All in Fiction

Love Bite: Finale

 This fictional series contains Nigerian slangs and some inappropriate use of diction. This is for the proper portrayal of the character.

 

Love Bite: Finale

 

The bodies were no longer at the police station. After 56 minutes of chaos, I was directed to a morgue in Ogba. It was a cream-colored bungalow with a small, old brown gate with rusty brown bars. The rain had stopped and the cool air caressed my face, but even in its abundance, I dared not breath easy. He was in there. In a morgue. I drove him into a morgue...

Love Bite: Entry #9

For the first time in a long time, I got on my knees and prayed. Leke had been missing for four days; I couldn't go to work; I still didn't know who was sending the videos. It was a mess- a hot mess.

I heard God likes hot messes. He could fix them.

Please bring Leke home. 

It was all I could mutter. I laid my head on the bed, whispering those words over and over. Quickly, the bedsheets dampened with warm tears and my sobs, muffled against the soft cotton. If God heard me, he wasn't in a rush to respond. I stayed on my knees until the stiff protrusions of the rug tendrils digging into my knees faded away and I fell asleep.  I woke with a start to the vibration of my phone. I squinted at the screen. It was a text message. A strange number...

Love Bite: Entry #8

Leke had vanished. For three days now, I got to hear the annoying, high pitched voice which announced that his phone was off. He wasn’t at the church, neither was he at Pastor Remi’s. He hadn’t spoken to his siblings in six weeks. His mother suspected nothing when I asked if he had called her to say hello, instead she began to talk about grandchildren.

I focused on calling Leke’s phone every ten minutes.

On the evening of the third day of his disappearance, Abigail drove me to the police station and we filed a missing person’s report...

Love Bite: Entry #7

It was 10.50pm. Leke had fallen asleep after the pastors left. Dinner had been a slow ritual graced by the clinking of cutlery on plates, light chatter, and an uneasy Leke, who chuckled nervously at all their jokes— even the ones that were drier than harmattan-crisp leaves. All night, he waited for the important discussion, but it never came.

I did that—I destroyed his career.

Sure, now I had to tell him. Maybe Jare would do the same—tell his wife. He'd put us out of this misery. That woman. They were the problem—Leke and Jare’s wife. If they could be erased from the picture somehow...