Chapter 17 Deadly Mails

Songs for this chapter are:

No further - Wande

More to me - Wande

I'm fine - Gawvi

Together - Sia

**

The clouds had formed together, grey like assembling of a chariot, ready to wage a mighty war, only that this war emanating from the coming together of the clouds in the sky cane in torrents; there was now a heavy downpour of rain.

I could not even tell which was heavier, between my tears and the rain but I wished the rain would wash off my pain and perhaps me tears would mix with the rain, so bitterness mixing with a powerful emblem of nature would wash over my mother and that loan shark, wherever he is now, so they would never know happy days till they grow old and die.

"Let's go in now, my love." Mustafa loosened his hold on my waist since there is no point in stopping me now. My mum had already left. He simply supported my movement by wrapping an arm loosely around my waist as he walked sideways with me till we got into our house.

Quickly, I sink gently into the sofa next to where I stood, letting the comfiness of the furniture soothe my arms, my back, and down to my buttock cheeks. Being at home has never felt this therapeutic! It feels like the most I can do right now - enjoy every little detail of my home, since captivity is already lurking very closely, waiting to ensnare me.

Mustafa sat on the edge of the sofa, as I lay my head on his thigh in exasperation, his hands run down the length of my hair that has now already been drenched in the rain. Somehow, he did feel like nothing but the best friend I once had at this moment.

"I got another text from the same anonymous number," I told him. "And you know, the person is threatening to kill both of us so we can suffer for my mother's deeds."

"Your mother's deeds?" He questioned, seemingly surprised.

"Yes. I mean, I was on the verge of giving it all a second thought. I had even gotten to the point of wanting to forgive my mother because she had managed to prove her genuine innocence, even though she did a wrong thing still, but honestly, I have desperately missed having a motherly figure in my life but I just could not believe my eyes when I saw that text message. It just— I don't know the word to use. Honestly, it baffles me and infuriates me at the same time."

"Wow. I got the same text message too." He said. "But somehow, I don't think your mother is behind this incident, this time around. I got in contact with Zoe to—"

I raised my head from his thigh now so I can keep an eye context with him. I want to see his facial expression as he saying those stupid things because I just can not believe what he is saying. But I choose not to take it personally because no one ever believes me anyway.

"Then, if it's not my mother, who? Who, Mustafa? Honestly, that woman is good at pretending and I know her well to be able to decipher that. You know, at first, I never believed my ears when I discovered the truth of what she did. This woman is irresponsible as hell, you have got no idea. And she goes for the available option all the time without even trying to figure out if it's the best option or not.

Look, it's possible that someone else is behind this but it still does not make my mother any less of the main suspect. Didn't you see that my mother was mentioned in that text?!"

"Yeah she was, but it could be a trap." He sighs, gripping a fistful of his hair in exasperation, and hits his thigh with his palm, then he continues. "But I get where you are coming from and I would do what I can to protect you, okay?"

"Yeah, right. But, what are we going to do really? How are we going to protect ourselves? You know, you were saying something about carrying out an investigation? How can we do that now when my mother is the main suspect? I can't possibly investigate my mother like a criminal, can I?" I heaved a sigh as a tear flows down my cheek. Mustafa cupped my face in his hands immediately, making me look him straight in the eye. He uses his thumb to wipe my tears away.

"Yeah, that's right. I know it's going to be a mess if we are going to call your mother in for questioning, investigation, and all of that. It's going to be very hard for you and it would be hard on her as well. But let's try other options still. I can give details of that incident to Zoe.

I can narrate all that happened that day; the text message, the fact that he tried to stifle the life out of you and we could even use the autopsy results of our Driver's corpse as evidence for the investigation. I'd tell it all to Zoe since she's a lawyer. She'd be able to help us. Let's just try other options, huh?" He asked me, pleadingly with his eyes that are so full of worry.

"Alright," I said in an almost whispery tone. Then he seized my lips with his, kissing me with a promise laced behind the dancing of his lips against mine that he would do anything to protect me as he sucked on my lower lip, biting it slowly, all I can think about is that enormous cock and how much I have missed it. How much I desperately want it, buried in me.

I know better than Mustafa's 'meeting' with Zoe would most likely turn out to be more than just a 'meeting', because I permitted Zoe but, it's fine.

It's totally fine...

A few days later

"Oh...shit!!" I gasped, after realizing that I had just poured a whole pot of freshly cooked pasta into the trash bin simply because I thought it was burnt. Only for me to discover that it was not. It had only just got ready to be dished and served.

I mean, I could strongly perceive something burning from the kitchen, I could even see the fumes and it made me wonder what pasta cooked so fast until I found out that I was hallucinating...again. The food was not burning, and the aroma that I'd mistaken for a fume emanating from burnt food coming from the kitchen, didn't exist.

And now, I had just wasted a whole lot of pasta with ingredients I spent so much time dicing and slicing just so I could make a spicy lunch meal for my kids.

Thanks to this damn illness of mine that had only just gotten worse. Now, I practically have olfactory hallucinations for even the most basic odors that I could once distinguish from the other. I mean, I have never made this kind of mistake before.

I have expertise culinary skills, so I used to be pretty good when it comes to making dishes and knowing the smells of various kinds of food which has mysteriously served as a form of therapy for me but now, I can't believe I'm making a mistake with something, I know a lot about.

Sincerely, it's so frustrating that my health is not even getting any better in addition to the fact that my life is already in extreme danger at the moment. After so much, deliberation and a few arguments, Mustafa had insisted that I stay back at home for the time being because we both know that I'm the main target so, found out and about would only endanger the state of my life the more. So, he employed a few security men to keep guard over our house while I stay out a home with the kids.

If there's any cause for me to leave the house to do anything, then I must have a guard accompany me. At first, I thought if my business and what I would stand to lose if I stay back at home but I knew that my safety this time around, mattered the most, and my brother, Alexander had already explained to me that we could start our business now since he already explained to the Italian men, the reason why I could not make it for the meeting so they understood completely and had even sent their good wishes.

Staying at home so far should at least, give me a sense of safety but all I have been feeling is unease and anxiety. Sometimes, I just want to get some work done and do a few business deals online on my laptop but it's usually during these acute times that I start to perceive strange and unbearable odors, only for me to search around the house for the source of the odor and then it dawns on me, that it does not exist and I'm the only lunatic who can smell what does not exist.

I could remember sending one of my security men out of the living room when I was the one who called him in to help me out with something simply because I thought he had an awful, unbearable body odor. Only for me to realize later on, that I was hallucinating again.

I felt so bad and intensely embarrassed, but there was no way I could explain myself to the security man because he sure must have felt so embarrassed too but didn't have a choice since he worked for my husband and me.

Even after realizing that I'm hallucinating, I still keep perceiving the odor and then I get a migraine that forces me to sleep, thereby, making me do absolutely nothing at home at the end of the day.

Honestly, the last thing I can do while staying at home to keep myself hair and to escape the web of desperation I have perpetually been entangled in is to at least engage myself in more business but what can I do when my health keeps getting in the way?

It breaks my heart whenever I realize that what I feel is real is just a product of my hallucination. I always feel like life is mocking me.

I mean, life has mocked me enough already, telling from all the betrayals, and failed friendships, so why would my health mock me as well? It feels like I should not even trust my own body at all, since every aspect of it is not in cognizance with the other and because it only just mirrors the sad reality of my life which is pretty painful to reminisce in.

I could remember the day I discovered that the loan shark's brother who I saw in that cold, icy castle that seemed to look a lot like the loan shark, actually didn't resemble him in any way. It turned out to be that I was hallucinating on that day too. Little wonder why Dan didn't understand why I was looking so surprised on that day. I was the only one who thought the two different men looked so much alike, simply because my faulty senses were fooling me.

I'd even hallucinated as far as envisaging that he had a mustache on his face just like the loan shark.

It's pretty depressing to be aware of the fact that every element of life is working against you; friendships, emotions, physical appearance, the weather even my health. It's awful, knowing that you are on your own, and you can't trust anything or anyone. Even yourself.

If you can not trust yourself to always hold your head up high and soar above every difficulty that life throws at you, doesn't that destabilize and neutralize the entire concept of self-love?

What's there to love in one's self, if that same self constantly fails you?

Asides from being held captive, another thing I dread so much is that moment when the doctor comes out of the laboratory with my test results, only for me to learn that my ailment has just gotten a bit worse.

I usually do not like to dwell on things like this, because I prefer hurting them instead but, I find that my cheeks are misuser with my tears as I stare morosely into the empty pot in my hand, the heat from the pot's handle seeking into my thumb, but I shift my gaze now as I attempt to wipe my tears away and head back into the house so I can cook another meal for my kids who are soon going to assault my eardrums with their protests and cries of hunger once they wake up from their slumber.

But in process of shifting my gaze, I unavoidably spot an envelope on the floor, that looked like a mail someone had just sent but couldn't fit into the mailbox since our house's mailbox was most likely full now. The letter had probably fallen accidentally and whoever sent it, didn't have the time to look and back and check.

I know I can't step out of the gate since the security men never leave their posts and would come to stop me immediately but that letter was just beneath the gate; the little space, in between the gate and the interlocked floors. So I approach it and pick it up. Truly, it's a mail; a recent one.

One of the security men truly approaches me, thinking I'm making an attempt to leave the house but I give him a quick smile, assuring that I am now and instead I hand the now empty pot of pasta to him, instructing him to take back into the house.

He sighs, skeptical as to why I would ask him to for that but he obliges anyway and once he is out of sight, something prompts me quickly to tear open the envelope, paranoia washing over me now as I get the feeling that this mail is somewhat very important.

Who knows? Maybe that is the true purpose of me coming outside to dispose of a whole pot of freshly cooked pasta - so I would discover this mail.

But my heart drops like a figurine crashing against a tiled floor when I see the same text I have gotten two times now, written on the letter as well. My hands are so shaky and I can tell my lungs have contracted due to how difficult it is for me to breathe now. I mean, I am just one step away from going back to my actual status quo: being a captive.

The letter is short, but the danger is extremely imminent than ever in those simply put twenty-nine words:

"I am coming for you. No matter how far you think you can run. I can assure you that you can't hide and I'm closer to you than you think..."

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Psalms 55:12-14 - "For it is not an enemy who reproaches me; then I could bear it. Nor is it one who hates me who has exalted himself against me; Then I could hide from him. But it was you, a man my equal, my companion and my acquaintance. We took sweet counsel together, and walked to the house of God in the throng."