06/01/2022
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15/10/2021
JASMINE: THE SERIES
EPISODE SEVEN
Earlier that day, the very Wednesday Jasmine was captured by Thunder, Amelia had decided to give her a birthday treat. It was going to be her 15th birthday the next day and Amelia had wanted to make it memorable. Amelia who had eventually become the only friend Jasmine could trust, had taken her downtown for shopping and some beauty care. The day had brought life to her; she had fun, smiled and laughed out her sorrow. For many years in her life, Jasmine had not felt that way. Just that feeling of safety; the feeling and thought that she was being spoilt and no beast was going to tear her apart as pay back at night made her feel loved.
It was really a long day of manicure, pedicure and all the curative beauty touches to which women were akin. She enjoyed every bit and tenderness of them and wished she wouldnât have to return home. Although home was not toxic with Amelia, it held many awful memories for her. The very reminder that she was there on a hostage by Dasuki hunted her peace badly. It brought back the memories of the abuse she had suffered from him and the very betrayal of trust. The pain that an officer of the law whom she had expected would get her justice eventually ended up taking advantage of her misery! However, she tried not to think much about the later and decided to relish her mind in the solace of the moment.
Amelia also took her to the Spa. It was a full option service experience she had; the massages, facial scrubs and make-ups, electrolysis; spa manicures and pedicures, body treatments like exfoliation, wraps and packs, aromatherapy, and hair styling and colouring. It wasnât just the spa that thrilled Jasmine, but having the opportunity to inhale and exhale peacefully, somewhere away from her place of captivity.
Amelia watched Jasmine pleasurably waggling in the ecstasy of the moment, and just then, she transited into the thoughts of her childhood and teenage life. This, she thought, was how life should have been for all kids. They were to be protected and not predated upon. No decent society should embrace with kid gloves the very menacing experience to which Jasmine was subjected. She lamented inwardly how rotten life had become with less concern for humanity. Families had grown deeply apart even in their togetherness so much that in the superficialities of smiles worn so much agony sunk deep down the heart; killing the soul gently and painfully to the ignorance of even many who claimed to have cared. This very generational metamorphosis had eroded the true communal chord that held kin and kith together and everything has now falling apart like in Achebeâs Things Fall Apart. Everyone one now felt alone in the crowd.
As she watched Jasmine catch her cruise, she thought of how to elope with her to scamper for safety. Whatever it was Jasmine felt, she wanted it to last beyond the corners of the Spa. She didnât want Jasmine to go back to the sadness of their abode; indeed, such ecstasy that came with this very experience was the life she wished for Jasmine and hoped it continued uninterrupted. But what about her own personal life?
Amelia truly understood the language of Jasmineâs tears. She was also a victim of r**e and in**st. In her own case, she was deflowered at 12 by her own father. It was a Sunday evening, her mother and her other younger siblings had gone to church for the evening fellowship. She had to stay back that very evening to fix dinner for the family since she couldnât do that before the time for the fellowship. Her father had earlier in the day gone for their townâs union meeting. She was alone in the house and as such, decided to enjoy the largesse of being alone. Stripped to her skimpy skirt, she set to work in the kitchen. At about 5:40pm, her father drove back from the meeting. His presence in the house didnât make Amelia uncomfortable in her dress; after all, she was daddyâs girl and only 12 to think daddy could erotically prey on his own daughter. As she ran and hugged him in welcome, he didnât detach from her until he defiled her. She struggled, kicked, wrestled and wiggled with every ounce of strength in her, but she was too tender for her fatherâs firm grip. Whether it was preconceived or an impromptu emotional dysfunction occasioned by her dress, she couldnât say and didnât mean anything to her. What she bore was the scar of a father whom she gave a welcoming hug but defiled her.
Although Amelia had kept this secret and horror experience to herself, she had held it against her father until his death. It was at his point of death, that the very bond between daughter and father that was lost to the abuse reared up by reason of compassion. She couldnât watch her father exit to beyond with the very feeling that his daughter hated him to death. With profuse tears streaming down her cheeks as the feeling of the hurts and betrayal walled up and revived the scars, she screamed with a loud voice that heaved much of the burden out, âI forgive you, dadâ, her father for the first time in eight months since he was bedridden, smiled with relief and breathed his last.
It was dusk, and the day was sheathing into night. Amelia knew it was time to take Jasmine home, especially, given the widespread insecurity in the country. They left their last point of call which was an eatery and made their way home. Jasmine didnât want to go home and so, she insisted they walked some distance on foot before hailing a cab. It was her day and so, Amelia obliged.
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It has been quite some days since Thunder took the job of finding Jasmine. He had had all his nosers poking round town for her without success. That was very much unlike the speed with which he was known to deliver in his assignment. At some point, he had got so frustrated and wondered how on earth trailing Jasmine was becoming much of an onerous task to him. He was the best in his line of job and whoever had hidden Jasmine to his inability to find had riled him beyond forgiveness. He would express his rage on the person. This was the animosity with which he had now launched the search for Jasmine.
The only substantial detail Thunder had on Jasmine was her last reported address, No. 45 Akpeni Street. He had planted some men permanently around the neighborhood to feed him with information but nothing came out of it. The house had been unattended to. Nobody had made way into the house and its very condition could only be described as deserted. All attempts to connect dots on Jasmine made the search even more ambiguous. Thunder had cogitated about other probable locales that might provide an alibi for some sort of a smart criminal who might have driven her into the neigbourhood but didnât really mean to keep her there. His analysis of No. 45 Akpeni Street as a decoy apartment was true to the fact that no human had been seen around the flat since they commenced watch on it; but the other half as to where she possibly might have been held hostage was the greatest conundrum that bugged his mind. He couldnât pull out of the job lest he was seen as a failure and so, he became determined to pursue the job to its logical conclusion. But what had changed was that whoever it was that held Jasmine would pay with his or her life for making the job so difficult.
Earlier that day, Thunder was at the balcony of his hideout; an uncompleted semi-detached duplex that looked abandoned at the suburb of the town, smoking and inhaling his substances when one of his spies called to inform him that he had spotted a lady that matched the image on the photograph he had given to him. Thunderâs joy knew no bound; at last, he had found the little imp! He mounted his power bike and immediately rode to the address he was given. At his arrival at the location, Amelia and Jasmine had left the eatery where they were spotted and just strolling down the street as Jasmine had requested. Had they taken cab immediately as Amelia had wanted, they would have averted what would befall them soon. But Jasmine was too young to understand how much caution one needed to take to stay safe in this unsafe world. The ecstasy of the day probably made her feel so safe with life, and nothing about danger registered in her mind for the time being. As for Amelia, she did not want to ruin the moment and so, played along, hoping it would be a story with a happy ending.
It was at Jaguar Avenue that Thunder struck. He had trailed them after he missed their mark at the eatery whose address he was given. His spy had kept an eye on them and as such, it wasnât a big deal for Thunder locating them. But he had got to be careful not to draw unnecessary attention. He was disappointed when he saw her in the company of a lady; they looked loose, free, and nothing like a people watching over their shoulders. He studied the picture he was given and compared it severally with the face he beheld and had no doubt whatsoever she was the very person on whose head was a 2-million-naira bounty paid. How easy they looked; but how hard it was locating such unguarded people! He wondered.
As soon as Amelia observed the consistent trail of his power bike, she anticipated danger and tried to cross to the other lane. However, her reaction was late. He had grabbed Jasmine by her arm and had je**ed her onto his bike. He kicked Amelia hard unto her stomach just to get her off resistance; he had no intention at this point to unleash the very punishment he had initially planned for whomever had the custody of the girl. He felt she was just a victim of a circumstance and that what was quintessential at the material time was just to deliver Jasmine and wash off his hand from the job. The job never made meaning to him any longer. It was more of a case of the more you looked the less you see. Jasmine didnât look under hostage with Amelia and didnât look so much of a value for a 2-million-naira bounty. Well, what did he care for? He thought!
Thunder had pulled up at a lonely boulevard to address Jasmine who was trying to break his hold. He had managed to squeeze her into a grip with one arm while using the other hand to turtle his bike. Getting to what looked like a less busy street, he pulled up and je**ed Jasmine closely into the redness of his fiery eyes. She quivered and just then, her nerves grew cold in the scary stare of the brute before her. He growled slowly in his thunderous voice so intimidatingly that Jasmine immediately peed on her pants in great tension. He again snarled twisted his face, revealing great furrows and contours in his face which portrayed horror. He pressed her epiglottis with his right thumb and assured her he would cut her into pieces if she dared moved a muscle. Jasmine again became even calmer and completely submissive. It was at this point he pulled out his phone and dialed, âI have Jasmine, where is the finisher?â as the phone was picked on the other end.
He had spoken without exchange of pleasantry and least anticipated the phone would be in someone elseâs hand. That was very unprofessional; but that was also such kind of error that substantiated the claim of manâs imperfection regardless of her good one was in what one did. His muscles grew cold when a woman screamed at the other end of the phone. He quickly ended the call and decided to ride his hostage home. As he turned on the ignition of his bike, there came a great landing on his skull. Amelia had gathered herself up quickly to a chase against him. Although she had put up a call to Dasuki to come to their aid, she had also decided on her own to trail him so as to monitor his coordinate. When she saw him at a distance taking the curve to where he pulled up, she had alighted from the bike that carried her and took another bend to them. Thunder was still in the coldness of feet after he had screwed on the phone. He was only trying to gather himself up, not fully alive to his environment when Amelia took advantage of his off-the-guard state to hit hard his skull with the rod she had picked close by. It was an act of courage that saved Jasmine; Thunder fell half-conscious to the ground letting Jasmine off his grip, and slowly but merely growling in sub consciousness of the concussion. His vision went dizzy and his nerve could not pump him to his feet for some time. Amelia instructed Jasmine to run away for safety while she continued to scream for help. She landed the rod a few more times on Thunder and that grew him weaker.
Shortly, people had begun to gather in twos and threes and even in his subconscious state, Thunder could sense the danger that would befall him in the instance of a mob action or jungle justice. He jostled for some strength and staggered back to his feet. Blood was now oozing profusely from his head where the rods had jabbed him. He looked at Amelia with great hate and animosity and felt so much embarrassed how badly he was humbled to the ground by a woman. It was an insult for him and the price of it was death. He reared up his muscles and pulled together every ounce of strength left in him. As Amelia lifted the rod for another turn of landing, he grabbed her arm and broke it in a twist. She yelled with a loud voice of pain. From a distance of safety, Jasmine turned and saw the game had changed for her friend. Thunder grabbed her by the neck and je**ed out his pistol; a 45 caliber, and pumped six bullets at a close range into her breasts. Slowly, Ameliaâs breath dwindled as she embraced the cold hands of death.
Jasmine screamed and ran towards the direction of the scene to her friend. She had forgotten the need to watch the road very well before crossing. Meanwhile, to avert street solidarity that would come from the gathering crowd, Thunder had lumped himself onto his power bike and rode off for safety. As Jasmine speedily took the way towards her friend, a speedy incoming car knocked her to the sky and by the time it had squelched to a stop by the application of brakes, Jasmine landed lifelessly on the bonnet like a piece of rag!
I will see you in Jasmine: The Series, Episode Eight. Please, like follow my page at Sir Collins Shelf. Comment, like and share. I appreciate those who have continued to support me by liking, commenting and sharing my stories. You are the reason I shall tell this story to its end. Thanks for your sustained support.
Eze Collins Ofoma
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10/10/2021
JASMINE: THE SERIES
EPISODE SIX
It was a Wednesday evening and a prayer meeting programme. The church had decided on the request of Buba to dedicate that evening to interceding for the safe return of Jasmine. He and his wife had approached the senior pastor of the church, Pastor Metumaka, to seek a spiritual intervention to Jasmineâs disappearance. He couldnât have resisted his wifeâs insistence about getting their pastor involved even though he knew it was a bad idea. But at this point, Buba was ready to play to the gallery as long as such action went further to exonerate him. His only concern was that he feared that getting God very much involved in this case was not ideal as He might by way of revelation reveal the truth to the church. Buba may not be God-fearing, but he had never doubted for once Godâs potency to wrought miracles and reveal deep secrets. But what option has he got when a refusal might possibly lead to indictment? He thought.
That evening, the church prayed earnestly for Jasmine. As expected, Sister Chinyere who was always the vessel of revelation for the church during prayers, soon went into spiritual frenzy and right there, Bubaâs heart quaked! He knew God always spoke through her and that her prophecy was never in doubt. However, her form of prophecy always came in mystery and parable. The messages were always not straightforward. They were always in themselves in need of a person with special gifts of interpreting prophecy to interpret them. This became an iota of consolation to Buba who at this point was already feeling naked before Godâs people. He was sure that the prophecy would not come in the manner that would strip him. He was therefore determined to play ignorance to the mystery of the revelation.
âYes Lord⌠yes LordâŚâ Chinyere staggered from one point to the other, almost on one foot. At this point, there was calm as they awaited the message. âThe Lord says, why cry to me when you already know the truthâŚ? Hmmm!â
Faces could be seen in deep perplexity. Clearly, the message was vague and they hoped it would be clearer for discernment. For some time, she only hummed and sighed as she staggered in increased velocity. The impatience of the church grew as was their state of confusion.
âI am the Lord, the Lord God of host, I may be slow to anger and abounding in love but donât dare me⌠I created heaven and earth and before me there is no secretâŚâ
Again, their impatience grew longer and their confusion went deeper.
âYes⌠you know yourself⌠your sin will find you out. That girl you have set to destroy is an instrument in my hand and unto honour. Though she has been violated and battered, I will make her clean again. I will pour my spirit upon her and her name would be heard wherever there is man to breath the air. But as for you wicked man, I will visit your iniquity with judgment and your sin shall stand naked before all men as the world to the sunâŚâ
At this point, the message was clear but lacked direction. No one knew at whom the message was directed and sure, no one would possibly look in the direction of saint Buba; a perceived righteous elder and a deacon in the church. At the very least of indictment, thoughts roved around his barren wife whom many thought she could be responsible for her disappearance. But even at that, a rational mind would hardly think they were responsible for their daughterâs ordeal. The church had pity on them and sympathized with them at every step of their grief.
Sister Chinyere staggered and staggered to the ground. As she fell down and mute, the church took over from there. The prayer point was for God to expose whoever was behind this evil. Buba didnât like the prayer point and hoped earnestly that God in his mercy would not answer it. He knew that was it not for grace and Godâs enduring mercy, he would have long been smitten to the ground to have reared the effrontery to stand before Godâs alter in such magnitude of hypocrisy. But he also understood that he had crossed that line that only genuine repentance and sheer courage would bring him back to that point where he would own up and seek practicable assistance. But he lacked the guts and certainly, did not want it. He just wanted things buried and may be when all of this was over in his own way, he would seek repentance.
The prayer point in his dark mind was for Thunder to find Jasmine so that his finisher would finish the job and then he could mourn her once and for all and that chapter of reproach would be closed finally. The idea of God revealing the evil man behind this evil pricked his heart at every mention of it and he sure refrained from saying amen.
After the prayer meeting, the pastor called Buba and his wife to a corner of the church to share the conviction in his heart with them. He assured them that God had assumed control of the situation and it was a matter of time before it became visible to all men. He admonished them to go to sleep and allow God fight the battle for them. He lifted their spirits up and assured them of his continued prayers and spiritual support. For the first time since the ordeal, Mrs. Charity Buba felt her spirit light. Her faith grew and she felt some elements of relief. She has let her problem to God and she was willing to hold her peace. She brightened up and she and her husband made their way to the parking lot.
Sister Chinyere was leaning on Bubaâs car as she waited for him to arrive the parking lot. Her mere sight on his car terrified him and he wished whatever was the case for her being there was unconnected with Jasmine. His heart throbbed even faster as her face looked mean as he approached closer to her. How he wished he could do anything magical to whisk her away. He hated her boldness and he knew she was going to be blunt with whatever message she had for him in the presence of his wife. This, he feared was going to be disastrous.
âSister Chinyere,â the wife smiled as she reached out for pleasantry. In her usual way when she bore serious message, she grinned parsimoniously. Her mission did not call for a generous smile. Her job was to deliver the message and leave.
âSister⌠sister⌠are you going our way today?â Buba tossed, hoping she would not be sarcastic and antagonistic in her reply.
âNo sir,â she replied as respectful as she could. That offered him some relief. Probably, all was not that bad. It could have been something else that had brought her.
âI hope you will not stop praying for the safe return of our daughter?â he asked, hoping he had not goofed or stirred up some trouble.
âThe Lord said I should tell you that He will visit youâŚâ
âAmen!â His ignorant wife quickly answered in interruption.
Both Buba and Chinyere were amazed alike. Chinyere pitied the ignorant wife and walked away as she shook her head in pity. At this point, Buba held himself in caution. He was now afraid that his sin was not known to himself alone and that the circle was growing larger. Chinyere has to be fixed!
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Buba got home feeling very depressed, restless and downcast. He wasnât too sure how he would handle Sister Chinyere but he knew if he did nothing, then it was just a matter of time before Chinyere bore out the secret to the whole church. Sister Chinyere had no respect for sin or sinners alike when it did to matter of spirituality. When Pastor Ude, the former senior pastor of their church, slept with Sister Doyin, their former choir mistress, it was Sister Chinyere who openly disclosed their affairs to the church during the church-in-council session. Church-in-council session? That was a combined service held once every year when all the members of the church, exceeding five thousand memberships, gathered and had the floor to speak on the affairs of the church. It was always packed full and had everyone in attendance. It was on this occasion that Sister Chinyere divulged her revelation about Pastor Ude and Sister Doyinâs affairs. It was a good thing she did to have exposed sin, but some elders of the church were displeased in the manner of the exposure. They chided her lack of diplomacy and wisdom and feared it was going to cause more harm than good. And it did. Pastor Ude committed su***de in shame and nobody even till today knew anything about Sister Doyin. The faith of many waxed cold because they held Pastor Ude in high esteem and couldnât handle that aspect of truth that no man was infallible. He was just a career of grace and not God and what he needed as the elders thought was a reprimand that would take him back to his feet and not eternal damnation. The elders of the church had hoped that she would have revealed it to the council of elders and deacons and they would have applied a more logical way at dealing with Ude. Her reply left all of them speechless. She told them unremorsefully that she was unapologetic about her action and that if God was to give her another revelation with same instruction, she would not tone it down to suit manâs carnality and that if any of them had skeleton in their cupboard, they had better seek genuine repentance before their sins found them out. This was Sister Chinyere for you and her method of spirituality. This was the very concern Buba had. All the wickedness he had wrought was simply to conceal his sin and not because he took pleasure in them. He had sacrificed his peace, sleep and everything human in him just to conceal the very abuse he had meted out to his niece, his daughter-in-care, and here was Sister Chinyere coming into picture. She has to be fixed and he was clear about that. This was not what he wanted but she had just made the list of collateral damage.
As he paced about his spacious air-conditioned room sweating profusely amidst the coldness of the AC, his wife who just entered the room without his notice, held him in tight hug. She gave him that look that reassured a man in despair that God was in control and that all he needed was to hold his peace. She felt he needed her at this perilous time and she felt the need to be strong for him. She knew it has not been easy for them since the disappearance of Jasmine especially with the people who might be determined to read meaning of Jasmineâs disappearance into the affairs of their lives. If they went up, it would be the outcome of using Jasmine for ritual, and if life ever went bad, it would be the karma of using Jasmine for ritual. They have had to avoid any form of public conversations just so that they did not attract public insult. This was a big reproach and the sooner God took it away from them the better their lots. As she held him in tight embrace, she felt the throbbing of his heart. It was intense and in fast successions. His temperature was scaling high and she feared she was going to lose her husband. Quickly, she led him into the bathroom and insisted he took his bath.
For some moments alone in the bathroom, Buba felt sorry for his wife and wished he had the courage to ask for her forgiveness. He knew she didnât deserve this gross betrayal but what was even more hurtful was the continued deceit he had had to put on. For what it was worth, he prayed he would rear up the courage to confess to her and take in good fate whatever the outcome was. But as he thought of this, the fear of the unknown gripped him and he quickly dismissed the thought. He wasnât too sure how things would turnout and the very thought of this terrified him to the marrow. Indeed, more was at stake and the extent he had gone had become irreversible, he told himself. He would just toll the awful path to its miserable end. Jasmine had become his cross and he was determined to carry the cross his own way.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Buba was in the kitchen fixing Bubaâs favorite as he took his shower in the bathroom. She had changed into a seductive skimpy dress hoping that a good meal and a good copulation would calm the nerves of her husband and probably give him a sound sleep. She loved him and would do anything for him. Life without him would be meaningless and the very thought that he was steaming in temperature scared the hell out of her. As she got ready for both meals; waggling her buttocks in her seductive skimpy dress, waiting for her husband to dash out of the shower and choose what meal to start with, Bubaâs phone rang. She looked at the caller and she saw a name saved with Bro Pam. She knew Bro Pam. He was a family friend and a brother in the church. She took the call to tell him that her husband was in the shower. But just before she spoke at her end, there came from the other end a thick, scary, thunderous voice; nothing like Pamâs voice⌠the voice thundered, âI have Jasmine, where is your finisher?â
I will see you in Episode Seven. If you have not liked my page at , please do. Your likes, comments, and sharing are the very fuel that recompense my dedication to telling Jasmineâs story. Thanks to all that called my line and DM me to serve them episode six. I hope you would forgive me for taking so long to serve you this episode? I will see you in the next episode soon. Thanks and love ya all!
01/10/2021
Happy 61st Independence Anniversary to Nigeria.
27/09/2021
JASMINE: THE SERIES
EPISODE FIVE
Mrs. Charity chucked herself into one of the sofas in the sitting room, going through Jasmineâs pictures with tears streaming down her cheeks profusely. She was further devastated by the account of the cab driver which had now corroborated Bubaâs story of Jasmineâs possible elopement with a man. The driver had held his ground against every odd and accusation that he had dropped Jasmine at No. 45 Akpeni Street with a police officer. Although with no trace of any evidence to justify his account, he had been held locked up as the prime suspect of Jasmineâs abduction. This has removed every vestige of suspicion of Buba being indicted in Jasmineâs ordeal except for the fact that as a father his complacency in reporting her elopement had made more difficult her search.
People change, no doubt, but whatever had made this innocent girl gone this wild was one thing that would take so long for Mrs. Charity to come to terms with. Although she had noticed that in the past two years Jasmine had retrieved more inwardly and now kept more silent than she used to. Even though Jasmine had never been an extrovert, she was not the choleric type of an introvert. She stood in-between the two and they had both been the best of pals. How could she not have seen the metamorphosis in Jasmine; a symptom she had begun to exhibit in the past two years? She thought. She had simply dismissed the symptom as an adolescent phase of development which she thought young individuals experienced as they developed and transformed into young adults. Now, she blamed herself bitterly for being a terrible mother. She had failed and may be, this could be because she had truly never been a mother. If she had ever had an offspring through her fallopian matrix, she probably would have been better in parenting, she lamented.
As she gazed at Jasmineâs pictures bearing her charming and pretty smiles; revealing her alluring set of glowing dentition with oval cheeks adorned by impeccable dimples that gave her a facial allure of irresistible attention from onlookers, she prayed that God would touch her heart to return home. Although she eschewed any act of immorality, she did not subscribe to her husbandâs notion that a child be thrown away with the bathwater. She would discipline her when she returned but first, was the need to get her back safely. More so, was the concern of what people would say about her disappearance. Those who knew Jasmine in person would hardly believe she could be that wayward as to the point of eloping with a man. Their conclusion would be premised on two possible assumptions at the least of thoughts; first, that she was battered beyond the level she could bear by a childless and frustrated woman who unleashed her grievance of natureâs denial on an innocent chap. And secondly, anything diabolical. Although this would be the least of aspersion any who knew them too well might cast on them, it was however, a thought a few might be inclined to.
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Buba was not going to take chances. He knew had crossed the line; one he was not going to navigate inversely. He wished things had not got that bad. But as things stood in the meantime, he had only one resolve; burying his secret even if it meant burying Jasmine with it. She was his greatest flaw and the option of repentance was a nightmare he dreaded. He feared it would cost him all; his marriage, his honour and everything that ever meant something to him. To prevent this, he knew, Jasmine on no condition should return home alive. He was ready to give her a befitting burial and mourn her with all the love of a father but not her safe return. Her side of the story he was determined would never be told.
As he sat helplessly in his car parked at a lonely boulevard, overwhelmed by thoughts, a fearsome looking young man in his mid-forties walked to the car. He knocked at the door and Buba opened it for him. Buba was in his all tinted grey 4Matic Mercedes SUV Benz, 2020 model. He had gone in his tinted SUV to conceal himself from prying eyes. He didnât want to be noticed by any passerby. He was a righteous man in an unrighteous quest; such a twist in life that left one wondering if anything about life was ever true or a mere figment of oneâs imagination. That feeling of the more you look, the less you see! Buba chilled to his spine in fear when his expected guest entered his car. The mere sight of the man already betrayed his occupation. He was tall and large, muscularly built with intimidating veins that bumped up his forehead and arms as crude pipe not properly buried, red eyeballs, dark lips that have been tainted by many years of habitual chain-smoking. His hair was dreadlocked and unkempt; his two incisors were plucked out from what looked like a hard jab sustained in a fight. He had many knife cuts and stabs all over the parts of his body uncovered by his black singlet which had a skull design on it. His epidermis was patched on almost every part. His look was the CV anyone seeking the services of an assassin needed.
âWhat should I call you?â Buba asked, as respectfully as he could.
âThunderâ, he thundered in reply in a very thick and intimidating voice that vibrated down to the bowels of Buba. Again, Bubaâs fear for him increased. He couldnât wait to finish this business with him so he could completely disassociate himself from this ungodly brute and terror.
After some minutes of silence which had engulfed the car, Buba took out a parcel and handed it to him. He collected the parcel and opened it and then brought out a picture. It was Jasmineâs.
âWho the hell is this?â He sneered.
âYour target, sirâ, Buba responded, trying to conceal his shame.
âYou want her found?â
âNo, I want her dead!â
âThen, I am not the guy for the job. Get an amateur.â
âWhy? I will pay you good money. Just name your priceâŚâ
Thunder looked at him with a smeared facial expression and fear immediately filled Bubaâs soul. It was a deep and intense stare that got him almost peeing in his pants. It was much a relief for him when Thunder stared away.
âMan, I donât just kill for money, I kill first for leisure and then, treasure. I never killed anyone who could not fight back. The cuts on me should tell you better.â
âAh, the man who gave me your contact said you were the best in what you do⌠pleaseâŚâ He was soon cut short by that thunderous voice that quaked his heart to a still point.
âIâm glad you know Iâm the best in what I do. And if you respect that, then you know how much I feel insulted to be given a job of sniffing the life out of this young chic that would ordinary be devoured by a hawk.â As Thunder spoke, he suddenly got even more annoyed on how the job made him felt insulted. Though compassion was not a feeling registered in his emotions if he still ever felt anything that made him human, but how could he be given an assignment of killing a young chap that could obviously not throw a punch? Where then is the honour and pride that came with hard-kill? He thought. He had killed over a thousand people both in crises and in paid jobs but everyone he killed had the potential of hurting badly if they had had an advantage over him. Such was the kind of killing that gave fulfillment and joy. Not this innocent girl that this ritualist sought to waste, he thought in his mind.
Bubaâs fear was now metamorphosing into frustration and anger. Why should an assassin care about whom he should kill? Was it not for the money? Why would he turn down the job? But he dared not breath out his thoughts, the mere facial expressions from Thunder froze his breath and left him formatted.
âWhat if the job was to find her for me while I arranged a finisher to do the rest?â
âThat I can.â
âFind her and call me.â He stretched to his rear seat and lifted a package sealed. âYou said your price was a million. I made it two just so you give me a clean job.â Without any emotion, Thunder collected the package. âYou can count it, if you want.â
âNobody pays me incompleteâ, he roared and put both the money and the parcel in his bag. He opened the door and soon, was out of sight.
+++ +++ +++ +++
Jasmine was finally on her feet after over 72 hours of comma. Although she was still very weary and weak, it gave Nurse Amelia joy to see that she powered through to life. Jasmine was not given the medical attention she deserved but her spirit was determined to stay longer in her body. It was indeed a miracle to Amelia how Jasmine revived back and even to her feet. Although her head still ached from the concussion she suffered, Amelia was so pleased to learn that she did not suffer a major brain impairment. There was however a problem, she did have some hard time remembering some things. She also spoke with unclear intellectual cohesion. Amelia had expected such; it was one of those post-concussion effects. She had hoped that with time, she would heal and everything would be alright. As jasmine attempted some steps, she felt sharp and excruciating pains in between her limbs and she screamed and fell to the ground.
Clearly, the damage done by Dasuki to her virginal wall was far from alright. It still hurt and it did hurt badly. She would have to still remain in bed for a long time waiting for her private region to heal. As she laid in bed sobbing in the pains, she hated the men who were responsible for her misery and by extension, all men, for their beasty tendency. She blamed herself for being a woman and wished at some point, she was not born. The pains were too excruciating for her age and worse still was the fact that all those responsible for her misery were walking freely. Shortly, Amelia was with a hot solvent that looked like herbal aqua solution and used a clean piece of cloth to dip into the water and straight to her private region. Each turn that Amelia made, Jasmine let out a deafening shout. The pain was unbearable but the care was needed to avoid the possibility of a cervical cancer. Amelia felt for Jasmine but what would she do beyond what she was already doing?
âTell me your storyâ, Amelia finally said, as calm and embalming as possible.
âI just want to die⌠I have no story⌠I am not a human beingâŚâ
âDonât say that, sweetheartâ, Amelia consoled. Soon, tears were running down her cheeks as she felt deeply sorry in her spirit for the magnitude of depression such a young kid who should be cared for, was subjected even to the point that she now sought solace in the cold hands of death. It is a terrible world to imagine such a societal failure and manâs inhumanity to man. âMy dear, we all have terrible stories but as awful as they are, if you have the opportunity of coming close to death, you still would beg to liveâ.
âNot me!â Jasmine sounded sharp and precise. âI am angry that I embraced death but it rejected me. Everyone hates me including deathâ.
âPlease, donât say that, Jasmine. Death shouldnât be your friend. I love you and your parents tooâŚâ
Jasmine gave her a scornful look and quickly, Amelia had to rephraseâŚ
âWhat about God? Donât you think he loves you?â
âIf he did, why did he not come to my help when my uncle, a man I call father, assaulted me like an object? Where was God when an officer I thought was going to help me get justice only ended up having his own share of abuse? No masculine being is capable of loving genuinelyâ.
Amelia was lost of words. Jasmine, she felt, was too young to know this truth but life had fast-forwarded her years of maturity. It was better she stayed mute and concentrated on what she was doing.
+++ +++ +++ +++
Dasuki had searched for his wallet all through his house when he wanted to access some cash using an automated teller machine. His debit cards were in the wallet and he could not say clearly where he had left it. After a thorough search in his apartment, he had concluded he left the wallet at Damiâs house. He was still contemplating when he would have the time to go pick it and there came the mention of 45 Akpeni Street as the scene of the abduction. However, when the driver mentioned that the police officer he had carried left his wallet in his car, he knew it was his and if he didnât act swiftly and with luck, he would be laid bare as the prime suspect. But how would he be privy to the information of where the wallet was and still not be suspected as having taken advantage of the information if he acted base on that? He was growing impatient on the inability of his mental faculty to come up with plans. Just then, he thought of something. A slim plan worth risking. He would put his phone on call to a friend while he interrogated Lucas about the place he dropped the wallet. His friend at the receiving end would act immediately on the information by arranging thugs to go to Lucas house and steal by way of a staged robbery. Wasnât that a dumb idea? He thought. But what now could he do differently? He was sinking and any plan that would take him off the sea was worth experimenting.
Just before he dialed his phone, Atinuke went ahead of him.
âLucasâ, she began. âI donât want to make you feel that it was a bad idea helping the police to find Jasmine. But as things are now, we can only accept your claim of innocence if we have any cogent evidence to substantiate your claim. We will be fair to you so that if you go down per chance, you would be convinced in your heart that we were fair enoughâ. She took out her phones and placed them on the table. She emptied her pocket and Lucas confirmed nothing was still left in them. But he wasnât sure where she was driving to. âDasuki, you will empty your pockets as I just did now because we are about to call his wife to bring us the wallet and I donât want him to give any excuse of possible breach of information. The three of us will be privy to this information and nobody leaves here until the wallet arrives!â
Dasukiâs heart quaked and only by a great effort did he not fart! He didnât see this coming and there was no reason for this. He hated the fact that Atinuke practiced her job according to the book. She was an ardent follower of the police code and lived strictly by its precepts. If she wasnât his superior, he would have dished her a hot slap.
âIs that really necessary?â He protested but calmly not to raise eyebrows.
âDo you not think it is necessary, Mr. Lucas?â Atinuke asked, ready to execute his decision. He was the prime suspect here and since he insisted he was innocent; it would only be fair to carry out the investigation in a transparent manner. More so, the very fact that he got entangled in the case for trying to help the police was the more reason why Atinuke felt the need to give him a level playing ground to establish his innocence.
âI would go by the suggestion of the Sergeantâ, he retorted. He stared deeply into the face of Dasuki and now began to reconcile some resemblance. His voice was now sounding alike with the voice of the officer of that very night. But how dare him accuse him now especially after he had owned up that he did not recognize the officer? He had hoped that the wallet would take down whomever the assailant was. He was now a few yards away from freedom, his heart rejoiced at the thought of this.
Dasuki knew he was done. He knew the game was over now and he thought of confessing. He pondered on possible soft landings and felt bad that there was no such around Atinuke in whose line of work there was no espirit de corps. He thought of just fleeing away. He was not ready to spend the rest of his life in prison. Atinuke gave him a sustained look, such that said, Mr. Man. we are waiting for you to do the needful. Reluctantly and with no option, he emptied his pockets.
Atinuke gave Lucas back his phone to dial his wifeâs number and tell her where to pick the wallet for them. He dialed the number and shortly, there came âhelloâ with a tearful voice at the other end. It was Lucasâ wife.
âSweetheart, donât worry, it will be alright⌠Just do this for me and I will be on my way home.â
With excitement, she shouted, âwhat?â
Check the stool at our bedside, thereâs a black wallet there. Please, bring it to us at the station.â
âWhat? Ah⌠I have killed my husband!â
âWhat do you mean, sweetheart?â
âI was doing cleanup and I saw it. It was looking old and didnât look anything like yours. I opened it and saw that the items there didnât belong to you. And when I opened another purse within it, I saw charms there. I had to call Pastor Chima to pray over it and then we burnt it.â
I will see you in Episode Six. If you missed the previous episodes of Jasmine: The Series, please check them at the hash tags below or even search for Sir Collins Shelf. Please, like my page, comment, share and invite your friends.
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