The weather channel predicted a powerful storm which was going to cause serious havoc, so everyone was advised to stay indoors. As predicted the storm came with a magnitude not expected. The clouds were dark but I could see the storm from a distance already blowing winds which were one of a kind. I saw people leaving there cars running into their homes. As I was looking around something caught my attention rather someone, there was this fat man running with his wife, kids and grandparents, at first it was very funny then it got me thinking about my family. I shut the window I was looking out from which was the last of every window I had to lock and I just fell on my bed. Laying on my bed with my thoughts on edge staring at the best friend of all times with whom I find solace in, my half empty bottle of vodka. Everything around seems to creep in at this state. I begin to Reminisce about how wonderful my life was. I was raised by a single mother and the only thing I knew about my father was his last name which I refused to bear and am glad I didn’t have to. I just imagined how stressful it would be explaining to the whole world why I have a different surname from my mother’s. The struggles we went through to survive, accepting whatever the universe dished out to us, times couldn’t have been harder in this country.
Like that wasn’t enough, I saw my mother struggle through some sort of addiction. She couldn’t get over and she didn’t want to get over, her addiction was probing into crime stories and serial homicides. She was a wonderful journalist by day and a blogger by night. One highly respected blogger who had a lot of views anointed her with the title of “prophet of doom” because she wrote on serial crimes delving into the know-how, digging out secretes that’s absurd to everyone and was not really necessary, she had this theory that serial killings would someday cross the seas to this country, that we have the perfect minds and breeding grounds for them. That was just one of her many theories.
I remember one night she came to my room, in the disguise of telling me a bed time story she tried justifying her great obsession for serial crime, because earlier that day I was bullied and laughed at in school for being the son of the infamous prophet of doom. Confined to the walls of my room I listened with rapt attention. she told how people misunderstand most criminals and we can’t go against an adversary that we don’t understand especially In this day and age where parents and society are negligent of their children so they grow up really disturbed and fall by the way side. Someone had to tell the nation about an imminent doom that’s upon us and if that means sacrificing her life and happiness to warn others she will.
Those words didn’t make any sense to me. I still begged her to stop and told her what I go through in and out of school, she only patted my head and assured me that everything would be alright. After she left my room that night I could hear her cry outside my door and that just made me shed tears eventually I cried myself to sleep that night.
Other days we spoke about crime stories and make jokes about them. but out of all her stories I remember one tale about one Homicidal Maniac who break into homes, slaughters every living soul regardless of age or sex, the family pet are not left out, he nail their hands to the table, fixes his home made braces on them creating a forced smile on their face, makes dinner, serve them, eat and leaves at dawn. After the demise of 17 families he was caught. Due to thorough investigation it was revealed that he came from a highly dysfunctional home and carried out his childhood fantasies on innocent families. I just felt she was justifying to herself why my father left us, claiming we are not responsible for the stupid things we do for the most mundane reason, the society is responsible. I never really understood my mum.
I remember pictures of homicidal victims. Some were decapitated, beheaded, dismembered. Why won’t I remember when old cases file and coroner’s autopsy files were scattered everywhere in the house, walls, floors, tables, beds even some on the ceiling of the toilet. Probably because we never had visitors, except one woman who was a fan rather an adjunct believer of my mother’s work.
No wonder I found myself in the police taskforce after graduating from school to haunt down criminals and protect the people. In my quest for justice I found out that the law which is supposed to protect, did not protect the right of the average every day Joe, and this same law handicapped the police and salvaged all effort to protect the people we claim to serve. Locked up in ethics of justice I became a prisoner to the law, while crime was allowed in the air blowing all sorts with the wind. I couldn’t stay locked up for this long I wanted to set things right.
So, I became what some will call a rogue cop, I kept the city safe, though my ways were unethical, I did what was needed to be done and my job became my addiction. After many complaints on misconduct, tossed from department to department, suspensions, law suites and threats. I got dismissed from service, months later my wife left me, she always wanted a simple husband who would stay indoors and not carry the burdens of the world on his shoulders, the last time I saw her was at the court house over the case of child custody of my only daughter. Be it as it may, she won and relocated. Sincerely, I still feel I didn’t fight hard enough for my daughter. All thanks to the law again, I cannot have that “daughter-father relationship” every father dream off.
Life has been indeed wonderful to me. I celebrate with alcohol day and night where my solace cometh from. Occasionally I dabble into narcotics, to get the party started. That’s how I ended up being a private detective of some sort, and since the rich know how to take care of themselves when they are not being the perpetrators, I helped mostly the poor and they pay with whatever they have, when they want to and if they can. I was once paid four packs of cigarette by a man who wanted to know those that raped his only daughter. But it was never about the money for me.
Solving crime was the only thing I could do and I did it well. That’s why I am seen as a public defender. But sincerely I wasn’t that. I was myself as a bored person who did what he knows how to do best, slowly I started losing consciousness and finally slept off
Waking up to the noise of my phone ringing. It took me 20 minutes to find the phone that was beside me, It was Uche calling. A boy I recruited after I helped his family track down and find the individuals who robbed and killed his father. And he only calls when there is a new case.
I was right we have a new case not just any case. A case which would usher events that would change the balance of things in the world.
Perhaps if I knew about that I would have let it slide or so. However I hurried myself out of my house. Oooh I forgot something, ran back upstairs to grab my bottle of vodka ;)
Lucky enough, a taxi man who had just dropped a lady off was still in front of the apartment. I just rushed in. “where are you going to sir” asked the taxi man. Since haven’t gotten hold of myself I gave him my phone showing the text uche sent.
“BASKETBALL COURT, ORANGE GROOVE, APAPA. SURPISE ME AND DON’T COME DRUNK. -Uche”
The taxi man laughed at the text and ignited the engine. My destiny awaits me.