So, we are here! The first chapter of TMBT Book Two. If you are here on this page, wave your hands in the air as you shout 'MY FANSSSS'. 😍❤️

I'm so excited to start this. And hence, no long talk. Without much further ado, let's get into it...

~ACHA~

Christmas, last year, was not the same.

And, it still remains a mystery how time seems to slow down torturously when you are living your worst nightmare. Imagine that moment you are hiding in your closet, hands shaking while you tremble in the darkness of your cover and watch in anxiety as the 'figure' from the creak beneath starts to morph from a hazy shadow to a distorted, three-horned beast. In that moment, two seconds feel like an eternity of damnation.

In other words, this past few weeks was a long-suffering, living Hell for me. And, everything, each and everyone of the awful consequences that I was forced to live with for the entirety of the holiday stemmed from that night.

That cursed night of the Christmas party.

Only now did I fully understand the pain of losing it all, everything: from your own will and your sense of self worth, to the people you care about the most and the basic respect and human decency that you are entitled to as a person. Even your mind as a whole. I had lost it all in one night. Everything. Everyone. Even myself.

Most painfully still, her.

"The body of an unidentified teenager, presumed to be a girl, was found in the Crown River, early on the morning of the New Year, at exactly 4:45am. Sources say that she may have jumped off the Crown bridge—"

I threw my phone against the window.

In what seemed like an uncontrollable rage from nowhere, I acted out again. Ignoring the shattering sound of the phone as it scattered against the blinds, dividing itself into two on impact as my fists were busy, slamming craters upon craters into my bedroom wall.

For days and days, it was like this. Few times, it was the broken glass from the mirrors, windows and even the screen of my television that littered the tiles. Other times, it was my own stuff – furniture, bedspreads, souvenirs, picture frames, gaming consoles and more – pushed and thrown in frustration and fury onto the ground, and from time to time, it was my own blood stains on the white walls of my room, which remained permanently on it as a result of me denting the walls with the knuckles of my bare fists.

"It is unsure how long this girl was in the river, but debates are being raised on blogs and social media pages concerning not just her identity, but also if she is dead or alive—"

Needles were in my brain. That was the most logical explanation to the unbearable pain that shot up like an emboli in my head every time I searched up on this particular topic. This was my routine, everyday. Searching all information about this girl they talked about. Punishing myself like this to the point that I knew all the words that came out of the reporters' mouths, to the point that they recited itself in my head even after I broke my phone again.

With hands on my head and lips that quivered and produced sounds akin to incoherent sobs, I imagined everything. The worst case scenario. And, as delusional as it may have sounded, the best too. Because denial was an easier option when you knew that you could not stand a certain kind of pain, when you feared how much accepting the reality of a matter will scathe you, body and soul.

So, that's why for days and days since the first day of January that I heard this news, my entire life mission had become to get information, any little piece of information, that would fuel my delusional belief that the mysterious 'dead or alive' girl which the news, blogs, and social media town criers have been shouting about, the same one who had jumped the Crown Bridge, was not Dabeluchi Orji.

My Aurora.

It felt like a chokehold around my throat, like hands coated with glass-sharp thorns were digging into the round of my neck. Suffocation was an understatement, in no comparison to the painful sensations I felt when I tried to convince myself of what I would rather want to believe. However, when Dabeluchi was unreachable everywhere, and my last memory of her during our last encounter was that empty look in her eyes, there was not much hope to hold onto.

Petrifying still, Dabeluchi and I were in the Centre of Lekki Crown, our usual hangout spot. That little Hut in front of Wilsons'. Anyone who lived in the Crown had the general knowledge that the distance between the bridge and that Hut was a stone throw. That was the last place and time I had seen that girl.

There was every tiny evidence that this 'mystery dead or alive girl' was her, and very little to prove the contrary. Yet, a part of me wanted to believe otherwise. So desperately. The kind of Hope that came with being in the midst of your biggest fears is alarming; in that moment, you are so afraid, so afraid that you still pray for a 'miracle', even when you know it is hopeless.

Think of you and your stupid closet, for example. You still hide, even when you know that the creature is aware of your presence. So, even as you press your back onto that closet wall with all your might and hold your breath with the hopes that halting your inhales and exhales will ensure pin drop silence, you are certain that your doom has come; yet, even in the face of hopelessness, you still try to survive. You still hide. It knows you are there. You know it knows. Yet, you still hide. Clinging onto that delusion, just in case.

Just In Case.

That had been my mantra for days.

"Just in case that girl isn't Dabeluchi," I recited, like it was the Lord's prayer, "Just in case you are alive..."

Holding onto that with a heart that was heavy and burdened, I reminded myself the reasons why I could not give up on my search for her.

"I will find you, Dabeluchi Orji," I said to myself, sealing that painful determination in me like it was my oath, "And, I will find you alive."

With that resolve, my hands wiped off the tears on my face as I got up from my bed and made for my MacBook on the reading desk. These days, it had become a device I used more often. Not just when I wanted to get a school project done, but also as a substitute, every time since the night of the Christmas party that I demolished my smartphone.

Using my MacBook laptop as a replacement of my phone didn't make me stop seeing the terrible messages and 'opinions' about me on our general Ss3 Class Group Chat. Many times, after convincing myself I couldn't give a shit, I would retire into my room at the end of the day, aggressively grab my MacBook, log into my WhatsApp, and lean into my seat, staring at the screen like a lifeless zombie as I scrolled and scrolled through the unending bulks of messages, all – or, at least most – slandering what was left of my already ruined name.

I felt like a ticking time bomb every time I was name called or mocked or given a tag I didn't appreciate, every time that classmates sprung up false accusations against me. From the ones that were inspired by my ex-best friend to the allegations that blew out from nowhere, lies and rumors of things they claim I had done. It wasn't even a slander, it was a whole massacre. And, if this was what it felt like to be bullied, I hated it.

"Fucking MTN!—"

I hated it even more than the temper problems that I had newly started to develop; I hated being treated like shit by my classmates.

"Damn Network!" I growled, baring my teeth in frustration as I slapped the Wifi Modem with the sudden anger that triggered me, "Load, you slow bastard!"

This was unhealthy, I knew. The anger issues I never had until now and the way I subjected myself to stalking a possibly dead girl that I hoped was not Dabeluchi. So, even after it had loaded and showed me the same results I had already seen before, I refused to lose hope. Giving up was not in my dictionary. There had to be something, anything, to give me hope about Dabeluchi.

"Where," I whispered, punching in the letters of the keyboard, "is the girl who jumped off the Crown Bridge now?" Hit search again and watched Google do its thing with my fingers crossed.

It was the same. Nothing out of the ordinary. With me, scrolling through a dozen headlines that I had already seen multiple times. Skipping and scheming through them one after the other with the speed of flash.

"None of these help, for God's sake," I said, sucking in my teeth as I went through blog posts and press articles that I had seen before, all filled with junk and conspiracy theories about the 'dead or alive girl'. Nothing that could hold waters. "Come on, show me something new. Show me something new—"

Eh?

"Wait," I whispered as chills ran through my back, cold prickly chills that felt like the hands of a ghost. Reflexively, my fingers paused against my keyboard as my eyes narrowed down, analyzing the words on the screen. "What the fuck is this?"

My eyes moved around the screen with the rapidness of a Jaguar, a horrifying realization setting in the more my focus lingered. It was a headline of a press article. A press article that I had never seen before, in all my search.

A new one.

And, needless to say, what it entailed scared the life out of me.

"Following the New Year's tragedy, sources claim that the girl found dead in the Crown River is the teenage daughter of a rich business mogul in Nigeria. A lot of investigation has been ongoing, and having her father is already tainted with multiple allegations, the authorities think her death may be connected to her Father.—"

I couldn't see anything past 'dead' and 'death'.

My hands were shaking in sync with the pounding of my heart, so many thoughts racing into my mind at the same time as I clicked on it, daring to see more.

"It can't be you, Dabeluchi," My voice was shaking, hands trembling against the keys, "It can't be you, please..."

I scrolled further, shocking myself with the amount of 'balls' I still had.

"However, some sources debunk this theory—"

I breathed out a sigh of relief, a fraction of it; the rest of my air was still held and lodged deep within me.

"—Some others claim that this is just a premeditated and elaborate 'ponzy scheme' for scammers to extort money from the masses. Having that the debate is still ongoing whether this girl is dead or alive, the conspiracy theorists that vouch she is alive are falling victims to the 'fund raisers' online that are asking money to help the mystery girl and her family.—"

I paused reading, a subtle annoyance bubbling in the pit of my gut as I understood the cruelty of this, how evil people like these could use such a sensitive situation like this to extort money from genuinely kind and naive people.

"— These conspiracy theorists that have faith that the mystery girl is alive have decided to call themselves the 'Right Siders', as they say they are distancing themselves from the faithless and selfish multitude who want to be adamant on the girl's death so as not to dip their hands into their wallets to help her. The Right Siders have also WILDLY claimed that some of them have met the family of the girl personally. Some others claim God spoke to them.—"

I fought the urge to roll my eyes.

"— While all these claims sound outrageous, an anonymous hacker had surfaced out of nowhere, supposedly sometime around Midnight, with shocking revelations on the matter that caused jaws to drop. Apparently , this untraceable account that goes by the name 'GHOST' had sent out 'evidences' online, to back up this claims of the Right Side, showing clear and indubitable police reports that prove that the mystery girl is alive, and was actually taken away from their protection custody by a 'family' who claimed her.—"

My brow furrowed with confusion, I felt it all in my frown. I understood the words on the screen as clear as day, but still puzzled at as though it were a different language. Genuinely, I was completely panicked by what it implied, a part of me still heavy on the fact that it was all still bullshit, while the other fretted about the unknown.

"An ongoing investigation is going on to track the now viral 'anonymous' account called GHOST that was responsible for leaking such confidential police reports concerning the mystery girl being taken away and 'home' by her Family.—"

My head was filled with question marks. Many of them. Uncountable.

"— And, because of the alarm it has triggered on the side of the Authorities and the Law, people are now becoming certain of the authenticity of the leaked police reports. Realizing that there is a higher probability that the leaked reports by GHOST are not fake after all."

Mortification was an understatement. My confusion mixed in with a subtle feeling of dread that creeped in with a terrifying realization.

"Hence, more people are starting to lean into the perspective of the Right Siders, saying that their theory might just be accurate. That the mystery girl is truly alive and was taken away by her family, indeed. And together, they are asking the public for help, no matter how little the funds may be.—"

Goddamit?

Something was wrong.

Something was SEVERE wrong somewhere.

Because, to begin with, what family?

If this was Dabeluchi Orji, then what fucking family took her away? As far as I knew, Dabeluchi's Mum and her brother have been in custody with Casper's Mum in her Psychiatric Centre, since Last Year. So which other family? Was there another family of Dabeluchi that surfaced out of nowhere that I didn't know about?

This all sounded like Bullshit.

Yet, in another way, sounded like a form of truth, an incomplete truth.

Right from the onset, I had concluded that the 'Right Siders' could not be accurate, that they were just a bunch of religious people that wicked scammers were taking advantage of. But, now, with the supposedly authentic leaked police reports that clearly showed a family taking her away, my thoughts were left to wander.

I knew that Dabeluchi was from a very wealthy family, and her Mum and brother were not even in their 'Home' anymore. Not after it had been burned down and her father just magically disappeared off the surface of the earth. And, they couldn't even leave the Centre even if they tried to escape. So, definitely, whoever picked Dabeluchi up was not them.

It was not Dabeluchi's family that picked her up.

So, then, who did?

With everything in me, I refused to accept the suspicion that was lingering in the pit of my stomach concerning the matter. The one other person that I could not help but suspect was linked to this, the only other person who would have wanted to get their hands on Dabeluchi.

I couldn't do it. I didn't want to. I couldn't bring myself to come to the possibilities of those kind of terms...

"However, the 'Left Siders' – as they have now been tagged – who are still against the theory of the girl being alive, are now coming up with defaults concerning the leaked police reports. While they claim that the reports may be real and not forged indeed, they are adamant that the report may not even be for the mystery dead or alive girl, but for someone else. In their words, 'it may be a real report, but not her report'—"

That was an easier theory to agree with. Took a whole weight off my shoulders. Maybe as I have wanted to believe initially, this mystery dead or alive girl is not even Dabeluchi in the first place. Maybe she never went to the Crown Bridge, as I have been suspecting. That was a much easier thought to accept. But, was it just me again in denial?

"—The Left Side is also questioning why the leaked reports had the girl's name blurred, saying it was a suspicious move. And, hence, it is not proof enough if it is a nameless report. However, some others debunk this, saying that it was only to protect her identity, as even the anonymous fundraisers refuse to show their identity, for their own privacy concerns too.

They also debunk the allegations of the Left Side who insist the reports do not even belong to the mystery dead or alive girl, saying that the original details of the News concerning the girl– from the exact location of the Crown River where she was found to the exact time she was found – perfectly match the details in the reports. The Left Side still argues that there are a dozen bodies often found in the Crown River, from time to time, around the same time every year, and the claim of the Right Siders still prove debatable.

What do you think?"

I stared at the words in front of me, and could not bring myself to pick a side. To decide what I thought about this, to see which side made more sense to me. If it was the damned terrifying claims of Left Side and its implications or if it was the more easy-to-sink-in opposition from the Right Siders.

My hands were shaking against the keys of my Macbook, my eyes staring daggers at the screen, and in as much as I could feel my heart pounding, I couldn't trace my emotions. I couldn't detail them. Fear was an understatement; because this was more than fear, more than anything that had ever scared me since the day I was fucking born.

"Marcus..."

And in the pit of me, a foreign anger dwelled. What was I angry about? The fact I failed to protect her? I failed to love her the way she needed to be loved? I failed to keep her? To ensure she was alive at least? The anger towards everything and EVERYONE who caused all these, the raw vile maddening feeling of resentment and undiluted hate that was starting to grow inside me. Not just towards others, but myself too?

"Marcus..."

And in the midst of all of these, nothing petrified me more than myself. I was afraid of what I was becoming, a version of myself that I never thought I had in me. I cringed at the vile thoughts that crossed my mind against those I resented, the forbidden things I wished against them, the way I imagined hurting them in unimaginable ways. Making them feel the way I felt. Making them bleed the way I was bleeding. Making them shake in more fear and terror than I had ever felt since then. Making them become what I was: Dead.

"Marcus..."

The sick realization that I could if I wanted to. The way my bare hands had severely hurt Sean Ayomide the way they did that night... It made me realize that I actually could if I wanted to. I could hurt anyone as much as I wanted to. As bad as I wanted to.

"Marcus Bruno Acha!"

I snapped back into reality, my body getting momentarily electrified as my head got itself out of the blood thoughts that I had fallen back into. Again. Reflexively, I turned to look behind me; her voice was recognizable even in lucid dreams, so I was not surprised when I saw a mere shadow of her at the door of my bedroom.

"Mum."

I regarded her hazy form, my eyes lingering lazily at the foot of the door where she stood for the fraction of a second,

Before I looked away.

Her presence was still there behind me while I looked back to the screen, attempting to exit the article on my screen and dive into the second part of my horrid search, but of course, that was not on her watch;

"Marcus Bruno Acha, get your hands off that godforsaken Laptop before I slap you into your Fifties."

I felt sudden electricity shoot down the marrow of my spine and instantly, my MacBook suddenly repulsed me.

That had to be the only explanation as to how I suddenly got such inhumane speed to let go of it immediately on my Mum's authoritative order, and only then did I understand that maybe what could potentially terrify me to my max was indeed something that I was still figuring out as a person.

Maybe Nigerian Mothers were the only things scarier than Death itself.

"I could hear you punching your keyboard all the way from downstairs, as if you have spare MacBooks growing on trees somewhere in this House," I heard her snapping her fingers behind me as she spoke, her tone a clear sass, "Who do you think you are, Dangote's son? You underestimate our abilities to put you up for sale the moment we go broke. I'd draw it up with a fine flashy banner saying, 'Handsome, teenage boy up for sale. He's a bit depressed for now and everyday, you fit collect one-two from him, but nothing a traditional two-combo backhand can't fix'."

I wasn't sure if I responded, but I knew for certain that her presence still stayed, lingering behind me.

"Wow, you don't even laugh at my jokes anymore," she said behind me, I said nothing. Had nothing to say, really. My head was just as blank as the stare that pierced the nothingness in the air. "I was joking though. Of course, you know I wouldn't trade you for anything in the world, Marcus. Not even if my life depended on it."

I felt something in my insides, a warmness that bubbled in the depths of my heart. It felt alien to feel something positive inside of me, especially when all I felt inside me these days was bitterness.

She made me happy...

My Mother always made me happy.

I felt a strain at the corner of my lips, and suspected my first smile coming since the beginning of this year.

"Mum?"

There was a silence behind me for a short moment, but soon enough, her warm voice came behind me.

"Yes, baby?"

I tilted my head to the side, finding a new angle to death glare the innocent air in front of me as I made her a calm, emotionless request.

"Leave my room."

There was more silence behind me, but if there was anything I was certain of, it's the fact that she most definitely heard me.

"Excuse me?" She came behind me, and in the slightest, I could sense that hint of offence in her tone.

"Leave my room."

I heard a scoff roll off her tongue, and I could only imagine her looking me up and down in shock, based off my accurate prediction of how well I knew my mother. I hated to sound like this, but I didn't feel anything.

No guilt.

No joy.

Just nothing.

Absolutely fucking nothing.

"Inukwa?" Her tone of sarcasm lashed me like a sharp whip against my back,  laughter bursting through her and hinting her taunting amusement.

And unsettlingly, a creeping anger too.

"Come oh! What gives you the delusion that I would rather be here than anywhere else? If I had a choice, you think I'd want to deal with this?!" She fired at me, her tone coming with a raw, fearful attack that shook me, "It's just because I care about you. You're my child and you are my responsibility! And you may be depressed, but you are not mad, in Jesus name! And will you look at me when I'm talking to you!"

My teeth clenched against each other, a slight irritation building up for no reason... But, I looked. I looked at her.

Or at least, the shade of her that was standing firm and strong in the dimness of my room.

"Let me tell you, you are not a Miscreant o!" She told me, her voice sharp and filled with a fierce solidity, "Chukwu Ma, Mama Acha raises no miscreants. You DON'T turn into one because of a situation that's not going well for you. In this house, we don't let anything let us wallow in the shade of darkness and misery. When you KNOW you are stronger than that. Are you hearing me, I na anu m?!"

I nodded, my body feeling a bit uncomfortable in the heat of all of these.

“I said, I NA ANU M?!" She shouted, her voice reverberating and bouncing off the walls of my dark room in aggressive echoes.

I shifted in my seat, my hands slightly shaking against the mahogany desk.

"Yes Ma."

"Good."

With that, she spurn around and just when I thought she was about to leave, she extended her hand towards the switch by my door and flicked it on, blinding me with the bright flash of white light that illuminated my entire room as all the lights came on in that instant.

"The fuck," I curses, shielding my eyes like a vampire in sunlight.

"The fuck, your head." She fired back at me, "Stand up and enter the bathroom. And afterwards, clean your damn room. You have a whole year ahead of you, with MANY stories on the way. You can't start it unprepared. Not on my watch, baby."

I felt bulldozed, and confused in the slightest, not knowing where or how to start.

"Stand Up, Marcus Acha!" She screamed at me.

I was on my feet, involuntarily. Something that I didn't even know that I could do that quickly anymore.

"But, Mum, the light is too bright—"

"— And you are not a child of darkness. Bili oto! Stand up!"

It was in moments like this that I did feel thankful to have someone like my mother in my life, and even if my body was weak to obey some of the orders she gave me, my spirit was willing... And, she didn't back down. Watching her in the light, as early in the morning that it was, wearing nothing more than her nightgown clad in a robe made me understand her priorities too.

And that was, well me.

If I had sleepless nights about Dabeluchi Orji, then what was my Mum possibly going through all because of me?

"Someone called yesterday," she told me, snapping me out of my thoughts, "But, I am not sure if you're ready to talk to him."

I stopped on my tracks, lips paused, "Him?"

"It's not important right now," She insisted, "I asked him to come to the House tonight, so you have until then to get ready. And he says he can help with Dabeluchi... He knows you've been doing everything in your power to find her. And, he feels responsible for what happened."

I felt it. That zap in my head, that tingling in my brain. A trigger. A dangerous trigger. And, my stare remained blank on my Mum as I saw where she was going with this, but the woman did not budge.

"You will see him, Marcus, and you will talk to him," she bluntly said to my face.

"I don't want to see anybody."

It wasn't even a plea, it was warning.

"Go and freshen up and get ready," Mum rather insisted, untouched by the deadpan on my face. "There is no rush. When tonight comes... We will all cross that bridge."

I wasn't crossing any damned bridge.

"I don't want to hear about damn Bridges," I huffed, flinging my towel over my shoulder as I headed for the bathroom.

And, the God of Sean Austin Ayomide be with him and whatever was left of his battered, damaged body if I saw his face tonight in this House.

#GurglesVolcanoLava.

FIRST CHAPTER DONE AND DUSTED!🥹❤️ Oh my! What are your thoughts? Tell me EVERYTHING!

As we are still in the launching season, I may double update today. May o. It's not certain. I guess it depends on the feedback I get from this chapter. We'll see!

And who do you think is coming to visit Acha tonight? And how do you reckon this meeting will go??

Also, the conspiracies concerning Dabi and the Bridge stuff, from the articles that Acha was researching, what are YOUR takes?! Are you a Right Sider or a Left Sider??

And, hm, GHOST?
If you watched the trailer on my IG carefully, you'd have seen something about this GHOST person. The one in this chapter who leaked police reports and all. This GHOST person is a VITAL part of this book and when I connect them to many things that went on in Book One right under your nose, you'd shout.😂😂I honestly can't wait! Reveals in this book GO CHOKE!!😂😈 Feel free to try to crack the Ghost controversy and if you dare, figure out who GHOST is. If you guys find out, lemme sha bendddddd.

Anyways, thanks for reading! UPDATES WILL COME EVERY FRIDAY, so see you all Next Week. And maybe, just maybe, there will be a double update that day.  Bye!!❤️🥹