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Olawunmiabeni22:
Thank God �

tollyboy5:
Happy birthday !

Fejimummy:
I have a feeling that this story is over

Rosemary33:
Chapter 45

He knew his chi had wanted him to recover all he’d lost. Who said sacrifices don't work? Barely a day after his arduous journey to the forbidden forest of Okija, and it seemed as if the gods had suddenly awoken in his favor. Didn’t the priest tell him that there would be a sign which would confirm the acceptance of his sacrifice?

This was it.

“Where is my money?” He gritted.

Mezie saw colour evaporate from her face, warmth flew faster than dry season rain on the tarmac from her eyes, replaced with horror of recognition. Her lips quivered as she tried to mutter his name without success. Whatever was remaining of the air in her miserable lungs got stuck in her throat.

“Onye Oshi. Thief. Where is my money?” He barked, not minding the eyes staring at them, the side comments. However, he knew he had to tread carefully as it would be easy to tag him as a rapist or an abusive husband by on-lookers if he makes a single mistake.

As if reading his mind, Nwanneka backed away, “Which money? Am I owing you?”

Anumpama. She wants to play games ehn? Well, he wasn’t going to be a coward and miss this opportunity of getting even.

“Nwanneka, I am not joking. Where is the money you collected from my house!”

“See me oh, I am not owning this man.” She gestured to the onlookers, “He took me in for a job, till day break and he refused to pay. I only collected what he owed me and left, that was it o.”

“Egbe elu gbachipugi nti, mad girl. Who did you sleep with till day break? You heartless, wicked witch.”

Burning rage hissed through his body like deadly poison. Screeching a demanded release in the form of unwanted violence. He had not laid his hands on anyone for some time now and by God, he would want nothing else than to get his hands on her neck and squeeze until she snapped.

“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Nwanneka retorted. Shrugging off his hand and made to slide into the crowd and disappear.

He would not allow that. Not when it was obvious that his chi had brought his enemy to him for recompense. Fury swept off him like ferocious waves, his unholy excitement ran through his body like a second blood.

He pushed his way through the crowd to get to the lady matching off in a hurry. Amidst side talks and mocking laughter, he gave her an equal pursuit, determined to squeeze his money out of her by all means or kill her at the spot, he increased his pace as she increased hers.

Wrath consumed him, clogging his mind. He was lost in the moment and the prison his brain was in. He was blinded by a five-course serving of rage that tasted bitter, yet so satisfying. He was getting close. If luck was by his side, he would catch up with her and punch her until she would cringe from her reflection on the mirror.

She ran across the road and he followed.

He the gods want to kill; they first make deaf- literally.

Every scream, every shout for him to turn back turned into buzzes in his ears. Something stronger was pulling him- propelling him to keep running after the woman, all of a sudden, he couldn’t see her, couldn’t see anything at all. He couldn’t feel his legs on the tared road- yet he was moving, floating like a leaf in harmattan.

He was not on the road anymore. He was back in his compound, scooping sand into a bottle. The hooting owl was there, a shadow was casted before him- an unusual creature, dark naked figure with leaves around his loin, with an offor in his right hand, the figure’s cold glassy eyes casted steely on him- piercing him like a dagger.

What am I doing in this place?

Who was this ghastly ethereal buffy being? And why had the little owl turned into a monstrous bird with a hideous shrill?

“Chukwumezie, son of Anaeto. The gods had given their verdict.”

He was dreaming in broad daylight. Oria iba, that must be it. He had to treat himself of malaria- but first, he had to wake up from this dark place.

The trance disappeared as fast as it came. That was when he saw the SUV running with a full speed towards him, looking around he realized he was at the center of the road. His legs rooted to the ground as if held by unseen forces.

As the SUV drew closer, the muffled voices became louder. It was too late for him, he was on the ground in a matter of seconds. The pain that once burnt like fire faded away so fast to an icy numbness, the only thing he could feel was his own heartbeat and the movement of his eyeballs.

His breath came in ragged, shallow gasp. Then he started hearing voices, people swam over him, trying to help him up. In his state, he wanted to laugh at their ignorance of the realm that had controlled what happened to him. He felt for them for trying to help whom his chi had condemned.

It was over for him.

His only prayer was that the angel of death would take his life faster and ease his depressed spirit. He closed his eyes and submitted to the darkness that still hovered.

There was one problem- death was taking so much time.

*
For once, he was grateful that Okoye had his personal number.

Odogwu, what kind of rain is falling in your house? I saw your woman running like one whose house was raided by soldier ants and had her dress filled with them, down the valley, towards ‘Mmiri Ele.’ Is it that the barber doesn’t know how to barb or the clipper is blunt?

The call had come when he was about leaving for the police station for the third time that day, not at all in the mood for the man’s eulogies which always end in one financial demand or the other- not that he was complaining, in fact, he had consciously included the man in his monthly payroll.

Only that he was not ready to speak to anyone who wouldn’t give him any meaningful suggestion how he could find Akwaugo and his daughter.

Two hours later and he was trotting down the part that led to the river. thanks to his newly acquired private jet and to Femi Otedola who’d succeeded in convincing him that he needed one.

She was nowhere around the river bank. He flashed his touch from his phone around, called out her name so loud that he feared the spirit of the dead would hear and come for him in the lonely place. He was greeted by the sound of his rebounded voice.

A sudden rustling in the bush startled him. He turned, only to see a turtle retiring into the bush through a narrow path, without thinking twice, he followed. By day, it wasn’t so difficult to walk through the path that led to the shrine, but as darkness had descended- walking through same road which was intertwined with thick tree roots became disheartening and scary, soft wet sand swallowed his sandals- his feet with them, each time he made a step.

The path at his feet faded as it led him into the thicker darkness of the forest, yet following it he must for the sake of Akwaugo and his daughter. Somewhere in there- she awaits him, even without being told, something in the giant roots and leaves seemed to convince him.

The gentle spirits he couldn’t see but felt like a cold breeze made him feel that the answer he’d been looking for concerning his union with Akwaugo would be found here. All he had to do was to open his senses to sounds, to scents and listen carefully to every instinct.

The path led him to the shrine of Edo.

She was there, lay on her side with the bundle firmly secured beside her. At first, he thought she was dead and had panicked, as he drew closer, he heard the whizzing of her ragged breath and the sound of her jittering teeth.

“Akwaugo.”

She didn’t stir.

He squatted and shook her roughly, “Akwaugo.”

She groaned, turned her head and stared into his face. her eyes had frozen over like the surface of a winter puddle, rubbing them of their usual warmth. He meant to get the baby off her arms but she held her closer to her chest, glaring at him as if he was an enemy.

One look at the baby and he knew there was nothing left of her. His Ola was gone for a reason he was yet to find out. Agony clogged his throat, dejection and defeat descended on him like the darkness that was around them. Once again, he felt the ugly claws of grief upon his shoulder- a grief worse than what he felt when he watched his first wife give up on that hospital bed many years ago.

Yet he couldn’t cry. Akwaugo mustn’t see his tears, it would break her more.

The baby cracked a sound.
������ Aunty Rose much respect you deserve on this masterpiece I take my hat off for you

Inkopere:
No fex o (vex) ......why quote the whole update without saying anything, even if you want to say something, must you quote everything?