SERIES ALERT!!! 

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Hi everyone,

Finally, the big awaited announcement is here!!! 🙌🙌
It has been a while and I have reeeeaaallly missed everyone. I hope you enjoyed Mark of Cain; a big thanks to everyone who encouraged both me and the writer by dropping comments and giving your feedbacks. But as promised, after a long but fruitful pause, a new story is coming up by yours truly – me!

I bring to you something new, something different… More than a figment of my imagination, I bring to you a story originally written by life itself! A story realer than real!!!

From the Nissi Adeola stables, for the first time ever, I present to you ‘Starless Nights’ – A true life story.

‘Starless Nights’ commences on the 4th July, 2017 and unlike the usual routine, Starless Nights would be posted every Tuesday (once a week) 😸. Please spread word on social media platforms. (Facebook, Instagram, Twitter, Whatsapp and the rest). 

Something lurks in the dark
Under the blank expanse of clouds
The storm is coming
Only, they are not prepared for it…

Watch Out!!!

MARK OF CAIN by Damex Mrcoded. Episode 20

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EPISODE 20

Cain told me to forget about the driver and tell him who I was. He spoke in a matter-of-fact way. I told him I was his son and he burst out into a very wicked laugh. It was then that I was certain that the man’s insanity was contrary to the report signed in his report in the mental institution when he was discharged. The man was still as mad as the average street lunatic. No sane man would laugh as he did in that quiet night.

I became suddenly angry, I was filled with rage so much that I knew not the time I drew out my pistol and aimed it at him. But he was not a bit scared or surprised. As if he had been waiting for me to do that, and as if he believed that I was pointing at him an empty gun, more or less like a toy gun. He was just standing there in front of me with his sardonic smile, his eyes were daring me to shoot him if I could. I knew I needed to act fast, I didn’t want to risk anybody seeing me at the side of the road and pointing a gun at another man. And he believed that someone would eventually come around, that was one thing I wouldn’t allow. He wanted someone to pass by and witness the event. This was not going the way I wanted it. I wanted him to be afraid but it was not working. Instead, I was the afraid one, the table was now turning against me.

“Listen to me, you madman.” I spoke fast, “You remember Angela, don’t you? The girl you raped in high school, I’m the product of that Molest. I am a living evidence of your evil act, and I’m going to do everything I can to bring you down. I have your DNA in me, and that is nothing you can change. But I am going to give you the next eight hours to put a noose around your own neck. You are going to confess everything you have done to the police and the press. The rapes, the murder of your two wives’ parents––the killing of innocent people, your involvement in that plane crash. If you do not do that, I will expose you, and I assure you that you would wish you had confessed––I will tell the world all what you have done. I will show to the media houses the evidence of your admission into the mental institution. You have the chance of doing the right thing for once, lest someone else does it for you.”

I didn’t know that what I said would have such a profound effect on him as it did, it shook him––he began to sweat even in the coldness of the night, his legs were trembling so visible that I thought he was going to fall, but he didn’t.

“You have from now till eight o’clock tomorrow morning. I will leave now. I know you have a gun with you, and I also know that although you are insane––you aren’t stupid. So, I will only advise you not to try to shoot me, because if you do––you’re doomed. One, I assure you that your chance of leaving here alive after the act would be very slim. I have someone who is expecting my call by midnight, someone you know very well––’my mother’. And by midnight if my call do not come through, she has been instructed to immediately go to the police with all the information and evidence gathered. I don’t think you’d be able to convince the police on the reason behind why you decided to kill your own son. Goodbye, murderer.” It was high time I left him, so I turned to go. This time, the fear had been shifted from me back to him. He called me and offered me some money for my silence, he said he was having millions of naira in the booth of his car––he said I could have it and more money if I wanted. He begged me to reconsider my decision but my mind was already made up. I’m not interested in his money, my plans towards him were those of vendetta. By the time I looked back, he’d brought out his pistol, but he was confused. He didn’t know where to point the gun––or to whom. I smiled at him as I walked away into the darkness. He left the side of the road to stand in the middle of the tarred road. He was shaking. He would no more see me in the darkness, but I could clearly see him as the moon shone over his bald head. I was expecting him to leave but he didn’t, he began mumbling incoherently and waving the pistol randomly. I stood in the dark watching all his performance––then he aimed the gun at himself, I’m sure that he didn’t know he was pointing the gun at himself. If I didn’t know him better I would think he was really ready to kill himself. He wasn’t the kind of guy who was ready to do the honourable thing; because he was holding the gun in his right hand aiming the gun at his left shoulder. A suicidal man wouldn’t do that. A man who was ready to kill himself would blow his own brain out through the temple, or rather do it by taking the bullet in the mouth. Shooting one’s shoulder isn’t the most effective way of committing suicide, believe me. Except if he wanted to implicate someone. I was watching him and thinking about whom he might want to bring down through this wicked act (I knew it wasn’t me, of course). My thought didn’t make me notice the young man who had crept behind Cain Martins. The man suddenly leapt at him and grabbed at Cain’s hand holding the gun. I was surprised––where had this idiot emerged from? Was he the driver? I knew that was impossible because the driver was probably lying dead at the other street. This man struggling with Cain could have materialized from down this road, coming from the direction of Cain’s street. I watched in fascination as the two men struggle to get hold of the pistol. It was when the younger man proclaimed that he wouldn’t allow Cain to kill himself that I realized he was only trying to be a hero. And unfortunately for him, his heroic interference was about to land him in serious trouble, because the man he wanted to save was now determined to kill him. I believed Cain was only looking for something to kill, and the younger man came at the right time. It was quite pathetic to watch as Cain kicked and pounded this innocent man. It was so very wrong. Cain was about to kill another innocent man, I couldn’t allow that to happen. I brought out my gun again from my pocket. What happened next was astonishing even to me. The younger man, just like in an action movie, kicked the pistol out of Cain’s hand, the shot that came out of that gun was deafening. I thought for a moment that Cain had shot the innocent man in the process. But it was merely a shot which followed the kick––nobody was hurt.

My gun was already in my hand; I was ready to shoot Cain this time, but I couldn’t get a clear shot at Cain because of the struggle between the two. My chance came when the gun was kicked and the younger man went for it. I knew then that I must shoot Cain Martins to save the innocent man. He was charging toward the innocent man with a devilish and murderous intent. He must be stopped, that night was not when I planned to kill him but he forced my hand, really. So, as he advanced towards his prey, I shot my pistol. Surprisingly, the attacked man had taken hold of the pistol and he shot the pistol at the precise moment I shot mine. The two guns went off at the same time and it seemed like it was only one gun that was shot. ‘But it was my bullet that hit Cain’. The bullet struck him in the forehead and he fell down lifeless immediately. This made the younger man believe that he was the one who had killed Cain Martins––he never knew that the bullet that killed Cain Martins came not from the gun he shot. He thought ‘he’ had killed him. I watched as he paced up and down the quiet street in agitation. He was feeling guilty for what had happened. I felt sorry for him. I wanted to come out from where I was hiding and tell him that he was innocent. As I took a step, I heard the sound of an approaching car, so I stepped back into the darkness. The younger man heard the sound too and he panicked the more; he dropped the gun he was holding and fled. A wise decision. If someone saw him things would get tougher for him. I watched as he took to his heels. By the time the vehicle came to focus, the man had disappeared. The vehicle approaching was the jeep. I stayed in the darkness and watched as the driver came out. Everything was like a dramatic performance, at first, the driver wanted to run with the money in the booth, then he stopped again. I watched him as he undressed and put on Cain’s clothings. Having done that, he went to the booth and removed the briefcase containing the money Cain had offered me earlier. He placed the briefcase at the side of the road before he carried Cain and put him in the booth of the jeep, his own clothes he put at the backseat of the car. Then he jumped in and drove off, towards Cain’s house. At that moment, I understood his plan; he thought Cain had implicated him by committing suicide––he had driven Cain out and if Cain’s body was discovered, he would be the first suspect in the murder of his boss. So, he did what he knew he could to save himself. He was going to impersonate his boss and drive in as if it was Cain returning; taking responsibility upon himself over an affair in which he wasn’t guilty. After successfully driving inside, he would bring out the corpse, dress him in his original clothing, put on his own clothes and flee. I knew that was what any man in his kind of predicament would do. Still, it would take a genius like this man to come up with something as wise and as brave as that.
As he drove off, I called my grandfather and explained everything that had happened that night. I told him to expect the driver as he tried to impersonate the deceased. About half an hour later, my grandfather called me and explained that the driver did as I suspected he would––he had dumped the corpse in the compound, changed back into his own initial attire and left by jumping over the fence. He told me to come at once, because the corpse that was placed in the house would implicate everyone––and that included my grandfather. As I finished receiving the call I saw the driver returning, he was wearing his own clothes. He went directly to where he had placed the suitcase, carried it and went away. The man was smart and intelligent, I admire him immensely for that. I would like to meet him personally, perhaps I’d be able to come up with something else that would involve him making use of that intelligence of his once again. I’d really like to see it again as he perform another brilliant feat. He had brilliantly executed a neater plan from a neat plan––a plan I also believe would no doubt exculpate him. As soon as the driver left, I raced down to meet my father. Time was of the utmost essence; I entered the compound and found Cain lying right in the middle of the compound––and the jeep was already in its garage. The car in particular was now stained with various fingerprints, mostly the fingerprints of Cain Martins. I checked in the booth of the car and found blood. It would not take a detective to deduce that Cain Martins dying where he was found was only a sham. This was one thing the driver himself did not imagine. I liked him, I didn’t want him to be punished for what he had not done. I mounted the jeep and thankfully, the key was still in its ignition––I drove it out of the compound to where I parked the second jeep––the one I pilfered from the mechanic’s workshop. I mounted that one and drove it back into the compound and parked it in the garage, like the first jeep. The jeep that the driver drove was having no flat tyre, it was the other one, and the deflated tyre was made manifest intentionally. I let some air out of the second car’s tube, just perhaps, to complicate the investigation some more. Thereafter, we carried Cain’s corpse out of the compound and placed him by the gate outside, then I brought out the mobile phone I used to call you and placed it inside his pocket. Psychology had told me that his phone was the first thing you would search for. And to make it look real, I put the hat on its side some few distance from the body, I put the left sandal on the left foot and the other was also a few metres from the corpse. We thought this was enough to make anybody believe that Cain Martins was killed by the gate, and by an outsider. It could have been the neatest plan ever if I had not driven the car into the garage; I should have parked the car not far away from where Cain was placed outside, but that would implicate the driver still, because he drove his boss out that night. My father would not be able to make that lie and cover him as you would see through his lies––you’re Detective Lot. Placing the car in the garage was the safest thing to do––and with that, nobody would know the murderer. It was the perfect crime because it wasn’t found out, if a crime could be found out, it would not be perfect. There were still some anomalies that escaped you, and which would have flawed everything if you had noticed it. If you had compared the bullet that was extracted from Cain’s forehead with the gun that was found in Richard’s room, you’d have seen that they do not match.

There is also the issue about the note my grandfather claimed to have found under his pillow; that was another of his plan to foil the investigation. After we had lain Cain to rest by the gate, my father suddenly dashed inside his room and came out with a pen and a paper for me to write what you read in the note therein––in Cain’s handwriting. It was simple; really, Cain’s writing was very horrible, just like mine; although I wouldn’t say I have a bad handwriting, just my own font style. A style, which is quite similar to the late Cain’s calligraphy, was of which I penned the note. My grandfather had given me one note that contained Cain’s handwriting, and I saw that I possessed almost the same handwriting as my father’s. So, I wrote it out in my own handwriting; with just a few distortions in the slashes and crosses, because I have, to most readers, the same illegible handwriting like my father’s. Perhaps, that was why the lawyer claimed it as Cain’s writing, because it was a product carved out through Cain’s illegitimate blood.

Well, that is all––everything, I’ve confessed. And at this stage, there is almost an unbearable pain needling my fingers as a result of these seemingly overabundant scribbling. I must lay down my pen, my engine of confession, and bathe my crippling hand in some warm water. I’m sorry, my grandfather’s decisions in letting you know the truth has led to this lengthy diatribe––and I am unfortunately the vessel of communication as my grandfather’s writing style would definitely not appeal to you. As you quite know yourself, that he does not have enough gummy saliva to seal the envelope of fair grammatical constructions. That is the mystery surrounding the death of Cain Martins. Do not even try to search for us because you will never find us now. We’re far gone, perhaps, with time I shall come back––I shall return to finish some other issues. Then in the end, the legacy of Cain would be worthy of African literature or Nollywood motion picture, under the guise of fictions.

I never claim any regret for killing Cain Martins, it was overwhelmingly satisfying that the demon is finally gone from the face of the earth. I have the pictures of his corpse as he lay outside the gate, and the bullet hole I had drilled in his forehead was so symmetrical. And it always makes me remember that Bible verse I’ve read like a thousand and one times: Genesis 4:15.

…And the Lord set a mark upon Cain…

Yes, the bullet hole on Cain Martins’ forehead was symbolical, it signified The mark of Cain.

(Signed) Abel Chima

***THE END*** PLEASE COMMENT IF YOU ENJOYED THE STORY

A big thanks to Damex for such an amazing story and to everyone who encouraged by dropping comments and sharing. It is not too late to do both if you haven’t 😉. Love you all… 

MARK OF CAIN by Damex Mrcoded. Episode 19

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Happy New Week Lovelies. The Last Smile (e-book)  is still being downloaded home and abroad. If you haven’t downloaded it yet and don’t have a copy, you are missing a lot, but, it is still up for downloads. 😀 Click here to download. Tell a friend to tell a friend to download The Last Smile.  Thanks. 

EPISODE 19
It was quite an extraordinary thing that happened that night, chance intervened by way of a cord, a knot in the cord, and a loop in the knot. The death of Cain, the intervention of the police officer and the acts of the driver––everything happened via an extraordinary chance even more mysterious than my own understanding. Nobody was prepared for what he encountered that night. I for one, never prepared death for Cain Martins, at least not for that night of the seventh. The young police-officer––an innocent easy-going man––never envisioned getting into trouble with a madman marked for death. The driver, however, never thought that he was going to have the murder of his boss (which he never committed) on his neck. And in all, the wrong thing happened for the right thing to manifest.

That particular night when I sent the message to Cain, my expectation was that he would come alone, I assumed he wouldn’t want anyone else to know about his dirty little secrets. I never thought for once that he would come with his driver. It had been destined that it was that night that Cain would meet his end. Perhaps––just perhaps, if he had driven over alone he wouldn’t have died yet. At least, I wasn’t expecting him to get shot that night, it wasn’t really a perfect notion. If he should die by a gun, he should have died in such a different way from that which he kissed the dust. I would have preferred him to be shot from the roof of another building when going to or returning from the office. My sole aim that night was only in instilling fear inside of him. And just for precaution, I kept a pistol incase the meeting went wrong; knowing the kind of monster I was to confront, getting a gun close-by––I believe––would not stretch my precautionary task any bit thin. He was supposed to meet me at an abandoned site in the street behind his. I waited for half an hour for him to come but he didn’t. It was during that time I was waiting for Cain to arrive that I placed the call to you. Cain Martins never called you, I was the one who did call you that Friday night. Everything had been planned from the beginning by my genius grandfather. He wanted to surprise Cain Martins incase he refused to do whatever we told him to do. My grandfather had already taken his mobile phone that night and given it to me so that I might call you––the greatest detective in Nigeria. How he got your phone number, he never told me. But my grandfather knew that you are the only detective in this country who would not subject himself to being bribed. He has a lot of respect for you, that man––contrary to what you may think of him––or what you think he thinks of you. ‘Sometimes, when we think a thing, the thing we think is not exact the thing we think we think, but the thing we think we think we think’. I read that from somewhere; it’s an anonymous quote. As I said, I was the one who called you with Cain Martins’ phone number claiming I was he. We wanted you to come the next morning and meet Cain alive––not dead. I knew that seeing you would make him understand the message better, and that would make him do what we wanted him to do. The money transferred to your account was done two days prior the note we sent to Cain, and the money really truly came from Cain Martins––but not from his bank account. How we got hold of such a large sum of money was through my grandfather; he had taken it from Cain’s bedroom and gave me to send to you––not only did my grandfather have your phone number, he also has your account number. You see, we had to send the money to convince you that the person who sent the money to you meant real business––seeing the money alone would make you come down to Cain’s resident and find out how some strange money got into your bank account––my grandfather knew you too much. I was expecting my grandfather to call me and tell me Cain was on the way. That was the plan––he was to call me as soon as Cain drove out. But the call didn’t come forth all through the thirty minutes. I was getting impatient so I decided to walk the path down, believing that I would encounter him on the way. I was already half-way to Cain’s abode when my phone rang, it was my grandfather calling, the time on the screen showed eleven o’ clock. As soon as I pressed the green button and brought the phone to my ear, a black jeep was approaching––its headlight almost blinded me. I tried to shield my face with my other hand and stepped to the side of the road as the vehicle was driven past me––that particular time, co-incidence, sheer co-incidence intervened. It was as the vehicle moved past me that I picked the call and spoke, “Where is Cain?” I actually asked the question by speaking out loud; I was trying to get my voice over the sound of the jeep. It was a question loud enough for the passenger to hear, but not the driver. This was because I was at the side of the road where the closer side to me was the passenger’s, the driver was at the other farther side. And if the driver was concentrating on his driving, or his attention was at something else, he couldn’t have seen me in that dark night––nor heard me as I spoke to my phone. The only person who would be aware of the man standing at the side of the road would be the passenger. He saw me and heard me pronounce his name. At first, I didn’t know that the jeep that was driven past me was the one containing Cain Martins––I got to know when my grandfather told me to expect a jeep containing two people; the driver and my ‘client’. By that time, the car was already turning the sharp corner down to the next street––I looked behind me to see the car before it disappeared down the curve, then our eyes met that instant––he knew, he had heard me. He knew now that I was the person he was going to meet. And his face carried a puzzled expression, as if he were wondering why it was a man instead of Angela, and he was likewise wondering about the identity of whom I was speaking with on the phone. He had suspected that it had been an inside job, and I believe he suspected wrongly that the inside person was Abigail––his wife. Before the vehicle entirely disappeared I was able to give him a knowing smile and beckoned to him to tell his driver to reverse. But the car was gone.

I knew that he would come, so I waited, expecting to hear the vehicle returning, but no––no vehicle came back. It was about ten to fifteen minutes later that I saw him approaching––he was trekking towards me hurriedly, and sweating. He was furtively looking behind him as if someone was after him. This led a part of me wondering what had happened to the jeep and the man who had driven it. The only thought which crossed my mind was that Cain had killed his driver––perhaps he was on a killing spree because his long-buried secrets had been exhumed and he was determined to kill as much as he could in his rage. Reflexively, I dipped my hand into my pocket and gripped at the gun––just for protection if the necessity arose, a case where only the faster man would leave there alive between both of us. And evidently, his own hand was also in his overcoat. His face was frosty and fixed like a mannequin’s. As soon as soon as we were close enough, he spoke first:

“Who are you?” he asked. His face saddened me when I remembered that this was my father.

“Angela sent me.” I replied coldly. If I had been expecting him to be surprised, I succeeded immensely. He was so rocked by my reply that he nearly lost his stamina.

“Angela sent you?” he asked incredulously, “Where is she?”

I ignored his question.

“What have you done with the driver?” I asked him casually as if I cared less. But I had been consumed with curiosity about the driver––even before that night. I wanted to know him better. He had struck me as an extraordinarily clever guy, from the judgement my grandfather had given about him. My grandfather doesn’t praise people that never deserved it, and he was always talking about Richard to me as if he were a god to be worshipped. I wanted to see the man and speak with him from that morning when Cain’s body was discovered that he’d asked you about my name. I wanted to know how clever and intelligent he really was. Could I call him a genius or just brilliant? Courageous, or foolhardy? Determined, or plain stubborn? All this I wanted to know about him––if I could have the opportunity of asking him some tricky questions and hearing the reply he would give. I didn’t know that he was actually going to show to me his ingenuity that very night.

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