A Flame and A Fire
Whodunit - Episode 10
(Read the previous episode here.)
GEORGE'S POV
Fairy tales exist because people need them, not just for comfort but also for survival. They are a reminder that dreams, though far-fetched, are still within reach.
That is what Komoláfẹ́’s plans were to George. A fairy tale.
When he brought him in, George knew he would be welcoming him not just to Lagos, or his home. But also to a life, where he could rebuild, and live again.
Láfẹ́ was easy.
He was predictable.
He was also perfect as a cover. To cover up George’s own sins.
And it was fine.
Until Komoláfẹ́’s fairy tale began to interrupt his.
George had paused mid-step, the moment the message delivered. Just as Láfẹ́ had.
“What should I say next?”
He had slipped up, he realized.
That was the plan all along, to draw the killer out of hiding. And he had fallen for it.
Of course, George knew everything there was to know about Clara.
How she ate, slept, breathed.
What she did, or did not do.
When she came, went or stayed
He needed to know.
But that was his secret to carry, and Láfẹ́ was getting too close to the truth.
George had to see him. To make him stop before he could no longer control the consequences.
To beg him, if he must.
To threaten him, if he had to.
The tension that coiled inside of him, pushed him out of the Uber and past the gate. Even the security guard’s usual greeting fell on deaf ears, lost in the haze of worries.
“Oga, your friend dey wait for you.”
He was here.
He was still here.
Thankful for the familiar layout of the building, his legs carried him forward. To meet a friend whose stance told a story.
“Komoláfẹ́”
“George”
They stared into each other’s eyes, both refusing to look away.
In George’s eyes, Láfẹ́ searched for a glimpse. A hint of the betrayal he had not seen coming. A proof that he was not careless, his friend had hidden well.
While George searched for emotions. Something to prepare him for what to say next.
He saw the rage.
The burning anger as Láfẹ́ flung the document onto the table.
“Do you care to explain?!!!”
George, in fact, did not.
He wanted to explain, but not in a way Komoláfẹ́ would understand. Could understand.
“You need to let it go.”
George knew he was playing with fire the instant the words left his mouth.
Too rash, he had thought.
Láfẹ́’s “Wow” confirmed it.
It was the bitterness in his laugh that scared him.
The way Láfẹ́ picked up the forensic report, ready to march out and tell whoever cared to listen.
It would be his undoing.
So George thought fast. He thought of ways to stop him, but all of them involved his friend’s destruction.
“Komoláfẹ́, I’ve done it once. And I wouldn’t mind doing it again.”
That made Láfẹ́ stop.
Arms crossed, George continued, “You need to learn how to stay out of matters that do not concern you.”
But this was his concern.
George had made it his concern.
“Komoláfẹ́, please just leave this case alone. Or else...”
As George’s words trailed off so did the tone underneath them, the subtle threats and warnings.
Only after Láfẹ́ dropped the forensic report, huffing on his way out could George finally breathe.
KOMOLÁFẸ́’S POV
Láfẹ́ could tell a promise from a bluff. He knew the former when he heard one. And George’s words were nothing short of a promise.
It had happened before, the backstabbing and betrayal. If anything, he could now call it a routine.
This time, he did not bother to pack his bags. But the last time, he had.
When he arrived at the panel ready to present his evidence, they had called him a liar.
One, two, three witnesses were there to testify against him. People he had never met prior.
He had coerced them, they had said.
And it did not matter that his track record spoke for itself. Nobody cared about records when a few palms were greased, and a few names mentioned.
It was a humiliation - his connections withdrew, one after the other.
At first, Láfẹ́ could tolerate it. Live in delusion for a while.
But even that facade had to end, when he realized that he would starve without work.
He had always wondered, especially back then how they had been able to frame him so cleanly and turn the story around. They would have hired an insider, a colleague perhaps.
But he knew now.
Who needed an insider when there was a George?
Láfẹ́ knew what it meant to be someone’s pawn, to have no control over the outcomes.
Perhaps George knew too.
But it wouldn’t matter. Not now.
He had already sent the text.
Everything could burn into flames for all he cared. He would be out of Lagos by then.
GEORGE’S POV
George could not breathe. Not yet. Not now.
Not when Clara was still behind bars, waiting for him to act. To save her.
The senator said he would call in favours, but that had been hours ago. Yet, his Clara was still there.
As he refreshed his messages, expecting good news, a message arrived from the senator.
It was straight to the point.
“She knows.”
It was not a heads-up, it was a warning.
A warning that every other thing would soon go up in flames.
Láfẹ́’s absence could be felt from outside the door, like an incense that no longer lingered around his house, enveloping every corner with his presence.
It had now been replaced with something else entirely.
“Welcome, George.”
George had always been unsettled with the senator’s wife. She commanded the room without trying, inspired fear simply by staring. Today was one of those days.
She sat cross-legged on the sofa facing the entrance, like the owner, not a visitor.
“Why are you here?”
Oh, but he already knew.
Láfẹ́ had gone, but not before setting him ablaze. And now, Mrs Damien was here to reduce him to ashes.
She gestured for him to sit, not speaking until he did. He swallowed once, gathering courage to look into her eyes.
“I’ve thought about this moment hard and long.”
A hollow laugh. Then she continued.
“When I would finally find the bastard who killed my daughter.”
Another hollow laugh.
Followed by another.
Then another.
He swallowed again, “I can explain.”
But truly, he couldn’t. Nothing that she would listen to, at least.
On that day, she had a plan. But he had a better one.
Clara could not have died, not on his watch.
Better him than her.
“What would hurt more?” She asked quietly, “Torturing your daughter until she begs to die?”
She knew.
How had she known?!
Did Láfẹ́ know?!
His expression must have given him away because she scoffed at him before speaking again.
“Or killing you? As you did my daughter.”
The final option, came with a smirk.
“Or both.”
The silence of the living room, swallowed the weight of her declaration.
Even the clock mocked him with the rhythmic tick-tock sound, matching Mrs Damien’s impatience. The impatience of a woman wanting to end the story.
By now, George could feel the fabric of the chair beneath him, soaked from the cold sweat running down his body.
He thought the air-conditioning worked.
It did.
After an eternity beneath her scrutinizing gaze, he finally spoke. Almost afraid to be heard.
Quiet as a whisper, “Neither.”
She laughed again.
Mrs Damien was known for many things, and forgiveness was not one of them. If it were, he would not have needed to kill to protect his child.
“Wrong answer.”
The bullet connected with his head before he cou-
KOMOLÁFẸ́’S POV
Komoláfẹ́ had just driven past the “Welcome to Benin” sign when he felt it.
He felt it in the increasing tingle that crept up his arms, after justice finally ran its course.
It felt like completion.
Writer’s Thought -
Oh. My. Days.
This story lingered in my head for the longest time!
I was even slightly teary when I was writing Láfẹ́’s final words. My Láfẹ́!
Thank you so much for reading.
Thank you for your comments, likes, restacks, and encouragement.
I love you guys as much as I love Komoláfẹ́.
(Inside gist - I will be rebooting Láfẹ́’ s character sometime in June. Maybe as a lover boy this time.)
Until next time,
All my love,
Debssssss.
Killer parents everywhere. What a life! Did Clara die though?
Oh yes, Lafe deserves to be happy so when introducing him please give the guy a break,😭