A LOVELINE CHAPTER EPISODE THREE

 

 THEME: A LOVELINE

 GENRE:TRAGEDY

 AUTHOR: OLUSANYA OLALEYE

 

  EPISODE ONE        EPISODE TWO

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“You must think I am a wicked person in suggesting that you marry my daughter.” The DPO said seating his glass of wine on the stool beside him.

Wole had arrived the meeting venue. And after formal greetings had narrated all that transpired however skipping some part. But as feared before, all that happened was not without the knowledge of his boss, Francis Orubebe.

“But you see,” the DPO continued, “I think you should consider yourself lucky. Marrying her will be gaining my favour, which without you have begun to have. Now think about when you have; think also about if you can’t. ”

Wole watched Orubebe in nothing short of a suppressed anger. He saw in the ‘thing’ before him a determination and a concluded agreement that could not be changed by world most plausible excuse. He felt like strangling him but his hands won’t obey him. Instead he said:

“Well, I will need more time to think this through. I should give my reply on Monday.”

And so Wole picked the call.

“Hello Mercy.”

“Good morning love. How was your weekend?”

“It was well spent with family.” He said irritatingly. 

After the final episode Francis Orubebe, Wole had muscled up the courage to tell her wife Chioma the whole story. Including what went down between him and Mercy. He didn’t call it an accident, he said the truth: the kiss was intended. It was meant to keep her in delusion of acceptance till he would made up his mind, he explained to Chioma who didn’t even complain about the act. She trusted him to do the right thing. 

“I supposed so.” She said.

 She paused and allowed two seconds to slip by. “So when shall we meet today?” she asked.

“Meet?”

“Yes: I supposed we have an agreement to meet today.”

‘’Yea, we did, but not anymore…”

“What would that stand to mean…” Mercy said tensely.

Wole took his time. He understood his future lay upon his decision, on every word he uttered. But still what to say was clear since his last night visit to the household priest. 

“Mercy, to be sincere and honest with you, this thing: you and I, it can’t work. Yes, very much. I understand you are giving me a rear opportunity: every man would jump into bed with you at a given opportunity. But you know, I’m married and I ought to be faithful to my family as a man. Sorry if it hurts, I can’t do it. I love my family.” 

Mercy laughed nefariously causing Wole to wonder in transit perplexity. Mercy unknown to Wole was no woman to be fooled twice, at least not by a faked act of acceptance. When she kissed him, she could see through his heart, tapped into the core of his emotion. There was simply no passion, no connection. Mercy knew what that meant, her days of sanity was simply numbered. The first kiss with whatever man she chose must be spiraled with passion and emotion or she would end up mad. She took her chances, and it didn’t pay off. Wole was a bad bargain, but she wasn’t going down alone. If she would run mad, then Wole must die. The other choice which was less feasible would be Wole agreeing to marry her. That way the money ritual would be completed. She would get richer alongside with her dad while Wole would wean down the bottomless pit of nothingness. Since that was out of it, she stayed with the first option.

 “You love your family right?” She said unshaken by his words; they were well expected. “It’s good to love your home Wole, but it’s better not to make the wrong decision.” She said and ended the call.

 

It took Wole minutes to process her last statement. And before he was done he could see moving shadows taking shapes of men in the tunnel. One by one they shed their shadowy skin and advanced towards him from behind, all armed with cutlasses. At first Wole remained imperturbable but after checking his pockets for his jazz he became perturbed. Waves of fear ran their way across his face and down his chilled spine, visible in his shaking hands. Wole had left his aferi at home, and for the first time in two years he became scared, and extremely afraid. The gods, the gods… he muttered.  They warned him but he didn’t listen. He only looked ahead.  To his good there was no one on sight, all of them were now walking slowly towards him hesitantly, as though they were waiting for him to start his bike so they could give a chase. He only shivered. What a bad day the gods had brought to him! There was no chances of winning a fight here; with no jazz Wole clearly stood no chance—the jazz had been the secret of his success; of the famous reputation that followed him. He checked his watch, and he was late for the first time in service. With his lateness, if there was jazz, all he could do was disappeared with it. But all hope wasn’t lost yet, he still had his bike. He started it praying to the gods none joined them in the thick. To his surprise the men kept their slow pace instead they whistled shrilly. It was strange but Wole cared less. He increased the speed of his bike. The gods were not dead he still believed; whatever lay ahead they would see him through it. But to his surprise, Mercy was the only person ahead. The other he figured was the fiery eyed thug, he recollected, he had once spared his life in a gun battle. He stopped his bike in utter astonishment, his expression was unbelievable.  “Kill him.” Mercy ordered. “Make it slow, I will like to see him suffer.” The fiery eyed thug aimed his gun at Wole, the price for his should be priceless life had now been paid. Boom! Went the sound of the gun. “Keep on with your good work. You are a good man.” The fiery eyed thug told Wole after the shot. He had shot Mercy instead.

Now standing there and remembering the afterwards, Loveline could not but break into this cold tears.