C6


Andrew had been trying for the past two weeks to get an audience with Lewis, alone. Apart from the days of church services, she was a rare commodity to find; she had her hands full, taking care of two children of demanding ages. Today was his lucky day, Lewis walked into the church through the western door. He was excited to see her.

“Lewis,” he called. But she wouldn’t answer. She instead, hurried out back out as soon as she took what she came in for.

“Caught you.” He sounded exited.

“Leave me alone, Andrew,” she shouted at him.

He could clearly see years of pains buried behind her eyes.

“What did I do to you? Why do you hate me so much?" He asked, with concern written all over his face.

Tears began to stroll down Lewis' cheeks. “You left me, she said, “For that old woman, you left me. Me.”

“I don’t remember, don’t you see?”

Lewis turned her back on him.

“I’m sorry for whatever it was between us. But this is me, the Andrew you used to know, the one who loves you more than anything else in this world.”

Lewis grabbed him by the head and kissed him deeply before he could apologize any further. He was the love of her life, and he kissed her back. His hands quickly found their way to her back, her zip quickly came undone. Thoughts of her husband kept coming, but Lewis kept on suppressing them; all she wanted at that point was Andrew.

She had undone his trouser zipper, and was on her knees to suck him off. After two thrusts from Andrew, there was an interruption; both quickly covered their shames. Before they could address the intruder.

“Mummy!” Elias shouted. He was too shocked at what he’d seen that he couldn’t utter any other word. Lewis felt so ashamed, she ran away.

“You cannot say anything to the prophet please,” Andrew begged.

“Of course not,” Elias quickly responded, “Why would I want to be a killjoy?” He asked. His voice was layered with seduction. He readjusted his shoulders and started to walk towards Andrew with the full feminine force he could muster.

“Why would I expose the man I love to harm?”

Andrew fought hard to hide the disgust written all over his face. Elias fingered his bellybutton, and toyed with his lips, all in a bid to further attract the man.

“You’re a fine young man, Elias,” Andrew said, “But I’m sorry, I don’t play for your team,” he added, and walked away.
Elias still couldn’t help his infatuation, he admired Andrew since the first day he walked into the church, and the only thing he’d on his mind was bedding him.

Patricia increased her pace to get the letter in her hand to Abigail. Many things had gone wrong within the past few weeks, especially the unexpected appearance of Abigail, Akin's legitimate and much unknown daughter, but she was up to the task of fixing it; that was what she was good at – fixing things. She looked up and saw her rival, overseeing the finishing touches to the newly repaired conference room.

“This just came in for you,” Patricia said to Abigail, “It's very important.”
With the Federal Government of Nigeria's seal on the front cover, Abigail could tell the parcel didn’t bring good tidings. It was a letter, warning the Board of Directors of Lewis Chambers to curtail the incessant death of staffs at the Firm.

Abigail stared exhaustively into space; running the firm was proving harder than she initially thought. Everyday brought with it a new kind of trouble. She was getting frustrated.

KC (the guy from the engineering division Patricia slept with at the parking lot some time ago) arrived their position carrying a large board; it was his design for the final stage of the conference room that was destroyed in the explosion. Abigail praised his work. He was full of joy at her admiration of his work. His eyes naturally drifted towards Patricia, they exchanged quick glances.

Patricia's office phone rang. After five seconds on the line she turned to Abigail and said, “You're needed in your office.” It was an emergency, so, KC was dismissed.

When they arrived, they saw the reason for the emergency.

A married couple was there, demanding to see Andrew, who they knew as the best lawyer in the firm. They were creating a scene, and this angered Abigail.

Mr. & Mrs. Nnabuike had a huge problem, and they needed a lawyer of high caliber.
Twelve years ago, they had adopted a girl child from a young lady who got pregnant out of wedlock. They paid her off financially, enough for the lady to self-train herself, as her parents rejected her after she became pregnant. The problem now was that, the Nnabuike’s never officially adopted the girl, Ndali, and her birth mother, having become successful after her education, wanted her back.

It was a big issue, and according to them, their survival depended on them getting help. That’s why they needed Andrew.
Abigail fought with her inner instincts to explode. How dare they come into her firm and ask after her father’s bastard?



Remember, you can read ahead by visiting and navigating through www.youngicee.com

C5

Beatrice paced the aisle, with two cups in tow. One was coffee, and was for her to keep vigil; the other was mineral water, should Andrew care. He was erratic, hence, had to be restrained. By the time Beatrice arrived the ward, the straps that bound Andrew was still there, but there was no sign of him. She panicked, which caused the cups to slip off her hands; the splash of the hot coffee burned her exposed legs.
She made it to the nurse at the reception, close to the ward. The nurse claimed to have no knowledge of Andrew passing.

“What do you mean he's missing?” she asked in confidence, before she grudgingly followed Beatrice back to Andrew’s ward.

“Where is he?”

Beatrice’s eyes shone. Wasn’t she the one who came to report Andrew’s disappearance? The nurse was consciously trying to pin the disappearance on her, rather than suggest ways to begin his search.

“How dare you?” Beatrice asked. “How dare you try to put this one me?”

“How dare you try to teach me my job?” The nurse fired back.

The nurse took offense. Both women were on the brink of exchanging blows, before Dr. Gusanu arrived the scene.

“Nurse, go wait in my office,” he said.

When she didn’t play ball, he threatened her with disciplinary action. The possibility of a suspension scared her, after a dauntless career spanning twenty years.

“What happened?” The doctor asked Beatrice.

“I don’t know,” Beatrice began, “I went out to get a drink and by the time I was back, he was gone.”

Andrew paraded the streets of Lagos for roughly two hours. His bare-feet graced the hard floor, even as the sun scorched. He had spent the time searching for The Church – a place that looked like he had just been there yesterday, but in reality, it’s been twelve years since his last visit.
Everywhere had changed drastically from how he last remembered. He hoped the only person he craved more than Ramon at that moment – Lewis – still lived there.

“The Church in the Dark,” Andrew said; reading out the name as displayed on the banner overhead. He thought to himself that the church wasn't much in the dark since everywhere was more opened, brighter, filled with shops and businesses. He wondered again, how so much changes could occur in a day. At the back of his mind, he wondered if the woman at the hospital (Beatrice) was telling the truth when she said he had lost his memories. Everything seemed so normal, yet, so confusing.

“Hello, brother. Can I help you?” A young greeted.

“I'm sorry,” Andrew apologized, “I was about leaving.” He turned to go.

“Nonsense,” another voice said.

Andrew paused on his steps: the voice was familiar. He turned, and saw an old man, who he called Prophet – He was the leader of the ‘Church In The Dark’.

“My son,” the prophet called; he opened his arms wide for an embrace. His browned teeth escaped their hold in excitement when he said, “I knew you’d return.”

Andrew buried himself in his embrace, a familiar place. Both of them walked side-by-side into the church. Andrew's eyes caught sight of the most beautiful lady he's seen in recent memory; the one responsible for his unaccountable missing heart beats.

“You remember Lewis, right? She’s my youngest wife.” The prophet asked.

“Yes, I do,” Andrew quietly replied. The full story was coming back to him. He remembered his time with the church, the prophet, and how he met Lewis.

The prophet’s smile almost tore the corners of his mouth, his excitement knew no bound. “I married her. We have two children, Praise and Worship,” he said, wearing a grin.

Andrew took a better look at Lewis and her children; he realized the beauty he saw on her when he first walked in wasn’t really there. She looked worn out, and her children, Praise, two years old, and Worship, three months old, had seen better days.

“What happened to her?”

The prophet heaved a sigh of exhaustion, “She grew up,” he said, “And you should too.”

He walked towards the altar, forcing Lewis with him. He called out for Andrew’s attention, he needed him to watch what was about to happen. Andrew was to understand that all that transpired between him and Lewis was in the past; it was ordained by God to make Lewis the vessel to carry his miraculous seeds.

“Pay attention, my son, to the word of the Lord,” he said, You shall have no other god before me. So, cheer up.”

Lewis looked away; she broke off contact with her husband. She walked away with her children without saying a word to either Andrew or her husband.

The Prophet returned to Andrew’s position, he put a hand on his shoulder, cleared his throat, and said, “You are full of surprises, my son, and I am happy to have you back.”

The young man who met Andrew at the door, walked in. His name was Elias, and he shook Andrew’s hand. “I’ve heard so much about you,” he said, full of admiration.

Elias wanted Andrew to know he really respected him. Andrew was a legend at ‘The Church’, a role model of some sort for them diligently doing the work of God in their various capacities: the prophet always referenced him.

“I want to become a Lawyer someday, just like you," Elias said.

Andrew smiled. “That's good,” he commended him. His voice betrayed him, he sounded unsure, and tried to play along so as not to let the young man down.

Elias also wanted to know who Andrew preferred to take him on a tour round the Church's facility, him or Glory, a young lady he had been bickering with behind the scene.

“He’ll wants me,” Glory said from a distance.

Elias squeezed his face, and bit his lips. Glory walked closer.

Akin walked in to his living room, looking disturbed. The events of the past weeks caused him anxiety unlimited, everywhere inch of the place triggered memories he was trying to suppress. Once upon a time, he was a man who had everything he ever wanted – a successful law firm, wealth, children – now, all that was left were memories. The exquisitely decorated space held no sway over him anymore.

There was a sound behind him; he quickly looked.

“Abigail!” He shouted, “Is that really you?”

Abigail walked into the light, she gave her father a hug. Akin was surprised to see her, she never told him she was returning to Nigeria; he hadn’t even spoken to her in months, since Andrew’s hostile takeover. As much as he didn’t want to admit, he wanted her around.

“I’ve missed you, daddy,” she spoke softly; not wanting to let go, she held onto him tightly.

“I’ve missed you too, my angel,” Akin replied. “Why did you return?” He wanted to know, “You should have stayed back till all these was over.”

“Not when my family needs me.”

Akin broke off the embrace. He didn’t want to hear what she was saying. “Why are you here? Why are you here, Abigail?” He stressed. “You need to return to the US first thing tomorrow.”

“No, daddy. It is you who needs to return. To the firm. Your legacy,” she said, “Your people need you back as soon as possible.”

Abigail closed the gap between them, and placed her hands over his shoulders. She wished she could fully understand what was happening inside his head, to better share in his pain, but it wasn’t possible. She had to settle for what she had now. He’s supposed to be her strength, and here she was providing succor for him instead.

“Daddy, please. You need to consider this,” she started, “I can’t do this alone. I need you with me.” She said with pleading voice.

“I don’t know how to,” Akin said.

“You don’t have much of a choice.”

“I have nothing to give you anymore, Abigail. If I reenter your life, you’ll die. I’m like cancer, I destroy everyone I touch.” It was becoming increasingly difficult to fight back the tears trying to escape his broken heart.

Abigail wiped away her tears. “Okay. So, now I’m giving you a choice; you either come back to the firm or forget about it and me forever. You’ll be removed from the Board of Trustees,” she said.

Akin said nothing. Abigail left.

E04

It was 08:10 a.m.; the doctor pulled the plug on Andrew’s life support, and for the last ten minutes, Beatrice had to watch, devastatingly, as he drifted
further away from life. Time was passing, and he wasn’t waking up. Akin just stood there, at a corner beside the door and watched his son’s lifeless body;
he silently prayed for a miracle, but none was forth coming.

‘What God gives you children only for him
to take them back?’

Akin asked himself. He hoped for an answer from a God he didn’t really believe in. This was a chance for the supernatural entity to prove himself.
The ward’s door opened; it was the mortuary attendants – human versions of Reapers – they were there to take away Andrew’s body – Beatrice’s wails doubled as she struggled with them to keep his body. A nurse passing by stopped because of the intensity of the noise emanating from that ward; she recognized Beatrice, and sympathized with her. She walked in and
held Beatrice back, whispering in her ears that it was time to let go. It soon dawned on Beatrice that Andrew wasn’t going to wake up; she fell to the ground.

The attendants carried Andrew’s body onto the stretcher and wheeled him away. Akin walked over to Beatrice’s position, and wrapped her in his embrace.
Beatrice sobbed uncontrollably; her sweaty face soiled Akin’s shirt. “Why did he have to go?” She asked.
“I don’t know,” Akin said. His voice was heavy laden, “I have no idea.”

Few steps away from where they stood, few feet
outside the door, Andrew coughed. The attendants instantly took their hands off the stretcher’s handles. He coughed again, used his right hand to support
himself as he stood up; they took to their heels.

Anna paid Mother a visit at the police
station. It was a bad morning, one caused by the new emptiness in her life; she wanted something familiar, something that reminded her of the life she used to
have before the explosion. “How’s my son, Anna?” Mother asked. Her question was synonymous with a
good morning salutation.
Anna freaked. The question mother asked interrupted Anna’s suppressing of Andrew’s memories; it was a coping mechanism she devised during her short stay at the hospital, after the explosion.
The room was getting unusually hot for Anna, and it was because Mother’s presence was becoming unbearable.

“Andrew’s dead,” she lashed out, “He’s
dead!” She stressed.

Mother’s eyes shone. She was intrigued; she wondered why Anna seemed so distraught.

Hands stretched out, Mother attempted to take her hand; Anna refused.
“Do you think I would do him any form of harm?” She asked. “Where is my son?” Mother thundered; her voice bore anger like never before.
Anna fussed. Before her was a woman who had limited interest in how Andrew fared. Growing
up, his interests had always been aligned to serve hers. Anna wasn’t falling for the deceit that Mother truly cared. Yet, she confessed, saying, “I do not
know.”

“He loves you, you know?” Mother
started, “After everything you’ve done to him, he still loves you. And, you’re still taking him for granted.”

“I don’t have to explain myself to
you,” Anna fired back.

“Yes, you do. You should tell me how
my son is,” Mother screamed, “How is my son, Anna?”

“I don’t know, okay. I don’t know.”
Anna hit the table, and stood. She was done playing Mother’s games, and was ready to take her leave. “I love Andrew, but that’s not something you’ll ever understand,” she said, and clutched onto her purse, “I really hope you spend the remainder of your miserable life here.”

“Don’t say that,” Mother sounded
apologetic.

Anna walked away without saying anything else.
The scream from Mother caused her to feel a guilty sense of pleasure. As she stepped out of the station, her cell-phone beeped. On examination, she saw it was a text from Beatrice, saying, Andrew’s alive.

Beatrice couldn’t understand what the Doctor meant by his last statement. She turned her head towards Andrew, to get a better view of him, restrained, and battling endlessly to get out of the straps. He was more of a pitiable specimen, than an item of curiosity, for someone who just returned from the grasp of death.
The Doctor pulled Beatrice and Akin aside, to talk. Andrew was diagnosed with amnesia, caused by the shortage of oxygen to his brain the period he was thought dead. “We can’t tell the extent of the damage returning from death caused,” Dr. Gusanu said.

“What do you mean, doctor?” Akin interrupted rudely,

“You’re a doctor, you shouldn’t be believing in such.”

“Well, I’m a Christian first, and a doctor second. Believe me when I tell you your son was dead for three hours…”

“You killed him. You took away his
life support, and now, you’re saying this rubbish,” Beatrice cut him. “We’ll sue you. We’ll close this entire hospital for destroying his life.” She
shouted. Akin tried without much success to calm her down. The Doctor left. He hoped his absence would make Beatrice calm down. He promised to be back shortly with a better proposal on how they’d all proceed
from there. Every time Akin made eye contact with Andrew, he felt his spine shiver. From the look in Andrew’s eyes, one could tell he recognized his
father; animosity, anger, and confusion hatred filled them. "Where is Ramon?”
Akin and Beatrice looked at each other with surprise. Even though Ramon was dead, the
mention of her name meant Andrew’s amnesia wasn’t a total one.

Beatrice was less excited than Akin; she was still shaken with fears of her own. She wanted Andrew to recognize her; she wanted to hear him call her name with the same mixture of vigor and delicacy he always used to. But none of that happened.

“Why are you doing this to us, Andrew; to me? Andrew
calmed down for a moment; it was as though hearing his name juggled his memory.

“Why?” Beatrice asked again.

“Take me to the church” Andrew said.

His statement made no sense to her. She wondered how a church came into their discussion.

“Take me to the church,” Andrew said
again.
“What church?” Beatrice naturally
asked.
“The
church in the dark,” he said.

Silensa:


Oga Talius is back. This is book 3 is where the real thing starts.

Wanted to point it out to you about seeing the book 3 in youngicee blog but no p as you are aware

Thanks Silensa, I'll try to post as frequently as possible. The story is getting to the promised land!

To read ahead, kindly visit - http://www.youngicee.com/search/label/Cracked%20Sources - to do so.

C3


"You can't be serious, Doctor," Beatrice said. Her voice louder than usual.

"I'm sorry. There's nothing more we can do for him," The doctor apologized again.

Beatrice understood the hard way why people hated Government-controlled hospitals. If Andrew had been carried to a private hospital from the explosion site, they wouldn’t be having this conversation. The doctor was telling her Andrew would be taken off life-support if he didn’t show any sign of improvement before the end of the day, because they were running out of bed-space for other patients. Beatrice raised her eyes to Akin. He had nothing to say; he let the doctor go peacefully even after threatening the survival of his only surviving heir.

"What is wrong with you?" Beatrice asked.

Akin quietly looked up. “You heard what the doctor said, there’s nothing that can be done if Andrew doesn’t wake up by himself,” he said.

“He can be taken to another hospital, that’s something that can be done.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She took a good look at Andrew, and imagined what it would be like tomorrow, beside his lifeless body. “Let’s take him to another hospital,” Beatrice suggested.

Akin looked on: he had nothing to say.

"You can't be serious, doctor."

Those words echoed a while through the clinic’s passage; they were from Mrs. Patrick’s mouth. The news she had just received was the worst since the news of her father’s death ten years ago.

“I’m sorry, but your husband might not be able to walk again,” Dr. Gusanu reiterated.

"Why?" She asked, shouting. “Tell me, why?” She asked again. Without awaiting a reply, she held both her hands up against the doctor’s coat.

“What have you not tried? Do so. I’ll try to make the money available, no matter the amount.”

"I'm sorry, ma, there’s nothing more I can do,” Dr. Gusanu said. He was a young man, in his late 20’s, and could understand her pain by putting his mother in her shoes.

"Hey, baby," Patrick called for his wife. He had just awoken and heard her sobbing.
She let go of Dr. Gusanu, “Thank you for everything so far,” she said, and gave him a light pat on the shoulder before walking away.

“My love,” she greeted Patrick.

Patrick could see through her. With their reignited love, he could better tell when she was sad: it was written all over her face now. “What’s the matter?”

“I want you back home as soon as possible,” she tried to play modest.

“Tell me what it is, I can handle whatever it is,” he demanded, “Stop treating me like an invalid,” he added. Both their eyes naturally drifted to his heavily bandaged legs.

Mrs. Patrick started to cry. It brought Patrick’s heart to see her like that and he unable to console her. “It’s okay,” he said, “It’ll all be alright.”

“It won’t be,” she muttered. “The doctor said you might not be able to walk again,” she said.

Patrick smiled, “Is that why you’re troubled?” He asked. “I know already. I haven’t been able to feel my legs since the day I got here, and I’ve resigned myself to fate, whichever way it decides to blow its wind, I’m ready,” he said reassuringly.

Mrs. Patrick was dumbfounded. In her tears, she looked at her husband very well, her attention was on the details of his eyes, they bore sincerity, they bore love. “I love you, Patrick,” she said. She held onto his hands.

“I love you too,’ he replied. They both chuckled.


Akin stood before the large body-mirror at the end of the hallway. As he dead-stared, his eyes caught sight of a fresh cut beneath his lower lip; he touched it. The pain he felt pleased him very much. He touched it again, and again, and again; the pleasure he derived from the pain was indescribable. He hurried into the rest room and once in the confines of its privacy, he brought out a pocket knife, one that was given to him by his mother years. He rolled up his sleeves and began to cut himself; his arm.
He continued mutilating himself, and with his blood being drained, came blurry vision. For a moment, it was as though Akin’s reflection in the mirror didn’t move in accordance with his body. He was getting weaker, gasping for breath, and trying desperately to remain standing. He wiped his eyes hoping it was just a momentary flux.

“You,” his reflection spoke to him.

“Me?” Akin summoned strength to ask.

"Yes, you.”

Akin wasn’t surprised. He was captivated. Watching his reflection converse with him was a genuine treat for a man who had lived through all he had recently.

"I haven't seen you since The Ogbu incident," Akin said.

"That was over twenty years ago. I come only when you're in deep mess,” It said. It paced around its own side for a while, and suddenly appeared in front of Akin. "Stop denying your pain, embrace it, and stop acting pitiable," it said, and disappeared.

Akin was stunned. He fell to the floor. As though a surge of awareness passed through his body, he became conscious of his pool of blood; it scared him enough to almost knock him unconscious. His breathing was getting heavier. By the time he opened his eyes again, he was surrounded by doctors trying to keep him alive.

At the firm, the entire east wing of the building which used to house the conference room had been sealed off by the police pending the conclusion of the investigation. It had been five days since the explosion, yet, not a single police officer had visited the blast site for inspection. The firm was without guardianship, as most of its directors were killed in the explosion, leaving Patricia in the position to offer herself to lead the others pending when Andrew or Akin returned from the hospital.
Her announcement came as a surprise to many, yet, no one opposed the idea because to most of them left in the firm, Patricia was the most qualified; the firm needed a face to continue running effectively, they were at risk of losing their long-time clients.
Patricia smiled at the unanimous agreement.

"Excuse me," Ms. Caroline, a young female paralegal, said.

Patricia had taken note of her during her speech, the lady had been quiet all through the meeting, until now.

"You have the floor," Patricia said, wearing an obviously fake smile.

“I do not like this idea of you being our leader, what happens when Mr. Akin or Andrew returns?”

Patricia wryly smiled. “Since the explosion happened, these two men haven’t been in their right state of mind. It is up to us to put things straight. This company belongs to us,” she said.

Her speech drew enough admiration from the general public, everyone, save for Ms. Caroline, was impressed.

"Thank you, Patricia,” Caroline said, “But I have someone better in mind to be lead the firm back to its former days of glory.” She walked towards the CEO's seat, but stopped at Patricia's seat, positioned next to the throne, and said, “Patricia, I want you to meet, Abigail.”

A young lady walked in. She was tall, beautiful, and struck a confident pose at the doorpost. "My name is Abigail Akin, Barrister Akin's only daughter, and his last remaining heir. And you’re sitting on my chair.”
The room charged with excitement. Patricia looked dumbfounded.

C2


The morning after was no better, Anna’s mental health was still in very bad condition.

Two days after the greatest explosion the city of Lagos had seen in recent memory, and things were still very far from normal.
Anna turned her head away from the window. She didn’t want to look at the doctor, but the pain of seeing Mark’s apparition by the window-side was becoming overwhelming. He was speaking to her, but she couldn’t hear anything.

“I’m sorry for your losses,” the Doctor said. Anna only nodded her head, her tears still flowed; she wondered how the Doctor could have the conscience to keep repeating his consolation; each wish he gave was a hard reminder of her present reality – no man nor child to look forward to. All she could think about was leaving the hospital to an asylum, faraway, as soon as possible.

Beatrice paced the aisle on the third floor of The Pavilion Hospital’s; she was growing angrier with each passing moment. The nurses delayed answering questions pertaining to Andrew’s state of being.
The moment she saw the update on the Network news two days ago she started making plans to return to town, to better understand the full extent of the damages caused by the explosion. She remembered the great pain she felt when she saw Andrew’s unconscious body being carried out of the building on Live-TV; the unimaginable expression of guilt she wore when she realized all the many horrible things she said to him before she left that she hadn’t yet unsaid. ‘Who knew life could be so fleeting?’ She thought.

Her impatience increased, she was tired of waiting for someone to calm her fear. After waiting patiently for more than three hours, she had to take matters into her hands. She waited for an opportunity to walk pass the nurse at the reception.

“Ms. Beatrice.”

The sound of her named caused Beatrice to halt, for fear of being ousted before she could make her move. Her relief came when she realized the call was from another Nurse across the hall. She came bearing good news.

“He’s this way.” the Nurse said.

Beatrice heaved a sigh of relief and walked with her head up high. Other visitors in the waiting room whispered and gossiped amongst themselves in a fashion typical of Nigerians. Their actions didn’t make her care for their feelings any more than she did moments ago. On arriving the door, she panicked, thoughts flew through her head; she was confused on the right thing to say when she comes face to face the man she loves. The door opened to interrupt her thoughts, an older nurse walked out of the room, shaking her head, carrying a patient’s file – Beatrice could see Andrew’s name written boldly on it.

The nurse paused on her steps and looked up to Beatrice. “Are you his wife?” She asked.

“No.” The nurse who brought Beatrice answered in her stead. “She’s just a friend.”

Beatrice didn't like the nurse’s tone, it held contempt. But she couldn't argue because she didn't have the time to, she left both women to gossip and walked to the window: the blinds were undone and she could see Andrew lying helplessly on the bed. He had many tubes in him plugged into different machines. He was on life support.

“He’s not breathing. He’s not breathing!” Beatrice cried out, her hands fought with her hair in tears of desperation. "Why is he not breathing?" She asked no one in particular. Both nurses still ignored her, they kept up with their thrilling gossip, until Andrew’s doctor came by, then they scampered in feats of pseudo-activities, much to Beatrice’s disgust.

“He’s in a coma,” the doctor said to Beatrice, “but he’ll be alright.”

In the adjacent room, under a less tensed atmosphere, there Akin sat. His left arm was fractured as a result of the heavy fall sustained in the explosion. A male and female nurse attended to him, setting the bone in place. He was in pain, yet, he refused all forms of anesthetic; he wanted to feel the pain of the moment. Reality was beginning to dawn on him that his only legitimate son was murdered and his illegitimate battled for his life in a coma. He wished the pain would consume him faster; he felt the world would be a better place without him because he had nothing more to live for. The increasing noise from Beatrice’s wails caused chill to repeatedly flow down his spine, it fueled the only kind of feeling he wanted at this moment – pain.

The older Nurse (who was initially with Beatrice) entered the room still clinging to Andrew’s files. She was there to say something important to Andrew, and all he could do was listen in silence.

Andrew’s mother was already settled into the police cell, where she was to be held until the time for questioning. She was extremely agitated, dishing one threat after another to the officers on duty if she wasn’t let out. She overhead them congratulating a young officer on the birth of his son, and tried blackmailing him to let her out, using the bond between parent and child. When that didn’t work, she threatened his wife and newborn’s security, further worsening her case.

“I’ll have your baby boy skinned before your wife’s eyes, and when she’s broken enough, I’ll have her stabbed repeatedly before you. Do you hear me?”

“Are you threatening me?” The officers asked.

“Since you have no compassion, I might as well teach you a lesson.”

The sergeant got angry. He hurried towards her, fuming; he would slap her if he could, but he held his cool long enough to speak, “You’re evil. Now I believe you killed that girl.”
His statement stunned Mother, she wanted to say something to defend her honor, but was interrupted by the arrival of the D.P.O.

“Ms. Jasmine,” the D.P.O. called mother’s attention to him, “I have news from your son.”

Mother’s attention was naturally drawn. She was elated, Andrew sent her a message. She waited impatiently for the D.P.O. to relay his message.

“Mr. Andrew gave us enough information to put you away for a long time,” he started, waiting for Mother to react. “It’s in your best interest to cooperate with us.”

“I want to see my son. I want to see my Andrew!” Mother shouted. She looked at him angrily; she stared with hatred-filled eyes. She couldn't what she had just heard.

Anna sat quietly at the back-seat of the taxi; her head spoke at many turns, all to her confusion. The psychiatrist's evaluation that she wasn't ready to go back into the world couldn't stop her from leaving. If there was one thing she was sure of, it was that grieving over Mark, her lost-fetus, and Andrew wasn't going to make her pain disappear, she was going to overcome the pain with time but it had to be on her own terms, not what a John Hopkin's trained Doctor says.

"Stop here," Anna said.

The Uber-driver pulled over in silence.

Anna alighted. "Thank you," she said, as she made payment. She looked across the road from where she stood – there was a classy nightclub there – that was where she needed to be, to find a faster way to heal.

Book 3


C1

The sound of sirens blasting filled the air. Outside the magnificent skyscraper of Lewis Chamber, thick smolder puffed ceaselessly out through the east wing. Personnel of the Nigerian police force, firefighters, and the Army were on site to ease the tension caused by the explosion. Lewis chambers was situated at one of the busiest corners on the Lagos Island. Debris and corpses littered the building’s surrounding – out of the rubbles, excavators scampered for survivors, but none had been found.

Two hours ago …

Akin hurried after Andrew, they had a lot to talk about. They stopped on the floor of the conference room, where an important stakeholder’s meeting was happening: They had a lot to talk about as the journey to create the father-son dynamic their relationship needed was just starting. Akin needed to sincerely ask for Andrew's forgiveness concerning the many sins he had committed against him and his mother, but he wasn’t sure how to proceed, Andrew’s hostile takeover of the firm months ago took him by surprise. Before that time, he had contemplated telling Andrew the truth about his parentage, but things took a downward spiral from thence.
They hadn’t spoken for long when Akin noticed Dimeji approaching in a funny manner. He drew Andrew’s attention towards him. Both men chased after him, because he walked and looked guilty. Dimeji hurried into the conference room, and before father and son could enter, an explosion happened on the inside. Andrew and Akin were both thrown backwards by the magnitude of the blast, they fell hard.
A couple having lunch at an eatery opposite the firm, and security agents that still lingered around the premises after mother’s arrest, expressed shock at the explosion. A chunk of the building from the exploded east wing fell on one of the officers who couldn’t get to safe ground on time; everyone ran for safety. Some religious fanatic thought it was the world coming to an end.

Dimeji ran as though his life depended on it. The end of his short but miserable life did depend on him entering the conference room unhindered. For the weeks since Mother refused him the money he demanded as payment for his silence on Imelda’s death, he had become suicidal, devising different ways to get back at her and the Firm as a coping mechanism. Then came Patricia, with her coherent plan, which was exactly what he needed to hear at that time. It didn’t take, coercion or hypnotism for him to agree to her idea to sacrifice himself, he just wanted to go out with a bang. He threw himself on the door to force it open to avoid Andrew catching up to him.
Within split seconds of him entering, he observed and recognized the shock on everyone’s face and the fear when he opened his jacket to reveal the bomb fitted in. Without much thoughts, he continued with the decision that brought him there. The closest person to Dimeji’s position tried to play the action hero, he dashed to stop the detonation. He was the first to die. The flame originated from within Dimeji’s torso and engulfed the man in less than a microsecond; it quickly spread to all sides of the room.
In those microseconds, the panic in the room was at overdrive, and a pixelated frame by frame view of the situation revealed a lot:

Mark hurriedly embraced Anna. He threw his weight on her and they fell hard to the marble-floor that was fast gaining heat from the increasing flames. As the flame spread towards them, Mark tried unsuccessfully to utter the words, “I love you.” Before Anna’s eyes, his back caught fire as the flame passed over them.
The fire quickly broke through the ceiling; it sent bricks, support beams, and chandeliers falling from the top. The stylish pane that gave the ceiling a deluxe feel shattered into many pieces, causing its debris to fly sporadically into the supple skins of frightened individuals awaiting their possible deaths.

A heavy piece of broken glass was headed Patrick’s way. He rolled over to avoid it, only to be greeted with the weight of a falling chandelier fitted to a large chunk of POP board, and the passing tide of fire that burnt his trapped legs.
The energy released by the explosion threw three men sitting close to the open-door of the balcony, two directors and a pressman, over. It threw them indifferently, burning, into the open air-space. Their emergence in mid-air, and the emerging flame and debris caught the attentions of the people in the surrounding, and within five minutes the paramedics and firefighters were around, the police soon followed and assisted in orderly evacuating the building while the paramedics and firefighters did their jobs.
In the midst of the persisting noise caused by the running and crying, out of fear, of the many staffs around, Andrew opened his eyes. He had blurry vision, but from the position he was he could see the inside of the conference room: it no longer had a door. His first thoughts were for Anna’s safety. “Anna!” He passionately cried out; he struggled to move, but the pain from his hard-landing moments ago troubled his legs and hands as much as it did his head and vision, yet, he didn’t relent, he needed to be sure that the love he held dear to his heart wasn’t already dead. He pushed himself to the limit, crawling as he repeatedly cried out Anna’s name. Someone obscured his vision; he looked up to see the face; with his blurry vision, he tried to make a name.

“Patricia!” He called out.

Patricia smiled, and lifted her right-hand: she swung a thick, wooden plank she held and hit the back of Andrew’s head before he could interfere with her plans.

Ambulance sirens blew louder outside as their numbers increased. As the building was been evacuated, onlookers surged to see firsthand the tragedy that had befallen Lagos state. Individuals toppled over themselves for a front-view of the action. In two's stretchers emerged from ambulances, hoping to carry injured victims out. Members of the press fought hard to take pictures of the living and the dead, everything was news. Even the sporadic shooting in the air by the Army to scare them off didn’t do much to dissuade them.
Anna was rolled out. She had her left arm injured and was crying uncontrollably; the words in her mouth bore only one name, Mark’s. She was inconsolable, it was as though her life depended on her stretched hand touching Mark’s corpse, which was been rolled immediately behind. The scene was chaotic, the press, overly excited; men of the force tried to calm all nerves; this presented Anna with the opportunity to jump-off. She quickly unzipped the body bag to the chest region. Her wails knew no bound: seeing Mark’s badly scarred face and lifeless body caused her more pain than she was already in.

I don't know if this apology suffices, but I'll make it anyway. I'm sorry for my roughly one year hiatus. I'm back and ready to complete the story.

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CC: Divepen1 and Obinnau

Cc: Divepen1 and Obinnau

Thanks CNARIOjoseph and Kinah, I really appreciate. You can check out my signature for more.

CC: Divepen1 and Obinnau

Beatrice Femi-Isaacs

It was another bright day in the city of Lagos, and I couldn’t be happier. The smile on my face enlarged as I rolled over to the other side of my matrimonial bed… and he wasn’t there. I wasn’t really sure what I heard him mutter last night. My husband, Femi Isaacs, announced to me he was travelling to the colorful city of Calabar on business. ‘He left me for Calabar on Independence Day. A public holiday!’ At this point in my marriage, if at all I could still call myself a married woman, I didn’t care anymore. I was already eight months into my first pregnancy, and would be due any time from now; a caring husband isn’t supposed to be taking unplanned flights at a point as crucial as this.

I remember the time when we were still courting, when he wanted more than anything for me to say yes to him, there was nothing my Femi wouldn’t do for me. He couldn’t even bear to be away for more than a day. The reverse was the case now. Our seven-year itch arrived too early, and it's disgusting. Shortly after our wedding, Femi started to exhibit behaviors I never knew he had. He returned home with different vices almost everyday: lipsticks visibly emblemed on his shirts, drunk, tired, and on very good days he’d come back with a different shirt all together. I complained to my mom and confided in his mother, but both woman chalked it up to me overreacting. The day I decided to leave him was the day I discovered I was pregnant, that was when my woes doubled. Femi assumed I purposely wanted to leave with his baby, and he turned me into his punching bag. If there’s one thing I regret, it’s my not sticking to my decision to leave that day. Months later, and that decision still haunts me, but then, better days are ahead.

Luckily, I’ve had plans to unwind with my friends today, and with him out of town, it was the perfect opportunity to travel. We had a flight to catch to Calabar too, to visit our friend, Ini. What a coincidence!

***

Femi Isaacs

…Life is short and fleeting, and the best thing is to enjoy its beauties before time runs out.

The above has always been my view about life, it has been the major thing guiding most of my decisions, actions and inactions. On its principle, I married Beatrice, my wife, the most beautiful creature on this earth, too perfect for me; yes, I know she is, I love her for always being her. But, it’s also on this principle that I can’t seem to let any loveliness on skirt pass without turning my head for a second view. Within my circle, my guys know my prowess, ‘Dem no dey use me joke,’ they know what I can do. Because of this principle, I was risking the safety of my pregnant wife for one night in Calabar, with the delectable Linda Bassey.

Calabar babes are well known for their inborn aggression in bed. With a libido as high as mine, Linda has been the only lady to top it. I couldn’t miss the chance to have her again. She called me last night, telling me that her boyfriend was away on a job. According to her, I was one of her best to, and she wanted more. Who am I to say no to such invitation?

Here was I, before her door, and without a care for anything in the world but my third leg. In this life, if you don’t take care of matters, they’ll always be there waiting for you. She opened her door, and I walked in to my happiness.

***

I and the girls, Ada and Bisola, left Calabar city mall after roughly thirty minutes of mostly window shopping. We were waiting for the address of our accommodation from our mutual friend, Ini. She was based in Calabar, and had promised us an explosive night in the city; with the trip to her home, we were already feeling the vibe. We braced ourselves to avoid getting surprised at what we see at Ini’s. We all grew up in Lagos, until Ini got married to a wealthy expatriate, and relocated to Calabar three years ago.

On arrival, the joy on all our faces couldn’t be quantified, we were happy that the reunion/meeting was turning out to be a success. Ini was the happiest to see us, especially me, with my protruding stomach.

“Where is it?” I asked Ini. She had assured me of something, and I was more than eager to see it.

“This way,’ Ini said. I could clearly hear the excitement in her voice. The girls were happy for me. I was happy for me.

With unsure steps, I followed a little behind Ini as we strolled the large compound to another building, secluded, and with a gate of its own. Ini knocked gently on its door, and a young lady answered. She had only a scanty towel tied.

“Is it ready?” I heard the young lady ask Ini, who in turn replied, “Sure.”

I watched intently at the scenario playing out before me, it was getting harder to not develop cold feet; Bisola convinced me to see it through: it was a long time coming.

We entered the house on Ini’s beckon, and there Femi was on the bed of this strange woman. I wasn’t surprised, I was prepared for this reveal. It was Femi I sort of pitied, he had surprise, shame, and confusion written on his face at the same time; he wasn’t ready for this.

“Beatrice,” he managed to call my name.

“Yes,” I answered him calmly; I knew the next thing he’d say, and I wasn’t disappointed.

“I can explain.” He said.

But there was nothing to explain. What Femi didn’t know was that I was in charge of this situation. If only he was as attentive to the things I told him while we courted as he claimed, he’d have remembered when I mentioned I was a vindictive bitch; it was time for him to reap all he'd sown.

His lady, Linda, handed over a memory card she recovered from a camcorder she'd strategically placed to Ini, who in turn handed it over to me; “so you see, it was me all along,” I told Femi.

After Femi hit me for the first time, I miscarried. The pain and guilt I felt losing my baby was so great. I felt dirty. I wondered how my own husband could muster strength to hit me when I hadn’t done him any wrong. It took the intervention of my girls to bring me back up: they made me see the light again. From there, I gave up on him, and started to plan my revenge. It was elaborate, well plotted, I wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. Femi cared for me so little that he never noticed what I had carried in underneath my cloth for nine months was foam. Now, I had proof to show my mother and mother-in-law, who both married me to a chronic cheat to further their business alliance: I wasn’t going to be a pawn in anyone’s game. I was my own person, and I do not intend to keep dancing to anyone’s tune.

Femi was too shocked. He had the most to lose should the video and news of his marital problems become public knowledge; he was on a deal to further expand his PR business. It was his headache. His life, his rules, his choices, his consequences. I was done playing second fiddle. I served him the divorce papers I had brought along with me (Remember I said this plan had been on for a long time).

“Happy independence,” I said to him, and walked out, never to look back at him again.

- Talius Dike
2017©

CC: Obinnau and Divepen1

Thank you very much, I appreciate. Check my signature for links to read two of my stories, free of charge, on Okadabooks.

thewritingtodo:
Yes, you're a monster!







You're a monster of a writer. Very engaging piece, nice one.

Haha! Thank you very much.

dammyd46:
I love this, beautiful work...
now your answer you are not a monster, she as shattered your dreams and everything you have you hitting her was out of anger and I would do the same if I was in your shoes.

Thank you for reading. kindly share to invite friends and followers.

CC: Obinnau and Divepen1

I hit her. Yes, I did, she provoked me and I could take it no longer.

“You’re a weakling!”

My father shouted over the phone. He threatened to hit me the same way I did my wife of five months. He loves her like a daughter, that I know; it pained him he was out of town at a time like this.

My wife and I still lived with my parents. I was jobless, and didn't have much to stand independent of them. I was too forward and strong willed to survive on my own as an independent business man, that I left a well-paying job without properly structuring my finance to bare the brunt of a start-up. Here I was two months later.

“How could you beat a pregnant woman?”

My mother asked me. Her voice was as concerning as ever; her teary ears bore worry, and they pierced my soul.

Everyone was against me. Obviously, my mother-in-law naturally supported her daughter, same way my mom would support my sister and rain hell on any foolish man that'd dare lay a finger on her daughter.

My mother-in-law threatened me over the phone, as though she was already at my doorstep. I understood the ploy to make me fear and shake at the thought of her descending her reserved anger and resentment on me, but I wasn't moved, I don't scare easy, not even when she referred to me as a monster.

I got married to the love of my life. Sabina was all I ever hoped for in a woman, and I still bless the day we met in a series of sweet turns and twists. I never knew I’d the chance to date her let alone put a ring on her pretty finger: She scored poorly on first impression and came across to me as a bit rude and pompous (But that’s a story for another day).

Her family says I’m a monster, did they not see the monster in me the day I came to seek their daughter’s hand in marriage? I remember that day clearly, her mother’s joy was was obvious - Sabina had finally brought a responsible man home. Her father was too elated, busy organizing the outrageous list for the bride price.

I am still the same man that arrived their door seven months ago; if I am a monster now, I was a monster then, and they failed in their duties as parents to notice, they married their daughter off to a mad man.

I blame myself. I ignored my intuition even though they tingled. Yes, they did, but I paid no attention and now I’m wallowing in confusion and regrets. I went ahead to marry her because I was blinded by dumb love – Love for a woman who allowed me believe she was a virgin all the while we dated – she strung me along to put a ring on her finger before I could touch her. My friend warned me: he advised I taste the fruit irrespective of what she claimed to be, but I didn’t listen, I loved the challenge she put up for me – Miss Virginity 2016. Indeed!

We finally did it three weeks to our wedding day, off her own volition. Apparently she was too Hot to keep up the pretense – I discovered first hand how beaten she was, but I didn’t let that deter me, I loved her that much.

“If she loses this pregnancy, I won’t forgive you,”

My mom’s pointed finger stared at my nose. I wondered if she thought me a Pinocchio.

This wasn’t the first noise of pregnancy she was making. As a matter of fact, she made one two weeks after our first sex. Probably she thought I would dump her after the big discovery, for food reasons, the pregnancy was a coy to compel me to marry her irrespective of my emotional state at that time.

She claimed to have had a miscarriage one month into our marriage when she realized I had my eyes fixated on her bump-less belly.

Mother insisted I drive them to the hospital, but I held my ground constantly repeating “I won’t” for her to know I meant business, Sabina already understood my stand – This is the real me, the one tired of being played; the one tired of her constantly thinking me a fool for loving her too much.

“What did she do, that's so unforgivable?” Mother asked in tears.

“She slept with my best friend!”

I lashed out. I couldn’t bottle my pain any longer. I had to speak up. I also had the right to cry. She shattered my heart, she stole my heart and fed it to me through my exit-hole, she made me a laughing stock before my friends. She slept with the same friend who advised me not to marry her without checking her authenticity.

Of recent, Sabina made a habit of nagging unnecessarily. She complained I didn’t have money, but, she was the one who urged me to resign and invest my life’s savings in a business idea her friend brought. I was defrauded in the process. I still suspect the thief to be one of her many lovers scattered all around town, as I got to understand from my Private Investigator that she had many.

“My own wife a prostitute!"

I confronted her about the allegations before her. I showed her pictures speaking against her on many grounds, I gave her a chance to explain herself – I loved her up to that level – even as she rained insults on me, I endured. She called me a jobless man, I swallowed. A weakling, I nodded. I loved her like that. She called my mother a prostitute, and I lost it.

I hit my dear wife for the first time.

I wonder what my mom would say now if I tell her that a prostitute called her a prostitute.

I ask you reading this, “Am I a monster?”

"Was I wrong to defend my mother's honor?"

I need an answer now, because my mom hasn’t been able to give me one, she’s being too absorbed by her own tears while I’m trapped by thoughts of my own about committing suicide to end this pain.

CC: Divepen1, Obinnau

Finstar:


Looks like he has turn his blog to an entertainment and LGBT support group.. I do visit his blog daily. If he had kept the pace he began with, his blog would have been a booming platform by now.

Very true. It's all good though.

Finstar:
Awesome story.. I love the emotion you were able to convey. Abeg, who have heard of DNB stories? Why aren't they up and doing like before? I have missed their stories like kilode.

I wonder why DNB went under; Daniel was good.