Forever Mine Chapter Four: Old Wounds

The Star Tribune

Ikoyi, Lagos state

8:30am

Abigail watched the metal doors, anticipating the high-pitched ding of the elevator. Her office was on the eighth floor of the ten-story building. It had been two weeks since the anniversary trip, and she couldn’t wait to get back to work. The Editor-in-Chief had assigned her a new story, an international case linked to the emergence of a new special drug on the black market.

The Star Tribune was notable for its extensive network of international contacts, its vast resources, and its unrelenting dedication to delivering reliable news coverage even to some of the most remote areas, especially if it had connections with the country. The company was prestigious for its ruthless network of journalists, who would stop at nothing to uncover hidden truths. It currently held the prestigious merit award for best newspaper of the year 2022, and was on its way to being ranked #1 again.

Investigative journalism had always been Abigail’s dream job. She didn’t care much for the dangers attached to the profession, especially in a country ripped apart by corruption and insecurity, but the thrill of uncovering hidden stories had her in an unhealthy chokehold. She lived for that adrenaline rush.

Having finished with a first-class degree in mass media & communication, she had gone on to major in journalism at the University of Lagos.

The future had seemed bleak at the time, during her after-college days. She had been unable to land a job, and her financial struggles had forced her into various menial jobs. Her hope for a better future had dwindled daily, until the moment she met her husband.

The details of that day were etched in stone. Neither time nor tide could take those precious memories from her. She could remember the scent of his earthy cologne, his warm smile that resembled a visual tribute to flourishing youth, his rich brown eyes that held the beauty of sundown, his voice the dreamy melody of perfect diction.

It was the third Sunday after she had broken up with Zamani. Service was about to begin, and she sat uneasily amidst the warm greetings exchanged amongst church folk. She had her head down, feeling completely out of place until the blended scent of vanilla wood and Oak seeped into her nose. He had sat down next to her, dressed in the finest of senator suits.

“Hello…” He greeted, his charming smile revealing a set of perfectly white teeth. He extended his hand in warm greeting. She took it, an involuntary smile tugging at her lips.

“Hi…”

“First time?” He asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

“Umm… yeah. It’s my first time.” She muttered, the scent of his masculine cologne scattering her thoughts abroad. His voice had a silky texture, his words flowing with ease and clarity.

“Really? Well, I’m glad you made it here. I hope you enjoy the service.” He said softly.

Abigail smiled, giving him a curt nod. All of a sudden, she didn’t feel so out of place. His presence had made her feel a little warm. She felt welcome.

“My name’s Jacob, by the way.”

“Abigail.” She replied coyly.

“Abigail. Hmm, that makes sense…”

“What do you mean?” Abigail asked with a small laugh, raising a playful eyebrow.

“Beautiful name, beautiful smile, beautiful woman.” He replied, his smoldering eyes returning to her.

Heat rushed to her cheeks in seconds. Pursing her lips, she turned away, taking in a sharp breath. She fought the smile that threatened to form.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” Jacob said half-apologetically.

“No, No, it’s alright. I just… wasn’t expecting that.” She replied with a nervous laugh.

The sound of the piano called everyone’s attention. A lady had climbed up to the pulpit, beckoning on everyone to rise from their seats.

“I hope you enjoy the service.” Jacob managed to chip in. Abigail watched him shut his eyes in reverence, his attention now far away from her. Closing hers, her lips broke into another smile. She wasn’t completely sure, but she knew that he would be a part of her life. Now, she was 28, married to the love of her life, and one of the top investigative journalists in the company. She wished her fifteen year old self could see her now.

The elevator finally dinged, the metal doors sliding open. She dashed out, making her way to her office in quick elegant strides. The sound of her Louboutin heels announced her presence with each graceful step. She had on a burnt orange turtle-neck bodysuit, paired with white chinos and a beige calf-length coat. Her hair, packed into a high sleek ponytail, swung with each stride. She offered greetings to a few colleagues along the hallway, giving either a quick wave or a curt nod.

Entering her office, she flung her bag on the large desk and reclined on the swivel chair.

“Thank you, Jesus.” She muttered, breathing out a sigh of relief. Her body relaxed, feeling the cool wave of mist from the air conditioner. Adjusting her glasses, She gave the room a cursory glance.

The office was medium-sized, painted with neutral colors. It had a floor-to-ceiling window that faced the busy roads of the city. The large mahogany desk took up nearly half the room, with two chairs hedged into its opposite side. She glanced at the blank desktop screen, then the heap of Manila folders at the edge of the table. Work opor.

The door suddenly swung open, the familiar face making her smile.

“Lover girl, you’ve finally decided to come back. Hmmm, Chineke nara anyi otito niile! Take the Glory, Jesus.” Nneoma said, waving her hand in the air dramatically. She held a couple of Manila folders in her other arm. Abigail chuckled, getting up to hug her friend.

Nneoma was the Editor’s secretary. When Abigail had first arrived at the office, Nneoma had showered her with love and kindness. It was strange, especially because the nature of the competition in the office was brutal. Everyone was virtually an enemy, fighting to steal the front-page. But Nneoma had proven to be an ally, a sister even.

“Small leave that they gave you, you just flew to Paris and left us here. Echere’m na i gbala ọsọ! I thought you have joined japa people.”

“Haba. How can I leave you just like that, my love?” Abigail said, pouting playfully as she wrapped her arms around her friend.

“Taa gbafuo! Leave me alone! Scam.” Nneoma laughed, wiggling her way out of Abigail’s hold.

“Gosh, this babe you’re so razz.” Abigail giggled. “Oya, no vex na. It was my husband that planned the whole thing. It was a surprise, I didn’t even know about it until I was on the plane.”

“So, you just woke up and you were on a plane, abi?”

“Umm…pretty much?” Abigial said, shrugging with a weird apologetic smile.

“God, Chineke nna, mgbe ole? God, when? Me too, I can be surprised now, ehn? I’ve always suspected that I might be breakable plate, but abeg now?” Nneoma lamented, raising her eyes to heaven with open arms.

You’re not even serious. Ehen, how far Bisola?“ Abigail asked, gesturing for her to take a seat.

“She’s fine. She’s currently working on a lead, had to leave the office to meet one of her sources but she’ll be back soon.” Nneoma replied, nestling onto the wooden chair.

“Alright. So, what does Chief have for me?” Abigail asked, rubbing her palms enthusiastically, eager to get to work.

“Hmmm, maybe if I went to Paris, me too I’ll be happy to receive work.” Nneoma teased with an eye roll.

“Haba. You won’t let this go, will you?” Abigial said with a smile.

“Thank God you know. Anyways, Chief left these for you. He won’t be coming in today, so he’s asked me to fill you in on the case.” Nneoma said, dropping the folders on the desk. They each had the seal of the Star Tribune printed on their covers.

Abigail hurriedly picked up one of the folders, flipping through the files and documents. One of the pages had the picture of a young lady. She had a sober-deranged look on her face.

“Who’s this?”

“Her name’s Araoluwa Elizabeth Abioye, a nineteen year old college student on scholarship at the University of Bordeaux, France. She was found gagged and passed out on a hotel about a week ago in Saint-Julien. Evidence suggests possible case of rape.”

“My God…” Abigail gasped softly, holding the picture up. The girl’s eyes were dim, with dark circles underneath.

“Any intel on the assailants?”

“French intelligence have no concrete leads, and the police have been trying to gather information from her; but she’s been delirious, clearly too traumatized to speak. She’s still at the hospital. The Police say she just keeps staring at the wall and keeps repeating the same phrase in yoruba over and over again.”

“What phrase?

“Oju inã. It means-”

“-Eyes of fire.” Abigail muttered. Her eyes stayed on the girl’s photo, struggling to tie up all the information.

“Any eyewitness accounts?”

“We have one. Source claims victim was seen partying at a popular club in the city. After an hour, she was seen leaving with a mixed crowd of people and getting into a limo. But the source claims they weren’t able to get a face.”

“That’s rather convenient… Any camera footage?”

“None. Both Club and hotel footages were erased without a trace.”

“What about her friends? Was she there alone?”

“She came with her friends, but they didn’t see her leave with anyone. After about an hour, they were able to trace her phone to the hotel and raised an alarm, that’s when they found her and called the police. Smart kids.”

Abigail blew air through her lips, reclining on her swivel chair.

“Okay, but why’s Chief interested in this case anyway? I mean it’s horrible, but it’s clearly not our jurisdiction. The best we can do is report it, we can’t really investigate.”

“I thought you might say that. Here’s the real story. The victim’s blood was tested, and they found traces of a drug that’s relatively new in the black market.” Nneoma said, pulling a single document out from the folder.

Abigail held the document, glancing through the wordings.

“It’s called Vornex. Global reports narrow the emergence of this drug in the black market down to three years ago.” She said, tapping the paper.

“What’s so special about it?”

“It’s still being researched, but the intel available is that it’s some kind of powerful aphrodisiac.”

Abigail leaned forward abruptly. Her eyes widened, the words on the document making her insides curdle.

“Using this drug anyone will be effective. But the crime is usually goes unsuspected if the victim already has sexual feelings or intentions towards the assailant. Once this drug is ingested, it triples their sex drive and momentarily impairs all inhibitory functions and judgement. The victim becomes ecstatic in minutes, sexually rabid even.” Nneoma continued.

“Jesus…” Abigail breathed.

“The worst part is, the victim can hardly tell especially if they were sexually drawn to the assailant. It’s so occult in its mode of action that some may never know. They dismiss the event as a lapse in judgement. Very few are fortunate to be able to tell that something’s wrong, but that’s only after the deed has been done. However, their memories are always a haze.”

Nneoma pulled out another file, pointing to a particular section of the document.

“Data analysis reports by French intelligence suggest that alcohol rapidly potentiates the onset of action.”

“The club…” Abigail said, feeling the dots connect.

“Yes. It’s possible that she may have been dosed at the club before leaving. Probably someone spiked her drink or something.”

“This is crazy.” Abigail said, supporting her head with her hands plopped on the desk.

“It is. But here’s the really troubling part, It’s been mildly suggested that Vornex can been used to beat some rape allegations.”

“What do you mean, ‘beat rape allegations’?” Abigail asked slowly, leaning forward in shock.

“Here. Take a look at these…” Nneoma said, pulling out another wad of documents from the folder. “These were originally isolated reports from two years ago; Britain, Italy, Hungary, Spain and USA. All of these women lost their cases in court, because their stories made no sense to the judges.”

“What’s there to make sense about? They were raped.” Abigail stated, feeling agitated.

“All these happened cases before more intel on Vornex came out. The drug leaves the body system approximately three hours after onset of action, so it’s difficult to pick it up in the bloodstream. This girl was picked up barely two hours after the incident and they could barely find traces. The assailant doesn’t even have to do anything, it’s like the drug pushes the victim unto them, supported by their own sexual feelings or intentions, almost making it seem… consensual.”

“What the hell?” Abigail muttered, the weight of information scrambling her brain.

“Chief wants this story unraveled because it’s now been sighted in Nigeria on three occasions in the past six months. Because it’s an expensive drug, it’s often used here by people who have the means to wiggle their way out of justice.”

“Wait, you mean, it’s here?”

“Yes, it is. We’ve got two cases in Abuja and one in Lagos that fit the description. In fact, one of our anonymous contacts provided intel that a number of barons in the city are expecting shipment at the docks.”

“When?”

“We don’t know. So, Chief wants us to pull the thread, and see where it leads. We’ll be working with other intelligence agencies, but he wants our nose in it.” Nneoma said, finally getting up.

Abigail reclined against her seat again, her mind a buzzing haze. She couldn’t believe something so diabolical could exist. She breathed out, focusing her brain cells on the singular clue she had.

“Oju Inã- Eyes of fire.” She mused.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Silver Cottage

Ikoyi, Lagos

12:30pm

The small coffee shop hummed with silent chatter. It was classy, it’s rich grayish ambience giving it a homey feel. The tempting aroma of warm doughy pastries constantly filled the shop, a subtle reminder that there was always more to spend on. However, it was scanty today, just how Abigail liked it.

She sat alone in a comfy booth, burying herself in a classy novel- Loving Amanda by Laju Iren. She raised the cup of steaming latte to her lips, her eyes glued to the pages of her book. Her phone suddenly buzzed; it was a text.

“Babes. Ejor, ebi fe pa mi. I’ve started seeing things that are not in front of me. Help me get something to eat from that café. I’m almost going blind. Ejor. Love you.”

Abigail laughed to herself. Bisola was such a drama Queen.

“Fancy seeing you here…” a familiar voice called.

Abigail looked up, slightly startled. Her eyes widened, shock seizing her expression.

“Z-Zamani?” She stuttered, the cup of latte nearly spilling on her shirt.

“In the flesh, darling.” He said with a small theatrical bow, his signature crooked smile forming.

Abigail swallowed uneasily, dropping her book on the table. How did he find her? Was he stalking her?

“W-What are you doing here?” She asked, suspicion written all over her face.

“C’mon, it’s a café. Isn’t it obvious? I’m here to buy fuel.” He said dryly, the crooked smile broadening.

Abigail forced a nervous tight-lipped smile, feeling too uneasy to laugh. That, and the joke was honestly stupid. She looked around, hoping someone she knew would walk into the café.

Zamani noticed her unease, his smile beginning to disappear. He sighed softly, twisting his lip to the side.

“May I?” He asked politely, gesturing to the opposite side of the booth.

Abigail paused, contemplating till it became awkward. Finally, she obliged with a reluctant nod.

“Coco, look, I understand how you feel, seeing me here.” Zamani said softly, holding her uneasy gaze.

Abigail took another sip of her latté, her body language screaming for help.

“I just don’t want things to remain awkward between us like they were in Paris.”

Abigail scoffed, dropping the half-filled cup. She found the courage to glare at him, the suspicion in her eyes unhidden. It couldn’t have been a coincidence. Something felt off.

“Fine. You can start by telling me the truth. How did you find me? And choose your words carefully, because if I detect a single lie, I’ll walk out that door faster than you can blink.” Abigail stated, clutching her bag.

Zamani shifted uneasily under her scrutinizing gaze. He leaned against the backrest, drumming his fingers on the table. He did that for a while, the resolution in her words troubled him. He lowered his head, allowing loose strands of his dreadlocked hair dangle over his face.

“After Paris, I felt bad about how we left things. I felt even worse when I didn’t see you at the Art Exhibition…” He said quietly.

Abigail’s grip on her bag stayed tight, her pensive gaze unwavering. Until he gave a good explanation, she couldn’t let her guard down.

“I just… wanted you to see what my life had become after all these years.”

Abigail’s glare softened. He pushed the loose hair strands backward, raising his eyes to meet hers.

“Coco, I know I have a lot to apologize for. I just felt maybe it’d be a start if you saw how I’d turned out. I thought that maybe you’d see how much I valued your words, and how much I’ve changed because of them.”

“You haven’t answered my question.” Abigail stated, fortifying her heart.

Zamani exhaled softly, the look of embarrassment etched on his face. The words were already difficult to say, but she was making it a lot harder. He cleared his throat, determined to force them out.

“Ummm… alright. After Paris, I kind of stalked you on social media.” He said, rubbing his face in embarrassment.

There was silence.

“You what?” Abigail asked, blinking in disbelief.

“Yeah, look, I’m not exactly proud of that. From there, It wasn’t hard to get where you work. So, when I got back into the country, I kept watching out for you. Today, I saw you go into your office building, but I wasn’t sure I could pay you a visit. So, I waited until you got out and followed you here.” Zamani said, the words coming out with strain.

Abigail’s eyes widened, the grip on her bag tightening on reflex. He did what? Cold sweat ran down the back of her neck. Her legs moved abruptly, about to make for the door.

“Coco, please.” Zamani pleaded, quickly grabbing hold of her arm. She turned, glaring daggers at him.

“Let go of my arm.” Abigail seethed. He left it at once, the desperation and fear in his eyes clearly showing. They had drawn some attention to themselves.

“Coco, please. Just… please, okay?” He pleaded shakily. Buried emotions had come to limelight. He averted his gaze, the strong feelings rising to his eyes.

“I didn’t come to ask to be back in your life. I just want you to hear me out. I’ve been standing outside this café, rehearsing my lines over and over. Please, don’t leave. Just hear me out.” He said, raw emotions dripping from every word.

Abigail paused, his words forcing the animosity out of her eyes. He couldn’t even look at her. Letting out a frustrated sigh, she reluctantly sat down again. If listening for five minutes would take him out of her life, she would endure it.

“Thank you.” He said, feeling slightly relieved. The air between them became tense, just like in Paris. Except, he was the one now feeling the heat.

“Over the years, the final moments we shared have haunted me. All my words, all my actions, I wish I could take them all back, but I can’t. When we broke up, I took a long hard look in the mirror, and I realized that you were right.”

Abigail listened, her stern look fixed on him. He had his face down when he spoke, almost like he was afraid to see the look in her eyes.

“I took your kindness for granted. I felt entitled to all the goodness you showed me, demanding it without giving you any in return. I’m sorry I couldn’t love you the way you deserved. But, that’s because I never knew how.” He continued, his eyes fixed on the table.

“I have only known pain and heartache. I mean, you know that more than anyone. From my late parents, to my Uncle, to my cousins, all I’ve known is pain, and hate. I was toxic, because I didn’t have any love inside me. Pain was all I knew, and all I could give. So, I’m sorry, for putting you through all that, for putting you through me. And I’m glad, you found someone worthy of your love and attention.”

The quiet chatter of the café filled the silent void between them. Abigail’s stern look had disappeared. Memories of their ugly childhood flooded her mind, softening her hardened heart.

She was sixteen again, crying while holding his limp body in her arms. Blood had stained his white singlet. The ambulance they were in rushed toward the hospital with speed, determined to keep the young boy alive. His uncle had gone too far in a fit of drunk rage. She remembered the look of fear and helplessness in his cousins’ eyes when they loaded him into the back of the truck. They had watched the ambulance disappear with tears in their eyes, too afraid to follow for fear of their uncle’s wrath.

She snapped out of the horrid vision, feeling the cold shivers of the scene run down her spine again. His eyes were still lowered, his fingers moving limply on the table. She let out a deflating sigh, her heart flooding with deep chagrin. Perhaps, it may have been too extreme to sever all ties with him. He was toxic, but anyone would understand why.

“What happened after we broke up?” She asked softly.

“Sulked for a few months… cause I was alone. I couldn’t go back to my uncle either, and my cousins were all out of the country.” He responded, his voice weak and low.

“Ugh…” she breathed, squinting her eyes in sympathy. She punched the bridge of her nose, feeling the guilt she’d buried for years resurface.

“Eventually, I managed to pick myself up, sold a couple of paintings and used the money to go into rehab. I got clean, and I started trying to look for a job. Luckily, one of the clients I painted a portrait for saw promise in my talent and took me under his wing. From there, he hooked me up with some really top people in the city.”

“Wait, you’re clean now?” She asked, sounding more enthusiastic than she wanted to.

Zamani raised his head, his hazel eyes glowing a little. “Three years and counting.” He said with a small smile.

Abigail gave into her smile, seeing the pride in his eyes. He had really turned his life around. Who would have thought? Zamani was clean and successful. He was no longer a junkie. This was more than she could have asked for. His parents would’ve been so proud. She didn’t realize when her eyes started watering, looking at him with new-found compassion. Her friend was all fixed up.

“Look, I just came here to tell you that I’m sorry, and I know it’s going to be hard to forgive everything. I just wanted you to know that, your final words are the reason I’m here. I deserved every hurtful word you said, it was the wake-up call I needed. I’ll let you get back to your lunch break.” Zamani said, his lips forming a sad smile.

Abigail watched him get up, renewed sentiment tugging at the strings of her heart. Maybe, she didn’t have to cut him off anymore. He could be in her life now. He wasn’t a junkie, he had changed. After all, they were best friends long before they were involved. It would be too much punishment to keep him severed after this.

“Zamani, wait.” She said, suddenly grasping his arm. His eyes went from her hand on his arm to her eyes, slightly confused.

“Maybe, it was a little too harsh to kick you out like that. I can’t imagine what you must have been through since then.” She began.

“Please, Coco. You don’t need to apologize for anything.” He replied, settling back on the soft cushion.

“No, I actually do. To be honest, It was cruel of me to kick you out like that, after all we’d been through. I’ve carried the guilt of that moment for years. I could’ve been more patient, I could’ve been kinder.”

Zamani exhaled, feeling overwhelmed by his emotions. The past wasn’t a place he loved to visit. This conversation was more than he could have possibly hoped for.

“I’m really sorry, Zamani. I know that an apology isn’t exactly enough. But, can we start over?” She asked, the twinge of guilt in her heart dissipating.

Zamani gave her a skeptical look. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’d like us to be friends again.” She explained, giving him a warm hopeful smile.

Zamani lowered his head, looking overwhelmed. “I don’t know about that, Coco. I mean, I’m not exactly perfect right now. I’m still growing. I don’t think I can bear you walking out on me again…”

Abigail reached over, grabbing hold of his hand. “No, Z. I won’t leave you like that again, I promise. I’m going to be the friend that I should’ve been. I’m going to help you on your journey, God willing.”

Zamani gave her a warm smile, the words like soothing balm over his wounded heart.

“Are you saying, we’re back to being best friends?” He asked, raising a hopeful eyebrow.

“Well, ‘best’ is a bit of a stretch. How about we start with being just friends. Clean slate.” She replied, giving him a genuine smile.

He mirrored it, feeling very relieved. This went better than he had anticipated.

“What’s going on here?” A familiar voice called.

Abigail turned abruptly, shocked by her husband’s presence. She pulled her hand away from Zamani’s instantly.

Jacob’s eyes were narrowed, fixed on the man that was holding his wife’s hand.

Zamani got up, aware of how things looked. His arms flailed about mirroring his scattered thoughts. Finally, he nervously extended his hand in greeting.

“Hello, Jacob. I-I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. I’m Zamani, an old friend of your wife. I just happened to run into her-“

“-Save it. We’re leaving now. Aren’t we, Abby?” He asked, his hostile eyes never leaving Zamani.

Abigail bit her lip, words fleeing from her mouth. She hurriedly got up, placing her hands on her husband’s shoulder.

“Baby, it’s fine. There’s nothing to-“

“-Get in the car.” Jacob seethed, his hands balled into tight fists.

Abigail’s expression dropped. Something about his tone put her off. She understood he was upset, but he didn’t have to be so rude. Slowly, her hands left his shoulder, her jaw stiffening. She picked up her bag, looked at him again and then walked away in a huff.

Jacob inched closer to Zamani, his eyes filled with animosity. The cooling system in the café had nothing on the intensity of their heated stare-down. Many eyes were now fixed on the drama unfolding. The waitress shifted uneasily at the corner, praying a fight wouldn’t break out.

“I’m a very patient man, Zamani. But I’m only going to say this once. Stay away from my wife.” He said, his tone conveying the threat perfectly.

Zamani didn’t flinch. He held Jacob’s angry gaze, his hazel eyes devoid of fear.

Jacob pulled away, walking out of the café.

TO BE CONTINUED…

Well, that was intense. The drama is just beginning😏. Loving it so far? I have a favour to ask of you. Could you paste the link of the previous chapters on social media outlets? Along with what you love about it? Twitter, Facebook, WhatsApp, everywhere. It would mean the world!

See you soon!😊

Disclaimer: The following is a fictional work of literature. Any resemblance to actual persons, events, or places is purely coincidental. The characters, incidents, dialogues and places portrayed in this story are products of the author’s imagination and are not intended to represent real individuals, organizations, or situations.

Please, leave a comment🙏🏾😊❤️