CHAPTER ONE
The Dream
Great trials seem to be necessary
preparation for great duties. – Thompson
The rain-soaked asphalt glistens like black glass under the dim streetlights as I slam on the brakes, the car skids, stopping just short of the imposing iron gate. The tires screech, their high-pitched wail slicing through the night. My heart races, pounding a relentless rhythm as I lean on the horn. Its sharp blare pierces the silence, accompanied only by the distant bark of a dog—a solitary echo in the night.
Sheu always appears at the first hint of the horn, yet only silence greets me tonight. Impatience crawls beneath my skin, and my fingers tap an uneven beat on the steering wheel. The horn cries out again, longer and more insistent, but the gate remains steadfast and closed. With a resigned sigh, I open the car door and enter the sticky, humid air. My agbada tangles around my feet, nearly sending me sprawling into the muddy gutter. “May the devil punish Sheu wherever he may be,” I mutter, my frustration boiling.
The gate looms before me, a cold and foreboding sentinel watching silently. As I shove it open, the iron surface reverberates through the quiet. A shiver crawls down my spine, prickling my neck. I berate myself for my nerves—what could threaten me in my home? Yet, unease clings to me as I push the gate wider; a low whoosh fills my ears, chilling me to the bone.
Breath catches in my throat, searing my lungs, each inhale a painful struggle against the heavy air. Panic surges, and I force a ragged breath, a sneeze ripping through me. My limbs refuse to obey, held captive by an invisible force. Eyes closed, I fight to remain conscious, grappling with the dark tendrils of fear.
When I finally open my eyes, I find myself suspended from a rope tied to the ceiling fan, my body swaying gently. My hands and legs are contorted behind me, blood trickling from my wrists and ankles, pooling on the smooth, cold tiles. The floor feels unforgiving against my chest as I swing, each creak of the rope a haunting reminder of my predicament. Who could have done this? And where is Aaron, my trusted protector?
My mind reels back to my life—a life richer and more celebrated than my father’s—a life crafted in the cutthroat world of Lagos business. I clawed my way up, playing the game ruthlessly, cutting corners when necessary. Henry always warned me a day like this would come.
I remember Henry bursting into my office, his face a mask of concern. “Moses, someone assassinated Chief Samuel on the Third Mainland Bridge today,” he announced, ignoring my extended hand. “You’re putting your life in danger by ignoring my advice.”
Chief Samuel—a titan of the oil industry, a man with nine lives—always seemed to dance on the edge, flirting with danger, never quite believing he could fall.
“So what?” I shrugged, trying to brush off Henry’s warning. “Even if the Chief died, the world won’t end. Come on, Henry, give me a hug.” But Henry stood firm, ignoring my gesture.
“Moses, we’ve come a long way. Many of your rivals loathe you. Consider getting a police escort now that you’ve received another threat letter.” His voice was weighted with concern, but I waved it away.
“You know I hate the police.” I rose from my desk, glancing at the open monthly report for my rental business. The numbers taunted me with their inconsistencies. We made more money than reported in just one week! “The Nigerian police,” I spat the words as if they left a bitter taste. “They’d alert the thieves and warn you of an attack simultaneously. No thanks. I have Aaron to protect me.”
“Aaron is no god.”
“To me, he is.”
From the window, I watched a woman below, tugging a reluctant child in a school uniform across the busy street. A man loaded with recharge cards bumped into her, causing her to release the child’s hand to steady herself. Seizing the chance, the child bolted in the opposite direction, vanishing into the bustling crowd.
In a moment of levity, I grabbed Henry from behind and playfully rubbed his protruding stomach, knowing how he loathed any mention of his expanding waistline. Usually, he’d react instantly, but today, he tolerated my hand on his belly.
Below, people swarmed the Y-shaped streets like ants, bustling with frenetic energy. Many wandered without purpose or direction. Lagos—the city of dreams. But how many truly lived those dreams? Laughter and banter mingled with the morning routines, the early sun casting silvery rays as it peeked from behind heavy clouds.
Henry’s gaze drifted, perhaps reflecting on times long past. When was the last time he truly enjoyed himself with his family? His security service job consumed him, leaving little room for anything else.
Finally, Henry removed my hand from his stomach. “You talk about Aaron constantly; no one has seen him, and nobody believes he exists.”
“Henry, you, of all people, know Aaron is real,” I insisted, a chuckle escaping at his skepticism. “You might not see him, but he’s there. You’ve witnessed his handiwork, felt his presence.”
“I know, Moses,” Henry replies, his voice tinged with skepticism. “But an invisible twin brother isn’t easy to believe. Is he here right now?”
“Always here, Henry, watching over us,” I say, letting the words linger like a dare. Outside, the city vibrates with the morning’s energy, but inside, tension hangs thick, a tightrope between belief and doubt.
“Aaron is his own man,” I continue, infusing my words with conviction. “He comes and goes as he pleases, but he’ll know the moment I’m in trouble.”
“You still need protection,” Henry presses, worry etching lines across his forehead.
“Henry, relax. You’re too serious about your job. Our security is in the hands of the Almighty. Nobody can take my life if it isn’t God’s will.”
“Are you kidding me?” Henry stares, incredulous, then bursts into laughter. “Coming from you, that’s hilarious. When was the last time you attended church?”
“That doesn’t mean I don’t pray or make me an unbeliever.”
“God protects those who obey His commandments. You’re too rich to walk the straight and narrow. Let’s leave God out of this. If you keep refusing my advice, I’ll send some of my boys to protect you, whether you like it or not.” With that, Henry storms out, the door slamming hard enough to rattle the walls.
Back in the present, I thrash against the ropes binding me, the past crashing over me like relentless waves. A sudden, sharp pain slices into my neck, drawing a scream that echoes around the room. My eyes snap open to find Janet staring, her expression blending fear and confusion.
“Why do you look at me like that?” I ask, a tremor in my voice.
“Your n-n-neck,” she stammers, pointing with a trembling finger, eyes wide with terror. “There’s a deep cut on your neck.”
My hand flies instinctively to my neck, meeting something wet and sticky. Sleep vanishes in a jolt of panic. I leap up and flick on the light, flooding the room with harsh brightness. Blood covers my palm, the sight sending a chill down my spine. I dash to the bathroom, desperate for a mirror. The reflection shows a gash, blood oozing down my chest. My fingers probe the wound, feeling its depth.
Then, abruptly, I’m back in bed beside Jane as if waking from a nightmare. She holds a bath towel, its fabric soaked with what looks like blood, and the once-pristine sheets are splattered with crimson.
I recoil from the stains, shifting to the clean edge of the bed. “What happened?” I demand, struggling to comprehend the chaos.
“You fainted. That’s what happened,” Jane replies, her voice steady but edged with concern.
“Where is Aaron? How could he disappear now that I need him most?” I mumble, the panic rising.
“I beg your pardon?” Jane drops the sodden towel, her confusion deepening. “Who is Aaron?”
“Never mind, Jane,” I say, brushing off her question. “I’ll tell you at the appropriate time.”
As I sit there, trying to unravel the surreal events, the morning light seeps through the blinds, casting stripes across the room. My mind races, a whirlwind of thoughts as I piece together fragments of reality and nightmare. The faint scent of fear mingles with the metallic tang of blood, creating an unsettling atmosphere that clings to the air.
Jane stands before me. Her beauty was tinged with concern. Her dark eyes are wide, reflecting fear and a desire to understand. Her long, silky hair cascades over her shoulders, framing a face both familiar and suddenly strange in this bizarre moment. Her presence grounds me, tethering me to a world slipping away.
“What in the name of the saints is going on?” she asks, her voice tinged with disbelief. Her hands clutch the edge of the bed, knuckles white with tension. “This isn’t some movie plot, Moses. How can everything disappear like that?”
I lean against the wall, sliding down until I’m seated on the cool tile floor. My thoughts jumble, each slipping away before I can grasp them. Sweat slicks my skin as I run a hand through my hair, trying to steady the storm within. Did I dream it all? The question circles my mind, persistent and haunting.
My gaze drifts to Jane, who watches me with worry and curiosity. In this moment, I see her anew—not just as a witness to my turmoil but as a beautiful enigma herself. Her presence stirs something in me, a warmth that cuts through the chill of confusion. Only two women in my thirty-seven years have been as captivating as Jane, and in this light, she outshines them both—a beacon of beauty and strength.
The room is silent except for our breathing, the air thick with unspoken questions. The sun’s rays filter through the window, casting a soft glow that seems to wrap around us, holding the world at bay.
Jane clears her throat, breaking the silence. “Moses, are you sure you’re okay?” Her voice is gentle, a balm against the raw edges of my thoughts.
“I don’t know, Jane,” I admit, my voice low and uncertain. “I’ve never experienced anything like this. Reality shifted, and I can’t find solid ground.”
Her hand reaches out, brushing against my arm, a reassuring touch that anchors me. “We’ll figure it out,” she promises, her eyes steady and sincere. “Whatever’s happening, we’ll face it together.”
At that moment, I realized how much her presence means to me—a lifeline in this sea of confusion. I nod, drawing strength from her words, even as the mystery of what happened hangs between us, unresolved and elusive.
I stagger to my feet, my legs trembling like the last leaves of a tree caught in a fierce wind. The world tilts slightly, a dizzying sensation that leaves me grasping for stability. Jane places a steadying hand on my back, her touch a comforting anchor in the swirling chaos. As I turn to face her, I’m struck anew by her beauty—those wide, expressive eyes reflecting concern and something more profound. In all my thirty-seven years, only two women have rivaled Jane’s allure, but at this moment, she outshines them both, an ethereal presence in a world gone mad.
A heat rises within me, unbidden and awkward in the intimacy of our shared space. Jane’s gaze flits down, catching the telltale sign of my reaction, and she quickly averts her eyes, a flush coloring her cheeks. The tension is palpable, a charged current between us.
“There’s no, no, no b-blood…” she stammers, her voice barely a whisper as her eyes fixate on my neck, entranced by the impossible.
“I know, I know. There’s no blood on my neck any longer,” I finish for her with a heavy sigh. The initial terror ebbs away, leaving behind a profound confusion. I shrug, trying to dispel the lingering shadows of fear.
“What in the name of the saints is going on?” Jane demands, her voice tinged with incredulity. “I’ve never seen anything like this before. Maybe in a movie, but this—what happened to the water on your shirt? And the bed—there’s no trace of blood anymore.”
My mind reels at her words. No blood on the bed? Just moments ago, the sheets were drenched in crimson, a scene from a slaughterhouse etched vividly in my memory. My heartbeat quickens, pounding a frantic rhythm in my chest. Wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand, I struggle to comprehend the bizarre reality.
How could this be? No one sustains an injury in a dream that manifests in reality. Every event thus far defies logic, turning the world on its head. Nothing makes sense. Desperately seeking clarity, I pinch myself, feeling the sharpness of my skin, confirming I’m awake.
“Mine oh mine! You look like you’ve just seen something out of hell,” Janes’s voice echoes through the room, breaking the fragile silence.
“Yeah, you’re right; he saw something straight out of Lucifer’s kingdom,” another voice responds, its tone mocking and surreal.
Jane whirled around, eyes darting to the shadowed corners where the darkness seemed to breathe. “I thought I heard somebody speak,” she murmured, voice trembling as it broke the heavy stillness. Her gaze clung to the open bedroom door, her mind racing to piece together the impossible whispers in the air.
“You did. I spoke. So you’re still here?” The voice returned, slicing through her spiraling thoughts with chilling certainty.
“I’m hearing voices. I must be going out of my mind,” Jane muttered, pressing trembling fingers against her ears, desperate to silence the phantom sounds.
“It’s no use, lady. I am here. I’m not going anywhere,” the voice insists—a sinister presence that wraps around us like a fog, heavy and inescapable.
Jane removes her fingers from her ears, her expression between disbelief and curiosity. The voice had come from the door, a phantom presence woven from shadows and sound. “Who are you?” she asks, her voice barely steady.
“Perhaps that question should come from me,” the voice responds with a casual mockery that sends a chill through the room. “Moses, I thought you said she was a friend. How come she slept over at your house? Is she your latest conquest?”
I push myself up from the bed, moving deliberately to face the door. “Shut up, Aaron. Where have you been since yesterday? I’ve been through hell and back.”
“If you went through such a journey, you would be tired. Yet, you don’t look it.”
“Moses, is there an invisible being in the room with us?” Jane’s voice quivers as she shrinks away when I try to take her hand, her eyes wide with disbelief.
“You could say that,” I reply, letting out a nervous laugh that doesn’t quite reach my eyes.
Before I can say more, a framed picture of a mother and child lifts from its resting place near the door and hurtles across the room toward me. I duck instinctively, and the picture crashes against the opposite wall, the glass shattering into a thousand glittering shards.
I stand over the broken painting, shaking my head. “This picture cost me a fortune.”
“Buy another one. You can afford it many times over,” Aaron’s disembodied voice quips dismissively. “And who do you call a being? Tell your girlfriend I am not just a being since she can hear me. I am as real as she is.”
“Moses, are you saying you have an invisible friend?” Jane whispers, crouching against the wall, her body language screaming her desire to disappear.
“I am not his friend; I am his angel. If you sleep over in his house, you’re more than a girlfriend. He never lets any of his girlfriends do that.”
“Stop committing blasphemy, Aaron. You are no angel. And one more thing, she is not my girlfriend. She is a friend.”
“Huh, a friend indeed! So you said yesterday.”
“You can believe that or not. I don’t care. Where have you been, anyway? I could have been killed in my dream.”
“Nobody dies in their dream. Anyway, it’s nothing you can’t handle. You have your girlfriend here to keep you company.” Aaron’s tone drips with amusement. “If you used your powers more often, you wouldn’t need me to bail you out of every jam. I am not your babysitter, you know. God gave us our powers for a reason. If you don’t use yours, that’s your funeral. Did you say she’s not your girlfriend? Yet, she’s sleeping over at your place.” Aaron’s mocking tone is clear even though he remains unseen.
Frustration boils over, and I swing my fist at the empty air where Aaron stands. The motion sends me off balance, and I stagger backward, crashing onto the giant piano stool. I tumble over, landing with a thud on the floor. The impact drives the breath from my lungs, and I clutch my chest, letting out a theatrical groan.
Jane’s eyes flicker with concern and disbelief, the situation’s absurdity rendering her momentarily speechless. The room is heavy with tension, the weight of unspoken truths and inexplicable realities pressing down on us.
“Shut up, Aaron. You’ll be the death of me,” I grumble, rubbing my throbbing hand. “Please, Jane, don’t mind Aaron. He’s my twin brother. I’ll tell you more about him some other time. He’s a wonderful fellow who likes to help people in his way. The only problem is that people misconstrue his intentions when they see the results of his deeds—or misdeeds. You’re the second person who can hear him. I’m sure you’ll get along fine if you don’t mind his ‘peradventure’ nonsense.”
Jane’s mouth drops open, her eyes wide with disbelief. “Your twin brother? Do you have an invisible twin brother? But you said you weren’t talking to anybody yesterday! My savior on the cross of Calvary!”
She moves closer to me, curiosity lighting up her features. “Can I shake his hand?” she asks, extending her hand tentatively. Her arm sweeps right through Aaron, who stands in front of her, unseen but palpable.
Aaron stretches out as if to embrace her, and his hands pass through her shoulder, a ghostly, comical gesture.
“Hey, take your hand off my woman, you womanizer,” I yell, feigning anger and failing to suppress a grin.
“Can I see him?” Jane asks excitedly, her eyes sparkling with intrigue.
“He can’t make you see him; no one else sees him apart from our mother, me, and innocent little children. Oh! I forgot—he says my wife could see him too.”
Jane stands up and embraces me, looking deep into my eyes. “I am going to be your wife, am I not?”
“So you say, but Aaron doesn’t see things that way. Nobody except my mother and I have seen him, apart from little children. As a small boy who didn’t know better, I had trouble telling people about Aaron. People always looked at me and shook their heads. I learned the hard way to keep the knowledge of Aaron to myself. Aaron is a kind of guardian angel to me.”
“Moses, you are a fool. Remember Elizabeth,” Aaron says, using his thumb and index finger to mime zipping his lips. He casts a furious glance at me, his expression a mixture of exasperation and amusement.
I remember all right. Elizabeth was the only affair I’d like to forget, and Aaron never lets me hear the end of that misadventure.
“Who is Elizabeth? Who is Elizabeth?” Jane teases, swinging her head from side to side and dancing around me playfully.
“Are you sure she can’t see me?” Aaron waves his hand in front of her face, scrutinizing me with suspicion. “Did you do anything after I left yesterday?”
“Don’t give me that look! I swear I didn’t do anything,” I protest, holding my hands defensively.
“I don’t know how she does it. I’m surprised she can hear you. Apart from children, she’s the fourth person who can do that now. Maybe she is going to be my wife, as she said.”
“Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here. I cannot see your Aaron, but I can hear him,” Jane interjects, tossing her mobile handset at me in mock frustration. I duck just in time as it sails past and hits the opposite wall, shattering into pieces. It is a cheap phone she uses for calls only.
The tension in the room dissipates, replaced by a strange camaraderie. Jane’s presence is a balm against the bewildering reality of my life, her laughter a soothing counterpoint to Aaron’s mischievous antics.
As the shards of her phone lie scattered on the floor, glinting in the morning light, I realize that this unlikely trio—a woman, an invisible twin, and myself—may be the key to navigating the peculiarities of my existence.
Aaron becomes animated, excitement lighting up his unseen features as he tries again to embrace Jane. But again, he passes through her like a specter, the futility of his gesture mingling with humor and frustration. I can’t help but laugh at his persistence, the sound echoing through the room. Aaron turns away from me, his expression of mock anger. He shrugs and slips effortlessly through the wall, leaving us alone.
“Well, Jane, he’s gone,” I say, a hint of amusement lingering in my voice. “He’s upset; you can hear him, but he can’t embrace you. He thinks you’re beautiful.”
“Don’t you think so too?” Jane asks, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around me. Her touch is warm and familiar, sending a shiver up my spine. I avert my eyes, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks, naked longing filling the space between us.
“When you embrace me, my heart beats faster. I feel lightheaded, as if I’m walking on a mountain of cotton wool,” I whisper, my voice barely audible above the silence. “If this is love, it scares me.”
Jane looks at me, shock flickering across her features. “Is it not good that you love me?” she asks, her voice gentle yet probing.
“I’m scared of love. I’ve been there before,” I confess, my mind drifting back to memories I’d rather forget. “Love can make you lose your head. I like to be in control.”
“Elizabeth?” she snaps, her voice cutting through my reverie like a knife. “That’s in the past. You’re not truly alive until you’ve experienced love.”
Her words hang between us, challenging and raw, as I struggle to reconcile the fear in my heart with the truth in her eyes. Love is a risk, a leap into the unknown, and despite the trepidation gnawing at my insides, I can’t help but wonder if she’s right.
For a moment, we stand there, the world outside fading away until only we remain, caught in a delicate balance between the past and the possibilities of what lies ahead. The room is filled with a quiet intensity, each heartbeat echoing in the silence like a promise yet to be fulfilled.
The light from the window bathes us in a soft glow, illuminating the unspoken hopes and fears that bind us together. Jane’s gaze holds mine, steady and unwavering, as if daring me to take that leap and embrace the unknown and all its uncertainties.
In that suspended moment, I realized that love is not about control but about the courage to let go and trust in something greater than ourselves. The past may haunt me, but it doesn’t have to define me. Perhaps, with Jane by my side, I can learn to trust again and to believe in the possibility of happiness.
I reach for her hand, finding strength in her touch. Together, we step into the unknown, ready to face whatever comes our way.
J.J. OlutiCreative Voice of Africa
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