CHAPTER 19 – THIS FAMILY CALLED MINE: COLOUR US UP

© Opeyemi Akintunde
As Inspired by the LIVING WORD

The creak echoed again.

I dropped the spoon I had been washing, my heart pounding against my ribcage. Without thinking, I raced out of the kitchen and into the living room, my breath shallow and quick.

Deji sat on the couch, completely engrossed, holding one of the paintings, staring intently at the masterpiece. His eyes danced with admiration, oblivious to the storm stirring within me.

I snatched the painting from his hands and turned it face down on the center table in fear.

“Mo? What’s wrong?” Deji asked, startled.

His confusion pierced my chest.

I rushed to him and, before he could ask more, I covered his mouth with my palm, my body trembling.

“Please… just listen,” I whispered. “I haven’t told you everything.”

His brows furrowed. His eyes widened.

I removed my hand from his mouth but held onto his arms tightly, grounding myself. Then the words tumbled out, stumbling over one another as if racing to escape my lips.

“I didn’t just collect the paintings, Deji… They weren’t given to me like I made it sound. It… it was messy. Sister Bolade, my father’s nurse, she… she tried to steal the paintings, she has a son for my father. Tobe and the others tried to take it from us, so we gave her the paintings to hide overnight in her house. By the time we got there this morning, We found her dead … she died, Deji. She died!”

The weight of it all came crashing down on me again, and my voice cracked with every sentence. My heart pounding.

Deji’s eyes darkened with shock. “Wait, wait…what? Mololuwa, what are you saying?”

“I didn’t mean to keep it from you. I thought I could handle it. I thought if I just got the paintings, we could move on, start our life. But Deji… Sister Bolade is dead. We heard some people had come for the paintings… and now I think they’re here…. I saw someone, Deji. I swear, I saw a shadow outside the kitchen window!”

Deji stood slowly, trying to process the avalanche of revelations I had dropped on him.

“Mololuwa, you should have told me this earlier,” he whispered, running his hand through his hair. “You mean… someone could be after us because of these paintings?”

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, the loudest, most horrifying scream tore through the air.

Wasiu.

Our gateman.

“Jesus!” I gasped.

Deji was already halfway to the door, his instincts ready to protect, but I grabbed his arm and held him back, desperation dripping from my voice.

“Please, Deji, don’t go out there! Don’t go! Please! What if it’s them?”

“Mololuwa, I can’t just sit here! Wasiu is out there!” he snapped, his eyes blazing with the urge to act.

But I clung to him like my life depended on it. “Please… please just wait. Just wait!”

Tears welled in my eyes as I gripped him tighter, trembling. Deji looked at me, torn between protecting the man outside and the fear he now saw clearly on my face.

His chest rose and fell rapidly, but after a moment, he relented. He hugged me close, shielding me, even though I could feel the tension in his body, his frustration at doing nothing.

The house felt like a tomb. Silent, except for our breath. We sat there… frozen… for two long hours.

Then, a knock.

It was soft. Too soft for comfort.

I gasped, my heart leaping.

Deji stood, and I followed closely behind. He asked who was there. A familiar voice answered….Deji opened the door cautiously.

It was Mr. Lawal, our neighbor, standing with a troubled expression on his face.

“I’m sorry,” he began, his voice hushed as though afraid to disturb the night further. “Wasiu is dead.”

The words hit like a sledgehammer.

I stumbled back, my vision spinning. Deji reached for me, steadying me, but his own face had gone pale.

“What…what happened?” Deji croaked.

“They found him by the back gate. Strangled.” Mr. Lawal shook his head gravely. “It doesn’t look like a robbery. Nothing was taken.”

I couldn’t breathe.

My knees buckled, and Deji caught me.

Wasiu… dead?

The shadow I saw.

The creaking door.

Someone was here.

And now… they had taken a life.

I clutched Deji’s shirt, sobbing uncontrollably.

“They’re coming for us,” I whispered.

Deji didn’t argue.

He just held me tighter.

To be continued…
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