Singapore, 2014
In a sovereign island city-state in maritime Southeast Asia, a man stood behind a door with clenched teeth. He was furious as a taut smirk plastered on his face. His lips were stained with clean blood. Blood originated from a fresh wound he had gotten during a fight some minutes ago. He felt his body contract violently as he tried to reach out for his door key on his side pocket. Slowly, he drew the key out of his pocket and stretched towards the key hole to insert the key and unlock the door.
“Robert Lond!”
He turned and peered into the darkness of the
Munich, 2014"Which one is him?" Michael said slowly, feeling perplexed."That is him. He is the one at the centre. Not similar to the picture you saw in California though," Savannah sneered."Clark!" Michael shouted, desperate this time.Clark answered with a solemn snort. "What is it?"Michael looked at Clark in the eye, ignoring his ignorance and the bottles of cluelessness that filled his mind. "Take a look at the four people that were staring at Alger back in California!"Clark stared in bewilderment at the picture before him. “What is this place? Why is it so similar to hell? Why is it still the same four people we saw at California? Fuck!” Despite the weary blast of excitement on his face as they arrived Munich, he looked at the picture through squinted eyes with less ecstasy.Savannah said nothing as she removed the picture that had brought some air of thoughts to the room and changed it to a picture of a ful
Munich, 2014"We cannot conclude that your husband is dead without any verifiable evidence," Clark was the first to break the silence that had engulfed the room.Savannah exhaled but said nothing.“Where is the proof that he is dead?” Clark demanded.“We just heard it on the phone,” Michael responded for Savannah.The reality of Savannah and Michael accepting that Robert Lond was dead surprised Clark.“I want to meet him as much as you want to meet him but we all heard what the Singaporean woman said. Robert Lond is dead,” Michael continued.“Savannah,” Clark urged, ignoring Michael “we did not come all the way from America to watch you accept a false statement from an unknown woman in an unknown place with an awkwardly symbolic number. If your husband was dead you should have known already. It will be better to forget what the woman said and look straight ahead at what lies up fro
Munich, 2014Below a large reprinted version of the late 15th-century mural painting by Italian artist Leonardo da Vinci widely known as 'The Last Supper', was a picture of two werewolves having sex under a full moon. To the right was a western painting of the Egyptian patron god of lost souls and the helpless, Anubis, and beside the anthropomorphized jackal-headed god was a list of werewolves caught on plain sight by human eyes. On the far wall, two brass soldiers stood, holding swords curved at their edges."What is this place?" Clark asked as he placed a leather-bound book they had gotten from the Bavarian State Library on a dusty table."A secret place my husband used to study in. I have only been here once. Robert always told me how important it was for me to not look into things I couldn't comprehend," Savannah explained.Michael moved inside the room, looking around in astonishment. What the hell is this place, he thought. The air of the room
Munich, 2014Clark shook off the thought in his mind. "Absurd! The story of this unknown boy is absurd!" He yelled."It is probably an ancient story," Michael added."Written in modern English?" Savannah questioned. "All academicians know that the style of writing in that story is basically of a modern era."Clark had plenty to say to defend Michael but he did not. He was more bothered about the significance of the story than the era it was written.“The story has a lot of information to give,” Clark went on. “I just don't get why whoever wrote it didn't leave us enough clues.”“I still maintain that it is of a modern era,” Michael said, more loudly than he had intended."We need to calm down and focus on what is at stake," Savannah said, drawing their attention back to the leather-bound book they had gotten from the Bavarian State Library.Clark agreed. It would be a waste of time if t
Igboland, 1810Blackwheel's voice stopped. In the dim light of the crescent moon he saw the cloudy eyes of his daughter as it trembled on seeing him. He stepped backward, aware of the fact that he had made a mistake to be seen in plain sight, in his full form, covered in werewolf skin. He had a wild impulse to turn around and walk away but he did not. He just stood there, looking at her and watching her look at him. He felt trapped in a tangle of deep shadows, shadows as dark as the night that stretched above his mind. The way he had spoken had made her to be afraid of the man who he had become, and yet the way she had acted only made him to be aware that she was not afraid of him, that she was not afraid of what he was capable of doing to her. In his mind, he felt totally weak as he fought the urge to not get mad at her for rejecting him, as he fought the urge to not consider the fact that he had been rejected by the woman he had waited for many years to meet."I am y
Igboland, 1810"I love your accent," the hunter complimented as soon as Blackwheel accepted his offer of palm wine. "I have never heard a man of a different skin color speak Igbo in the manner you have spoken. Do you mind telling me who you are?""My name is James Blackwheel," Blackwheel said, trying to form a smile on his face."I have never heard of that kind of name before," the hunter admitted, pulling a stool close to him so he could sit down properly and see Blackwheel's face clearly in the dark."Do you believe in Igweka-ala?" The hunter asked."Who is Igweka-ala?" Blackwheel asked, feeling confused."He is a potent Igbo god that we worship. He grants us supernatural powers. He gives us the ability to see in the dark when no one is watching. He is our everything.""I have never heard of such a god," Blackwheel said, draining the remaining liquid left in his gourd. "The w
Igboland, 1810Blackwheel felt unsettled as he passed two women who were looking at him in an awkward way. Do they know what I have done? He ignored the thoughts of being captured for murder as he tried to remember the hut he had seen his daughter, Nneka come out from yesterday. In all his years of executing people, he had never felt the way he felt when he struck the hunter's neck in the morning. He knew the image of the hunter's dead face would live forever in his mind. He knew he would have to atone for the blood of an innocent man when he was done fulfilling his mission. Now, he had to set his mind on the mission. Find Nneka and Nwakaego and get the necklace from them!Blackwheel turned as soon as he remembered the path that led to Nneka's hut. When he got to the compound, he stopped and asked a young girl in distinct Igbo if she knew where Nneka's hut was. The young girl said he was standing in front of her compo
Igboland, 1810Blackwheel had no idea on what to do as he saw Nwakaego. Her youthful beauty was definitely intact, and yet he could not bring himself to go closer to her and invite her for a hug. Was he being stung by his conscience? He watched as she sat down, detached, his mind running into full circles like the blades of a windmill, wondering if an immediate apology would make his current state any better. Somehow, he doubted himself. The thoughts of Nwakaego blaming him for all the years of his absence. It was as if she understood the alarming need for him to disappear about two decades ago."You have a grandson now," Nwakaego started, raising her cheek. "How is your wife in England?"Blackwheel kept quiet as he tried to hide the shame that filled his face. The public exposure of his English wife in an inappropriate fashion to Nkechi and his daughter was not something he was expecting to deal with, not in a hot afternoon with news of a dead hunter flying aro