I QUIT CHELSEA 3

….Continuation of ‘I quit Chelsea.’
PART 3(PENULTIMATE)
That night was the longest of my life so far. My stomach churned in hunger, yet couldn’t bear the lightest meal. My heavy eyes longed for some rest, but wouldn’t dare, in the midst of the uncoordinated thoughts that roamed my mind unbidden.
Like a wizard, I teleported in space and time, saw Mourinho in a new home. He looked a bit grown, seemed happy as he tottered around his new parents. There was a quick wrap of that. And next, I was in a remote, rural environment where I saw a filthy looking, thickly-bearded savage held roughly a malnourished, unkempt baby-boy. The lad’s unceasing shrill was what drew my attention to him. Couldn’t believe it was my Mourinho, looking unrecognizably frail and skinny. The wild-man totted him along and placed him on a wooden slab with open space beneath that housed piles of rotten bones and skulls of different sizes. Close by was a cauldron sending up steam.
What was he going to do? God forbid! I snapped out of the horrendous thought as I couldn’t bear to go any further.
I was restless all through the night. Seated one moment, the next I leaned against the wall; wondering what was happening with Mourinho or had happened to him. I paced to and fro many times, trying to shut out negative thoughts. Movements were coming from the adjacent room, I was certain that was my wife. All through, she also suffered the same sleep disorder—Insomnia. I hoped she wouldn’t resort to Valium.
As the coming of dawn gradually eased away the dark, I freshened up with no delay, certain it was going to be a long day.
I made a list of familiar faces I could recollect of those I had hosted during the match, so I could start my search from their houses as instructed by the police officers.
A couple of hours later, my sister- in-law came into the room, greeted and encouraged me to remain hopeful.
“What would you like to have for breakfast?”
“Nothing, thanks.”
“You should eat something. You need your strength to face the day.”
“Just do not have appetite.”
After much persuasion which I declined, she gave up on me.
Could I by any chance live without Mourinho? Considering the circumstances that surrounded his disappearance, I was certain my conscience would torture me to death. If starving would draw the end nearer, so be it.
I was about setting off on the quest when my phone rang. Could it be the kidnappers? Do they want a ransom? I would give up all I have, including my life to have my boy back. With apprehension, I reached for my phone.
“Hello, who is on the line?”
“Hello, am I on to Mr. Folarin Kekere-Ekun?”
“Yes, this is Folarin.”
By then my wife had drawn near, hankering for any news about Mourinho.
“This is the police department, area ‘O' district, Itire, Lagos state. You are needed at our station to come identify if yours is one of the bodies brought in, in the early hours of the day.”
Bodies? I froze on the spot, trembling within like the devil at the sound of prayers. I hoped it wasn’t what I was thinking. My wife was waiting hungrily to hear what I got. If I dare come out straight with her, she would either lose her mind completely or drop dead instantly.
“Just needed at the station for some questioning to aid the investigation,” I fabricated in a jiffy. My wife was just not convinced. She sensed something was wrong and decided she was coming along.
Oh Gosh! I had succeeded in shooting myself in the foot.
How do I handle her when she gets to see things for herself?
I foresaw trouble, hoped I wouldn’t have double tragedies on my hands.
I tried dissuading her, but she was headstrong about coming.
All through the way, I had my heart in my mouth.
On arriving the station at last, I was met with utmost shock and a bit of relieve as things were far better and hopeful than I had expected.
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*Food for thought*
Untamed passion for partying, movies, games, football and the likes can ruin one's life. Watch it!