Kill Her Twice

Alex watched as the words poured out of Kunle’s mouth. It felt as though he could literally see the letters tumble out of Kunle’s mouth as he spoke. Helpless to stop what had initially sounded like music to his ears but had now turned repugnant, Alex stepped closer as if enamoured by the words that tumbled out of Kunle’s mouth. The words seemed to almost fall over themselves in Kunle’s haste to deliver what he thought was excellent news.

Alex felt a strong desire to step even closer to Kunle to better hear the words. Alex’s hands seemed to develop a mind of their own as they started unbuttoning his shirt, rather hurriedly. After his hands undid the last button, they slipped the shirt off his shoulders. Alex absently wondered why his hands would take off his shirt without his consent, and it occurred to him that it was because he could not bear the incredible heat that seemed to have suddenly enveloped his body, radiating from his very core. All he knew was that this heat was somehow connected to the words that continued to jump out of Kunle’s mouth like a colony of sugar ants intent on finding release from their captor. Alex stood shirtless, cutting an imposing figure as his hands held the shirt they had just taken off. He found that he had this urge to get even closer to Kunle, and so he did.

As he stepped closer and entered into what Kunle must have considered his personal space, a flicker of uncertainty dashed across Kunle’s face, but this was quickly masked. Maybe it was because of the grin that spread across Alex’s face as he continued to stare at Kunle, or maybe it was the fact that Alex’s hand was now on Kunle’s shoulder, patting him reassuringly. Whatever it was seemed to encourage Kunle as he spoke even faster. Alex’s hand kept on patting Kunle’s shoulder as he stepped closer to him, almost toe-to-toe with him now. Just when it seemed like Kunle’s discomfort at Alex’s proximity would cause him to stop talking, Alex side-stepped him and came to stand behind him, still patting Kunle’s shoulder reassuringly, almost affectionately.

As Kunle made to turn in Alex’s direction, intent on looking at Alex’s face like a puppy eager for praise from its master, the shirt which he’d seen Alex hurriedly take off a few minutes ago was suddenly wrapped around Kunle’s neck, choking the life out of him. That inexplicable human instinct to survive must have warned Kunle that something was not quite right, but he never got the chance to flee or even fight back. Kunle struggled, but as he did, he realized that his struggles were futile in the face of the sheer animal strength that seemed to radiate off Alex, who was like one possessed. Kunle struggled even more, praying that by some stroke of luck, he would be set free. As he continued to struggle, the faces of all the people he had sent to their early deaths passed fleetingly before his eyes. He wondered if they had held onto this intense desire to live to their very ends as he now did. Feeling what he thought was his last breath leaving his body, the only thing Kunle could think of was what his mother had always told him –never trust men with well-manicured nails and soft palms. His mother, in what he’d always thought of as her old-fashioned manner, had said that such men were either people with inappropriate sexual orientation or men with unhealthy passions. Despite being born and bred in the backwaters of Isale-Akoki, Ijebu Igbo, an almost forgotten part of south-west Nigeria, it seemed like his mother knew a lot more about men than Kunle did, even after living in a cosmopolitan city like Lagos for over a decade and a half.

Alex held onto the shirt, pulling it harder as he felt the breath leaving Kunle’s body. He held on even when Kunle’s body crumpled against him. It was the sound of Kunle’s neck, snapping like a tree branch breaking during harmattan that finally signalled to Alex to let go. The body hit the floor of his sitting room with a sickening thud. Alex looked at Kunle’s body and heaved a sigh of relief. Finally, the offending words that had been tumbling out of Kunle’s mouth had stopped; he could no longer see or hear them.

Groping like a blind man, Alex held on to the back of the living room sofa, making his way to flop onto it. He suddenly realized how physically and emotionally draining it was to strangle another human being. He should have just used a gun, he thought, but who would have thought that Kunle would quickly go from being his enabler and accomplice to become the enemy?

Taking a deep breath, Alex pondered on his hatred for Dauda. He had thought that Dauda’s death would release him from this feeling but he despised Dauda even more now. For even in death, Dauda had refused to let go of Eno, taking her along with him. How could a man that was so obviously unworthy, get
to possess Eno both in life and in death? If Alex felt hatred for Dauda then he couldn’t find the words to
describe what he felt towards Kunle who had destroyed any chance he had nursed of being with Eno. Kunle’s words seemed branded into his brain; he could not help but remember every single one of them.

***

Alex always got what he wanted. You see he was a man of great wealth, and with great wealth came privileges, one of which was that people usually acquiesced to his demands. His chance meeting with Eno on his way to visit his sister had been a clear case of love at first sight, at least on his part. He had pursued Eno with everything that he had, and she had turned him down, insisting that she was married. This had bruised his fragile ego, rejection being an unfamiliar feeling for someone like him. After the initial hurt he felt, her refusal seemed to ignite the go-getter in him and only fuelled his desire to pursue and claim her for himself. The more he pursued her, the more she resisted him, insisting that she was happily married. He sometimes thought of giving up and letting her be, but the way her pulse beat rapidly at the base of her throat and the way her pupils seemed to dilate, her lips parting unconsciously and invitingly whenever he stood close to her, seemed to him like tell-tale signs of attraction. Still, she was married, and maybe it was time to acknowledge the fact that fate had played a fast one on him by making him fall for the one woman he could not have. Moreover, his conscience constantly reprimanded him, telling him that he wasn’t the sort of man to go after another man’s wife, no matter how desirable she was.

However, any intention he’d had of playing nice and letting her go had vanished when the private investigator he had hired to find out as much about her as possible, had come back with tales and pictures which showed that Eno’s husband, Dauda, frequently abused her physically, and Alex could bet, emotionally as well. He could not get the pictures of Eno’s blackened eyes and fractured wrists out of his mind. He had chided himself for not realizing that Eno’s penchant for wearing sunshades, and shawls across her neck and shoulders were not due to modesty but a bid to hide the bruises that Dauda’s fists left. It turned out that Eno was not quite as happily married as she’d led him to believe. The private investigator had also informed Alex that it was highly unlikely that Eno would ever divorce Dauda. He had told Alex that Eno’s parents were deeply traditional and came from a culture that labelled divorced women as strumpets. From all indications, Eno preferred to endure the beatings than bring shame to her parents. And that was when Alex made the decision to take Dauda out of the picture – permanently – and claim Eno as his bride. After all, all is fair in love and war. Moreover, he told himself, it was better to Kill Dauda than have Dauda kill Eno, which by all indication was going to be only a matter of time, since Eno did not appear to be willing to leave Dauda.

How could Alex have known that Kunle, whom Alex had hired to kill Dauda, would not only do that but rape and kill Eno as well? Alex pulled at his beard, wondering what Eno had been doing at home. She had told Alex that she would be spending the weekend at her mother’s place somewhere on the outskirts of Lagos. Standing up, Alex walked to where Kunle’s body lay and gave it a vicious kick. He wished he could wake Kunle up from the dead so he could strangle him all over again. Alex remembered how Kunle had flippantly explained that after he had shot Dauda, whom Alex had assured him would be home alone, a woman, whom Kunle thought was the man’s wife, had walked in on them and he’d had to kill her as well because she had seen his face. Kunle had gone on to explain that before killing the woman, whose figure was like that of an hour-glass, and whose skin shone like molten gold, he’d noticed that she was quite a looker, and had decided to help himself to some of that, “so it did not go to waste.”

Kunle seemed to enjoy recounting his horrible act, displaying his tobacco-stained, rotten, bucktoothed smile when he talked about how he had raped Eno at gunpoint and shot her after he was done. Alex was not quite certain what had made him come unhinged – whether it was the fact that he had lost the one true love of his life forever or the fact that a creep like Kunle had literarily known Eno. Remembering how beautiful and graceful Eno was, Alex felt his knees buckle under, and he landed on a nearby sofa. The most intimate thing Alex had ever done with Eno was to hold her hand while crossing the street as he had walked her to her car. Holding her hands had been a dream come true for him, and to think that this was the same woman that Dauda, and now Kunle, had treated so shabbily was more than he could bear. Alex was certain that the dead woman was Eno; any hope that it wasn’t had been quickly dashed by Kunle’s comments about Eno’s figure and lovely skin. He thought about the figure that he would never have the opportunity to touch, to caress, to wrap his arms around, and suppressed an anguished scream.

As Alex stood up, intent on kicking Kunle’s lifeless body again, he heard what sounded like loud and persistent knocking coming from somewhere close by. The knocking continued until it seemed like it
was coming from inside his head.

***

Alex opened his eyes, and found that he was on his bed, covered in sweat despite the hum of theair conditioner. Awake now, he felt disoriented, maybe because of how real the dream had felt, or maybe because he could still hear the knocking from his dream as if the dream and reality had somehow merged. Looking in the direction the sound was coming from, he realized that it must be Okon, his steward, banging on the door.

“Come in,” Alex growled, still feeling disoriented by his dream, as he tried to sit up.
Striding purposefully into Alex’s bedroom, Okon came to a stop a few yards away from where Alex sat. Holding up Alex’s other cell phone, he announced with an air of importance, “Master, there’s a call for you.”

Even though Alex was pleased that Okon had woken him from the dreadful dream about Eno and Kunle, he asked, “Okon, do you mean to tell me that you woke me up because of a phone call? Couldn’t it have waited?”

“No, Sir,” Okon quickly replied, his clipped British accent becoming more pronounced, as it did whenever Okon had something important to say. “The gentleman has called well over ten times, and the last time he said it was a matter of life and death.”

Alex saw that Okon was looking at him in that disapproving manner he had whenever he thought that Alex was not taking him seriously. Okon could be dramatic; he sometimes took his Head Butler position too seriously. Alex feigned an interested look as Okon continued to speak, even though he was still preoccupied with the dream he had earlier had. “The man seemed frantic and requested that I inform you that Kunle –”

Okon couldn’t finish the statement as Alex leapt out of bed and lunged forward to snatch the phone from Okon’s much smaller hands. Okon stared at his hands, too shocked to continue speaking.

To be continued…