During my second year as a working-class citizen, something terrible happened to me.
A loss that shattered my heart.
The day it happened was an ordinary evening, promising and gay. A kind of evening that initiates a sit-out with your girlfriend. To either listen to music, eat goat meat pepper soup or have a few bottles of liquor.
Heaven knew I yearned for such treats at the time but the zeros in my account were heart-wrenching. To be precise, it was four-digit long. And four-digit was a terrible thing to have.
So?
I went home. Exhausted. Gassed out from Lagos traffic, I turned the doorknob to my apartment and walked in. On a normal day my Queen, Nikita would have run to welcome me. She was living rent-free in my apartment and that’s because I love her dearly.
But she didn’t. I was about to call out her name when I saw her.
The sight was so frightening that I screamed. Nikita was there, on the couch, sprawled, hands and legs limply stretched.
My heart stopped dead. The beating ceased for a few seconds before emotions rushed to my brain. Wiping my eyes to be sure I wasn’t hallucinating, I dropped my knapsack and scurried to her. I was going to cuddle her, ask what the problem was when I noticed something different. I had sat and lifted her to my knees, inspecting her like a doctor when I saw it. I gapped. My eyes pooped.
What is this?
This is not happening! No, not today.
Her mouth was dripping with blood, and her pulse was dead and gone. I wasn’t deterred. I was going to do something. I rocked her, and shook her all in an attempt to resuscitate her. Yet there was no response. No sign of life.
I screamed. A long piercing cry reverberated through my room. My enemies have succeeded. They have killed my joy. I examined her; the purrs escaping her eyes, the stiffened nose and the dried blood confirmed she could only have eaten a poisonous substance.
Suicide? She couldn’t have killed herself.
I stood and scoured the kitchen, yet found nothing. I was angry at myself for even looking. She was my love and I should know her better. Biting down my lips that it spilled blood, I thought of who would have killed her. Who?
My neighbor? Yes, my neighbor. Dozie.
He had always gnashed his teeth at her. Always grumbled about her excesses. Violent with his interaction with her.
Had he waited till I was not suspecting to poison her? Why would Nikky accept a thing from him? Didn’t she know he was an enemy? It’s her fragile heart, the one that quickly forgives that has landed her in this shit.
I swallowed, not air but the anger that was threatening to blow up in my face.
I must get to the bottom of this.
He knew she was my angel. My princess. My sweetness and companion. Storming out of the door, I raced to my neighbor’s door and banged. Dozie was a bloody bachelor. Who envied what I have. He worked from home and had a few ladies for sleepovers. But I knew just like most men, he had a thing for Nikky. He must have wanted her and when she refused, he devised a plan that led to her death. I was livid just by putting this thought together, that when he eventually answered after the third, his face was in a twisted grimace.
I gave him a punch that landed on the door because he was quick with using the four to his advantage. I was fuming.
”You bastard? Why did you poison Nikky? Why? What exactly has she done to you?” I vibrated.
He was puzzled. But his dazed state didn’t stop him from asking a question.
“Why are you banging on my do…?”, he asked before my voice drowned his.
“Why Dozie? Why are you so wicked? I left Nikky this morning with you alone in this house only to come back and meet her dead, spilling blood. Why did you do it?”
Dozie shook his head and slammed shut the door. I slapped at it but he was yelling from inside. “Steven, you are high. Just stay away from me!”
Still, in the fist of rage, I called Dozie a murderer. A cold-blooded killer. I was still in that state of disorientation, accusing Dozie of the crime when a hand touched my shoulders. It was Ebuka, my second neighbor. His eyes were sober and he tried to sympathize with me. He was new in our house and was still in the business of getting himself acquainted. He was also known as a workaholic because he disappears in the morning and returns late at night. It was even a miracle that he was here today.
“My deepest condolences bro, I know this is hard for you but you have to take a deep breath. Accusing Dozie of killing her might land you in jail.” he enthused.
I shrugged my shoulder.
“Dozie is a murderer and that’s who he is!” I kept screaming, slapping at the door simultaneously.
“Where is Nikky at the moment? Have you moved her corpse to the hospital? Or morgue? You know, I can help you in transporting in my car.” his voice was genuine with concern.
On hearing his soothing words, my nerves settled to a stillness, I hadn’t thought I possessed.
It was then, with me wiping my eyes and Ebuka patting my back that it escalated. Dozie tore his door. We stumbled backward. Fear of what he would do in our eyes. But he laughed a lopsided grin that revealed his set of well-arranged teeth.
I know he was up to no good when he stared straight at Ebuka and snapped a finger.
“Bro, The Nikky he is talking about is a white Maltese dog.”
I sighed and saw Ebuka’s mouth gap before his face searched mine for confirmation. He did get it because I nodded and his head dropped in disappointment. He looked at me again, tapped his finger by the side of his skull, and stormed off.
“You are sick, Steven. Get help fast!”
© Stephen Toochi
#StephStories
