earth searching for a way to cause him harm?
Shawcross brushed off the thoughts as he walked towards the road where the movable waste bin waited.
Hamilton had always been a delightful old man. No way would he be anything but as anodyne as he’d been alive.
Shawcross took three steps off the porch before he noticed the vibrations from his pocket. In that moment of confusion, he thought a bomb ticked, somehow planted on his body while he was unguarded. Quickly, he threw the bags and began scrambling for his pocket. He hissed when he discovered it was his phone.
He’d changed his notification. He didn’t want the phone ringing anymore whenever he had a message. With Rosalie always snooping around with her pointed nostrils, she could read one of his messages, either Facebook or WhatsApp, and know that he kept a side relationship.
She had insisted on registering one of her thumbs among the options to unlock the phone. Coleman couldn’t disagree with a calm Rosalie. How much more when she’d been fuming when he’d made the foolish mistake; telling her he had a female friend who was coming over to see him.
With a quick scan of his fingerprints, Shawcross opened the phone. It was a text message.
THEY KNOW YOU DID IT.
That was the singular line of the message. Yet, the meaning sent a thousand shock waves skittering across his lengthy frame.
Abandoning the trash bags, Shawcross went back into the house. He passed Rosalie who laid spread on their sofa watching a replay of her favorite gossip show.
He ignored her questions and went straight for the bedroom and locked the door.
Removing the indigo Persian rug from the floor, he the secret floor safe and brought out the gun.
It was a Smith and Wesson brand with a silencer, the same one he’d used to do the job. He got enough bullets to fill two magazines and dropped them on the bed.
He drew his Gucci travel bag from under the bed and piled in some clothes.
Rosalie came banging on the door.
“Open up, Shaw. Why would you lock the door? What’s going on? Why didn’t you empty the trash? Is this the example you want to set for our boy? How do you think he’d react when he comes from school to meet the front yard like that?”
Shawcross greeted his teeth. He didn’t want to answer her. He couldn’t afford to bandy words with her. She’d always win. Plus, he needed to get away as soon as he could. So, he let her drum on the door and talk and threaten as he continued packing the things he needed.
Shawcross had enough money. They’d paid him well for the hit against his former colleague. The money had been too good to look away from. However, the aftermath had left him plagued. The money was as complete as when they first paid it. Not a dime spent.
But, who knew about it and how? Had his people snitched?
Only he, the manager and the chairman knew the plan. He’d been careful to cover his steps.
And who were they?
Were they people he should be afraid of?
Shawcross heaved the bag from the bed. Rosalie has stopped knocking. She probably noticed that he was in no mood for her drama.
With the emergency cash he’d put in the safe with the gun, Shawcross would fly out of town immediately. Or, he could wait until he was sure he was safe to travel out. However, his house was the least safe place to be.
Taking the back door, Shawcross slipped away from the house, out into the car, and drove off just in time to see Rosalie come running down the porch and hurling profanities at him.

6
CHARLES' KITCHEN was bursting with activities. Coleman didn't realize that many people now preferred having dinner outside their houses. They found a table toward the rear of the restaurant.
Although Coleman wasn't in the mood to act romantic, he let Julia have her seat first, drawing out the chair for her.
When they were seated, a waiter sauntered over with high heels.
“Hello, welcome to Charles’ Kitchen. What can I offer you?”
Coleman looked at Julia. Her eyes widened. "What's that?"
“Place your order first.”
A smile returned to her face. “Okay. I'll have grilled cheese with diet coke.”
The waitress wrote what she'd ordered and arched her ears towards Coleman.
“Cheeseburger with diet coke.”
“Be ready in a jiffy,” the waitress said, hurrying away.
“I don't understand the point of hiding your diet from me. We both know that's not what you would eat were you alone.”
“How's that your business, miss? If I want my life private, is that your business?”
Some occupants from the nearby table turned to look at Coleman. He noticed Julia's cheek flush.
“You don't have to be so hard,” she said, extending a hand to touch Coleman. The ex-military personnel tucked his hands away.
“No. You don't get to do that. You still haven't told me why you've been following me.”
Julia withdrew her hands to her laps. Coleman's face tightened. If she would pull out a gun, he'd be ready for her.
"I told you. I was awestruck the moment you walked in. Forgive me for acting like a child. I don't normally do this. It's just... I've always wanted to be with someone from the army. I wanted to know how it feels. I want to hear you tell the stories and all."
Coleman folded his hands into his armpit." You could have all that easily. It's not like this city's short of military personnel."
Julia sighed.” Why are you being so uptight?”
Coleman leaned back into his chair. Luckily, the waitress came back at that moment and dropped their deposited their orders on the table carefully.
Coleman took the liberty of the distraction to weigh his opinions. If he told her about his father, it wouldn't do much harm since the people who'd done their job already knew about it. However, if he told her that the reason he wanted the handkerchief checked was for links with the murderer, she could sabotage the plan.
The waitress took leave to attend to other customers.
Coleman stared at Julia as she downed a glass of the coke after dropping some ice cubes in it.
“Why do you work at Richard's Forensics?”
Julia raised her index finger, waving it at his face. “You don't get to do that. I asked a question first. Reply me before I reply you. That's how it works in the real world. You do know that. Yeah?”
Coleman stared at her for some seconds. Then, he broke into a smile. “You're one tough nut. Isn't it?”
Julia nodded. “That's what people tell me. So?”
“My girlfriend dumped me days ago.”
He hadn't thought to go that angle but the words dropped from his mouth like hot potatoes.
All of the stored up emotions were suddenly bubbling at the surface.
Julia's face was literally drained of colors. She reached out to touch his hand. This time, he didn't pull away. "I'm sorry. Damn! That's got to hurt."
“You don't know the half of it, I tell you. She was like... the missing part of me. I don't know what happened. One day we're talking over the phone all excited about the time we were going to spend together in Malibu, the next, she was giving me the heart-crushing news.”
“That lady deserves to go to hell. She deserves even worse than that. How could she do that to someone like you? Did you tell you why?”
Coleman took a sip from his drink. “Ridiculous reason. She said she can't be with a man who's got so much blood in his hands.”
“What?” Julia sounded genuinely baffled. “She didn't know you were in the force before going in?”
Coleman raised both hands so she could see the inward part of his palms.
"And who doesn't have blood on their hands? We spite our friends and those we call family. We fail to offer our support to the ones who need them the most and instead prefer to create a show by putting a camera when we go to give money to people who can do without it. There's hardly anyone who doesn't have blood on their hands. Many ladies today have multiple abortions all year long. Doesn't that amount to having blood on your hands?"
Coleman sighed. “She just wanted to leave. The excuse came after. Not before.”
“Her loss then,” Julia murmured.
“What?” Coleman asked, not hearing what she'd said.
“Nothing. I was just speaking out my thoughts.
A wave of silence followed. Coleman watched with mixed reactions, the different occupants of the diner. Different emotions flowed from table to table. On the left, a small family of a man, probably in his sixties with silver crusted balding hair, his wife, a rather round and plump female with a dimple when a smiled, and their son, a nine or ten-year-old who was busy rolling up noodles in his fork and trying to score some serious points by eating them without any strand dropping.
“What is your mission?” Coleman asked.
Julia was taken aback by the question. She hadn't been expecting it.
When she spoke, her voice was broken. “Do I look so unconvincing? Why can't you believe me?”
Her eyes were teary. Coleman made to reach over and help wipe her eyes but he advised himself against it.
“Women come in different shades,” his father used to say.
“Not every tear reveals emotion or true intentions.”
“I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked such a provoking question.”
“It's fine. I understand your standpoint. However, in a bid to prove my innocence to you, I'm going to help you.”
“Help me? How?”
“I'll help fast track the process to get your forensic results ready as soon as possible.”
Coleman would jump and hug her if he weren't already wearing a controlled performance, Ai winning one. “Alright. That would go very far. However, I still don't trust you enough. My eyes will be on you.”
“As dangerous as that sounds, I think I like the idea.”
Coleman turned away to watch a kid who'd come running past their table. He used the opportunity to hide his delightful grin from Julia.

5

Family’s Keep grocery store had been serving the Alviso neighborhood for years. Although not that only one, it had served the few residents who inhabited the place for well over a hundred years. It had become a family business, passing down from generation to generation. People respected the store because it held memories that the newer ones didn’t have. What was more was the fact that the store had upgraded frequently over the years. Many of the newer ones couldn’t outdo the Family keep despite the years she had seen.
The store had a large parking space. Today, the flow of traffic in and out of the store was less than Coleman had expected. He liked that he wouldn’t have to spend too much time inside.
He needed to restock with milk and some flour. Baking was Coleman’s best pastime.
When Coleman finished packing his trolley with toiletries, pasties, Pringles, and other groceries including canned dog food and treats, he rolled the trolley towards the counter.
Again, this was a female.
Coleman wondered when the world had changed, when the policy for only female salesperson had been enacted.
Sighing, he watched with knitted brows as the lady took stock of what he’d gotten.
After paying with his card, Coleman took the bags and headed for his car.
As he was about to open it, a sense of foreboding watched over him.
Coleman turned around to see someone shut the door to the very shop he’d just come from.
He paused. He had seen no one come when he pulled open the door. Whoever it was, the person had been inside and not out.
Coleman opened his door and dumped the items on the back seat. He waited inside the car for anyone that could come outside when they thought he was going away.
Nobody came out. Nobody suspicious, that is.
After waiting for ten minutes, Coleman turned the ignition and drove out of the parking lot.
At home again, Coleman couldn’t get himself to do anything worthwhile. Now and then, he would burst into a fit of anger and would throw things. The toaster now needed replacing.
His life was a mess. Now, before he’d even get closer to finding the truth, he’d have to wait two weeks.
What if the person had taken his marked ass out of the state?
Everything would become difficult.
Ten minutes inside the kitchen, he hadn’t decided what he would make. He didn’t even have an appetite for food.
Bruno walked into the kitchen. Coleman bent to pat its head. The dog obliged, allowing Coleman to scratch behind its ears.
When Coleman looked down, he saw stains.
He looked at the dog’s snout to see a cream-like smear.
“Damn, Bruno. What’s that?”
Coleman bent to smell the dog’s snout. He pulled back when he perceived the repulsive odor.
“No, Bruno. That was wrong.”

The dog had been to the trash behind the house. Coleman took some wipes and cleaned up the dog’s nose. When he got outside to throw it in the trash, it surprised him to see the mess.
Three full bags and one upturned one. Flies were gathering.
Coleman sighed and got back into the kitchen to put on his gloves. They were technically his now that he owned the house. He snapped them on and went out to move the bags into his car.
The large trash cans were just a little further than his house. Yet, Coleman decided he’d just use the opportunity to buy some gas.
The truck, a Ford product belonged to Hamilton. Coleman tried hard not to recall the memories he had of the truck.
He sniffed back the tears that threatened to roll down.
The air grew cooler as he turned on the air conditioner. He turned on the radio to listen to music that would take his thoughts captive.
A light blues played, a classic from the 80s. Coleman drove slowly towards the gas station wondering why the present generation preferred faster songs and crazy beats.
He didn’t come to any conclusion before turning into the station. Two cars were ahead of his.
Coleman waited. Dunkley Charles’s station had been his and his dad’s favorite. Their price was friendly, and the owner had been friends with Hamilton.
Also, they had a small eatery back of the pump station. Coleman fancied he could grab a bite since he was in no mood to cook.
His turn came, and when Mr. Stalin saw him, the old man’s brow creased.
“I’m so sorry, Coleman. I heard the news.”
Coleman put a hand on his forehead, blocking his eyes. “I’m okay. I’ll be fine.”
“So sorry. Accept my sympathy. If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
Coleman nodded slightly, afraid that if he spoke, his words might not end in a complete sentence.
He made to pay for the gas but Pa Stalin brushed it aside.
“On the house,” he said.
Coleman murmured his thanks.
He drove away towards the parking space reserved for customers of the restaurant. The smell of baked burgers and cheese hit his nose. His stomach rumbled. He put a hand to the door when he caught sight of the lady smiling at him.
It was her - the girl at Richard’s Forensics.
She had sunglasses.
Coleman took her by the hand towards the side of the building.
He released her when he was sure no one would be watching.
“What do you want?”
“Sorry,” she said, trying to feign ignorance.
“Don’t you dare,” Coleman said, pointing his index finger at her face and closing in on her. “It was you at the grocery store. I knew it was you. Why are you following me? Who sent you?”
She raised her hands, trying to back away from the wall.
“I’ll beat you crazy if you don’t start talking,” Coleman said.
“Alright. I’ll talk,” she said. She brushed her dress and straightened her hair. “It’s true I’ve been following you.”
Coleman drew closer.
“No one sent me. I... I like you. That’s why. From the moment you walked into the forensic lab, I was in awe.”
Coleman couldn’t say a word.
Julia blushed. “I like guys in the military.”
Coleman’s eyes widened. “How would you know that..?”
“Relax, Coleman. It’s not brain science. Anyone can spot someone in the military. Not everyone goes around with a physique like that.”
Coleman looked down at his hands. He was speechless.
“Look, I know you wanted to grab some food. Why don’t we eat together?”
Coleman’s shoulder slumped. “Okay. You win.”
“Against a soldier? That’s a rare win.”
Coleman smiled as he led the way. Before they pushed open the door to the diner, he said. “Should I find you’re a spy beyond all the sweet talk and flatteries, I won’t lose a breath before taking you down. Just keep that at the back of your mind.”

4

Coleman had thought to take the dog along but worried that it wouldn't give him time to think as he drove. So, he'd let the dog into its miniature house, leaving him some treats with which to keep busy and a blue ball to play with.
The closest forensic lab was a twenty-minute drive. Coleman had no issue driving that far. This morning, he was feeling pumped up. The serendipity of the dog's discovery had him believing nature was working fine him. Thus, he could see things working for him. Hopefully, the lab would find fingerprints.
Bingo!
He'd strike immediately he found the culprit. He could already see the gun going off and the idiot dropping dead. Good riddance.
He'd worried the lab wouldn't be open so early. However, when he'd called, the lady who'd answered had said they were already two hours into their day.
Coleman hoped they didn't deal with too many cases. He wanted the results as soon as she could manage. Delay was one thing he never liked. He wondered if a cash gift would hasten things.
Traffic was heavier this morning. Motorists acted like brutes, not allowing him entrance when he saw an opening. He hated to wait in traffic but he took it coolly, deciding nature would want things to go this way.
“Look at you, Coleman. Since when did you become a believer in the paranormal?” he asked his reflection in the mirror.
Coleman had stopped attending church when his aunt Elizabeth had passed on. She alone had the patience for his troubles. She was the panacea for his obstinacy. Not once when she was alive had he missed a church service. However, as soon as she'd passed on, Coleman had bid the church goodbye.
Here he, more than a decade later, believed in a force behind nature.
Some situations could give you some total paradigm shift.
Coleman managed a weak smile as the traffic opened up again.
He got to the forensic lab thirty minutes after he left the house. Located in a complex where there were several store outlets, the lab was a small one. Coleman had expected something bigger. The size discouraged him as he thought they might have too many jobs to handle his own faster. And he wasn't exaggerating to think they might not have the privilege to access the nation's database.
He shoved his thoughts when he opened the door and saw that inside was very different.
The walls were painted white that sparkled with a clear reflection. On the walls were several electronic charts. He was wrong. They could handle what he needed.
“Hello, sir,” he heard, the voice of a lady who would excel as a lead vocalist in any choir.
He turned around to see a blonde. She adorned a plastic smile as she beckoned on him.
Coleman didn't return her smile as walked up briskly to her.
He wanted to cut off all the petty talks these receptionists could make when they saw you had time for it.
He was here for business.
“My name’s Julia. Welcome to Richard’s Forensics. How can we help you?”
Coleman dropped the bag containing the handkerchief on the counter. “I want a check done on this item. I want to know who owns it.”
The lady flashed her smile at him again before proceeding to take the bag.
“We’d need to do some documentation first. Can you please fill this form,” she said, drawing out a typed paper from a drawer in her side of the counter.
Coleman took the form and the pen she’d given.
The form contained a long list of questions. Coleman skimmed to the end where he was to crest his signature. There were no less than fifty columns to fill.
“Please, is there any way we could make this process faster?” Coleman asked, brandishing a smile to his own.
The lady looked at him for an awkward to seconds. Then, she spoke. “I’m not sure I would understand what you mean.”
Coleman let the air out of his mouth. “Okay. How long does the process take?”
“A week. Two weeks top.”
Terror flashed across his eyes. “What? I can’t wait that long.”
“It’s put procedure, sir. We’ve got a lot of cases on our hands right now. Exercise patience.”
Coleman stamped a foot on the ground. “I can’t wait that long. I will...”
He noticed the way she was looking at him. If he didn’t knock better, he’d say she was making a pass at him.
Rachel’s face flashed across his mind. He pulled out from the vision immediately and hurried towards a seat in the waiting area.
He did not turn to see the lady’s reaction at his utter refusal to her advancement. And he didn’t care.
After Rachel, he would be careful how he allowed ladies into his life. It’s not like he would die if he distracted date again. After all, his father had lived for over two decades since his wife passes away.
He didn’t die then. Coleman wouldn’t.
He needed to put his head down and focus on the case. No distraction was welcome.
He was a weakling when he came to women. Somehow, they always knew how to bring him to his knees. Who knows what demon the next one could be? He was better off alone.
Brushing through the list which included questions on his personality, his reason for finding out the owner of the fingerprints, if there was government or any of her agencies involved in the case, and if the prints could go to the authorities if it matched one of their profile cases.
Coleman agreed to everything. When he submitted the list back to the lady, she smiled at him.
“That was quick.”
Coleman didn’t look her straight in her eyes. “Yes. I wish you guys would be as fast.”
“We try our best.” She leaned in. “There’s a premium service option. It’s only available to our best clients but I could put in your job of you’d like it.”
Coleman had to look her in the eye. She locked his gaze with hers.
“No,” Coleman said, snapping out. “I... I’ll wait.”
“No problems,” the lady said, tucking Coleman’s form into a big stack on the table. “I trust your number’s here. We’ll call you when it’s ready. Enjoy your life.”
Although there hadn’t been an audible tinge of sarcasm in her voice, Coleman knew what she was trying to do.
He didn’t take the bait though. Walking towards the exit, he pushed open the door and walked into the waiting wrath of the California sun.

3

Coleman realized he hadn't fed Bruno for two days. He'd paid very little attention to the dog all this time. It wasn't fair. The dog didn't deserve to grieve and starve with him.
All the while he'd seen the dog's eyes, he'd thought like him, the dog was missing Hamilton. However, when Coleman opened the door and met the dog lying on its side with only his eyes acknowledging his presence, he realized his mistake.
Quickly, Coleman went into the house and went for the pack of dog biscuits.
Bruno was a Labrador. He'd been with them for a very long time. He'd joined their family when Coleman was six. For such a creature, he'd seen too much grief. Bruno had been there when Agnes died of Gastric cancer. He'd watched as her body went pale. Coleman sometimes wondered if the dog could remember those times as he could. He wondered if the dog had the memories that followed the death of a loved one.
Or was it just grief that passed when a new caregiver came into the picture?
Coleman emptied the biscuit into the dog's dish. He watched as Bruno got up lazily towards him.
Coleman pitied the dog. He'd never had a mate as Hamilton had never cowered to Coleman's many pleads for Bruno to get a mate.
Coleman thought it would be an injustice to let the dog go out without having the pleasures of mating a female. Just as it would be an injustice to let Hamilton's killer go scot-free. The least he could get was jail time. Coleman didn't want jail time. He would put the bullet himself. He would gun down the madman who'd taken his father out like he was common chicken.
No. Jail time would be too merciful.
Back in the military, Coleman had a reputation. His mates nicked him 'One Bullet'. That was because he never wasted time to bring down an enemy. With one bullet, he'd ended many lives. With one bullet each, he'd scored significant victories for his infantry. And with one bullet, he'd take out his father's killer.
One bullet. Straight to the cranium.
After feeding the dog an extravagant ration, Coleman took a chair and sat outside watching the dog come alive. First, he started with easy steps. Then, it jumped around, running after imaginary objects and stopping to see if Coleman would come.
He wouldn't. He was too busy planning his next action with his mind.
Four hours later, he still hadn't decided what he would do about Bennett's call. The man had sounded worried. Because he hadn't seen him face to face, Coleman couldn't tell if he was pretending or being real.
When Coleman met with the coroner, he'd listened as the man explained the nitty-gritty of heart attacks. Coleman would believe if he didn't know a thing or two about killing.
He wasn't smart, whoever had done the hit. Any other person would have missed it. Not Coleman. He saw the lines just above the Adam apple on Hamilton's corpse.
Coleman had once witnessed something similar. The unfortunate victim had been an infiltrator who wouldn't cower to interrogation. Not wanting to draw blood, the officer had used a string, less than a millimeter thick. With enough pressure, any man's windpipe would give in.
However, they'd hidden the mark with a bit of makeup, just enough to cover up their actions. Coleman's duty had been to stand guard, watching the door.
The dead rat who'd done the job had to be an amateur, one that would follow the same route soon.
Coleman released his hand. He'd clench it as he thought about the meeting with the coroner. He thought to go back to the man and ask him questions. He'd decided against doing that because he knew he'd put the man in trouble by so doing. Whoever had set up the coroner lie would have eyes on him and would want to ensure compliance.
They could have eyes around.
No. Instead, he would find another opening.
Coleman watched the dog again. He was now lying down, panting as he faced Coleman like something was exciting about this human's face.
The dog was clean and devoid of lice. Hamilton was deserving of praise for how he'd taken care of the dog. Coleman doubted he'd be able to do the same. He couldn't even keep a small cubicle clean and orderly. In contrast, Hamilton had a thing for neatness. Coleman found all his clothes pressed and arranged like the old man had been expecting an inspection. White sleeves came before black. Red followed. Then, blue. This attention to detail followed through to his shorts and slacks. Even his socks and handkerchiefs were arranged by their color.
Only the books were scattered.
That meant he must have been at the table before he met his end.
If Coleman reasoned better, if he hadn't been struck with an anxiety attack, he would have instructed the police when they called that the murder scene should be untouched. They'd wiped everywhere clean before he'd returned.
If the murderer had been stupid to leave clues, they were gone before Coleman arrived.
Still, he was going to find the truth. He would bring justice for Hamilton even if it cost him his life.
Part of him was liking the new resolve. Having a course to keep him busy was good. It would give him less time to worry about Rachel.
Rachel was number two on the list. Unless she's was somehow involved in this case.
Otherwise, he'd finished the murderer off before going for her. She'd blown out the flame in his life. Why shouldn't he do the same to her?
The dog took off again. Coleman wondered if dogs had fast ingestion. Had he gotten all that strength from the food he'd eaten just moments ago?
Coleman never realized Bruno had too much energy.
The dog went towards the end of the fence. He came bandying back with something in its snout.
Coleman stood when he saw it. He walked away from the balcony and headed towards the dog.
Bruno stood, looking straight into Coleman's eyes. He beckoned on the dog to come forward towards him. Either the dog didn't understand or he didn't want to oblige.
Coleman beckoned again. The dog ignored.
Then, Coleman took a step towards him. Immediately, then dog took off, running like a ghost pursued.
Coleman took the place of the imaginary ghost, pursuing the dog around his parked car and into the lawn. At last, Coleman stopped to catch his breath. The dog stopped before coming back.
Coleman patted his head before retrieving the handkerchief.
It was covered in mud and dog spittle. Yet, that wasn't what bothered Coleman.
The handkerchief was pink.
Pink had been Hamilton's least favorite color.

2

When morning came, Coleman was ready. The first point of call was his father’s room.
Although the memories would awaken with every picture, every shirt reminding him of the one he’d lost, Coleman knew without an iota of doubt that the room would provide the first evidence he needed.
And he didn’t have to look too far.
Upon entering the room, it jumped at him, like a white ball in a sea of reds.
The books.
Hamilton had an aversion for books. He’d once told Coleman that if the only job left in the world took do was to teach, he’d die of starvation. And he’d meant it.
However, books now littered the room, on the table, chair, dresser, and even the closet.
If Hamilton did this many studies, it was for a good reason.
Coleman thought back to the many times he’d wanted to speak with his father during the last few days before he went to be with Rachel. The older man had ignored his call which was very much unlike the man Coleman knew.
Something had been eating him up. Now, it was Coleman’s responsibility to find out what I was.
Coleman switched on the bedside lamp to have a better look at the book on the bedside cupboard. It was a book about decoding mysteries. Coleman couldn’t understand what his dad would want to decode. He worked in a shoe factory that paid him well. What mystery was he trying to find?
Coleman delved into the book, looking first at the content. Nothing there made any sense. Coleman wondered how his father had gone through the books when he couldn’t even go through a normal picture book filed with exciting images.
The man had to have struck something serious. Something he shouldn’t know.
What could it be?
Coleman regretted having not asked too much about his father’s company. The few times they’d talked on the phone while he was in the military, it had all about his work, the fight they were having. His assignments. He’d never once thought to ask history father how the company was going.
Selfish bastard.
Now, he would have to pay by going through the arduous task of discovering much about the company.
Who would he talk to?
A lone ranger, Coleman never cared for friends. Friends brought too much trouble with them and Coleman liked to live a life devoid of eccentricities. If the world could leave him alone with so much cash, he would buy up an island far away in the Caribbean and live the rest of his life in isolation like a monk.
Coleman walked towards his father’s table. He’d never once seen a book on it. Now, there was barely space to put his large hands.
He used his forearm to push them aside.
Become an undercover detective in five days.
That title caught his attention before the others.
“What fuckery?”

Had Hamilton discovered a secret agency if some sort?
That he would need to investigate something without coming to his son who’d be in the best position to help troubled Coleman.
Why had he wanted to do it alone?
Coleman turned towards the small trash can in the room. It was the type that worked with a pedal at the foot. Coleman got up from the chair and headed towards it. He flipped I open and saw tons of crumpled paper inside.
Hamilton had crumpled some papers so well they couldn’t be redeemed. However, he opened one up after a careful try.
It was some time map.
Factory takes break 11:00
Workers rest and refresh for 30 minutes
Manager leaves the premise by 11:40
Trident...
"Trident does what?" Coleman asked
Gosh. Coleman had never seen worse handwriting than his father’s. He had to rewire his brain circuit repeatedly to bring up certain letters and register them as the letters his father had been trying to write.
Yet, no matter how he tried, he couldn’t understand the next words Hamilton had been trying to write.
Who was Trident?
What was important about him?
It was the only name his father had written rough. It was illegible. Also, around the name were several dots. Coleman imagined his father poking on the name, no doubt in thoughts.
That man would have a pivotal role to play. Coleman was sure of that. He just needed to know who he was.
Now, how would that happen?
Coleman looked around. He’d seen the card before. The electronic card required for entry into RAYMOND FOOTWEAR.
His dad had usually kept it on the table. Now, it wasn’t there.
Who he’d taken it?
Before the burial, Coleman had never entered this room. He’d been afraid to face the many memories they would come flooding down his mind.
Someone had taken advantage of that.
Had used his negligence to have access to the room. And Coleman wouldn’t know if they had accessed the room because he didn’t know how his dad had left it.
All of this was because he was Rachel. She’d had caused everything.
Coleman sat down on the chair again. A new strain I thought was forming. He’d never associated Rachel with any of this before, not in this way.
What if she was an accomplice? What I’d she’d been doing planted all along on him to get to his father?
No. That wasn’t it. He and Rachel had been together for three years. Had they involved her, he would have sniffed it out of her. Rachel wasn’t that smart.
Maybe it was a few weeks ago. Or right before the breakup. Maybe, they’d waylaid her, had threatened her with deathly or something. It was possible. Rachel could have loved him but not so much as her life. Otherwise, how could she have gone from ‘madly in love’ to ‘I no longer want you’ within a few days?
She was in the middle.
“Damn!” Coleman said, his hand cupping on his head.
He dipped his hand into his pocket and brought out his phone.
Her number was no longer there. In the heat of anger, he’d deleted it.
It had been a new number, one he’d bought for her and had privately registered. So, there was no way to get to her.
Facebook.
She was a sucker for the social media platform. Coleman could bet it was on Facebook she’d met her new catch.
Yes. Catch. That was how he saw her. She was a hoe. Just two days after the breakup, he’d seen her story, a picture with a bald-headed idiot. Who knows? She could have been playing the game behind his back, all those times he’d been away on assignments.
Bitch.
“I’ll get her,” Coleman muttered with gritted teeth. First, he needed to play it cool.
She was online.
He sent her a message.
“Hi, Rachel.”
She didn’t reply even though he could see she’d read it.
Coleman waited. Three minutes past and she hadn’t replied. He sent another one.
“I know I’m not supposed to message you. However, it’s something important and I need to talk to you as soon as possible. Call me. Will you?”
Coleman waited.
When another five minutes past, he got up angrily and made to throw the phone against the wall. However, the phone began ringing.
Quickly, he pressed his thumb against the finger sensor.
However, it was a male voice.
“Hello, is that Coleman?”
Coleman hesitated.
“Hello. Are you there?”
Coleman sighed and answered. “You’re speaking with Coleman. Who are you?”
“I’m Bennett Woods. I was friends with your dad.”
Coleman hesitated again.
“You don’t know me? Didn’t your father ever mention my name?”
Coleman’s reply was cold. “No.”
“Look, I’m sorry for having to mention his name. I know you must still feel all the pains seeing as he only just died. I just wanted to reach out to you. I want you to know I’ll be here for you if you need anything. You can always talk to me. This is my number.”
“Okay,” Coleman said.
The phone went dead and Coleman dropped to the chair again.
How would he know when he’d never spent quality time with his father?
Bowing his head on the table.
He cried aloud as he’d never done since back when was a child when his mother died.

1

Coleman John Hamilton drove his Chevrolet down the road. At this time of the day, traffic was very slow. So he didn’t have to think about the other drivers and all that he was hindering them from getting to their destination. Thoughts of recent happenings completely took over his mind.
Coleman was once a very happy man. Straight out of the military, he’d met the love of his life and it’s seemed things were off to the right place. Their promised land.
Little did he know that Rachel had news for him.
He’d loved Rachel and thought she did the same too. He’d wanted to propose when he’d set the meeting with her. However, she spilled her guts first. She’d revealed that she was going away. Coleman couldn’t tell where things went wrong. As much as he could remember, they’d been on the right track.
Like a gun barrel pointed to the throat and blasted away, Coleman felt wasted. He hadn’t been able to deal with it. Here he was, three days after, still unable to stop himself from thinking about her. The worst thing was that she hadn’t come up with a good excuse. She said she couldn’t be with a man who had so much blood on his hands.
That might seem like a credible excuse. However, when he’d asked her once, three years prior, she said she liked him because he was bold and could look danger in the face and not flinch.
Doesn’t looking darkness in the face mean you’d also have to slap her?
And, no. He didn’t just feminize danger. He’d merely been reechoing his father’s words.
Rachel just wanted to go. Case closed.
She broke his heart and left without giving him a chance.
Coleman thought he’d been a fool. They’d deceived him too easily. For someone who’d just come out of the military, he ought to have seen it. He shouldn’t have been so easily deceived.
“Damn, I’m a fool,” Coleman said, banging the steering.
He’d even taken Rachel to see his father, and his father had liked her.
No.
The old man hadn’t. Not totally. After she left, he’d pulled Coleman, taking him under a big bear stronghold, and made him sit on the sofa.
Then, he’d spoken heartily, telling Coleman what he liked about the new girl. And what he didn’t like very much.
Yet, Coleman had so blinded by the fluttery butterflies of love that was the first sign of every relationship ready to hit the walls.
How could he have forgotten that his father had said Rachel looked like someone who could dig for gold just for the fun of it?
“Damn you, old man,” Coleman said, banging the steering again, drawing concerned looks from cars driving by.
Why hadn’t the old man just said it as one word? Maybe he would have taken notice more if he’d just said it that way?
Now, the tears were streaming down.
Hamilton had been right. Too right.
He pulled over to the side of the road and turned off the ignition. There, he sobbed uncontrollably. If only he’d seen the signs. Maybe he wouldn’t be so foolish.
Coleman wiped his teary eyes with the back of his hand and looked up towards the front mirror. His eyes looked excruciatingly reddened.
“You will fix this,” he told the guy in the mirror.
In the military, they had taught him to always go back to the beginning to trace the problem from its roots.
Yes. It was from the three-day vacation. Everything had gone south from that one event.
It was from those three days, maybe the third that they took away the one person he cared for the most.
To Mr. Hamilton, his son just needed to take three days off to clear his head and to strategize for his future. For Coleman however, it was to be the weekend that would change his life forever.
He’d wanted to propose to Rachel.
Little did he know that fate would blow everything away from within his reach.
With that opening, the bastards had taken his father away.
They wouldn’t have gotten the chance. They wouldn’t.
No one would dare attempt murder in the presence of the US most crazily skilled personnel.
They’d planned it well.
Maybe they even had the house taped. Surely, that had to be how they’d known he was leaving town.
Or was Rachel the mole?
No. She couldn’t. She was too chicken-hearted, the very trait that had piqued his attention.
“Fool,” he whispered into the mirror. “That’s why you will fix this. Your mistake. Your cleanup.”
Coleman turned on the ignition and turned back into the road. A ten minutes journey became an easy five. No, four with some change to spare. He’d wiggled through traffic like a crack head high on methamphetamine. Yet, he’d known his way. Maybe he could become the new Transporter in town, but that would have to wait until he put paid to this one.
He would sleep first. Then, when he was awake, he’d begin what he hoped would be the short journey towards discovering the truth in finding justice for his old man.
He would avenge Pa Hamilton. By God, he would.
Finally, he arrived home. Climbing the stairs, he headed straight upstairs. The moment his head hit the pillow, he lost consciousness. As fast as when overdosed with a full dart of tranquilizer.
His dream was at first peaceful. However, within fifteen minutes, the images blurred out.
A bloodied one came up instead.
The man who was no longer his father appeared with bloodstains all over his shirt. Coleman watched in horror like a late-night zombie film was in.
The dream toppled his senses, had him believing the old man was still alive.
“Dad. Is that you?”
Then, he looked down to see his father’s hand stained with blood.
“Did you cut yourself?” he asked.
Hamilton didn’t say a word. Coleman saw the answer for himself—a bullet hole.
He rushed to his father but the old man stopped him with a raised hand. “It’s too, Coleman.” He gasped for breath. “The bullet cut through my lungs.”
“How would you know that, dad?” Coleman asked.
“The doctor said it,” the man replied.
Coleman turned around today see a doctor that wasn’t there before. He, too, had blood on his hands. Dark circles stood beneath his eyes, deep sadness dulling his features.
Hamilton dropped to his knees and Coleman turned back to face him. “Take care, Coleman. You must avenge. Please promise me.”
Coleman dropped to his knees. “Dad, don’t go. Please.”
Hamilton held his hands. “Promise me, son.”
“I promise, dad. Please...”
His body went limp, giving up the ghost. Coleman shook his body repeatedly, but that was the last of him.
He was shaking all over when he woke up. Coleman careened out of bed, heading straight for the cabinet in the bathroom. There, he took a shot of Diazepam.
He backed off to the wall as his breathing slowly steadied.
He shut his eyes, willing the memories to go. Yet, they wouldn’t.
Coleman sighed, disposed of the syringe and went to make himself some marmalade.
He knew what he had to do. He would begin now but it wasn’t daylight yet.
The iron was still hot. He would strike; cut it to pieces before it had the chance to cool off.

12


There was so much information from just the few pages she had translated. It turned out that each combination of words and letters had meant to replace a particular letter in the alphabet. She wondered how her dad had come up with such a brilliant idea. But, the words she read weren't pleasant to her eyes.
She could sense the fear from the pages. Her dad had been afraid that something was wrong and was coming to take him. He talked about the Volvex triangle. She wondered what it must have been.
“Volvex isn't what I first thought it was. My soul grieves for the thing I once saw as my salvation has become my impending doom. Darkness lines the sacred edges and its clippers wait, to cleave my wings should I try to fly. I can't stop and I can't get out. I'm too far gone.”
Tasmine wondered who she could ask for more clarification. She hadn't exactly been open to Mr. Dumebi and so she wasn't expecting help from that direction. Mr. Harold? This would be tough.
She had also found a necklace which had a locket shaped like a star, in the trinket. It looked familiar. She must have seen it before. She took it and decided she would be on the lookout for anyone who had a similar necklace.
Monday came, and it was her first day of work in this new place. She had gone to the boutique and had bought some lovely clothes with the wardrobe allowance they had given her. She hadn't brought in most of her clothes from the States, having no thoughts she would need them.
Tasmine arrived work early. A skinny looking lady greeted her, the full lips she kept pouting highlighted with a tinge of pink. She did her hair in a fashion that made her features sharp. She had a smile on. It was the type that being a secretary required. Tasmine couldn't tell if the smile was genuine or something that she had to put on every time a customer came up.
“Good morning miss…” Tasmine greeted, stalling because she didn’t know the lady’s name. She however had a smile of her own.
“Miss Venus.”
“That's a very good name.”
She noticed the flush in the lady's cheek. “I will show you to your office immediately.”
She led Tasmine up the stairs. Hers was the first office on the second floor. From up there, she could see the parking lot.
“I will be downstairs should you want anything,” Venus said as she turned to go.
“Oh. One more thing,” the lady turned to face her.
“I need to know Mr. Dumebi's office.”
“It's the last one,” Venus pointed down the same floor they stood. She wondered if it was a coincidence that they should see each other. He might have kept her here so he could watch over her every move. As general manager, he was head of her department -- sales. She would have to find a way to deal with him if he came poking his nose now and then.
She excused the secretary and got inside her office. Modestly fashioned, the office came with good leather seats cover covered with rich black upholstery for visitors and hers was a grey beauty with a moveable arm rest. She gathered her stuff and arranged them on the table. It wasn't long before she heard the phone ring. It was the secretary notifying her of the briefing with Mr. Dumebi. They were to gather at the mustering point.
Tasmine quickly tidied herself before heading down the stairs. She needed to look her best in front of her new colleagues. She made her way to the mustering point where she saw the workers gathering. She joined them in waiting feeling a little nervous. In a few minutes, Mr. Dumebi came in with Curtis following behind him.

annayawchee:
Nice one boss

7


Detention wasn't as dull as many people rumored. Mr. Lapwing seemed a good man. At least he didn't allow Vince to help with fitting in the books back to their shelves.
For the first one hour of detention, he kept giving useful bits of information that made the three hours worthwhile.
Spending detention at the library was a plus, something the teacher hadn't thought would benefit Vince. He got the chance to interview Mr. Lapwing for nothing in return. The man preferred Vince just stayed there, doing nothing, only watching as he took care of the library.
“Mr. Lapwing, what do you think about everything that's been going on in the school for a while? Do you think there have been some irregularities, or is it just me?”
“I wouldn't really know what you're talking about, Vince. Usually, the school has a lot of these occurrences. Nothing abnormal.”
“And there's been nothing that seems off to you? For instance, the library now sees more students coming in to read. This, I imagine, wasn't so much like this in the past.”
“I don't know how you would know that, but that's the truth. When I came here at first, I was understudy librarian number one. In the library, you scarcely had up to ten people at any given time. Now, things have changed. But they have been so long that now it seems normal. I don't know why you should just be noticing it.”
“That's because I'm just coming to the school, “Vince said.
A blatant lie. However, Mr. Lapwing didn't know and wouldn't care much to find the truth.
“What do you say your name is again?”
“Vince. Vince Lance.”
“Doesn't ring any bell. This would only mean that you aren't well known, not overly intelligent, or not so troublesome. I would know people from those categories. Tell you what son, it's always better to keep your head low and to focus on your studies. And get out of here with as little hiccups as possible. That's my two cents.”
Vince nodded. “Thank you, sir.”
He wasn't faking it. Vince was grateful for the discussion. He wished he could have more talks with the man. Maybe he could help him with some information he sought.
“What do you think about Mr. Lance?”
It was alarming to see the change in the man's visage. His face folded into a frown quickly. Now, he peered down into a book, acting like he hadn't heard.
Vince asked a second time.
“Mr. Lapwing, what do you think about Mr. Lance?”
“Huh?”
“Mr. Lance, the former principal.”
“What about him?” He didn't look up from the book.
“How well do you know him?”
He put the book down and idly rubbed his palms together. “Well, I wouldn't say I knew him very much. He and I did not get along well.”
Another lie. Vince knew Mr. Lance visited the library very often during his time, had even made donations from his own pocket to get more books for the library. No way would he not have a relationship with Mr. Lance.
Mr. Lapwing was hiding secrets, things he didn't want Vince to find out.
Vince played along. “I understand. Not everyone likes books, right?
“Right.”
“It's somewhat confusing. I can't seem to figure. Word has it that you and he were pretty close. They even said you used to spend a lot of time together in the past, discussing things, especially in writing spells, and all that.”
“Where did you hear that from?”
Vince shrugged. “A little here. A little there.”
“You see, we didn't get along well, but I respected his love for books. I had good connections to get books, and he liked that, used me to get quite some titles.”
“Oh!”
“Yes. Besides, I wasn't lead librarian then. We had many. I rarely ever attended to him as he preferred to talk to the others, especially females.”
“Totally misconstrued,” Vince said, pretended to be shocked.
“I never really liked him that much, you know. He was all shades of trouble. From the first time I saw him, I knew he had a lot of damage in him.”
“And look how he's gone missing. Months have passed, and no hope of seeing him again.”
“I sometimes feel sorry for him. Despite all the damming things that have gone on about him, you'll find he had a good heart. Maybe he didn't really show that part very well.”
“Only you say that,” Vince chipped in.
“Yes. Because a lot of people don't know him, people who are not open to such good news.”
Mr. Lapwing drew closer. “I believe his apparent disappearance would have been no fault of his. What we should all be doing at this point is praying for him to be safe wherever he is, not going around spreading rumors and trying to beat dead cows.”
Vince would say 'dead horse' but didn't know how the man would react to correction.
“When you said dead cows, do you mean like he's dead?” Vince asked.
“You're trying to draw it out of my mouth, boy. Don't think I'm not intelligent enough to know that. I never once said Mr. Lance could be dead. I was only using a figurative expression. You want my advice? Let bygones be bygones. Don't go about chasing shadows. You might be surprised to know what lurks in the dark. Be careful, young man.”
“Alright. I'm going to be careful. I have my own ideas about reality and what will happen. It's the idea I'm working on.”
Mr. Lapwing nodded.
Vince continued. “I'm not going to stop until I've have gotten some solid information.”
“Then, you better be careful, young man. Be careful and watch your back.”
“Thanks for the warning,” Vince said, glancing at his wristwatch and discovering detention was over.
Even as he walked out of the library, he could sense the librarian's eyes were boring holes on his back.
Vince was going to take his words. He was going to watch his back.

6


Vince risked getting an accident. He could injure someone if he didn't observe caution.
It had been a week since Vince last spoke to Mrs. Mantel, promising to do everything in his power to look for Crayon. So far, he hadn't gotten to any milestone. Because of this, he'd been avoiding catching the woman's eyes whenever they were at dinner or taking nightly breeze outside the house. He tried as much as possible to avoid starting a conversation with her that will lead to that area. He didn't want to disappoint the woman. It was good to see she was finally coming out of her shell to interact with them. He didn't want to break her heart by telling her he had made no headway.
Vince's mind came back to the present after the flash of thoughts. He had an issue here. There were no second chances to succeed. The first chance you get, you take it.
The other boy, Nathan, had his hands spread out, preparing for the attack. A vicious look colored his pudgy face.
Vince smiled. From the look of things, he wouldn't be the one making the first move, just the way he liked it.
Like a lion, he would wait, carefully watching the Nathan, his prey, learning his movement, when and where to pounce and win the duel.
The duel had been Mr. Venture's idea. It was one of the practical classes Vince didn't enjoy attending. The issue he had was that with the things going on, his emotions were unstable.
Unstable visions are the recipe for a false start. Dangerous ones.
“Weaken your opponent,” Mr. Venture had said. “Do it clean, and I don't want any games. Is that understood?”
The boys nodded. Nathan had his dentition displayed, smiling like a simpleton.
This guy thinks he will win a duel against me, Vince thought.
How outrageous!
The truth, Vince knew, was that he was no match. Not the least bit. No one in the school was as good as he was in sparring. This was something he had been learning quite a lot before getting caught in the Outworld. Coming back here, he'd quickly come to realize that no one could match up to his ability. Even back then, he had already been scored a reputation as one of the best in one-on-one duels.
What made this guy think he could be better?
“On the count of three, you begin. One. Two-”
Nathan didn't allow the third to come before he launched his spell at Vince.
“Duriantis!”
The surprise attack caught Vince off guard. He was flung back, down, and hard on the floor. This attracted a lot of wild grins and laughter from the other classmates, especially the ladies. Vince couldn't hide his hurt. His bottom hurt like someone had clobbered him with a hammer.
Vince looked to the teacher, but there was a look of defiance. It had been a clear breach of the rules. However, the teacher made no attempt to call the bluff.
Was that the way he wanted it?
Vince got up, shook off the dust. He was ready to repay the gesture.
Nathan's friends continued cheering him on. Clearly, no one thought what he did was wrong.
Vince could bet everyone would be counting on Nathan to win now.
“That's one to nothing,” the teacher said. “Remember, the person with the highest wins of three attempts wins this set.”
“Alright,” Vince murmured, taking a stance. This time, all of his attention was on the boy.
The teacher counted. “One. Two-”
Before it got to the third ring, Vince acted.
“Draco Miazin!”
Spells, like spikes, shot out of Vince's hand. They went straight for his unsuspecting opponent. The boy got crumpled into a ball-like form. He got pushed back with so much force, he couldn't stop himself. It took him outside the classroom, through the door, and down the staircase.
Everyone stopped. Vince couldn't understand their reaction.
Aren't you guys going to give me the applause?
Vince's face was all red in seconds. This was clearly wrong. It was cheating.
Nobody moved. Not even the teacher. Vince didn't expect that reaction from them. If they'd clapped for Nathan, they should be on their feet throwing encomium. Instead, they stood looking at him like they'd been mummified.
There was nothing wrong. Absolutely. Nothing different from what Nathan did. He had simply modified Nathan's approach.
“What was that for?” the teacher asked, enraged.
Vince looked stupefied. “What?”
“Don't even give me that. Don't you dare it.”
The man's anger was clearly visible. His wrath only added to his lackluster appearance. His nose was red all over and shook his finger, pointing at Vince.
“That wasn't what I said at the beginning. Was it? I told you both to play it square. You outright disobeyed my orders.”
“Huh, what I did was wrong, but what Nathan did wasn't?”
“I know you won't feel remorse. But, you have detention. You will spend the rest of the day in detention, and you will offer staffing service. Any more of this attitude and you will get thrown out, never to return. Do you understand?
Vince kept his eyes low - anger, not allowing him to meet the teacher's gaze - and nodded. “Yes. I understand.”
That said, the teacher ran out to meet with Nathan. The chap was holding his back, as though he'd been hit repeatedly with a baton. Blood, crimson thick, oozed from the back of his head. Vince predicted he would need serious medical attention. He'd be out for some days, at least.
Vince couldn't understand why the boy had taken the hit that bad. He hadn't even used force. As he'd sent the spell out, he'd meant to get the boy down on the floor, the same way it happened to him. Then, they would have been ready for the real deal.
What he didn't expect was the escalation of the effort. He didn't expect that he'd been charged with anger. He had taken it on the boy. Now, he regretted trying revenge.
Nathan, helped by three students, was taken to the school's clinic.
Vince noticed there'd been a change ever since the new principal came into power. It seemed things were now working against him.
As Vince packed up his backpack to go, he could only think about the four hours ahead. He’d never gotten detention at the library. Those who had said it was a pain in the ass.
There was only one positive, something he could take as a good thing. He would get to spend time with Mr. Lapwing. The man had information, and Vince knew he wouldn't feel out of place there.

annayawchee:
Seen thanks.

I downloaded epub reader!!

Thanks

OluwabuqqyYOLO:
Pabon, this is becoming interesting.

5

Mrs. Mantel lay in bed all day. She didn't heed any plea to have some food. As the days went by, she got leaner, and her isolation was already taking a toll on her.
“Mrs. Mantel, you can’t continue like this,” Vince said one morning when he got into her room.
Mrs. Mantel didn't even look up. She was awake all right but just stared at the ceiling.
“It is not the end of the world. Be strong for your son. I know you're going through a lot at the moment. It is very understandable. However, you cannot continue punishing yourself like this. What happened wasn’t your fault. You weren’t in your best state of mind. There’s only so much you could have done. You need to stop beating yourself. You need to eat something.”
“Vince, I know you care about me,” she answered at last, much to Vince’s contained excitement, “but I don't want to deceive me. My life is gone. Look at me,” she said, pointing down at her body. “I’m not getting any younger. Terrible things keep happening to me. All my life has been full of sorrows. It's been one disappointment to the other.”
She wiped the tear that rolled down her eyes. “I lost my husband. Then my boy. Now, my life is in shambles.”
“There's hope yet, mum. Don't think Crayon is lost. I believe, strongly, that he is alive somewhere. I feel that things are going to change. I promise you I will do everything in my ability to look for Crayon.”
“Really?”
“Yes. I will put all the elements I possess to good use. Also, I have found some others in school, intelligent friends. They will join me in the search. I'm confident we can do a good job. We will stop at nothing to bring Crayon back.”
“Again, thank you for your concern for my son. However, I don't want you to be. It’s been weeks since his disappearance. What hope is there?”
“Don't be like this, Mrs. Mantel. Crayon is a strong guy. I believe that wherever he is, he is safe or trying to be. What we need is to cook up a plan to get him back to you. I'm confident we can bring him back.”
“I hope so. I really hope so.”
“Everything will be alright,” Vince said, checking her temperature. She looked weak, but her body was warm. “What would you like to eat? I can cook something or have one of the ladies do so.”
She smiled. “Maybe some other time. But when it's my first time to taste food after several days, I'd better not eat anything you prepare. I'd rather not eat anything.”
Vince chuckled at Mrs. Mantel’s attempted humor. She was coming back to herself. “I'm not that bad. See, I have greatly improved. You need to try out some of my new dishes to believe.”
“Whatever, but please, let someone else do the cooking.”
Vince got up and headed for the door. He hadn’t expected to be this successful persuading the woman. Yet, he had done it.
The truth, though, was that he didn’t have anyone else to rely upon to help search for Crayon. He had said that to encourage the woman. However, he meant it when he said he was going to help get Crayon back. Whatever it would take, he was ready to pay the price.
Vince went straight to meet Thelma. She was now occupying the room that Mrs. Mantel shared with the former principal. Crayon's mother had said she couldn't bear to stay in the place as it brought back so many memories she would rather forget. Thelma liked the room. It was the only one available for her use, after all.
He found her engrossed in some novel. It was just like he remembered. Thelma would sit on the edge of her bed, sometimes late into the night, reading one of those romantic books. These love stories never attracted Vince. He loved reality and not some made-up stuff to tickle readers’ fancy.
Although he would love his sister to keep reading, he needed her to cook.
Mabel was another option, but he'd eaten foods cooked by either lady, and he found Thelma's better. It came as a surprise seeing as she'd never been allowed to do any cooking at the palace.
Black and burnt. That was the name of the book. “What is it about?”
Smiling, Thelma looked up. “It’s about Jones, a black American who goes through hell to be with the woman he loves. I'm almost done. I'll tell you all about it when I finish.”
“Thanks. But, no, thanks. I can do without all these made-up romance. What I want you to do is to cook something.”
“You’d have to do it yourself, Vince,” Thelma said, returning to her love tales. “I should have known you didn’t have something more serious to say when you walked in. Go and cook yourself.”
“I can’t. I’m not doing this for myself. Mrs. Mantel has finally agreed to take something. She needs good food, not something made by me.”
“Oh, so you are admitting your culinary skills are next to nothing?”
“I didn’t say so. She just doesn’t want to eat my food.”
“Shouldn't that tell you something?”
“No. It doesn't. Look, are you doing it or not?”
“Have you asked Mabel?”
“No. I prefer your food.”
She blushed. “It’s just that this book would become less interesting next time I come to it.”
“It won’t. That’s if it was interesting in the first place.”
“Alright then, professor. I will cook the food if it makes you stop talking trash about my book.
“I’m not talking again.”
Thelma folded the page where she had stopped. She got up and headed for the door.
“Wait. Come to think of it. I’m your big sister. You should know there is a limit to what I’m willing to do for you.”
“I understand. Now, will you get going?”
“You’re not ordering me out. Are you?”
“Please…Satisfied now?”
Thelma pouted and headed out to the kitchen. Vince took the book up. He peered at the back page, hoping to read something interesting. Thelma came into the room at that moment.
“Not interested. Right? Yet, you can’t wait a minute to read it.”
“I just wanted to see the synopsis.”
“Liar,” Thelma said, poking Vince’s head before running away.
Vince ran after her, pursuing her into the kitchen.

4.


When Thelma woke up again, Vince was there. And although she still exhibited signs of her madness, he managed to get her to listen to him.
He’d explained how that Mabel had jumbled Thelma’s memories to protect them from her. His sister hadn’t taken it easy, threatening to wipe Mabel from the surface of the earth. Still, he’d managed to get her to sit down without throwing things around.
When they began talking, Vince was thrilled. It was a moment of epiphany.
Getting to sit and talk to his elder sister was the best thing he could have wished. Her memories were coming back now. The potions he had carefully prepared -and forced down her throat as she slept- were beginning to take effect.
Vince told her how glad he was to see her. He told her he wanted to know everything, from how she had been captured to where she went and why Thelma looked like she'd aged twenty years ahead.
“You won’t believe what happened to me even if I told you.”
“Try me,” Vince said, nudging her onwards. His patience these days sat on a thin line. Yet, he would wait. Besides, this was Thelma, his beloved sister. Hearing her voice was giving him goosebumps. It was just the way he remembered it, even though she was still a little shaken.
Thelma gave an account of what happened the years she was away. Vince shook his head. He sighed and laughed and cried at times.
“I was taken away by three masked men. They took me to a safe house somewhere outside of Pongash. There, I was put through all manner of stuff you can’t imagine. I went through most of these things without food.”
“Say what?”
Thelma smiled. “Yeah. That’s how they wanted it. They had their reasons for only giving me solid food once in two days. They wanted to erase it from my mind that I was a princess.”
“Did they succeed?”
“Pretty much. They did.”
“Damn.”
“They did it, for a while. When I came out, I was willing to stay out of that place. I mean anything. Slave, whoring, even killing.”
“Oh, dear. That's so bad.”
“That’s why I said you couldn’t imagine the horrible things I went through. What haven’t I done to survive? They wouldn't have it any other way.”
“What are the things you talking about here?”
“Do you really want to hear the details?”
“Yes,” Vince replied, not stopping to consider.
“Let it slide.”
“Trust me, no matter how bad a person you might have been, I can handle it. I promise I won't judge you, no matter what.
“Okay, then,” she said, looking into his eyes. Vince thought the trust could be seen there.
“I killed. Lots of people. Like a freaking hell lot of people. I killed men, women, and even deleted kids.”
Vince struggled to hide the surprise in his eyes. These were the sort of things he wouldn't even believe in his dreams, let alone coming from his sister.
She continued. “You can’t imagine, Vince. That was the only way I could get going. It’s the only way I could survive. I watched as a lot of people got killed before me because of their refusal to obey the instructions. I didn't want to die, Vince.”
She was sobbing now. Vince took her trembling hands. He brought her head to lean on his shoulder and stroked her hair.
“I can understand, Mabel.”
“Can you, really?” she asked, bringing her head to look into his eyes. “Ever killed someone before? Have you had blood splatter across your face, your clothes, and having to deal with the smell, the torment they brought?”
Vince hesitated. He lowered her head to his shoulder again. Vince’s voice came out disjointed when he spoke. “Well, a lot of things have happened to me too. I may have killed one or two persons.”
Thelma turned to look at Vince, her eyes bulging. “Are you kidding me? You've done that?”
Vince nodded.
“When?” Her voice came out excited. She was intrigued that she didn’t have to share the guilt alone, interested in what Vince had to say.
But he wasn’t. He didn’t want the discussion to be about him. He still needed a lot of clarification on stuff that happened to her.
“I’d rather not tell, Thelma,” Vince said, his voice conveying his mind.
Thelma didn’t push it. She’d changed from the girl that would have poked and probed for more, Vince observed.
He looked at, catching her eyes and smiling. “I want to hear more about you.
“Why? None of these things are interesting.”
“Are you kidding me? You have stories that everyone would want to hear.”
Thelma fiddled with a thread on her skirt. “Well, maybe that’s true. What do you want to hear specifically?”
“Everything.”
“Maybe after I hear something about you?”
She hadn’t lost all of it then.
“Mine’s been boring. I ran away. Came here with an arrow protruding from my back. I met the lovely Mrs. Mantel. She may not seem like it now, but she was delightful, as sweet and kind as mum was.”
“I see.”
“Yeah. Then, there was a prophecy. It said I have an uncommon destiny.”
Thelma smiled. “They said that to me too.”
“Does any of that relate to killing your own brother?”
Thelma frowned. “Don't make fun out of it, Vince. It's a sensitive issue.”
“Sorry.”
She shifted. “I think differently after the prophecy, yours anyway.”
“You do.”
“Yes. I have seen the scroll. Powerful stuff. However, I think most of it is untrue. Or misinterpreted. They do it intentionally. They are looking for a way to put an end to your part of the prophecies so they could get the powers for themselves.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Of course, I am. I’ve thought about it over and over and over and over again. The only rational explanation is that there's something wrong.”
“You’re right, Thelma.”
“Of course, I'm right. Haven't you noticed it? People want to put you down so badly, they want to get rid of you. I read the prophecy. A lot of it isn't right. There's a lot that happened to you that doesn’t align.”
“I wish I could have seen the Prophecy for myself.”
“Not really, you don’t. I will tell you all about it as we go on. Flirting with this prophecy will get you killed faster. And, there is stuff there that would make you shudder and want to give up your life before they come true. You don't want to see those, Vince. Horrible things have been said will happen to you.”
“Seriously speaking?”
Thelma nodded.
Vince was mortified. That was putting it mildly. Already, he was beginning to have fear. It was all the more reason he needed to read the scroll. He was going to find a way to do that somehow. But for now, listening to Thelma was the only thing he wanted to do.

annayawchee:
I sent another mail

annayawchee:
I sent a mail

Stay safe bro!