DEMILADE NOVEL PART 2
Within the Chaos
The soft strains of piano music played faintly in Demilade’s mind, the only solace amid the unsettling atmosphere in his home. The door creaked open, revealing the chaos within—papers, broken objects, and scattered furniture littered the space.
“Sorry,” Demilade said, his voice apologetic as he stepped inside, gesturing toward a less cluttered corner. “Everywhere is still scattered. You can come over here to sit.”
Mr. Rett stood just inside the doorway, his expression calm but purposeful. “No, I don’t need to sit. Let’s get to work—let’s put this place in order.”
Demilade hesitated, glancing at the mess. “But I would rather not disturb you.”
Mr. Rett shook his head. “Then it would not have been necessary to agree to follow you if I were to be useless.”
“No, sir,” Demilade replied quickly. “Please don’t feel that way. You’re an old man. I’m still young—I’ll fix it all.”
“But is this work not too much for you to handle alone?” Mr. Rett asked, his gaze steady.
“I can always call people to help me out,” Demilade assured him. “Young people—not an old man like you.”
Mr. Rett raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the window, where the rain lashed against the glass. “Not in this heavy rain. Or can you get anyone to come assist you in weather like this?”
Demilade paused, conceding the point. As he stepped deeper into the room, his nose wrinkled. “Wait a minute,” he muttered, sniffing the air. “I smell fuel… all around here.”
Mr. Rett remained still, his voice calm. “But I told you, I saw a man who wanted to burn down your house.”
“But I didn’t see anyone,” Demilade said, his voice rising in confusion.
Mr. Rett gave him a reassuring smile. “But I saw the person. Don’t worry—you are covered. I’m here.”
Demilade’s unease bubbled over, and he spun to face Mr. Rett, his voice firm. “Please, what exactly is going on here? You! Who are you? Why exactly are you here?”
Mr. Rett folded his hands behind his back, his posture unwavering. “I have come to be of help to someone who needs me to build my house.”
Demilade frowned, the words ringing cryptic. “Sorry, that is confusing. Do you really want to build a house?”
“Yes,” Mr. Rett replied without hesitation.
“Where?” Demilade pressed.
“On that land outside there,” Mr. Rett said, nodding toward the field beyond the window.
Demilade squinted at him. “So what do you mean by you want to help someone who wants to help you build a house?”
Mr. Rett gave him a knowing look. “I have the plan.”
Demilade sighed, exasperation creeping into his voice. “But that is not a plan. You need an architect to help you draw a proper one.”
Mr. Rett’s expression didn’t waver. “That is the plan. Do you need me to explain?”
Demilade rubbed his temples, the stress of the day taking its toll. “Okay, maybe you should explain better.”
Mr. Rett’s voice softened. “Can you sit somewhere and read for a few minutes?”
Demilade blinked, caught off guard by the suggestion. “Okay… let me clean up my room and read this. I’ll be back.”
“Okay, sir,” Mr. Rett said, watching as Demilade made his way toward the mess of his room.
The soft sound of footsteps faded into the background as Mr. Rett stood alone in the room, his expression serene despite the chaos surrounding him.
The Room
The rain continued its relentless pounding against the windows, a rhythmic backdrop to Demilade’s restless thoughts. Inside his cluttered room, the dim light reflected the weight of the day’s events.
He paced back and forth, muttering under his breath. “This rain is still heavy,” he said, glancing at the window. “But I don’t want this man to stay too long in my house.”
He picked up the document Mr. Rett had handed him, shaking his head as he sat down on the edge of the bed. “Let me just read this thing he called a plan and get back to him.”
The first few lines of text on the page made him pause.
“I am David. I am popularly known as the man after God’s heart. I am the youngest son of Jesse, a king to the specially loved citizens of Israel. I was first an aide at the court of Saul, Israel’s first king. I am a warrior against the Philistines. My resultant popularity aroused Saul’s jealousy, and a plot was made to kill me. I fled into southern Judah and Philistia, on the coastal plain of Palestine, where, with great sagacity and foresight, I began to lay the foundations of my career…”
Demilade furrowed his brow, reading the words aloud in disbelief. “What is all this now?” He flipped the pages, looking for some hidden blueprint or practical layout. “This is not a plan! What is my business with David in the Bible?”
He tossed the paper onto the bed, his frustration bubbling over. “This man must be whining me,” he muttered, standing abruptly. “Let me go and meet him.”
The thought of Mr. Rett alone in the sitting room unsettled him. “It’s not even wise leaving him there by himself,” he reasoned, heading toward the door.
The sound of his footsteps echoed faintly in the small space, mingling with the creak of the door as he opened it. He stepped out, closing the door behind him, determined to get to the bottom of this peculiar situation.
The Sitting Room
The soft notes of the piano music echoed faintly in the background as Demilade stepped into the sitting room. He stopped abruptly, his eyes widening in disbelief.
“Wow,” he muttered, scanning the room. “What suddenly happened here?”
Everything was spotless, the chaos and clutter from before completely gone. The furniture was neatly arranged, and the room looked as though it had just been cleaned by a professional crew.
Mr. Rett stood calmly by the window, his hands clasped behind his back. “Hey, Mr. Demilade,” he greeted with a faint smile.
Demilade raised a hand, shaking his head. “Please, sir, call me Demilade.”
Mr. Rett tilted his head. “Okay, sir—”
Demilade cut him off, exasperated. “And drop the ‘sir’ while you’re at it.”
“Okay,” Mr. Rett replied, his voice even and calm.
Demilade gestured to the immaculate room. “Please, what is going on here?”
“Are you done reading the plan?” Mr. Rett asked, his tone steady.
Demilade ignored the question, staring at him. “You cleaned up this place in how many minutes?”
“And you read the plan in how many minutes, please?” Mr. Rett countered with a faint smile.
Demilade threw his hands up. “Sir, what is going on here? You’re turning my head!”
Mr. Rett took a step closer, his expression patient. “Demilade, I am the one with the plan. I need you to build me a house.”
Demilade blinked, still reeling. “And I need you to tell me how you were able to fix this place so fast!”
“You gave me the permission to clean up this place, and I did,” Mr. Rett explained. “If you had given me the permission to clean other places, I would have done that too.”
Demilade narrowed his eyes. “Don’t twist my brain, please. Who are you?”
“I am Rett,” the man replied simply.
Demilade frowned. “I’ve never heard that name before in my life. Is that even a full word?”
“Retter,” Mr. Rett clarified.
“What does that mean?” Demilade pressed.
“It’s a German word,” Mr. Rett said, his smile returning.
Demilade pulled out his phone, skepticism etched on his face. “Retter is a German word? Okay, let’s ask Google.”
“Go ahead,” Mr. Rett encouraged.
The sound of phone beeps filled the room as Demilade searched. Moments later, he looked up, his face a mix of confusion and surprise. “It’s true. It means… Savior.”
“Yes, Demilade,” Mr. Rett confirmed softly.
Demilade waved dismissively. “You could’ve just said that’s your name. I know a couple of people with similar names.”
Mr. Rett’s tone turned serious. “I want to build a house, but I can’t build it myself. Your permission to let me into your house was so I could help you clean it up while you build mine for me.”
“But I don’t know how to build!” Demilade protested.
“I will teach you,” Mr. Rett said with certainty.
“You could just teach someone else!” Demilade snapped, frustration creeping into his voice.
“You’ve kept too much debt in this house,” Mr. Rett replied evenly. “I still need to clean the other rooms.”
Demilade bristled. “No, don’t bother yourself. It will be sorted.”
“You mean I’m not allowed to go beyond here?” Mr. Rett asked, raising an eyebrow.
“Yes, please,” Demilade replied firmly. “Let’s just talk about your plan.”
“Okay, then,” Mr. Rett said.
Demilade sighed, rubbing his temples. “What I found in your so-called plan is the story of David.”
“Yes, David,” Mr. Rett affirmed.
“But it made no sense to me!” Demilade said, exasperated.
Mr. Rett’s eyes softened. “David is one of the greatest characters in the Bible. He was the founder and king of the first and largest Jewish kingdom. Known as the ‘Shepherd King,’ he rose from humble origins to greatness. David was chosen, just as you have been chosen. But you need to patiently learn from him.”
Demilade shook his head, overwhelmed. “What is it with you and this story of David?”
“Can you take your time to read about David?” Mr. Rett asked gently.
Demilade threw his hands up in frustration. “I’m sorry, but I don’t have that time. Let me just go and build you something.”
“Why are you in a rush?” Mr. Rett asked calmly.
“Because I have my own life to live!” Demilade retorted. “You can’t just come in and arrest me like this. I have things to do, and I still need to clean up the remaining parts of this house.”
Mr. Rett’s voice remained calm. “But you can leave that for me to handle.”
“And I said NO!” Demilade shouted.
Mr. Rett’s gaze held steady. “Demilade, do you have something in this house that you’re trying to hide from me?”
Demilade’s eyes flashed with anger. “Are you trying to intrude on my privacy?”
“Nothing is really hidden under heaven,” Mr. Rett replied softly.
“Well, as for me, you can’t be allowed into my room,” Demilade said firmly.
“And the other rooms?” Mr. Rett asked.
Demilade hesitated before relenting. “Okay, go and do whatever your heart wants to do, but don’t enter my room. I need to make some calls to get laborers to build you your house.”
“Why are you rushing?” Mr. Rett asked. “Why not sit with the plan first and study it?”
Demilade groaned, exasperated. “Oh my God, what have I gotten myself into today? Okay, I’m going to my room.”
Mr. Rett smiled faintly. “Hmmm. It is well. I’m not giving up on you.”
As the soft piano music continued to play, Demilade retreated to his room, his mind swirling with confusion and frustration.
Music: Soft piano playing gently in the background
The late afternoon sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting warm golden patterns on the walls. Demilade sat on the edge of his bed, a massive, leather-bound book resting heavily on his lap. Its worn, gilded edges hinted at its age and the weight of its contents. He traced the embossed title absentmindedly: The Plan.
“Where do I even start with this big book that man called a plan?” Demilade muttered, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Wo! I’ll just open it anywhere and see what it’s about. This had better be worth it.”
He flipped through the thick pages, the sound of them rustling filling the room. The book had a peculiar smell—a mix of old paper and something faintly herbal. Finally, he settled on a page near the middle and began to read aloud, his voice hesitant but growing firmer as he became absorbed in the words.
“I, David, became the leader and organizer of a group of outlaws and refugees. We progressively ingratiated ourselves with the local population by protecting them from other bandits. In cases where they had been raided, we pursued the raiders and restored the stolen possessions. These actions eventually ensured that I would be ‘invited’ to become king as the true successor of Saul after the latter was slain in battle against the Philistines on Mount Gilboa.”
Demilade paused, letting the words sink in. He leaned back against the headboard, his expression thoughtful. “Hmm, David was actually a strong guy. This book is getting interesting, sha. But why did Mr. Rett call it a plan? Let me read more.”
He turned the page, and the narrative continued.
“At first, I, King David, wanted to build a temple for God. But according to divine instruction, God said to me through the prophet Nathan, ‘You are not to build a house for my name because you are a warrior and have shed blood.’ Thus, I, King David, never built a temple for God. However, He chose Solomon, my son, to fulfill that mission.”
Demilade frowned and sat up straighter, his interest now tinged with confusion. “Wait, what is happening here? So David didn’t build the temple? Why is this man giving me this story to study, then? It doesn’t make sense.”
He closed the book with a thud, frustration flickering across his face. “I need to speak to him. This whole thing is starting to feel like one big puzzle.”
Music shifts: Strings swell softly as Demilade rises, the book still in hand.
The Kitchen Revelation
The faint hum of strings playing in the background set a serene tone, an odd contrast to Demilade’s brisk footsteps echoing through the house. He pushed open the kitchen door and found Mr. Rett, sleeves rolled up, standing at the sink with a small mountain of neatly stacked dishes beside him.
“Mr. Saviour,” Demilade called, his tone a mixture of curiosity and disbelief.
“Yes, Demilade?” Mr. Rett replied without turning, his hands moving fluidly under the running water.
“You’re washing plates?” Demilade asked, tilting his head, as though questioning reality.
“Yes,” Mr. Rett answered simply, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
Demilade folded his arms, his gaze darting from the spotless kitchen counters to the gleaming stovetop. “How come you’re this fast? I’ve checked the other rooms in this house—they’re all well-arranged and neat. And now you’re here, almost done with the dishes. Even me, and I’m younger than you, I can’t move this fast. How are you doing it?”
Mr. Rett chuckled, finally glancing over his shoulder. “Hmmm, if you had given me permission to enter your room, it would have probably been all well-arranged by now.”
Demilade scowled. “Leave my room out of this, please.”
“Okay,” Mr. Rett replied with a small shrug, his smile unwavering.
Demilade leaned against the counter, clutching The Plan under his arm. “I just discovered something in your book.”
“Oh, you mean my plan?” Mr. Rett asked, drying his hands on a towel.
“Okay, fine, your plan. David didn’t build the temple,” Demilade stated, his voice tinged with annoyance.
Mr. Rett nodded thoughtfully. “Yes.”
“Then why are you telling me to build a house when, in your plan, there is no house?”
Mr. Rett’s eyes twinkled as he responded. “You’re right, David didn’t build a temple. But he did build an empire.”
Demilade straightened, his curiosity piqued. “Hmmm. How?”
“If you hadn’t skipped some pages, you would have known,” Mr. Rett replied with a knowing smile.
Demilade’s eyes widened in mock outrage. “How did you know I jumped some pages?”
“You are naturally not that fast,” Mr. Rett said, his tone teasing but kind.
Demilade sighed in defeat. “Alright, please help me with this question.”
“I’m listening,” Mr. Rett said, his tone steady and patient.
“What empire did David build?”
Mr. Rett’s voice grew reverent as he answered. “David founded the Judean dynasty and united all the tribes of Israel under a single monarch.”
Demilade blinked, absorbing the gravity of the statement. “Hmmm. That’s powerful.”
“His son Solomon expanded the empire David built,” Mr. Rett continued. “But that’s not important for now. When the time comes, we’ll open that chapter.”
“So, I’m to build an empire?” Demilade asked, more to himself than to Mr. Rett.
“A great army for the Lord,” Mr. Rett clarified, his gaze steady. “But not until I have access to your entire house and clean it up.”
Demilade frowned. “You’re so manipulative. Leave my room out of it!”
The sudden trill of Demilade’s phone cut through the air, breaking the tension. He fished it out of his pocket and answered. “Hello, DJ Cole.”
“Guy, where you dey?” DJ Cole’s voice came through the line, urgent and strained.
“I dey house,” Demilade replied, his brow furrowing.
“Ak call you say hin carry woman go hin uncle house?”
“Yes,” Demilade said cautiously, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “In fact, me self, I dey held down with something as I dey.”
“Guy, Ak don go o,” DJ Cole said, his voice heavy with dread.
Demilade’s heart skipped a beat. “What did you say?”
“There was a fight between Ak and the lady. She called her group, and in the process…” DJ Cole paused before continuing, his words almost a whisper. “Ak sha don mud.”
“Haaaaaaa!” Demilade staggered, gripping the counter for support as the news hit him like a physical blow.
“We dey police station for quarry at the moment,” DJ Cole continued. “We don catch the lady sha, but some of her friends don run. You fit show?”
“I dey come,” Demilade said, his voice tight with emotion.
The line disconnected, leaving a deafening silence in its wake.
Demilade’s chest heaved as he struggled to process what he’d just heard. “No! My God, why? Ak, why? Na like this you end am? Ha! This girl no go escape from this, I swear. I go make sure say she sef die!”
“Take it easy, friend. I’m sorry for your loss,” Mr. Rett said, his voice calm but empathetic.
Demilade shook his head, his face a storm of grief and fury. “Please, I have to get somewhere.”
“I can see you really loved him,” Mr. Rett said softly.
Demilade nodded, swallowing hard. “I’ll be back.”
“It’s okay,” Mr. Rett said, watching as Demilade stormed out of the kitchen, leaving the book—and a host of unresolved questions—behind.
The gentle sound of a piano echoed faintly in the background, its melancholic notes weaving through the stillness of the house. The soft creak of a door opening disrupted the quiet, followed by measured footsteps and the whisper of a breeze carrying distant, indiscernible noises from the world outside.
“Welcome,” Mr. Rett said, his voice calm and steady.
Demilade stepped inside, brushing a stray curl from her face. She looked weary, as though the weight of the day had been an unrelenting burden. “Thank you,” she replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
“How was it?” Mr. Rett asked, his sharp gaze scanning her face for answers she hadn’t yet voiced.
“It was a very rough day,” she admitted, sighing heavily.
“I can see that,” he said, his tone tinged with concern. “You need to rest.”
“Exactly,” she agreed, pulling off her shoes as though they’d been shackles.
“Did you manage to eat anything?”
She hesitated before shaking her head. “No. I couldn’t even remember that I hadn’t eaten.”
“I see…” He leaned slightly against the doorframe, his expression thoughtful. “But you need strength. How about some fruit before you go to bed?”
“I don’t have any fruit in the house,” she murmured, almost apologetically.
A small smile played on his lips. “I got you some.”
Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Really?”
“Yes,” he confirmed simply.
“Thank you,” she said, a glimmer of gratitude breaking through her exhaustion.
“Don’t mention it,” Mr. Rett replied with an easy shrug. “Just sit down while I prepare it for you.”
“Thank you,” she repeated, sinking into a nearby chair.
The faint sound of a knife slicing through fruit soon filled the room, the rhythmic folly of his motions oddly comforting.
After a short while, Mr. Rett returned, carrying a small bowl brimming with a colorful medley of fresh fruit. “Here’s a fruit salad,” he said, setting it gently before her. “You’ll like it.”
She looked up at him, curious. “How do you know I like fruit salad?”
“Would it be fair if I said I guessed?” he asked, a playful glint in his eye.
She chuckled softly, the tension in her shoulders easing just a fraction. “Then you must be good at guessing.”
“Enjoy your meal,” he said with a smile, stepping back to give her space.
“Thank you,” she said again, this time with more warmth.
After a few quiet moments of eating, Mr. Rett broke the silence. “You locked your room before leaving today.”
Demilade raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. “I knew you’d want to check inside my room.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender. “No, I wouldn’t have done that. I don’t do things I’m not permitted to do.”
“Hmm,” she said, her tone skeptical but playful. “It’s okay.”
“I’d still love to help you clean it, though, if you don’t mind,” he offered.
“Don’t bother,” she replied, shaking her head. “I’ve got it under control.”
The room suddenly illuminated with a flash of lightning, followed by the deep rumble of thunder.
“It’s going to rain again tonight,” Mr. Rett observed, glancing toward the window.
“Whatever,” Demilade said, standing up. “I’m off to bed.”
“Sweet dreams,” he said gently.
“I hope so,” she replied, pausing in the doorway. Her voice dropped slightly as she added, “I hope AK doesn’t come to fight me in my sleep for not giving him the money he asked for.”
Mr. Rett frowned. “Did you have the money and choose not to give it?”
She looked back at him, her expression guarded. “I just wanted to teach him a lesson.”
“But your student is dead,” he said quietly, his words cutting through the air like a blade.
Her breath hitched. “So sad,” she murmured, her voice distant.
“Is it your fault?”
Demilade turned sharply to face him, her eyes narrowing. “Excuse me? Are you trying to make me sad again?”
“No,” he said quickly, raising a hand to calm her. “I’m just bringing out your thoughts.”
She studied him for a moment before replying, her tone clipped. “How do you know what I’m thinking?”
“It’s normal to think that way,” he said gently. “But if you let it linger, depression will set in.”
She nodded slowly, her shoulders slumping. “I get it. Life continues.”
“Yes,” he agreed. “Life continues.”
“See you tomorrow,” she said, her voice quieter now.
“See you tomorrow,” he echoed.
“You can sleep in any of the rooms,” she offered as she turned away.
“I’ll sort myself,” he replied. “Goodnight, Demilade.”
“Yeah,” she murmured before disappearing into the hallway.
The soft notes of the piano returned, blending seamlessly with the sound of rain beginning to patter against the windows.
The rain pounded against the roof with unrelenting force, the sound a chaotic symphony of nature’s fury. A sharp, eerie melody of a piano played faintly in the background, as if the storm itself had summoned it.
Demilade stood by the window, staring out at the downpour. “What sort of heavy rain is this?” she muttered, her voice barely audible over the roar of the storm.
A sudden gust of wind howled through the cracks of the house, followed by the loud crash of thunder. The roof above her head groaned, and in an instant, a section tore away, leaving her exposed to the elements.
“What!” she cried, stepping back in shock. “This rain just removed my roof? What sort of mess is this?”
The voice that answered her was low and cold, a whisper that seemed to rise from the shadows. “Wicked friend you are.”
Demilade froze. “What? Who’s there?”
A figure stepped forward from the darkness, his presence sending chills down her spine. “It’s me, Ak,” the voice said, laden with accusation. “You are so wicked.”
Her knees buckled, and she clutched at the wall for support. “Ak? Is this some kind of joke?”
“It’s no joke, Demilade,” Ak’s voice growled. “Because of thirty thousand naira, you killed me.”
“No!” she protested, her voice trembling. “I didn’t kill you, Ak. I didn’t mean for it to end this way. I’m sorry. I should have sent you the money.”
Ak’s figure moved closer, his face pale and hollow. “Just thirty thousand naira,” he repeated bitterly. “You knew I needed it. You promised to always have my back. But you didn’t.”
“You’re taking this too far,” Demilade whispered, her chest tightening.
“Far?” Ak laughed, a hollow, bone-chilling sound. “Can it be farther than death?”
“Please,” she begged, her voice cracking. “Don’t kill me.”
“But you killed two people in twenty-four hours,” Ak retorted.
“Me?” she said, her eyes wide. “I didn’t kill anybody!”
“What about the lady?” Ak asked, his tone cutting.
Demilade faltered. “Which lady?”
“The one you killed,” Ak hissed, his voice rising with anger.
“I said I didn’t kill anybody!” she shouted, panic now overtaking her. “Stop this nonsense!”
Ak’s hollow eyes glared at her. “Nonsense, you call it? You killed me, Demilade. What do I gain being your friend?”
“Why are you doing this, Ak?” she pleaded.
“Death,” he said simply. “That’s what I gained. Death and condemnation of my soul. Should I not serve you back in your coin?”
“No, please,” she begged, tears streaming down her face.
Ak’s voice dropped, deadly and calm. “There is no more mercy. Let’s end this tonight.”
“No!” she screamed, stumbling back. “I will not die tonight!”
“You will,” Ak declared.
A struggle erupted between them, Demilade’s desperate cries drowned out by the storm outside. The sound of furniture crashing and heavy footsteps filled the room.
“You think you can escape?” Ak snarled. “Never!”
The struggle reached its peak, and a pained groan escaped Ak’s lips.
“Please, Ak,” Demilade whimpered, her strength waning.
Ak’s voice grew weaker. “We die here together.”
“No,” Demilade whispered, her voice shaking. “Somebody help me! Savior, save me!”
A blinding flash of lightning illuminated the room, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. Silence fell, save for the steady drip of rain through the torn roof.
Out of the stillness, a calm voice broke through. “Come on, let’s go.”
Demilade turned her head to see Mr. Rett standing there, his presence commanding and serene.
“Mr. Savior,” she breathed, relief washing over her. “Thank you.”
“It’s okay, my friend,” he said, his voice steady. “Let’s go.”
“Where is the key to the door?” she asked, glancing around frantically.
“It’s on that table,” he said.
She grabbed the key, and the door creaked open with a groan. Stepping into the next room, she froze.
“Wait a minute,” Demilade said, her voice full of confusion. “This place is dry. The roof is intact. Not like my room.”
“Yes,” Mr. Rett replied calmly. “The roof of your room got removed.”
“And only my room?”
“Exactly.”
“Why?”
Mr. Rett’s expression was unchanging. “Because I am here. The security of my territory is one hundred percent.”
Her gaze turned wary. “Wait… how did you get into my room without the keys?”
“You called me,” he replied simply. “You asked me to save you, and I did.”
“Who… are… you?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
“I am the Savior,” he said.
Her breath caught. “The Savior… of my soul?”
He nodded. “I died for you long ago. I saved your life, but you shut the door of your heart to me.”
Tears filled her eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me all this while?”
“Why were you so insensitive to all the signs?” he countered gently.
She dropped to her knees. “I’m sorry. Jesus, thank you for coming to my rescue.”
Mr. Rett’s face softened. “It’s been a long fight for your soul. I stood at the door of your heart for years, through the cold, the sun, and the rain. You refused me. But now, you finally realize.”
“Thank you for not giving up on me,” she said, her voice breaking.
“Your mother never gave up either,” he added. “She can’t wait to hear you speak to her again.”
“How do you mean?”
“You are in a trance,” he explained. “You had an accident last night, and you are in a coma. Your mother prayed for your life on her knees. You’ll be sent back, not just to answer her prayer but also to fulfill your purpose.”
Demilade gasped. “So Ak is really dead?”
“Yes,” he confirmed. “The woman he went to killed him. She’s in police custody now.”
“My God,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you fight for his soul too?”
“No one asked for him,” Mr. Rett said solemnly. “His parents were too busy chasing the things of the world. He had no cover over him.”
Demilade’s heart sank. “And the second person Ak said I killed?”
“The lady from the club,” Mr. Rett said. “She was with you in the accident. She died on the spot.”
Tears streamed down her face. “My God.”
“Don’t forget your assignment when you wake up,” he reminded her.
“Please, tell me again,” she pleaded.
“You are to raise an empire of soldiers, full of zeal and hope for the kingdom of God,” he said. “Use your gift to glorify Him.”
“But I’m just a hype man in a club,” she said, shaking her head.
“Your gift to talk will now bring light to the world,” Mr. Rett said. “Give people hope in the right way. Raise the dead hope within them, prepare them for the battle of the end times.”
As his words sank in, a soft melody of the piano filled the air once more, and the rain outside began to slow, turning into a gentle drizzle.
TO BE CONTINUED
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If you’re able and willing to assist, please let us know how we can discuss this further. We are more than happy to provide more details or explore any other ways we might collaborate to achieve this goal.
Thank you so much for considering our request and for your continued encouragement. Your belief in our ministry is what motivates us to keep writing and sharing stories with the world.
Warm regards,
Wordcredo Productions
+2347060643211 [whatsapp]
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