Day Sixteen: The Femme Killer (Part 3)

Cerbera odollam! Cerbera odollam!! Cerbera odollam!!!  Like music this sounded to my ears. That was it. I’d found the perfect elimination option. In our back garden was my mother’s favorite place – her cute green house where she nurtured an assorted array of plants and flowers. When away from the library and I was a bit bored at home, I’d be in there keeping mother company, helping her with the pruning and watering. So, my joy knew no bounds when I realised that my discovery already had everything in place to thrive.

Somewhere on the outskirt of the other side of town was a large botanical garden whose owners prided themselves in stocking every kind of plant from every continent in the world. I made plans, cracked my piggy bank and headed there though my parents were under the impression I was going to the library that day. As I got in there, I approached one of the tenders tilling and asked where I could buy seeds. He pointed me in the right direction towards the seeds & seedlings section.

I met a young girl there, she was probably 2 or 3 years older than I was, no more. Trying not to raise any sort of suspicion, I asked her with an unassuming expression if they had Cerbera odollam seeds in stock. Without raising a brow or battering an eyelid she answered ‘yes’ as she walked away from me. She returned with a small potted plant, placed it in a brown paper bag, I paid for it and left. It was a relief to know I didn’t have to deal with planting the seed from scratch.

I hid it in a remote part of mother’s green house and by the fourth day, a Saturday, mother made fresh muffins. All set! With gloved hands, I plucked all its leaves and most of its stem, crushed them together till the juice sipped out. I sucked it into a syringe and by midday, it was emptied into one of the two muffins going to “Mr. Monster’s” porch. I disposed the entire pot and what was left of the crushed leaves and stem in mother’s green litter-bin due for pickup later in the day. Nothing out of the ordinary, I left home for the library as usual armed with two muffins.

He was waiting on his porch and I was super excited like never before to see him there as I approached his house. I tried really hard to contain myself and acted as I would have at our previous tea parties. He beamed radiantly seeing I came bearing mother’s homemade muffins. We exchanged pleasantries and settled down to begin ‘our ritual’. Having nibbled on the safe muffin, I could tell which was the fatal one to place near him. We munched away and washed down with a cold glass of iced tea and no sooner than we finished I left for the library.

Three mornings later I hadn’t seen him but I couldn’t go asking anyone if they had seen him, especially not Mrs Griffin. I was itching so badly to know if it had really worked because somewhere inside I doubted the girl gave me the right pot. By the evening I noticed there was activity on the street for I could see the reflections of flashing amber beacons. My parents stepped outside later to come back with the news I’d been waiting for. With much sadness mother announced the passing of “Big Joe” as she tried to comfort with a cuddle knowing how close we were. I felt no remorse instead it was pure satisfaction knowing Amanda would now rest in peace and Big Joe in perfect pieces. Word on the street was he died of a heart attack as confirmed by his autopsy report. There was no suspicion of any foul play. That was the best news ever, seriously it was!

And that was how it all began! With the help of Cerbera odollam,  I have been serving justice from my alternate court room ever before I got called to bar. Right now, I feel like a junkie suffering the devastating effect of withdrawal symptoms only that this isn’t self-imposed. Like I said, I think Anthony is on to me. He saw me with a syringe a few weeks back in the coffee-room while trying to arrange some for my evil client. Needless to say, that was a prey I had to let go though right now it’s doing my head in!

-NW

Copyright ©2014 NUBIANWATERS. All Rights Reserved

Part 1 , Part 2

 

Writing 101: Day Sixteen: The Serial Killer III

“Earlier in the course, you wrote about losing something. Today, write about finding something. For your twist, view day four’s post and today’s post as installments in a series.”

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Day Thirteen: The Femme Killer (Part 2)

For many years, I was totally consumed with the thought of how I was going to serve the monster who robbed me of everything justice. Being a smart young girl, I understood from the onset that attempting to kill him the way he killed my best friend would be a suicide mission. I had to research other elimination options I could use without putting myself in harm’s way.

Nothing in our house at that time offered any kind of solution to the dilemma I needed to deal with.  So at twelve years of age, without breathing a word about my intent and resolution to another soul, I embarked on my mission. I visited the library more often in my spare time to build on my research. To avoid suspicion,  I made it a rule never to borrow any  of those related books out of the library. I read all I could about it right there in the library.

Most of the materials I read did not speak about elimination options expressly which was okay. I knew what I was looking for though I couldn’t say what it was specifically. I knew I wasn’t looking for gruesome neither was I looking for vicious or brutal options. A sweet lullaby kind of option was more like it. An option you’d never see coming, an option that would leave no trace.

Consumed by the research, I didn’t even realize I was developing a strong extensive knowledge base in myself. I was learning beyond my curriculum which was a good thing. My oblivious parents on the other hand were just too delighted to have such a studious teenage daughter who would choose a visit to the library over a day in the park without hesitation.

Shortly before the fourth year anniversary of Amanda’s death and my sixteenth birthday, I found it. Yes! I found it. I drew my conclusion, it was the perfect elimination option for “Mr. Monster” who lived eight houses away from her. This eureka moment caused me to breathe a sigh of relief for I was certain his end was near.

To the unsuspecting, I successfully maintained a cordial relationship with him in the neighbourhood. I was the only one who knew he wasn’t my friend. As a matter of fact, who was going to suspect any foul play?

Being the sole custodian of the true story about what really happened, I was in the control seat of “our relationship”. He didn’t see me on that fateful night and for a long time, he carried on with his ‘pious’ lifestyle as perceived by the neighbors though I knew it was just camouflage. The children on the street loved him because he would always offer them candies. He believed he had gotten away with the perfect crime.

Since her death, he showed me extra kindness and would often ask me to share a cup of tea with him on his front porch as I walked pass his house towards the library. I never declined his invites. Sometimes, I took mother’s freshly baked muffins along with me. He had become fond of them. Our little spontaneous tea parties never lasted more than ten minutes and the venue never changed.

It was always on his porch right across Mrs. Griffin’s house, the old lady who saw everything that went down on the street. I still wonder if she ever left that side of her front window because years after I’d left home I learned she literally breathed her last breath at that very spot. Poor old lady, she lived alone for so many years but then I digress!

-NW

…To be concluded in Part 3

Follow link for The Femme Killer Part 1

Copyright ©2014 NUBIANWATERS. All Rights Reserved

Writing 101: Day Thirteen: The Serial Killer II

“Earlier in the course, you wrote about losing something. Today, write about finding something. For your twist, view day four’s post and today’s post as installments in a series.”

Day Seven: Give and Take

—–THE DIALOGUE—–

Venus: I don’t understand the basis for your fury. You can’t demand it darling, you know better…it’s earned!

Mars: Look, I don’t explain myself when I have done nothing wrong!

Venus: I am not asking you to explain yourself, let your actions do the talking for goodness sake!

Mars: I’ve been friends with her before they met. He should understand that!

Venus: You’re missing the point still. Friendship is no excuse. You are unscrupulously over-stepping boundaries! Their boundaries!

Mars: How dare him ask me to leave his wife alone? The message was meant for her. She’s my friend!

Venus: …And he is her husband!!!

Mars: Bollocks!!!

Venus: My point exactly!

 

-NW

Copyright © 2014 NUBIANWATERS. All Rights Reserved

 

Writing 101: Day Seven: Give and Take

“Write a post based on the contrast between two things — whether people, objects, emotions, places, or something else.

Today’s twist: write your post in the form of a dialogue. You can create a strong opposition between the two speakers — a lovers’ quarrel or a fierce political debate, for example. Or you could aim to highlight the difference in tone and style between the two different speakers — your call!

 

Aside

Day Five: The Wandering Letter in the Wind

The  autumn wind blew the tattered piece of paper  my way as I strolled leisurely through the path in the park. I caught a glimpse of it and saw its content was handwritten. It aroused curiosity in me and I took off after it till I caught up with it in the wind.

Breathing heavily from the short burst run, I perched my behind on a nearby stump to read the details of the wandering letter. I read it several times over till I almost memorized every line.

A crystal ball couldn’t have shined any brighter than his heart did through his words to her in this letter. My heart melted reading the pure expressions of his unmasked emotions. He wasn’t afraid to lay it bare but sadly I’d never know if she held it dear.

-NW

Copyright © 2014 NUBIANWATERS. All Rights Reserved

 

Writing 101: Day Five: Be Brief

“You discover a letter on a path that affects you deeply. Today, write about this encounter. And your twist? Be as succinct as possible.

You stumble upon a random letter on the path. You read it. It affects you deeply, and you wish it could be returned to the person to which it’s addressed. Write a story about this encounter.

Today’s twist: Approach this post in as few words as possible.

 

Day Four: The Femme Killer (Part 1)

Ah ah! I think I now know what causes the notorious writer’s block…well, in my case at least! With an assignment like this, I need not look any further for diagnosis. Apparently stifling and unintentionally repressing certain emotions leads me down this dooming path. The struggle within to protect self from unexplored vulnerability lands me in the dreaded cul-de-sac. A fictitious trilogy? Phew! Ok, enough tantrum throwing, I’m going to give it a shot….arrgh!!!

PART 1

It’s been so long since my last kill and I can’t do a thing about. Not at this time at least. I slipped the last time and was almost caught by Anthony, the office pest. I need to stay off radar for sometime. I think someone is on to me, someone is watching me. This overwhelming feeling of helplessness is paralyzing my pseudo life. I can’t function well in this office watching daily criminals desperately trying to use their ill-gotten money and influence in the society to wriggle themselves out of the grip of the law and justice. Badness! So because you can pay for a good lawyer you think you can get away with callously taking a life? Not on my watch! Not as long as I keep up with this job that helps me identify murderers. I need my fix before I snap and loose it completely.

 For years, I have kept a day time job as an attorney-at-law to camouflage my default state of existence. I watched a monster kill my best friend when we were just eleven. This was only days before our twelfth birthday; we shared the same birth date. The memories of that fateful dusk remains vivid. These are memories on which I have built the mantra I now live by – “Kill for justice only”. We had gone into the woods nearby to play hid and seek as we always did. It was my turn to seek her out when I saw him wrestling her down with his huge palm across her mouth. He dealt her heavy blows repeatedly till she barely screamed.

I hid my small frame in the closest shrubs I could find shivering and looking on in utter dismay. Fearing for my life, I desperately muffled the scream that was welling within my core as I watched him unleash sheer brutality on her. She was a fighter even though her tiny and frail body was no match for his over-sized proportion. In minutes it was over. She went from struggle to silent, silent forever. I lost her forever. She died. I died too.

The silence that kicked in after her last whimper birth the killer instinct in me. I was afraid and at the same time enraged. She couldn’t hurt a fly yet he hurt her permanently. He knelt by her side with no expression on his face. He simply stared through her into oblivion. For a long time he didn’t move so I couldn’t move. After what seemed like eternity, he stood up and with his right hand he grabbed her lifeless body by the left side. Still in my crouched position I watched him dragged her like a rag-doll along uncharted bush path into the dark of the night. she was never found. Her body was never recovered.

The true story surrounding her disappearance and death was never known. What really happened to her was never told. Who was going to tell it? The killer who lived eight houses away from her house at the time of the incident and who also led the search party for her thereafter? Or the silent eye witness who reached an instant resolve, making killing the killer her sole mission? He took her away from me. He took everything away from me…beautiful childhood memories, untarnished innocence and my life. He took it all. I found strength in silence. I said nothing to no one. I knew I had already become a killer before my first kill. I knew I was going to kill him. This was how it all began.

-NW

Copyright © 2014 NUBIANWATERS. All Rights Reserved

Writing 101: Day Four: The Serial Killer

“Today, write about a loss. 

This doesn’t need to be a depressing exercise; you can write about that time you lost the three-legged race at a picnic. What’s important is reflecting on this experience and what it meant for you — how it felt, why it happened, and what changed because of it.

Today’s twist: make this the first post in a three-post series.

 

 

 

Mr and Mrs Series: What Lies Beneath 2

The time was 9:35pm when Abeke waltzed into the darkness of the apartment with some Thai takeaway in her hands as she softly hummed some happy tunes. That was the brightest I had seen her in days. She made no attempt to switch on the light; the beaming rays from the flat screen TV on the wall was enough for her to navigate the room.

“I got you some Thai, one of your favourites actually”, she said casually as she walked pass me into the kitchenette.

“Thanks! I’ll have it later”, I replied calmly though my heart was racing like crazy.

My thought processes and the many flashbacks had successfully activated mode paranoid in me. “She may have poisoned it”, I thought but quickly dispelled the notion. Abeke couldn’t be that mean and she wouldn’t allow her emotions get the better part of her.  I kept my gaze on the TV though my inner eyes were on her just to be on guard for any surprises. I was uneasy to say  the least. She settled herself into one of the two neon red high stools at the breakfast bar and ate her portion quietly. A recent copy of Grazia magazine lay on the counter, she reached for it and flipped aimlessly through the pages as she finished the last bits of her meal.

I heaved a sigh of relief when she announced she was retiring for the night. “Today must be my lucky day” I thought to myself, “but come to think of it, this wife of mine is acting rather normal. Hmmm, wait a minute, probably she only took a walk and never met up with Yvette. I mean,…the gravity of those  revelations could never leave any relatively sane woman calm. Abeke knows nothing…thank goodness!”. No sooner had she disappeared behind the bedroom door than the starved man in me dived into the awaiting pack of Thai takeaway. It took a few mouthfuls to realise how famished I was. I finished the meal, switched off the TV and crept into bed next to Abeke who was soundly asleep by this time.

Groggily I woke at 8:15AM the next morning as waves of migraine rippled through the left half of my face. My body felt like one that had been struck by a ‘molue’. Abeke was nowhere to be found. On her side of the bed was a note which read:

“Meet me in Lagos!”

“What!”, was all I could summon from my vocal reserve. With blurry eyes I looked around and indeed her travel suitcases were gone. Alas, my headache compounded instantly. Right there and then, the unnerving quiet of hers the previous night made perfect sense. “Abeke met with Yvette…wow!”, I thought. I left my hurting head buried in my palms as I sat at the foot of the bed for what seemed like an eternity, trying to make sense of Abeke’s action and the possible upcoming drama that awaited me in Lagos. Yvette’s revelations would seem minute however if she ever found out my other secret.

The shrill chimes of the doorbell interrupted my musings. I made my way out of the bedroom into the living space to answer it. Whoever it was at the door impatiently buzzed again leaving the finger permanently on the button; this agitated my migraine some more. On opening the door, Yvette brushed me aside as she walked right into the apartment.

“Where is the Mrs.?”, she queried sarcastically as she sat in the lone accent chair by the window.

“Errmm…she’s gone back to Lagos”, I managed to utter in my state of shock.

By this time, my head was spinning in orbits. She broke a crooked smile as she rummaged her handbag for her mobile phone. She punched in some numbers and dialled. The conversation lasted 2 seconds as she said into the receiver “It’s on”. I tried to wonder what that meant but didn’t have to for long. The front door of the apartment burst open and 2 hefty young men of Caribbean descent barged in. One of them had long dreadlocks and the other, a shiny bald head. They manned the door like prison guards. Yvette crossed her legs and motioned me to take a seat. Unsure of what was about to ensue, I complied like a sheep being led to the slaughter for the presence of the men towering over me gave me major concerns.

“I learnt you came with an impressive wallet to splurge on the high street…hmmm! Well…I am your high street now. Go bring the money!”, she ordered. I stood for a minute, wondering how deep her conversation with Abeke got when she barked at me,  “Get it right away…and I know the exact amount so don’t mess about with me.” Without a second thought I headed for the bedroom, took out the brown manila envelope that housed the £10,000 I had set aside for shopping from my suitcase and returned to the living room. I had no intention of testing the powers of Yvette’s touts.

To be honest, she wasn’t out of line with her demands; I never gave her a dime since the child was born. She ripped the loaded envelope out of my grip, turned her back on myself and her goons and quickly counted the crispy reddish £50 notes. As she turned around, she looked at me sternly, nodded like an Agama lizard before exiting the apartment with her goons like gangsters. Yvette’s drama was the least of my worries.

Source: Google Images

Abeke leaving for Lagos ahead of me was my primary concern. Seeing that her flight wouldn’t leave until 11:30AM, I called her cell phone severally but she refused to answer it. Without wasting any more time, I called the ticketing office and changed my departure to the evening of the same day. I got to Lagos the next morning and boarded a yellow taxi home; Bala’s official phone was unreachable. Our driver was usually very reliable; had the drama started already?

I got to the gate of our home about 8 O’clock in the morning and the gate-man welcomed me with fear and anxiety in his eyes. I reached for my keys and unlocked the front door. As I wheeled my suitcases into the anteroom, I sensed some unusual presence in the house. Seeing it was dead quite, I proceeded into the living room. On opening door, down on her knees was Mrs Johnson, Abeke’s mum, with both hands up in the air as she rubbed both palms against each other pleading to someone I couldn’t see. The look in her eyes was that of great fear and terror. I dropped my suitcases and rushed to her side as I called out her pet name to ask what the matter was.

I was oblivious of the fact that behind the door stood Chief Johnson with a double barrel shotgun in his hands. A shot rang out and I felt metal pierce my kneecap sharply as I crashed haplessly on the marble floor. Before I could take in all that was going on, Abeke was standing over me, her face emotionless. She stooped to my level and dug her teeth firmly into my shoulder for what seemed like forever then she passed out. I wriggled in pain. Mrs Johnson pitched her cry for mercy and forgiveness. It was then I realised we’ve been found out; our secret affair had been ongoing for 7 years! Chief Johnson corked  the shotgun once more; another shot rang out as her screams filtered to me from what seemed like a million miles away.

Mr and Mrs Series: What lies beneath

We inched slowly up the ramp leading to the International Airport terminal in Lagos as we made our way to the drop-off area outside the departure lounge. The traffic was gangster and my agitation grew with every passing second. I looked over to my left for the umpteenth time as I asked Abeke, my wife of 7 years, who sat with her small frame neatly curled in the far corner of our 2012 black Range Rover Sport SUV, “Is everything alright?”. ” Jeff, I’m alright!”, she replied with a grunt as her eyeballs rolled slowly in synchronised motion…I feared they would fall out of their sockets at this rate. The recurring spasms of heat-wave I had experienced since my father-in-law gave ‘the ultimatum’ ravaged my body once more as heavy sweat beads broke out on my brows despite the chilled climate in the interior of the SUV.  Doomsday draws nigh! Why can’t this old man just mind his own damn business for once, I thought to myself. A suppressed sigh eventually found its way out of me subconsciously.

After much stalling coupled with impatient drivers honking like maniacs behind us, a parking bay along the stretch of the departure terminal eventually emptied and Bala, our driver of 5 years, hurriedly occupied the space. He promptly disembarked having activated the auto open button of the trunk door. Carefully, he loaded 4 Samsonite suitcases on a trolley as Abeke and I vacated our corners in the back seats. This trip to London had left me petrified for days; my father-in-law insisted we both go back to the UK  to get a comprehensive medical check-up once more. The only difference this time around was that Chief Johnson took it upon himself to personally schedule the appointment with Dr. Brian; his suspicions were growing and he could smell a foul play a mile off! Now, that was the unnerving part! I am not one to be found lacking in control or strategy seeing that I succeeded in manipulating the results of all the medical tests we had taken in the past but Chief Johnson’s move, I didn’t see coming.

The flight was smooth and our passage through the UKBA immigration control hitch-free though Abeke didn’t say much to me during its course. She was too overwhelmed with the fact that she was yet to conceive despite medical confirmations of her fertility…she was primed for conception. For the first time, I felt the pangs of guilt. Truth be told, I never married Abeke with the intentions of having children, nah!!!…far from it. I chose her because she was the best candidate that fitted the role of my predetermined wifey profile. My life needed no more kids having been blessed with 7 from seven different women of differing classes and pedigrees on 2 continents before I turned 28. Yeah I know, I was a randy incorrigible skunk back then. Don’t blame me, blame it on my insatiable alpha-male needs. Something drastic had to be done about the rate I was procreating. For that reason, I analysed the pros and cons and eventually settled for a vasectomy procedure. Yes, vasectomy, my sole mission on earth isn’t to procreate nau! Ok, settling for a vasectomy is the palatable version of how it really happened but the truth is; the vasectomy was actually Yvette’s way of punishing me for lying to her.

When I met Abeke, I was 31 whilst she just celebrated her 30th birthday. Having 7 children didn’t impede me from living the life of a single, smooth and eligible bachelor; after all, I had never been married so yes I was single! Nduka, my work colleague and friend since secondary school days had invited me to the shindig – her 30th birthday party. She had opted to host her guests in her father’s house, somewhere on Banana Island. The mention of the venue alone was a good enough signal for my antenna to pick on. I did an extensive profiling on her and realised she would be a choice candidate to prey on, rather, consider marrying. Additional observatory works at the party revealed she was very single. I had to be smooth about my approach in order not to come across as a desperado…which I indeed was.

Quite a number of guys flocked around her, of course; she was the peacock at her own party. I played the stealth game instead and that increased her curiosity about me. My heart did the back flips when her eyes caught mine and she beamed her charming smile at me as she steadily made her way towards me amidst the thronging crowd. As she introduced herself, I charmed her with my honed British accent; this I had perfected over the years though I only live in the UK for 14 months when I was there on scholarship to study for my Masters’; that also was when the vasectomy  episode happened. Forget my knackson ways, I was a brilliant lad; I mean, brilliant enough to have gotten scholarship for my entire university programme back then. Abeke and I conversed the rest of my time at her party that fateful evening and I knew she wanted more. Without slacking, I leveraged on that and in no time, we started dating. Seeing she was keen on getting married as soon as possible, I strategically played my cards and bingo!, we got married 10 months after we met.

Abeke’s firm tug at my shoulder startled me out of my state of reminisce. We had just arrived at the short-stay apartment we secured somewhere in the Swiss Cottage neighbourhood. Without much ado we made our way into the apartment, dropped our suitcases and straightaway headed for the Underground station to catch the next tube train to London Bridge to meet Dr. Brian for our 11:30am appointment. The closer we drew to the clinic, the more aggressively agitated I became.  As the tube  arrived Waterloo station, i couldn’t help but ponder on my impending water-loo; What degree of damage control would I have to engage?, I thought. Predicting Abeke’s reaction to the looming revelation would have been easy if she wasn’t  as introvertish as her mother. The possible consequences of this revelation would impact hugely on my social status. There’s got to be a way around this!, I muttered quietly.

It was a short walk from the station to Dr. Brian’s private surgery. We were greeted warmly by the receptionist and told to wait a minute. She placed a call through to the Doctor’s office and in no time, she motioned us to go in. By this time, I was perspiring in every place possible. Managing to exude a calm demeanour in the doctor’s consultation room was pure work of genius I must say; I pulled it off excellently until Dr. Brian called in one of his nurses. She turned out to be Yvette, the Dominican older lady and mother of my 7th child whom I dated about 10 years ago while I was in the UK  on my Masters’ programme. Could my day get any worse? , I thought. Abeke noticed my sudden unease which made her extra curious. Yvette kept a straight face, you could hardly tell she was standing before her ex-boyfriend and father of her child; the one whom she punished with a vasectomy procedure for lying to and cheating on her. I conveniently forgot to tell her at any point during our relationship that I had 5 children in Nigeria, 1 in the UK while she was pregnant with the 7th! This isn’t looking pretty at all! 

Having lived in the UK all her life, Yvette had nicely offered me a free comprehensive medical check-up as a gift for my birthday that year. She even offered to take time off work in order to take me to the appointment at her friend’s private hospital somewhere outside London. Being a ‘Mr. lap-it-all cum awuf dey run belle‘, I couldn’t resist the offer. We drove for a very long time and I began to weary. She was extremely nice to me on this very day despite a major argument we had a few days before. She offered me a lunch pack and I gladly dug into it. I knocked out almost immediately. When I woke up, I checked the time and realised I had been out for a little over 3 hours. I tried adjusting myself in the car seat and felt a bit of discomfort down below. I felt I had been touched down there; it wasn’t so much of pain as it was discomfort. I looked at the overhead highway signpost ahead of us and realised we were headed back to London. 

“Why are we going back into London?”, I queried.

“That’s because check-up is over! You know you did not deem it fit to tell me about the 6 children you have from 6 different women whilst you took it upon yourself to lie blatantly to my face about some crappy love you have for me? With the 7th child on the way, I realised what your genitals needed was a restraining order.”, she replied without taking her eyes off the road. Needless to say, the rest of that journey was speechless!

As we left the Dr. Brian’s office that afternoon, Yvette found a way to slip a note into Abeke’s palm without my knowledge. Later that evening, Abeke excused herself from the apartment to take a long walk. I had too much on my mind to bother with keeping her company; she left alone. I remained on the chaise lounge sofa motionless till I felt the dryness in my throat. I hadn’t eaten all day so I headed for the kitchenette to grab a drink. Out of reflex, I reached for the book Abeke left on the counter. Flipping through absent-mindedly, a folded piece of paper stuck in the middle of the pages fell out. I reached for it, unfolded it and read it. 

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. If you love your life, call me later today on this number – 07941108827”

Fresh spasms of heat-waves rippled through my entire being as I stood transfixed for several minutes. My mind fondled the idea of losing my stake in Chief Johnson’s estate should Abeke divorce me. “Is this the beginning of the end?”, I pondered…

Source: Google Images