'Everywhere was as dead silent as a graveyard, ‘or maybe perhaps it was my graveyard, a deliberate silence, or maybe Simon had been waiting for me to come in before finally finishing off his job.’
Continued from last episode.
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Some minutes later, I heard the noise of someone who was trying to open the coffin up, and when it did open, ‘WOW!!!’, it wasn’t someone I had expected to see, behold it was Father James who was in an all-white robe. There was no fear on his face. He looked at me with a smile and without saying a word or making another gesture, he took my hands, and raised me up, then helped me come out of the coffin. Everyone, on seeing this ‘AH WHAT A CALAMITY!!!’ ran helter-skelter, including my wife and relatives. I looked at their faces as if I was trying to fish out the culprit, the one who had murdered me, I knew the person must have been around the vicinity, waiting and watching how I would be dropped six feet below the soil, or that he or she must even have arranged for the proper commencement of my burial ceremony.
They all moved back, and were terrified, no one would see a man rise from the dead and still rest his feet on the ground, except someone that was as fearless as Father James who later addressed them and urged them to thank God for bringing me back to life, that was when everyone began to calm down (though that calmness was only at the edge of a cliff, waiting to jump down if anything strange scares them and it could all be seen on their faces and expressions that their fears were only sleeping with an eye closed and the other watching closely for an escape route.) I was led into the house, with people all clamouring and gossiping about the event, though they never neared me; they were all stone’s throw away from me, except my wife, extended family, Father James and my friend Tony and that was how the wake-keep service ended that day without a corpse been fed to the most and ever hungry soil.
Despite the fact that two weeks had passed after the incident, people from far and near still rushed into my compound to take a glance at the man who had resuscitated. But as time went by and sheded like the leaves of a dry tree, the numbers of 'I heard, I came' began to wane like the age of man, till I had time to go out and carry on with my business, the business which was a business that no one knew about.
Though I narrated the whole story to them, including some media houses that came around, who I all urged repeatedly to live holy lives, but in each part of the story; both the living and the dead, I skipped some particular similar scenes; the scenes that revealed the relationship of the culprit. Though I was void of the identity, but I thought it okay to keep it from the public that the culprit, who had ealier forced me into a deep sleep, was very close to me, as the voice and the assassin had told during my encounters before that time.
About two months after the whole busybodiness which came from the press and gossips, I decided to search for the one who had forced my eyes to close through the institution of death ring's leader. This was contrary to the advice of the voice, this was against the warning that echoed till it finally disappear, but No, I couldn't hold it, neither could I bear it, knowing the one that had cut my life from the tree of the living was still there, alive, walking, and probaly working to send me back again to the dream of reality and knowing fully well that I might not be a lucky Isreal again, I excreted all the words and prepared for my own investigation. I first went in search of an excellent sketcher, who would help me put the face of the assassin, which I could still remember apparently at that time in picture. Luckily for me, I found one along the road to the major city market, a market place so full of noise, yet had some silence enchoing with great rumble, the loudness of its voice. He was so good to the extent of drawing the image exactly how I had it in my memory; in fact, I never knew such talents still existed in the world, but that day I knew they still did, but only needed a little hope and support to break down the walls of being a shadow in the darkness of the world.
After I had paid him, I took the picture and proceeded to my friend’s office, Tony, who was working as of that time with the I.A; The Investigation Agency, to scan the drawing on his computer. When I got there, he discouraged me from carrying on my so called personal investigation, giving the reason that it might hinder the government’s investigation on the case and could also land me in jail for trespassing and frustrating police investigation. But when I insisted and told him the police was mute about the case and that even if they were really on the case, they were not better off a snail because they were too slow. He was kind of embarrassed with what I had said and that made him grant me access to the network and promised to make my mission discreet. I scanned the sketch with the country’s record-images. I hadn’t even scanned the images for up to five seconds when his image and details popped up: he was a man who had many a time been taken to court and had served different jail terms in different prisons. He had committed various kinds of misdemeanours, criminal offences which he had been arraigned for except for felony which he had committed against me. I printed the picture and thanked him for his help. He asked if I got the malefactor, but I answered negative, because I knew he was a federal agent and that if he had known the culprit, he would go straight for him and that might thwart my plan of getting the real master minder of the assassination myself and probably ask him the reason for his actions. He just made a statement, ‘I want you to be careful with your investigation; you never know who has the third eye.’ I thanked him for his help and went out of his office with a little grin of ‘AHA I’VE CAUGHT YOU!!!’ on my face.
I hid the picture in my shoe and headed for the building’s exit. When I got out of the complex, I called a cab who took me to where Simon Bronx (the name I had found on the assassin’s information) at no 23, Kings Street. As I got to the front of a blue roofed bungalow, which I began to ponder immediately how such a criminal, who had been convicted for so much crimes could still afford to build or perhaps rent such a beautiful house, but not a long, a thought like an holy thief tip toed itself into my little mind and established that he must have been a political thug, for such criminals were never caught, and even if caught a million times and thrown into jail, they got out to become richer, than someone working on a twenty-four hour work pay. I went straight to the door which was a white one with a knocker attached to it and the house’s number also inscribed on it to confirm if it had corresponded with the details I held with the close end of my right hand and it did, it was the same NO. 23. Summoning great hope that I would find the dark lipped and unkempt haired Simon in the house, I pressed the bell but no one answered. I did it repeatedly, yet there was no reply and that was when I decided to take my leave, with the belief that I had either got the wrong address or Simon didn’t live there anyone. But as I got out of the compound, an Idea struck my mind and I went back to the door. I held the door’s handle and tried to open it and fortunately, it did open without stress. One lesson I learnt in a hard way about going on a personal investigation is having a backup plan, but I didn’t. I went right into the house and landed in the living room, but no one surfaced, or came out to learn of the uninvited guest (me). Everywhere was as dead silent as a graveyard, ‘or maybe perhaps it was my graveyard, a deliberate silence, or maybe Simon had been waiting for me to come in before finally finishing off his job.’ strange thoughts began to rush into my mind, and becoming seriously afraid, I decided to turn back and go home in peace before I got cut into unburiable pieces. I got to the door and as soon as I opened the door, another thought, which I still, till now could not figure out what kind of thought I would name it, a good, a bad, an encouraging, a devil’s pit or a…. for it advised me to turn back and fulfil my target rather than leaving it on an highway to be crushed by the vehicle of fear, especially now that I was close to finding the truth. After digesting this thought, a bowl of sweat rolled down from my head and entered my chest, and reflected outwardly on my shirt, I knew immediately that sweat was no sweat that was FEAR!!! Showing itself in another form; I followed the thought. I shut the door and moving away from it, I made a three sixty degrees turn around and walked pass the living room and went proceeded. When I got to the dining room, I saw a cup of tea which was still emitting mist, I instantly knew someone, if not Simon was in the house, but where he/she could be was what I didn’t know. I went to the kitchen and rooms, shouting his name, but my callings echoed back to me. As I was about leaving, I saw a room which my eyes had skipped. The room was the smallest, perhaps, if one’s eyes did not compete with the eagles’, one would move pass it undetected. I walked straight to the table and took a small bread knife as an aegis tool, then ensued to the small room with a white door. When I got there, it wasn’t locked so I opened it, peeped to check if it was safe, and when I was certain it was safe, then I walked inside.
At the left hand side of the room, there was a small table were a lot of pictures and little quantity of marijuana were scattered. I went to the table and browsed through the pictures and I, as I had expected, saw mine in-between some other pictures, but I didn’t get hold of any other information except the picture. I was still clueless of whom the master-minder was, and that made me make the decision to check the two cupboards in the room thoroughly. I began with the one at my left-hand side, but it was empty, then I proceeded to the other one, and there I saw another big-bang. A man was squeezed into the cupboard, his head was open, and same were his eyes, it was like he was steering at me. I checked if he was dead, by putting a hand on his chest and he was. I moved back instantly, I knew I was in a mess, I knew someone must have done it to achieve a course, either to impede the truth from coming out, or…. the moment I thought about the second option, I shouted jeez! I ran out of the room as quick as I could and headed for the door. As I opened the door to get outside, I saw another thing wholly; a horde of police were pointing their weapons at me and telling me to put my hands on my head. That was when I knew my other option was really true; I had been framed for murder and not just any murder, but for the murder of my murderer.
- Dear reader, I hope you enjoyed the story. Be assured on its continuity on Thursday. Always remember that we are the society and the society is us. We have to change what needs be changed and leave what needs be left.
- Hearing from you is an essential ingredient, please drop your comment in the comment box by first clicking on the post itself then input your thought below the post. Thank you.
- See you next time: it's cooking already.
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