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The agent checked his watch. "My capitaine is waiting, sir."
Langdon barely heard him. His eyes were still riveted on the picture. "This symbol here, and the way his body is so oddly..."
"Positioned?" the agent offered.
Langdon nodded, feeling a chill as he looked up. "I can't imagine who would do this to someone."
The agent looked grim. "You don't understand, Mr. Langdon. What you see in this photograph..." He paused. "Monsieur Sauniere did that to himself."
CHAPTER 2
One mile away, the hulking albino named Silas limped through the front gate of the luxurious brownstone residence on Rue La Bruyere. The spiked cilice belt that he wore around his thigh cut into his flesh, and yet his soul sang with satisfaction of service to the Lord.
Pain is good.
His red eyes scanned the lobby as he entered the residence. Empty. He climbed the stairs quietly, not wanting to awaken any of his fellow numeraries. His bedroom door was open; locks were forbidden here. He entered, closing the door behind him.
The room was spartan - hardwood floors, a pine dresser, a canvas mat in the corner that served as his bed. He was a visitor here this week, and yet for many years he had been blessed with a similar sanctuary in New York City.
The Lord has provided me shelter and purpose in my life.
Tonight, at last, Silas felt he had begun to repay his debt. Hurrying to the dresser, he found the cell phone hidden in his bottom drawer and placed a call.
"Yes?" a male voice answered. "Teacher, I have returned." "Speak," the voice commanded, sounding pleased to hear from him.
"All four are gone. The three senechaux...and the Grand Master himself."
There was a momentary pause, as if for prayer. "Then I assume you have the information?" "All four concurred. Independently." "And you believed them?"
"Their agreement was too great for coincidence."
An excited breath. "Excellent. I had feared the brotherhood's reputation for secrecy might prevail." "The prospect of death is strong motivation." "So, my pupil, tell me what I must know."
Silas knew the information he had gleaned from his victims would come as a shock. "Teacher, all four confirmed the existence of the clef de voute...the legendary keystone."
He heard a quick intake of breath over the phone and could feel the Teacher's excitement. "The keystone.Exactly as we suspected."
According to lore, the brotherhood had created a map of stone - a clef de voute...or keystone - an engraved tablet that revealed the final resting place of the brotherhood's greatest secret... information so powerful that its protection was the reason for the brotherhood's very existence. "When we possess the keystone," the Teacher said," we will be only one step away." "We are closer than you think. The keystone is here in Paris." "Paris? Incredible. It is almost too easy." Silas relayed the earlier events of the evening... how all four of his victims, moments before death, had desperately tried to buy back their godless lives by telling their secret. Each had told Silas the exact same thing - that the keystone was ingeniously hidden at a precise location inside one of Paris's ancient churches - the Eglise de Saint-Sulpice.
"Inside a house of the Lord," the Teacher exclaimed. "How they mock us!" "As they have for centuries." The Teacher fell silent, as if letting the triumph of this moment settle over him. Finally, he spoke. "You have done a great service to God. We have waited centuries for this. You must retrieve the stone for me. Immediately. Tonight. You understand the stakes."
Silas knew the stakes were incalculable, and yet what the Teacher was now commanding seemed impossible. "But the church, it is a fortress. Especially at night. How will I enter?"
With the confident tone of a man of enormous influence, the Teacher explained what was to be done.
When Silas hung up the phone, his skin tingled with anticipation.
One hour, he told himself, grateful that the Teacher had given him time to carry out the necessary penance before entering a house of God. I must purge my soul of today's sins.The sins committed today had been holy in purpose. Acts of war against the enemies of God had been committed for centuries. Forgiveness was assured.
Even so, Silas knew, absolution required sacrifice.
Pulling his shades, he stripped naked and knelt in the center of his room. Looking down, he examined the spiked cilice belt clamped around his thigh. All true followers of The Way wore this device - a leather strap, studded with sharp metal barbs that cut into the flesh as a perpetual reminder of Christ's suffering. The pain caused by the device also helped counteract the desires of the flesh.
Although Silas already had worn his cilice today longer than the requisite two hours, he knew today was no ordinary day. Grasping the buckle, he cinched it one notch tighter, wincing as the barbs dug deeper into his flesh. Exhaling slowly, he savored the cleansing ritual of his pain.
Pain is good, Silas whispered, repeating the sacred mantra of Father Josemaria Escriva - the Teacher of all Teachers. Although Escriva had died in 1975, his wisdom lived on, his words still whispered by thousands of faithful servants around the globe as they knelt on the floor and performed the sacred practice known as" corporal mortification."
Silas turned his attention now to a heavy knotted rope coiled neatly on the floor beside him. TheDiscipline. The knots were caked with dried blood. Eager for the purifying effects of his own agony, Silas said a quick prayer. Then, gripping one end of the rope, he closed his eyes and swung it hard over his shoulder, feeling the knots slap against his back. He whipped it over his shoulder again, slashing at his flesh. Again and again, he lashed.
Castigo corpus meum.
Finally, he felt the blood begin to flow.

to be continued

CHAPTER 1
Robert Langdon awoke slowly.
A telephone was ringing in the darkness - a tinny, unfamiliar ring. He fumbled for the bedside lamp and turned it on. Squinting at his surroundings he saw a plush Renaissance bedroom with Louis XVI furniture, hand-frescoed walls, and a colossal mahogany four-poster bed.
Where the hell am I?
The jacquard bathrobe hanging on his bedpost bore the monogram: HOTEL RITZ PARIS.
Slowly, the fog began to lift.
Langdon picked up the receiver. "Hello?"
"Monsieur Langdon?" a man's voice said. "I hope I have not awoken you?"
Dazed, Langdon looked at the bedside clock. It was 12:32 A. M. He had been asleep only an hour, but he felt like the dead.
"This is the concierge, monsieur. I apologize for this intrusion, but you have a visitor. He insists it is urgent."
Langdon still felt fuzzy. A visitor? His eyes focused now on a crumpled flyer on his bedside table.
THE AMERICAN UNIVERSITY OF PARIS
proudly presents
AN EVENING WITH ROBERT LANGDON
PROFESSOR OF RELIGIOUS SYMBOLOGY, HARVARD UNIVERSITY
Langdon groaned. Tonight's lecture - a slide show about pagan symbolism hidden in the stones of Chartres Cathedral - had probably ruffled some conservative feathers in the audience. Most likely, some religious scholar had trailed him home to pick a fight. "I'm sorry," Langdon said, "but I'm very tired and - " "Mais, monsieur,"the concierge pressed, lowering his voice to an urgent whisper. "Your guest is an important man."
Langdon had little doubt. His books on religious paintings and cult symbology had made him a reluctant celebrity in the art world, and last year Langdon's visibility had increased a hundred fold after his involvement in a widely publicized incident at the Vatican. Since then, the stream of self- important historians and art buffs arriving at his door had seemed never-ending.
"If you would be so kind," Langdon said, doing his best to remain polite," could you take the man's name and number, and tell him I'll try to call him before I leave Paris on Tuesday? Thank you." He hung up before the concierge could protest.
Sitting up now, Langdon frowned at his bedside Guest Relations Handbook, whose cover boasted: SLEEP LIKE A BABY IN THE CITY OF LIGHTS. SLUMBER AT THE PARIS RITZ. He turned and gazed tiredly into the full-length mirror across the room. The man staring back at him was a stranger - tousled and weary.
You need a vacation, Robert.
The past year had taken a heavy toll on him, but he didn't appreciate seeing proof in the mirror. His usually sharp blue eyes looked hazy and drawn tonight. A dark stubble was shrouding his strong jaw and dimpled chin. Around his temples, the gray highlights were advancing, making their way deeper into his thicket of coarse black hair. Although his female colleagues insisted the gray only accentuated his bookish appeal, Langdon knew better.
If Boston Magazine could see me now.
Last month, much to Langdon's embarrassment, Boston Magazine had listed him as one of that city's top ten most intriguing people - a dubious honor that made him the brunt of endless ribbing by his Harvard colleagues. Tonight, three thousand miles from home, the accolade had resurfaced to haunt him at the lecture he had given.
"Ladies and gentlemen..." the hostess had announced to a full house at the American University of Paris's Pavilion Dauphine," Our guest tonight needs no introduction. He is the author of numerous books: The Symbology of Secret Sects, The An of the Illuminati, The Lost Language of Ideograms, and when I say he wrote the book on Religious Iconology, I mean that quite literally. Many of you use his textbooks in class."
The students in the crowd nodded enthusiastically.
"I had planned to introduce him tonight by sharing his impressive curriculum vitae. However..." She glanced playfully at Langdon, who was seated onstage. "An audience member has just handed me a far more, shall we say... intriguing introduction." She held up a copy of Boston Magazine. Langdon cringed. Where the hell did she get that?
The hostess began reading choice excerpts from the inane article, and Langdon felt himself sinking lower and lower in his chair. Thirty seconds later, the crowd was grinning, and the woman showed no signs of letting up. "And Mr. Langdon's refusal to speak publicly about his unusual role in last year's Vatican conclave certainly wins him points on our intrigue-o-meter." The hostess goaded the crowd. "Would you like to hear more?"
The crowd applauded.
Somebody stop her, Langdon pleaded as she dove into the article again.
"Although Professor Langdon might not be considered hunk-handsome like some of our younger awardees, this forty-something academic has more than his share of scholarly allure. His captivating presence is punctuated by an unusually low, baritone speaking voice, which his female students describe as 'chocolate for the ears.'
The hall erupted in laughter.
Langdon forced an awkward smile. He knew what came next - some ridiculous line about" Harrison Ford in Harris tweed" - and because this evening he had figured it was finally safe again to wear his Harris tweed and Burberry turtleneck, he decided to take action.
"Thank you, Monique," Langdon said, standing prematurely and edging her away from the podium. "Boston Magazine clearly has a gift for fiction." He turned to the audience with an embarrassed sigh. "And if I find which one of you provided that article, I'll have the consulate deport you."
The crowd laughed.
"Well, folks, as you all know, I'm here tonight to talk about the power of symbols ..."
The ringing of Langdon's hotel phone once again broke the silence.
Groaning in disbelief, he picked up. "Yes?"
As expected, it was the concierge. "Mr. Langdon, again my apologies. I am calling to inform you that your guest is now en route to your room. I thought I should alert you."
Langdon was wide awake now. "You sent someone to my room?"
"I apologize, monsieur, but a man like this... I cannot presume the authority to stop him." "Who exactly is he?" But the concierge was gone.
Almost immediately, a heavy fist pounded on Langdon's door.
Uncertain, Langdon slid off the bed, feeling his toes sink deep into the savonniere carpet. He donned the hotel bathrobe and moved toward the door. "Who is it?"
"Mr. Langdon? I need to speak with you." The man's English was accented - a sharp, authoritative bark. "My name is Lieutenant Jerome Collet. Direction Centrale Police Judiciaire."
Langdon paused. The Judicial Police? The DCPJ was the rough equivalent of the U. S. FBI.
Leaving the security chain in place, Langdon opened the door a few inches. The face staring back at him was thin and washed out. The man was exceptionally lean, dressed in an official-looking blue uniform.
"May I come in?" the agent asked.
Langdon hesitated, feeling uncertain as the stranger's sallow eyes studied him. "What is this all about?"
"My capitaine requires your expertise in a private matter." "Now?" Langdon managed. "It's after midnight." "Am I correct that you were scheduled to meet with the curator of the Louvre this evening?"
Langdon felt a sudden surge of uneasiness. He and the revered curator Jacques Sauniere had been slated to meet for drinks after Langdon's lecture tonight, but Sauniere had never shown up. "Yes. How did you know that?"
"We found your name in his daily planner."
"I trust nothing is wrong?"
The agent gave a dire sigh and slid a Polaroid snapshot through the narrow opening in the door. When Langdon saw the photo, his entire body went rigid." This photo was taken less than an hour ago. Inside the Louvre."
As Langdon stared at the bizarre image, his initial revulsion and shock gave way to a sudden upwelling of anger. "Who would do this!"
"We had hoped that you might help us answer that very question, considering your knowledge in symbology and your plans to meet with him."
Langdon stared at the picture, his horror now laced with fear. The image was gruesome and profoundly strange, bringing with it an unsettling sense of deja vu. A little over a year ago, Langdon had received a photograph of a corpse and a similar request for help. Twenty-four hours later, he had almost lost his life inside Vatican City. This photo was entirely different, and yet something about the scenario felt disquietingly familiar.

to be continued..

WITH PERMISSION

Prologue

Renowned curator Jacques Sauniere staggered through the vaulted archway of

the museum's Grand Gallery. He lunged for the nearest painting he could see, a

Caravaggio. Grabbing the gilded frame, the seventy-six-year-old man heaved the

masterpiece toward himself until it tore from the wall and Sauniere collapsed

backward in a heap beneath the canvas.
As he had anticipated, a thundering iron

gate fell nearby, barricading the entrance to the suite. The parquet floor shook. Far off, an alarm began to ring.


The curator lay a moment, gasping for breath, taking stock. I am still alive.

He crawled out from under the canvas and scanned the cavernous space for someplace to hide.


A voice spoke, chillingly close. "Do not move."
On his hands and knees, the curator froze, turning his head slowly.


Only fifteen feet away, outside the sealed gate, the mountainous silhouette of his attacker stared through the iron bars.

He was broad and tall, with ghost-pale skin and thinning white hair. His irises were pink with dark red pupils. The albino drew a pistol from his coat and aimed the barrel through the bars, directly at the curator.

"You should not have run." His accent was not easy to place. "Now tell me where it is."
"I told you already," the curator stammered, kneeling defenseless on the floor of the gallery.

"I have no idea what you are talking about!"
"You are lying." The man stared at him, perfectly immobile except for the glint in his ghostly eyes.

"You and your brethren possess something that is not yours."


The curator felt a surge of adrenaline. How could he possibly know this?
"Tonight the rightful guardians will be restored.

Tell me where it is hidden, and you will live." The man leveled his gun at the curator's head.

"Is it a secret you will die for?"
Sauniere could not breathe.

The man tilted his head, peering down the barrel of his gun.

Sauniere held up his hands in defense. "Wait," he said slowly. "I will tell you what you need to know." The curator spoke his next words carefully.

The lie he told was one he had rehearsed many times... each time praying he would never have to use it.


When the curator had finished speaking, his assailant smiled smugly. "Yes. This is exactly what the others told me."

Sauniere recoiled. The others?
"I found them, too," the huge man taunted. "All three of them. They confirmed what you have just said."

It cannot be! The curator's true identity, along with the identities of his three senechaux, was almost as sacred as the ancient secret they protected.

Sauniere now realized his senechaux, following strict procedure, had told the same lie before their own deaths. It was part of the protocol.


The attacker aimed his gun again. "When you are gone, I will be the only one who knows the truth."


The truth.In an instant, the curator grasped the true horror of the situation. If I die, the truth will be lost forever.Instinctively, he tried to scramble for cover.


The gun roared, and the curator felt a searing heat as the bullet lodged in his stomach. He fell forward... struggling against the pain. Slowly, Sauniere rolled over and stared back through the bars at his attacker.


The man was now taking dead aim at Sauniere's head.
Sauniere closed his eyes, his thoughts a swirling tempest of fear and regret. The click of an empty chamber echoed through the corridor.

The curator's eyes flew open.
The man glanced down at his weapon, looking almost amused. He reached for a second clip, but then seemed to reconsider, smirking calmly at Sauniere's gut. "My work here is done."


The curator looked down and saw the bullet hole in his white linen shirt. It was framed by a small circle of blood a few inches below his breastbone.

My stomach.Almost cruelly, the bullet had missed his heart. As a veteran of la Guerre d'Algerie, the curator had witnessed this horribly drawn-out death before.

For fifteen minutes, he would survive as his stomach acids seeped into his chest cavity, slowly poisoning him from within.


"Pain is good, monsieur," the man said. Then he was gone. Alone now, Jacques Sauniere turned his gaze again to the iron gate.

He was trapped, and the doors could not be reopened for at least twenty minutes.

By the time anyone got to him, he would be dead. Even so, the fear that now gripped him was a fear far greater than that of his own death.


I must pass on the secret.
Staggering to his feet, he pictured his three murdered brethren.

He thought of the generations who had come before them... of the mission with which they had all been entrusted.
An unbroken chain of knowledge.


Suddenly, now, despite all the precautions... despite all the fail-safes... Jacques Sauniere was the only remaining link, the sole guardian of one of the most powerful secrets ever kept.


Shivering, he pulled himself to his feet.
I must find some way... .
He was trapped inside the Grand Gallery, and there existed only one person on earth to whom he could pass the torch.

Sauniere gazed up at the walls of his opulent prison. A collection of the world's most famous paintings seemed to smile down on him like old friends.


Wincing in pain, he summoned all of his faculties and strength. The desperate task before him, he knew, would require every remaining second of his life.


to be continued..

sorry for the late update again ...
I was a problem with they anti spam bot again I was banned from posting even though I kept to the rules

No matter how we kill...


No matter how people die and no matter how we alter they course of nature..

I felt that we were allowed to do what we do...

I felt like as if somebody unknown was allowing us somebody from nowhere...

The hospital door of my room creaked open ..

the image on the mirror disappeared..

who is there ? I asked with fierceness...

Mathew !........... Mathew!
where are you?



my sister voice called..

I came out from the toilet and hugged her I really missed her...

my sister : How are you feeling now??..

me: am fine I really missed you?..

my sister: me too..
me: where is mom?.....

my sister:she is in the hotel sleeping..she has been here tireless for almost two months waiting for you to wake up..

we thought we lost you...

me: I never thought I will see they light of day
again...

my sister: she looked at my hand. "the handcuff is off ..how did you remo---"

me: its just some tricks I learnt in school..
I removed a wire and showed her...

my sister:put it back ..the military were sent here to monitor you ..
they where given order

to gun you down if you attempt escape..

me:what??..
Head ache hit me hard... that I felt thorough pain in my head...

my sister: the court case was suspended until you recover ..
the brother of the deceased lady sent four force men ...

they are international agents they were sent to accompany us during the time we lost hope of your survival in Nigeria..

Daddy suspected that a bounty has been put on your head so..

he paid Indian experienced police to guide you..

they are all outside now.....

how did she die-- I mean why are they pointing hands at you as a murderer..
is it just because they found her in your room?..

me: sis am confused also... I did not kill her.

my sis: we have been hiding from the press for long because this your case..
might ruin daddy's carrier of being the senate president..

me: don't worry sister I will deal with them all when I get out..

my sis: hmmm??.. how will you do that..
she said with a questioning look...

me: * I cut her short* emm!! how are you getting over with your loss?.

my sis: my "councillor" said that I will be okay..
and really I feel pretty much fine now..

me: how about his family??..
did you go for his burial??..

my sis: I went to the burial...
the dad cried a lot. dad came to the burial..
but mom could not leave you alone so she insisted on coming here with you...

the dad welcomed us warmly and consoled me he said that I will find another love
that will make me happy..

I ---iii* she started sobbing *

me: I curdled her and petted her..her cry did not touch me at all I felt like drinking blood and killing somebody .


and the first person I had in mind was Rachael's brother , followed by her boyfriend..

my sis:I had a dream about you she said after wiping her teary face.....

me: tell me...

my sis: I saw you in the midst of bad people...
they covered your face with a black mask..

then I saw some ladies ...I think they were two attending to you..

they were inscribing some numbers on your arm and fore head..

I don't know what they dream meant but
junior abstain yours self from bad friends
and ladies...

and don't ever join any secret association...

me: hmmm... I heard you ..
its just a dream so don't worry...

my sis: ok the doctor ramith said that you will be discharged tomorrow..

the force agent will be coming in to check on you so better put back that thing...

mom will be coming tomorrow.. to check on you.....

we hugged and then she left...

In my mind I was like : so she's suspecting me of killing her fiancee ..

"hmm she should better mind her business ok

or else I will deal with her.".

there was food on the table I was really hungry so I ate it..

it was a mixture of diets..

Indian corn, with oiled and roasted beef.

an Indian food green in colour and round like a ball was on the white table there ..

I don't know the name but it tasted good...

some grapes ,apples,scraped pineapples,
lemon,and varieties of berries..
even tomatoes...
the table was decorated with flowers..

I ate like a hungry lion and devoured almost 75 percent of the contents on the table..

I felt full and climbed back to the bed I refused to handcuff my self again..

they door opened again this time it was a man who from my observation of him

looked like a soldier...
he came straight to my bed seeing me sitting up and slapped me...

how did you remove this he asked fiercely?

I took my eyes to the hand cuff and looked at him again ..

smiled and continued looking..

this time I recited a spell of "redirection"...

he came and slapped me again instead of me shouting he was the one that shrieked and shouted..

he was amazed by what just happened he decided to give me a blow..

As he launched the blow.. the blow went back to him spiritually...

that's redirection ..blood started dripping from his nose as he knelt down and started pleading that I should spare..

because this time I spiritually started strangling him..

after that incident I brought him back to normal and started controlling him with my mind...

he was trapped already. and would die in his sleep .

he went out of the room...

Immediately they Door closed
immediately the door opened again...

a female wearing white lab coat barged in..

it was Christy...

she did not even talk to me ..

she just came and started sucking me like as if I was missing for long...yeah I was..

they kiss was hot...that I had to respond back to the kiss..

I started sucking her.. it wasn't long before she started moaning and going for my joystick..

the green hospital clothe I was wearing was easy to pull of so I just pulled it off..

revealing my erected joystick....

I did as she taught me I removed her hands from my thing..

and then went for her clothes she was dressing corporate...

white fitted packet shirt with black suit skirt..
she was a perfect sexy being..

I removed the lab coat dropped it on the floor followed by..

by unbottening her shirt in a rapid motion..

now she was facing me with her black bra and panties..

I removed the bra!..

Christy: you didn't lock the door...

I looked around the room and I could see white CCTV cameras..

as if she read my thought...

"all those things you did to that man were not captured by the camera"...

though I was relieved but I wasn't afraid..

she waved her hand

the door locked itself....

hope what we are doing now is not also captured?? I asked...

yeah!... mmm I really wanna feel you in me I have been handling her blossom while conversing..

I wasn't good at sucking but I was surprised when she went down took my joystick and swallowed it all..

the pleasure it gave me was more than that of Rachael ...

after that we engulfed in kiss..


I entered her hard that she screamed..
I grabbed her mouth and kissed her..

you entered to early I hope you last she said while moaning..

I started pumping her until she had her first orgasm..
second
then as usual I cummed inside her...

we laid breathing hard..
.
I did not remove her panties all...

she slid them back and started dressing again..

am on night shift she said...
.
why did you leave Nigeria without telling me ?? I asked ...no response..

I commanded again with a powerful voice ..

I was on a mission but I failed... she responded finally..

I looked at her ...spiritually ...her profile laid bare...

"she was sent to a crusade to cause mass destruction in India.

but she rejected it ..

when she was forced to do it..
she left with anger..

she did not succeed.. with the operation...

she's in the hospital to suck blood.. now"

..

she finished dressing and left..

I saw some clothes on the table on the other side of the bed ..

and decided to take a shower..
..

am already done I wiped my body..
and changed into a chinos trouser and a white t-shirt..

I laid on the bed ..

a feeling to ease my self came again and then I knew that someone was calling.


I went into the toilet immediately..

they mirror was shining...

it was My queen...
..

queen: you are to kill your sister she is a threat to our kingdom..
she said harshly..

me: your wish is my command
instead of being sad I was happy..


to be continue...

[b]Is it every time the girl have sex that she will feel pain and bleed..
gee..
make it more realistic..
and in this conversation it looks like as if
the conversation went well..
but they dad...
manner of talking is to strong..
he talked to Miranda as if she was
his secret mistress


::::::::::::::"Me:dad, I have a friend who has been wishing to
see your face. The friend is right here with me.(I looked at Miranda she was also teary in the eyes
she could feel our pain. She looked surprised
because of what I said).
Dad: tell me its your boyfriend.
Me:oh come on dad you didn’t send me here to
flirt Dad:okay. Let her talk to me (Miranda was now
on)
Miranda:good day Sir
Dad:good day to you also how are you doing?
Miranda: I am fine Sir thanks to Milly here
Dad:oh she has always been like that so kind and sweet. So what’s your name?
Miranda:my name is Miranda
Dad:what a nice name. It was good knowing you
and seeing your beautiful face. Take care of Mt
daughter for me.
Miranda:I will sir Dad:thank you. What a lovely person you are. Its
my pleasure speaking.
Miranda:thank you sir for your time.."

damn its homosexual imagining Miranda kissing.. the other lady[/b]

Omo the story is getting interesting but the one more interesting...

Is the love play between "roladiva(feminine)" and "cyber 5(masculine)" ..
its really getting my attention....

Emm--- cyber5
how did you know that ---..

na she call you tell you say she no well?..[I]

ok forget I just remembered that technology
plays a major role in love play...love making

Hope say no be heart break the worry you

ROLADIVA??..

AND

please continue the story..

em -- cyber5 she can send the story through you..
since you both are now unofficially "hubby" and

"wifey" ...

If you want [i]A NAIRALAND grand online wedding..
you can inform me...


so that I will come and organize the thing you know...

just loving the story keep it up...

"Speaking of preying on those weaker than you, I have an interest in your … patient."
"You and many others." Wynn removed his shoes and sat nearby, uneasy but unwilling to show it. Deities did not summon formerly dead-dead Immortals to them without a compelling reason.
"Vengeance is a strong motivator, even for me," Fate began. "I am curious,
doctor , did you know she would come to you or did you stumble upon her?"
"You know the answer," Wynn said. "Let's not play games with one another today. I cannot possibly have anything you want."
"I monitor and balance potential outcomes and free will. There's room for curiosity about the motivations of others," Fate said.
Wynn met the deity's gaze, which flickered between all the colors in the universe. He'd met Fate once. It was impossible to forget Fate or Death or any other deity once one crossed their paths or to deny that such creatures not only existed, but played a game no one else understood or had a chance of winning. Wynn didn't like being out of control, at the mercy of one he couldn't predict or manipulate.
"For example, before you ran into her in the mortal world, there was a ninety seven percent chance you would've killed her the first time you met. Now, there's less than a one percent chance," Fate continued. "You've gone so far as to eliminate some of the enemies who likewise stumbled across her."
to be continued

olumose001,lorelife ,morelaa,dredinho thanks for following me up on this story..

I tried moving but my hand was tied to the frame that formed a U shape on the bed I was lying on it was ..hand cuffed..

Doctors rushed in to check on me something like a peg ..
was put on my index finger..
which was connected to a white machine
near my bed side..

I was wearing a green coloured oversized clothes..

and syringes were were all over my body

dripping liquid entering my body through the

syringe put in my hand and chest...

my visions were blurred..

were are my ??..
how long have I been here ?

I kept on asking the doctors..

they continued telling me that I will be fine..

They called it a miracle that I recovered as I heard them speak to themselves..

they said that I bled a lot.

I asked them again were are my?..

no response. they kept on checking my eyeballs, my ears..and then the brought

a machine that looked like an x ray machine...

and slid it through me..

this is truly a miracle one of the doctors exclaimed.

we thought we would lose you... one of the doctors spoke to me with an Indian accent..

I could not see his face very well cause my visions were blurred...

please where are my?..

where is my mom

where is my brother..

and why are my on hand cuffs..

One of the four of the doctors who did not speak through out I did not even think was there..

spoke up ..
her voice was feminine and familiar ..

you will be well soon "boo"..

you are in India..

they flied you out last month when your situation Got worse.
you started bleeding internally...

and your body system changed ..

we concluded with the symptoms that it was

"Lassa fever" but we ran a test on you
and found no fault in your system..

you got admitted in a hospital in Nigeria from they
cell you were in
but things got worse you were transported from one hospital to another

until the only opinion remaining for your survival..

was to ship you out of the country..

all your family members are here but they are in a hotel ...
here in

amri-star India...

me: *i was feeling intense headache *how long have I been here?..

three months..the voice that resembled that of Christy responded .

she spoke in american accent..

that I did not understand but there was a way she flexed her English that I always understand....

and she had this feminine husky sexy voice that is a killer...

she called me boo..
meaning that she know me somewhere

or maybe one of the doctors fell for me or what....
doctors don't address people that way

I could not see her clearly..
everybody looked the same to me at that point..

there face were distorted...

they doctors finished and told me that I need to have some rest and that I am not seeing well cause the part of my brain that controlled sight is still intoxicated..

I got a whole lot confused..

..
me: please where is the female doctor that spoke to me some minutes ago.. I want to speak to her..

the doctor responded with an Indian accent..

she will see you soon....

they gave me a medicine to cool me down cause I became a talkative..
I slept of after being injected with a sedative..

in the evening of that same day I woke up..
.
this time I could see ..

I wanted to urinate badly..
cause the pipe which they put
directly to my joystick when I was still

unconscious was already removed...
.
I stood up to go and urinate but the handcuff drew me back.

I got angry and cast some spells and touched

the hand cuffs , it unlocked it self..

I entered a bathroom there and urinated..
there was a mirror there
which got my attention..

cause an image appeared on the mirror

like TV...

and started speaking to another person on the mirror..

I was amazed..
then the two creatures that earlier appeared disappeared ..

the mirror turned dark in the white light
in the room..

then a beast appeared on the mirror ..

they beast had horns and two protruded sharp teeth...

then the same beast turned into a Buffalo with three horns..

two at the left and right side of the head and

one at the frontal part of the ear...
..
I swallowed in amazement as it transformed back to a human being with no clothes ..

naked with wings..
like that of a raven...

it was thorough handsome but..
it wasn't a male or a female..

that was what my inner spirit was telling me inside..

the urine that was busy disturbing me since i woke up disappeared..

I am "KUMAR"..
the ruler of pinda world... the image on the mirror proclaimed..


to be continued..

Wynn didn't do what was right in this life or the last, unless it benefited him directly. He wanted her. It didn't matter if she felt the same or if she had someone else.
One minute, Dr. Wynn was headed back towards Deidre's exam room. The next, his foot sank into sand. Fluorescent lighting overhead morphed to an expansive blue sky and brilliant sunlight that made him squint. The air-conditioned hospital corridor gave way to the balmy heat of the Caribbean island on which he stood. He glanced down at the expensive loafers that now contained tiny grains of sand he'd never be able to flush out of the seams.
"Where might you be going?" a warm voice asked from behind him.
Wynn was still for a long moment. It was not every day he was summoned by a deity. Reincarnation left his power stunted and him far less brash in how he used what remained.
"You do not normally demean yourself by talking to someone as lowly as I am," he replied, turning.
Barefooted and relaxed, Fate flashed a wide smile. His brown hair was tousled from the ocean breeze, and he was dressed in jeans and a loose shirt fastened across the golden skin of his chest by one button.
"A doctor this time around?"
"It's an honorable trade," Wynn replied.
"An honorable trade for a man with no honor," Fate said.
"Better than preying on the free will of humans."

to be continued...

Bottle of wine in one hand, Deidre retreated to her bedroom to pack. She caught her reflection in the mirror and admired her hair. Naturally white-blonde, she'd dyed it pink on a whim last weekend. Logan hated it, but she loved it.
She drank straight from the bottle as she moved around the room, gathering and piling clothing into a small suitcase. She left out the shirt bearing Logan's initials as he requested then glared at it.
"Sorry, Logan," she told the shirt. "We're through after this weekend. I got too many things on my bucket list."
Deidre wiped away more tears and went to her messy desk, where a red-covered notebook sat on a pile of paper. She opened it and reviewed the to-do list of things she wanted to experience before she died. Some of them were crossed out. Most were not. She added yet another item to the growing queue.
Dump Logan. Her attention lingered on it for a moment before she wrote one more.
Ask Wynn to dinner.
Satisfied, she closed the notebook. The end of her life started this weekend. She was going to enjoy it, no matter what.
*****
Dr. Wynn stood in the middle of his office. His heart was pounding harder than ever. Deidre's tears burned through his shirt to his skin, and he couldn't dismiss the expression on her face from his thoughts. She'd made a decision in front of him, one that warned him this might be his last chance to reveal his secret. He'd wanted to tell her not to go to the beach with Logan, to spend the weekend with him instead of some stupid human that had no idea how to appreciate a woman like her. He walked away, because it was the right thing to do.

to be continued...

Like me. She grinned at the thought.
Taking pity on the sad flowers, she bought a bunch before continuing on her journey home. She commiserated with the brown-tinged blossoms left behind by other customers who didn't want to be so close to death. The petals were like silk, their scent strong and sweet.
"You're still beautiful to me," she told them. "Logan won't agree. What a jerk. Maybe you all can go with me to the beach and we'll leave him at home."
Entertained by her pep talk with the flowers, Deidre reached her towering apartment building a short time later and paused to collect the mail. Her gaze fell to the envelope from South Peachtree Mortuary Services. She'd bought her casket months ago and was on a payment plan. Holding the bill made her hands sweat and her heart beat faster. She wanted to burn or shred the sign of her impending demise. How many twenty-six-year-olds planned their own funerals?
"Don't worry, flowers," she murmured as she entered the elevator. "We've got a better plan, right?"
The other occupant of the elevator glanced at her. She smiled and shoved the bill into her purse. She could pay it this month or put the three hundred dollars towards a one-way ticket to wherever she wanted to be when she died.
She liked the latter plan much better.
The apartment was quiet when she entered a few minutes later. She tossed her keys on the counter and set down the flowers. She dug out the envelope from the funeral home and tore it in half. The sight of it lying in two pieces was gratifying. Unable to outmaneuver death, she could at least take out her grief and anger on a poor little piece of mail.

to be continued...

Deidre glared at the phone, comparing Logan's unconcerned response with Dr. Wynn's kindness. She joined a few others at a corner waiting to cross the street. She pulled up Dr. Wynn's office number on her cell, tempted to invite him to the beach this weekend instead of Logan.
Someone near her gasped, and Deidre glanced up, expecting to see a fender bender or similar issue in the street. A woman nearby was staring at her. Deidre saw the strange flash of a red, glowing tattoo on the lady's exposed neck. It faded when she looked directly at it.
"Are you here for me?" the woman asked in a hushed tone.
Deidre turned to see if there was someone behind her the stranger spoke to. There wasn't.
"Um, no," she replied. "I'm just … waiting for the green light."
"You must be here for someone. As long as it's not me." The woman was smartly dressed in a suit. She didn't seem like the lunatic kind. She beamed a smile and faced the street again.
Deidre shook her head. She'd been asked that question more than once while out and didn't understand it, unless it was some sort of odd Southern greeting. As soon as the signal to walk flashed, she put some distance between her and the crazy woman.
It took five blocks before her agitation at Logan faded, and she started paying attention to the world around her. Her angry march turned into a stroll. Deidre stopped to admire bouquets being sold on a street corner. Most of them were wilting in the Atlanta heat.

to be continued...

"You didn't hear what I said."
"No, Dee," Logan sighed. "I've got a lot going on. Did Dr. Wynn have good news?"
She hesitated, agitated. "The usual."
"Maybe you need a new surgeon. He hasn't done anything for you in a while," Logan suggested.
I'd dump you before Dr. Wynn, she replied silently.
"If we got married, you'd have health insurance. You could find a good doctor," Logan added.
"We've discussed this. We're not getting married when I'm on my deathbed, and Dr. Wynn is the best there is!" she snapped. Deidre stopped in the middle of the busy sidewalk, too angry at the idea of losing her friend and doctor to care when someone jostled by her.
"The best there is doesn't take on charity cases, Dee."
"You know, Logan, maybe he likes me enough to want to help me. There are a lot of good people in the world."
"He likes you too much, in my opinion. I told you I got a bad vibe from him when we had dinner a few weeks ago."
"Whatever. You've got work to do and I need to pack," she said. "You care which shirts I pack for you?"
"Leave out the one you got me for my birthday. I'll wear it tonight."
"Okay. Good luck with the tax stuff. I'll have everything ready for when you get back," she said.
"See you tonight." He hung up before she could say farewell.

to be continued..

Deep in thought, she left the hospital. The spring air was heavy and humid already in Atlanta; it felt like summer. She walked from the hospital campus to a crowded sidewalk that ran beside a main street. The scents of food from street vendors and car exhaust filled the air outside the quiet hospital grounds. It was lunchtime, and the sidewalk was packed with people in business attire headed to the small bistros, cafes and other eateries lining the business district of downtown Atlanta.
Pausing at her normal bus stop, Deidre debated walking instead of taking the bus. Soon, she wasn't going to have the option of walking. She needed to put more effort into taking advantage of life while she could. She moved away from the bus stop and joined the crowds on the sidewalk.
She waited until she reached a quieter side street before dialing her boyfriend. Logan picked up on the third ring.
"Hey." He sounded distracted.
"Hello to you, too!" she said cheerfully.
"I'm running behind. Anything new?"
"Not really." She frowned at his tone. "Got word the inevitable is coming in three months or so."
Logan was silent. She heard him typing in the background. He didn't respond.
"You still there?" she prompted.
"Sorry. New client brought in a dump truck full of receipts and needs his return done by close of business today. I'm trying to wrap up everything as fast as I can," Logan said.


to be continued

"Deidre, for what little this is worth, I apologize for not being good enough or smart enough or quick enough to prevent the inevitable."
"Ah, Wynn," she said, touched by his subtle emotion. "You have nothing to apologize for. You've been the one constant in my life since this mess started. I wouldn't trade you for anyone."
"Perhaps I'm the dead weight in this relationship."
"You can be so charming when you want to be." She smiled and reached out to squeeze his arm. Most of the times, conversation with Dr. Wynn was like talking to a robot. Today, he was human. "Remember: no apologies, no regrets. Got it?"
He chuckled, this smile the largest she'd seen yet.
"Wynn, I will call you for dinner when I get back," she said. "Promise."
"I hope you do," he said. The façade returned, and he moved towards the door. "Have a nice weekend, Deidre."
"You, too, Wynn."
He left her alone. If nothing else, Wynn was going to make a terrific friend during the last leg of her life, which comforted her a little. She stared at the charts again. It was hard to imagine she had a tumor in her brain the half the size of her fist. She was happy to be functional, though that wasn't likely going to last long.
She wasn't going to let things get worse. She lived on her terms; she'd die on her terms. Her hands trembled as she got dressed. The decision made to face death soon, the only thing she hadn't quite worked out was how she planned to do it. Did she tell Wynn what she planned? Ask him for help? Or just disappear one day? Somehow, it seemed wrong not to warn him.

to be continued..

Their history was too personal for her to feel uncomfortable standing near-naked to a man who'd had a crush on her for a while. He'd cut her open and seen her from the inside out. There was nothing she kept from him. If anything, she felt lucky to have a doctor who saw her as more than a case.
"Okay, then, Wynn," she said. "I'm headed to the coast this weekend. Logan's taking off work early today, so we can have a long weekend at the beach. I've always wanted to stay in a beach house. If your girlfriend was going to dump you, wouldn't you rather it happen at a beach house?"
He raised an eyebrow.
"I'm joking."
"Are you?"
"I haven't decided yet," she admitted. "If I do, I'll call you for that dinner date when I get back."
"I'll await your call."
Always polite, always a gentleman. He'd never liked Logan, but he'd never say it directly. Something about his proper responses made her smile.
"There may be signs soon of deterioration, Deidre," he said with gravity.
"I know, Doc," she replied then recited. "Hallucinations, incurable pain, loss of muscular control, cognitive dysfunction. It'll be a slow, painful death."
For the first time in their history, a flicker of emotion crossed the features of her surgeon. He rubbed his jaw.
"Yes," he said at last. "It will be. For which I feel entirely responsible."
"Omigod, Doc," she said. "Don't get all emotional on me now. One of us has to keep the other calm, and it won't be me."

to be continued..

"It's a difficult time for both of you."
"Yeah." She moved away from him, wiping her face. "I think he feels guilty for wanting to leave his dying girlfriend. Most days, I just want to tell him to get it over with and move on." She rolled her eyes.
"You've lived on your terms the past few years. No one will fault you for taking that one step further and cleaning house," Dr. Wynn said with a faint smile.
"Are you saying he's the dead weight and not me?"
"Your humor is morbid, darling," he said, though he chuckled. "I was thinking more along the lines that he can have no objection when I ask you to dinner, if he's out of the picture."
A laugh bubbled up. "You're insane, Doc. You've always been a little sweet on me, haven't you?"
"I've yet to meet someone as brave in the face of death as you are. I admire your joie de vivre and am always fascinated by your perspective on life."
She wiped her face, affected by his words. That a cultured medical genius found her inspiring was beyond flattering. His gentle flirting reminded her of how charismatic he could be, when not telling her she was getting ready to die.
"I also regret you choosing Logan over me," he said, rising.
"You're a good man, Doc," she said with a watery smile.
"Wynn," he corrected her. "You've been more than a patient for months now." He held her gaze for a moment too long before looking away.
to be continued..

"How long?" she whispered.
"Three months at most."
Deidre nodded, not sure how to respond. He'd told her the chances were slim long ago, but she wasn't ready for him to admit defeat quite yet. She'd been anticipating this moment for awhile. Sitting through it, she didn't think it was ever possible to be prepared for the news.
"I am very sorry, Deidre. You are a sweet girl," he said.
"No worries," she said, forcing a smile. "We all have to go at some point. At least I know how and when, right? You've …done so …" She couldn't finish it through the sudden tears.
Dr. Wynn hesitated then hugged her. Deidre closed her eyes and rested against him, trying to imagine what the last days of her life would be like. She'd let herself grieve for a day - maybe two - and then fill her world with as much sunshine as possible. She'd been on the verge of death for years. She could handle this turn of events.
"Logan won't take this well," he said, referring to her boyfriend of almost two years. "I will always meet you both for dinner again to explain, if it helps you."
Deidre drew a shuddering breath then groaned.
"If there is a Logan still?"
"More or less," she said. "He seems to be waiting for the inevitable while I try to check off my bucket list. He doesn't get that I'm not going to waste my time mourning when I can live. "

to be continued..

Which would be soon. She blinked away tears. She didn't want to die. At twenty-six years old, she must've done something pretty bad in a past life to deserve this. Karma was a bitch, but it wasn't indiscriminate, was it?
Dr. Wynn knocked and opened the door. He was tall and slender with cocoa skin, dazzling blue eyes and prematurely white hair that made him appear twice his age. His features were heavy and roughly hewn. Though not traditionally handsome, he moved and spoke with a diplomat's grace. He kissed her cheeks and waited for her to heft herself back onto the table. Instead of seating himself on the traditional doctor's stool, Dr. Wynn sat beside her on the table, hands folded across one knee.
His smile didn't reach his eyes. It never had. She'd thought him cold and distant at first, until she learned his background. He was one of those medical prodigies that mentally existed on a level too removed for most people to follow. He'd stuck by her for over three years, though. It had to mean something.
"It's not good, is it?" she asked.
"No," he replied in the smooth, velvety voice that talked her down from hysterics many times.
She swallowed hard and gazed at the charts on the wall. She already knew, but it seemed worse when a doctor said it.
"There really is nothing I can do this time," he said. "We've been through every option."

to be continued