Sunday, 14 October 2012

The Wrath of Jezebel by Amos Bwire...contd

What's happened to me? Her mind was in a blur, as she tried to comprehend the turn of events that had gone by. Oh, am I dreaming…!
No, she was not. And as her memory drifted back to a shocking realization, Abella got filled with an abrupt sense of paranoia. Or please, someone pinch me! She wondered, pulling herself up and sat upright.

Her memory was becoming vivid. She recalled being assisted off the floor, by someone. A man... Yes it was a man.
"Madam! Madam! What happened…?" It was the voice of her security guard calling her out, several times. Oh yes,
Shaaban! Was it him! Yes, him!
Staring at her dress, all descriptive memory came back in place. This is real! She thought as shock overwhelmed her. For how long have I passed out? She wasn't clear. And where is the…? Her heart thumped.

Her eyes roamed around the room, urgently. "Oh God!" She muttered. Am I imagining things…?
No, she was not. Her distinct and striking mental memory told her, before she lost her consciousness she was staring at a bunch of her obscene photos, and a video disc that had lord-knows-what inside it. Both items had now disappeared.

She rushed outside the house. "Shaaban! Shabaan!" She called out; no response. She roamed around the house; no signs of him. Inside his booth; he wasn't there. She opened the gate, shouting his name, madly. There was no single sign of any movement in the neighborhood. Her
wristwatch said it was half past midnight.

She banged the gate and went to the
garage. Only one car was there; hers. She rushed back inside the house. Insanely, Abella pushed and pulled furniture around, flipping up cushions
and stuff. She was losing her mind. Here and there were her stifled groans, as her head throbbed. She saw them not. Giving up the search, her hands clamped onto her banging
head. "Shaaban. Shaaban," Her voice was hoarse.
"Why are you doing this to me...?"
From the top of a bookshelf, she saw her cellphone. Who put it there? She rushed to pick it up. Suddenly, Lucinda came back in her mind. She punched the digits. Lucinda's number was not reachable. She tried again, five more times; not reachable. Same was to her alternative line.

Frustrated, Abella threw the phone across the sofa. Her shoulders fell. "What's happening to me?" She murmured at herself, slapping her
hands weakly against the sides of her hips.

To be continued...
Sent from my BlackBerry wireless device from MTN

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