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TALES OF THE ATLANTIC CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Chelsea Umosen had barely left the suite when Timothy froze near the window, where he stood. It was the first day of March and it’d found him in Le Meridien Ogeyi Place, having sex with a marketing staff from Boma’s bank. Although he never liked the bank, one look at Chelsea’s fair face that fateful afternoon definitely forced him to. She’d left the hotel, happy she’d succeeded in getting another customer for her bank, who would deposit ten million Naira before the next week ran out. Last night, inside the hotel restaurant, she’d even collected his passport photographs and four specimens of his signature. Though she’d left him in a happy mood this morning, his present mood was frightful as it’d always been whenever he saw the goddess of perfection. He’d chosen this particular hotel to ‘service’ the ‘bank girl’ because he didn’t want the ugly incident that happened that fateful Sunday to repeat itself. It felt worse since none of the initiates’ invisible doubles could ever muster the
TALES OF THE ATLANTIC CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
While my throat was been pressed by the strange lady, Timothy walked back and forth in front of his television, with a glass of golden liquid in his right hand. He paid no attention to what the man and woman said on the television concerning Islamic extremists.He only watched CNN in order to be updated about international business activities such as shipping. The moment he stared at the bottle of Moet & Chandon on the centre table, he knew shipping and business were presently unimportant. He downed the third glass of the golden stuff while thinking about the assignment he’d been given by the goddess.“What the hell has he done now?” He muttered to no one in particular. Ten minutes ago, he was surprised when he saw the portrait of the goddess in his bedroom. She was dressed like a geisha, crying, with twenty-one dead geishas, scattered around the room in which she stood.“Watching Tonye’s not the problem…the problem is the reason for watching him.”He began to unscrew the lid
TALES OF THE ATLANTIC CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
After his invisible double returned from the silvery orb, Timothy downed a small portion of Remy Martin, before changing to his pyjamas. The last thing he saw before switching off the bedside lights was a portrait of the goddess in a black suit, holding a large wreath of flowers beside a tombstone in a cemetery, looking extremely happy.“Whoever you want to kill, you’re free to as far as it isn’t me…sweet dreams your utmost perfection.” He muttered and went to sleep. For the next seven days, I began to have one particular type of dream and I knew the goddess had commenced ‘round three.’Whenever I slept every night, I always dreamt of being in a graveyard, which had twenty-one graves with twenty-one gravestones. I walked around the graves for a minute or two before entering into a freshly dug grave, close to the twenty-first one.I called Pastor Alozie from a commercial call centre to tell him of this new development. I was shocked to my marrow when he slowly narrated the dream and i
TALES OF THE ATLANTIC CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The goddess sat on one of the chairs near the pool of ash, while she kept observing the portrait, which was now held by three ‘perfect assistants.’ It depicted her utmost perfection in a ceremonial military uniform, inspecting the corpses of six men tied to six wooden posts. Their heads were bowed and blood was flowing from their ripped abdomens.“Tonye, Tonye, Tonye…you were going to make me proud by being an exceptional Marine Brothers Society initiate, but your foolishness will now lead to your painful ascension.”The three naked women remained stone-faced as the goddess gave out a loud cackle which shook the entire orb.“A new initiate would find this very useful…see to that.” She rose up and made for the silvery altar, with the three women walking silently behind her. They overtook her when they were a metre to the silvery altar, before placing the portrait gingerly atop it.“Tonye, you disappointed me terribly,” she whispered to herself as the portrait was slowly absorbed by the
TALES OF THE ATLANTIC CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
While Boma’s imaginary kiss landed on my forehead, Ibeabuchi put finishing touches to his ‘tools’ of work. As a former mobile policeman, he knew the modus operandi of the Police and Mobile Police respectively in the State. He was conversant with their nature and more importantly, how long they usually took to respond to a distress call.On the small table beside the window, two oiled pistols lay with a well sharpened service dagger between them. At that moment, he wasn’t concerned with the instruments of death before him, rather he marvelled at my picture, taken by a special camera inside the silvery orb.He tried to wonder why a handsome and suave gentleman deserved to die. Four hours ago, he’d received a message alert on his mobile phone.It informed him of his savings bank account with Union Bank, which had just been credited with Seven Hundred and Fifty Thousand Naira, by one Florence Adetuyi.. Upon completion of the assignment, he would receive the remaining half.Examining the p
TALES OF THE ATLANTIC CHAPTER THIRTY
If anybody had told me that my invisible double was still ‘alive’ and ‘functional,’ I’d laughed heartily at such a person. The door to my room opened slowly and I stopped laughing at the cartoon on the television. I thought it was a nurse and tried to prepare my buttocks for another round of morning injections.Instead of a cheerful feminine face in a white uniform, I was surprised at the huge, six feet figure carrying a hamper, while entering the room with a smiling face. He looked satisfied with the occupant he’d just met, as his right hand began to reach for the back of his waist.“Are you Tamunoonye?” he asked in a friendly tone. Before I opened my mouth to answer, I watched in surprise as his smile soon turned into a painful, ugly grimace. He began to stagger towards my bed, while the hamper and dagger dropped from his hands.The next moment, I saw his white silk shirt become soaked with blood, flowing from his mouth and nostrils. He began to gasp for breath as the shiny blade w
TALES OF THE ATLANTIC CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
God had never failed or disappointed him ever since he became born-again two decades ago, and he knew he wouldn’t start now. As far as Pastor Alozie was concerned, the major battle at hand was the ‘third stage’ of the Marine Brothers Society saga he was now faced with. The ‘first stage’ was the attack by the naked demons in my house.The ‘second stage’ was the accident which incapacitated me and the ‘third and final stage’ was the proposed face-off between me, Pastor Alozie (any other ‘interested’ party and the goddess. On the day the last surgical operation was to take place, Boma and Pastor Alozie were given fifteen minutes to talk with me before I was reeled to the theatre.“I’ll come around immediately I’m through from work,” Boma whispered as she held my hands.I looked at her smooth face and thought of how my abdomen had been scarred with stitches. The psychologist had advised me to keep recollecting happy thoughts and memories before the surgical operation commenced.This made
TALES OF THE ATLANTIC CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
After an intensive massage one afternoon, I thought about the other Marine Brothers Society initiates and wished they could witness everything I’d witnessed, especially Doris Onakposeba, in her present state. She was the least of my worries, since one of them had even tried to kill me, by procuring an assassin. Staying in the hospital was frustrating, due to the healing and recovery process, which went on at a snail-speed.Many things had improved in my daily routine, especially my feeding pattern. I now fed myself, though salty, spicy and fried foods were still disallowed from my diet. My body, especially my blood needed sugar, so I indulged in ice creams and sweets on several occasions.As for the portrait, I looked at it at every available moment. Sometimes, I imagined me and Boma as orphans who were running away from the goddess and dying in the process of surviving Marine Brothers Society’s pangs, while the time rapidly ticked away.It was the third Sunday in June as he itched fo
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