The rain fell in heavy torrents, harsh and unforgiving as if letting go of pent up fury. The man was exhausted but for her he kept going, even as the rain soaked through his clothes and the cold made him shiver.

He kept his eyes down, careful not to meet any stranger's gaze, he was half afraid someone would recognize him, point and make fun of the man who has given up everything for love but it was all in his head, he was not the only man struggling to make their own path, he was not the only one with his head bowed and chest heavy with worries.

He skipped over a puddle, almost losing his footing and stumbling straight into a suya stall, he apologized hurriedly when the Mallam behind the stall sent him a glare as he attempted to put off the fire on his grill and attend to the line gathered at the stall — some of them voicing their impatience and threatening to leave and visit the other stall across the street.

It reminded the man of how people ran when everything fell to hell, it reminded him of the friends he once had, the family he had once fed and the same ones that had fled at the first hint of doom.

The man's name was Lekan Daniels and he had a wife battling lung cancer in the hospital, tonight he had been called by the hospital, they had finally found a lung donor for the transplant that his wife would be needing and that finally, his wife would be getting the surgery she needed — but it would not come for free.

Nothing good ever did.

A year ago, things had been rosy, he'd had a job, he had a beautiful wife and the smartest little girl, they hadn't been rich but they had been happy. Then the cancer diagnosis came and things went downhill from there, the disease was a bloodsucker that had drained his finances, his wife's beaming joy and after a brief romance with drinking, it had cost him his job.

The man hated how in the movies everything seemed to fall in place, how God would miraculously heal everything, but in real life everything was more difficult, in the movies they never depicted how cancer not only affected the victim, but the victim's family.

The worst thing he had gone through was watching the hope slowly leaving the eyes of his wife, it was watching his daughter's face fall every time she visited her mother and saw her lifeless eyes. He hated it, he hated feeling out of control.

A year ago, he had been a man with everything in the world, now he was a man with nothing but an empty pocket and a breaking home.

Lekan shook his head at the injustice of it all, he continued walking, ignoring the weakness in his knees and the grumble of his stomach as he did so, I don't matter, he told himself everyday, if they are fine then I am too, I have to be.

Across the street he spied the wide open gates of the hospital and the florescent lights that lit up the sign on the gates, reading; Solomon Research Hospital.

He crossed over, and upon reaching the gates, he nodded his greeting to the security men sitting on plastic chairs and drinking beer under the now drizzling rain. He tried and failed to ignore the look of pity that flashed through their eyes as he passed them, he was sure that after he was gone they would change the topic of their conversation and instead discuss how life had fucked him over, whispering how they were grateful to God that they weren't him.

There were only a few cars left in the parking lot and Lekan let out a sigh of relief when he spotted the black jeep of the chief medical officer in its spot. He hoped the man was not in the middle of a meeting, he didn't want to have to wait in anxiousness, mulling over what price he would have to pay for the health of his wife.

As he stepped into the spacious lobby, he breathed a sigh of relief when he noticed the receptionist was not the usual one, that one liked to babble on and on about how God would heal and make everything alright in the end as long as he believed, he usually wanted to laugh at her when she went on and on about her spiel because those words were the first ones he had reassured himself with during the first stages of the diagnosis.

He didn't need God, or at least, it didn't seem God cared that his wife was wasting away and dying. He didn't even think of God and religion with resentment anymore, he just didn't care.

This time when he caught the usual sight of the plaque on the wall that read; Jesus heals, he snorted but deep down inside him wished it was true. Faith was hard to understand but even harder to let go once it was in grasp.

The receptionist was an older looking woman whose eyes drooped behind her thick framed glasses, she jolted when Lekan approached her.

"I have an appointment with Dr. Mercy Onikan." He told her, partly grateful that he wouldn't have to play nice.

The woman bobbed her head quick and squinted at the computer screen before her, then flicking her gaze up at him, assessing him. Obviously thinking: what does this man dressed in crinkled, wet clothes and equally wet disheveled afro think he has any right to see an esteemed doctor.

"Name?"

"Mr Lekan Daniels," He told her, drumming an impatient beat onto the pristine marble counter.

The woman looked up with a half smile. "Dr. Mercy will see you now, her office is —"

Lekan cut her off with an impatient wave. She pursed her lips and glared at him.

"I know very well where her office is." Bitterness was thick in his tone, he'd give anything not to know where her office was, as long as it meant that his wife was home healthy.

Five minutes later, he was seated before the middle aged surgeon who assessed him with her usual tilted stare, he supposed she was allowed to be surprised, after all, the last time they had met, he had been a blubbering mess pleading before her not to eject his wife from the hospital over her outstanding bills, now he was dry eyed and unsmiling like a man resolved with his destiny.

"I am sure my secretary briefed you with the good news, about the donor."

He nodded, waiting for the bad news.

For the longest time the doctor remained stoic faced and silent, if she was expecting him to break into dance then she was in for a surprise.

"Does this news not please you? All you have wanted for the longest time was a donor for your wife, are you having second thoughts?"

"I am happy," he said dryly.

Truthfully, he needn't be so cross with the doctor, after all without her, his wife would have been on the bottom of the waiting list for her transplant but Dr. Mercy had taken up the case with fervor, determined that she got help before things went worse. But even for her, there was a limit to all that help, she could only assist with the bills and it was all thanks to her that his wife was still alive.

"We have to make haste while we can, before things escalate, and I have contacted a team of surgeons who will be in charge of this operation." She said, brushing aside a lock of her dreads. She folded her hands on the table and when he saw the look on her face, he felt dread settling like a chill in his bones and it had nothing to do with the chill of the air-conditioning.

"The total costs for flying your wife out for the operation — which will take place in one of the most reputable hospitals in India," to Lekan's ears, she sounded like one of those herb marketers who listed all the achievements of their herbs to sway potential buyers.

Lekan didn't want to hear about whatever hospital his wife would be flown to, he didn't want to know the team of doctors in charge, he just wanted to know if he would have resort to selling organs or worse, end up making a deal with the devil.

Blood for wealth, blood for life. He shook his head as a shiver racked through his body, a chill that had nothing to do with the breeze from the air-conditioning.

Dr. Mercy continued on about flight arrangements and others but all he could focus on was the figures she had mentioned.

"— fifteen million naira."

His heart picked up its race then slowed down to a beat that was almost nonexistent, he was almost thinking that maybe somehow he was having a heart attack when he noticed that Dr. Mercy was shaking his shoulders visibly.

The woman slumped back in visible relief when he blinked, everything blurring back to normal. Suddenly, the air was too cold and the office too small.

"Are you alright, Mr. Lekan?"

What was alright anymore? Was this the new normal for his life?

"Of course," he told her. It was a lie, as true as the saying that things happened for a reason.

There was no reason for anything anymore. There was only this.

***

The joy that lit up his daughter's eyes as he stepped into the room never failed to make his heart squeeze tight with love, tonight was no different, even after life had once again laughed in his face.

She jumped from where she sat on the lap of her baby sitter — the daughter of a neighbour — and straight into his outstretched arm, she giggled when he groaned and commented on how big she was growing and proceeded to chatter on about what new thing her babysitter had taught her.

She was his joy, his life and many times when he looked into her clear brown eyes he felt like he was staring at a mirror of himself, it was why she was named after him; Olamilekan, she had his crooked nose, his round face and his full lips but she had her mother's boundless energy.

He hadn't realised he had spaced out until she began to tug at the end of his shirt. He noticed that the babysitter had waved her goodbyes and left the room already. He reminded himself to thank her mother in the morning, people like them reminded him that the world was not all bad.

It was time for the hardest part of the night, to feign optimism to his child as she peppered him questions about her mother. As he tucked her in the single bed in the whole house, he told her how her mother missed her, how she was getting better and would soon be home.

He didn't tell her that he hadn't had the heart to see her mother, his wife. That he hadn't seen her in weeks because he was a coward, that he couldn't bear to see her look so tired, so helpless with her skin hollow and stretched tight against her bones.

And when she was fast asleep, he hid his sobs in his palms.

Then he took out his phone, hating himself as he dialed the number he had sworn to stay away from. His cousin picked up on the third ring.

"Egbon mi, bawo ni?" His cheerful voice said from the other end. Lekan could hear the clinking of glass and the shouts from wherever his cousin was, probably in a beer parlour, drinking away his blood money. It was something Lekan had never considered, falling so desperate to the point where he agreed to a blood ritual.  A life in exchange for money.

"I am fine," I'm not, he meant.

They were both silent for an awkward second, neither knowing what to say to the other and both of them conscious to the fact that Lekan had hit rock bottom for him to finally admit defeat.

"Concerning what we spoken of the last time," Lekan began hesitantly, he snuck a glance at his sleeping daughter and hated himself with every fiber of his being.

"I see and I am glad you have thought this through, remember that once you go into this, there is no going back or running away. This kind of ritual binds, blood is the payment for betrayal. Blood Moon does not treat traitors kindly."

Lekan sighed, thinking that he had no choice.

"What do I have to do?"

Wale let out a booming laugh, so sudden that Lekan almost dropped the phone. 

"Egbon mi, gbayi, you will not regret this." Wale spoke excitedly, his Yoruba accent thickening. "Let me contact the Shaman and I will talk to you in the morning."

Long after the conversation was over, Lekan sat still, wondering if the ominous feeling that filled his chest was nothing more than a delusion. He cast another mournful glance at his daughter and smiled slightly.

He reached over to stroke her braids, pulling his hand back when she stirred.

His voice was a resigned whisper, slurring with desperation, "Whatever you do, whoever you become, Little L, promise me you will never be like your father."