How he couldn’t wait to get home. It was Friday and every Friday his wife made a special treat, last week it was samosas, the week before it was pineapple crumble. He didn’t bother guessing what treat he would be enjoying this evening because he would only be tempted to drive faster and as it was he was already too close to the speed limit. Instead he turned on the radio; “shut up and drive, drive, drive, drive…” It was Rihanna. Perfect.
Finally he got home, he walked to the front door with long strides and a burst of energy. Open and…shit! No power. Why wasn’t the generator on though? It wasn’t completely dark yet but the sun was long gone.
“Honey.” He called out as he stepped in.
“Sweetheart?” Where on earth was she?
“Dami!” He yelled one more time; he quickly remembered he was exhausted. Carefully, with his free hand in front of him to guide him, he found his way to a couch, dropping his briefcase as he sat. He let out a deep sigh and grabbing his phone from his pocket, he proceeded to call the gate man or whatever he was. He did the gardening, operated the generator, cleaned the compound, ran errands, and sometimes served as a driver, but he most certainly wasn’t a gate man since the gate was remote controlled.
“Beep, beep…crrrrk.” Crrrrk? That wasn’t his phone.
She had the gun to his head, she could end it now, just pull the trigger and blow the bastard’s brains off. She wondered if the bullet would go right through his head leaving a nice smoking hole, or maybe it would remain lodged somewhere in his big head, or maybe…just maybe it was one of those bullets that scattered in a man’s body. Heck, she knew nothing about guns without the exception of the one in her hand, she only knew how to load it, cock it, and shoot it. Deji had taught her that, it was his gun that she held, he had insisted they get one for protection. Now she would use the same gun for his obliteration; the irony.
“Crrrrk.” She cocked the revolver slowly.
She moved a few steps backward to the light switch as Deji slowly turned around and then jerked himself up as the light came on. The sudden light momentarily blinded him. As his eyes adjusted to the light and focused on his wife pointing a loaded gun to his head, he went from shocked to petrified, and from petrified to petrified but trying to look calm. He might have laughed if he didn’t see the look on Dami’s face, or if he thought she was joking; he knew his wife liked to make crazy jokes but she would never joke like this.
“Sit down Deji.” Her voice was steel.
“Deji I said sit down!” This time she yelled.
Deji instantly took his seat and at the same time forced a lump back down his throat. Dami walked around the couch and went to sit on the edge of the coffee table, facing Deji. She held the gun in front of her, pointing downward.
“What is this about Dami?” Despite his fear he managed to sound somewhat calm.
“Let me tell you a story dear husband,” she said, looking at the gun in her hand.
“There was this young couple, they fell in love and got married; their life was perfect. But you know what…” She paused and stared hard into Deji’s eyes.
“The lonely mother-in-law decided she was better than her daughter, so she took her husband when her daughter was away.” Damilola stared at the gun in her hand for a few seconds though it seemed like forever to Deji. Then she sharply raised her face to Deji and yelled, “You got my mother pregnant you asshole!”
Deji was flabbergasted, he couldn’t believe what he had just heard; his wife had gone mad. He looked from Dami’s face to her protruding belly and back to her face, completely lost for words.
Dami continued, “How could I ever have guessed that my own mother and my hus-”
“Stop it Dami!” he was on his feet, fuming.
“How can you even suggest such a thing, you are just unbelievable! Who has told you such a disgusting lie…who?!”
Dami stared at him, expressionless for a while before she burst into a wild laughter.
“Damilola, you need help.” Deji said as her laughter died down. “I’ll call the doctor”. He quickly scanned the couch for his phone, spotted it and grabbed it. “Beep, beep…boom.”
Dami stared at her husband’s body, he sat propped by the couch behind him with his legs wide apart and his head thrown back, mouth wide open. She moved closer and looked at his face, she had shot him between the eyes. She wondered if the bullet had blown a hole clean through but she didn’t want to check, seeing all that blood was almost nauseating. Damilola dragged herself to her bedroom. When she got to the door she couldn’t help but stare at the dead pregnant woman that lay just a few feet from her. It was her mother that lay dead, dead by her own daughter’s bullet. The woman had come to Dami crying, and begging for forgiveness, saying that she couldn’t live with herself any more knowing she was pregnant for her daughter’s husband. She said it happened the very night Dami left the country for Dubai. The traffic was stagnant on their way from the airport, so they were forced to spend the night in a guest house. They had to share one room because all the others had been taken. That was six months ago now. By the time Dami returned, her mother had left for America.
Wait a minute; was it her mother that had told her the story herself or was it the the voices in her head. She glanced at her mother one more time but this time she was not pregnant. The only pregnant woman in the room was Dami.
Damilola sat on her bed, sweating profusely. She put the gun to her head and pulled the trigger. “Click.” “Click, click, click.” The barrel was empty. Just at that moment, mother nature decided to show Dami how much control she had over the defenseless human; she began to feel the first signs of labour creep up on her.