by Olanrewaju Odesomi

He ended the call, and walked around his sitting room. Was Micheal also the ‘Chosen One’? Was that the reason behind his disappearance? What could be in those files? Why in the first place were they choosing people?

-Read Episode 1 of this enthralling Story [HERE]

“I think someone is after me.” Micheal said, his brows furrowed together. His nickname was babyface, obviously because of his boyish good looks, but now, he looked every inch his thirty-two years. Shola starred at his friend, and colleague. He noticed he was serious. When Micheal was serious, he sucked his lower lips in agitation. They were currently at the bar.
“Why would you think so?”
“It’s a gut feeling.” He took a sip of his drink. Micheal was on his sixth bottle. “Sometimes, I feel as if someone is following me, and tailing me everywhere.” He checked everyone in the bar as if making sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. He leaned towards Shola, who was seating opposite him. “Am not drunk, I know what am saying.” He whispered.
“You’re not, you’re only on the sixth bottle. I guess it’s the bottles that are drunk then.” Shola said sarcastically. Micheal leaned back on his chair, and sighed. “You think am drunk, or crazy, right?”
“I don’t think so. I know you’re intoxicated, and not thinking right.” Shola laughed softly. But he noticed Micheal was still sucking his lower lip. Could this be more than the beer talking, he wondered to himself, then pushed the thoughts away. “When is the Arsenal game?” Shola changed the subject. They were both Arsenal fans.
“Should be around four this afternoon.” Micheal supplied as he ran his hand through his hair. He gulped the rest of his drink, and tried to smile. Finish up, and let’s go to my place before the game starts – it was after three already, Shola said. Micheal, nodded ever slightly, and lifted an empty cup to his lips. It was only then he noticed nothing was in the cup, laughed awkwardly, and dropped it.

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Shola didn’t go to church, as his mind was preoccupied with the note. It was just twelve noon, yet it could have been six a.m. The day was slow. He was not only apprehensive, but had also developed a sense of pending fatality, as he believed what ever would be on the news at ten o clock can’t be good. Now, he remembers Micheal eccentricities a month before he dissappeared, especially at the bar, the day he first told him he thought he was been followed, and watched. He was beginning to think his friend might have been right, and that there was probably a method to his madness. The thought although disturbing, was something he had to look into.
PHCN restored electricity, and the fan came to life above. He remembered Micheal’s girlfriend, Busola, who took his disappearance hardest, and thought about giving her a call. Its been going on two years since they last talked. He switched on the tv, and changed channels absentmindedly, until he got to one where they were showing pictures of the flood.
From above, it looked an ocean of water, intermittently dotted by roofs – the other part of the houses were swallowed. Such was the magnitude of the misnormal phenomenon, that it went as far as the eye could see, swallowing everything, leaving destruction in its wake. The presenters came on air, and discussed what could have caused it. He listened intently, as they permutated. The official explanation was a blocked canal, they informed viewers. They blamed that on the locals throwing trash into the said canal, which progressively blocked it, resulting in an overflow of water when it rained heavily the previous week.
If their analysis was true, then how come the boss guessed right – considering this was all a bad, even if man made coincidence. It’s like they knew this would happen, and made plans to be there for reasons best known to them when the Governor pays his expected condolence visit. Why was Muna there?
He could hear the gate creak – someone was pushing at it. He checked his time. It was some minutes before one pm. He unfolded his frame, and moved to open the gate. It was probably his cousin, Bola, and Aimee coming back from church. He was right. They came inside, with Aimee bouncing in her new outfit, smiling enthusiastically. He forced a smile himself, and asked how the service went. They both echoed it was fine. He closed the gate, and followed them inside.
“Someone gave us a ride home.” Bola said once inside. Who, he asked her.
“A friend of yours. The same man that came yesterday, and left a note for you.”
“What?” Shola asked. “And you allowed him to give you a ride, and with my daughter too?”
“But I thought he was your friend.” She was stammering now. “and considering you didn’t say anything when you read the note last night.”
“So, because of that, you stupidly believed you have to take a ride from him? You’re nineteen years, not a kid, so start using your head.” He was furious. This whole episode was beginning to get on his nerve, making him touchy. Why would they be giving his family a ride for christ sake. He knew he was over reacting, and should apologize to Bola. She thought whoever gave them a ride was a friend. She didn’t know better. Instead, he ordered her to take Aimee to her room, and change her clothes. He waited for them to leave, before dialling Busola’s number.

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Shola has been on this same seat, in the same posture for hours, only occasionally moving to check time. He refused to eat, as his heart seemed lodged in his throat. He just wanted to know what the ten pm news would announce, even though he was scared of what it might reveal. Bola and Aimee left him well alone when they discovered he was not in the mood for small talk. He just watched like a being possessed.
Now it was ten pm. He put the tv volume at the maximum level, wore his glasses, and sat – on a stool, as close to the tv as he could manage. His back was stiff, as he perspired even though the fan was in full blast. They showed the studio, then the his lights went off. He screamed, as he bolted out, phone in hand cursing PHCN all the way.
It was dark outside when he got there, and had to use his phone as illumination. He just pulled at the wire with so much force it started once. He changed the switch, and ran inside, breathless. Suddenly, there was a plethora of generator induced noises, not just his, screaming through to his apartment. He stood in front of the tv this time as it came on. They were already done with the headlines, so he missed that. He sighed, and watched, still on his feet, as the newscaster resumes the news.
“Governor of Lagos, Olorunloba, Sunday is dead…” Shola blinked, twice. “…he is believed to have passed away in his sleep in the early hours of today, his special assistant on information just confirmed to us.” Suddenly, they showed him at Mushin, shaking hands, the picture reliving the moment he shook hands with Muna. The reporter was saying that was the last time he was seen in public – Just yesterday.
He sat on the floor, stunned without measure. Is this what they wanted him to see. If it was, then it meant they knew it would happen, and if they knew, it meant – it meant they killed the Governor, or at least knew something about it. He screamed his savior’s name. How did they manage it with an handshake? Or was there something else?
“Sir, hope no problem?” Shola turned to see Bola starring at him, her eyes drowsy. He must have woke her up when he screamed. He stood up, and told her everything was fine. She didn’t believe him, and stood her ground, looking everywhere as if checking for anything out of place. He reassurred her he was fine, and she left. He returned to his spot on the floor, and starred at the tv. They were showing reactions to the news of the Governors death.
Suddenly, his phone beeped. He almost jumped up. He took some time for his pulse to return to normal. He stretched to get the phone from the table. It was a message, from COALITION, and it read WELCOME TO THE FUTURE. His heart almost leapt out of his chest.
His phone rang while he was still starring at the message. His hand shook so much, the phone dropped on the floor, where it continued to ring. His hands were shaking. He looked at the phone’s screen. It was Busola returning his call. She didn’t pick when he called her earlier. He sighed in relief, and picked it, hands still shaking.
“Hello.”
“Hello, long time. Sorry I wasn’t with my phone when it rang.” He told her it was ok, and they shared pleasanteries a bit, both asking after each others family, and work.
“I’ve meant to call you, but things kept coming in the way.” Busola finally said.
“Really?” He thought it was a lie.
“Yes. It has to do with Micheal.” Suddenly he was all ears. He stood up, and told her to go on.
“I found some papers at his apartment relating to your organization, and I thought maybe I should give them to you, since you work there too.” He sighed in dissapointment. “Ok, no problem. When can I come, and get them?” He wasn’t going to get them anytime soon.
“You know where I stay I think. Anyday is fine by me. Just let me know when you want to come though.” She said flatly. He muttered a soft ok, and was about saying thanks for calling when she spoke again. “But there’s something I don’t understand. On the files were the words Chosen One.”
“What!” He exclaimed loudly. She repeated herself.
“I’ve not bothered opening them though. But I think you should have them. Left them in my shelf since the day I’ve had them.”
“Is tomorrow alright by you?” He asked suddenly.
“You want to come, and get them tomorrow?”
“Yes.” She thought for a while.
“No problem, call me when you’re coming.”
He ended the call, and walked around his sitting room. Was Micheal also the ‘Chosen One’? Was that the reason behind his disappearance? What could be in those files? Why in the first place were they choosing people?
….To be continued.

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Olanrewaju Odesomi is an accounting graduate, and a Certified Customer Care Professional. He is a dreamer who dances to his own music, and whose peak is yet to be conquered. Guilty of writing.