Secret Cults

Chapter 5

Chapter 5

“My son, oh my poor boy,” Mrs Martins sobbed, feeling Abe’s scraggy cheek with her palm. His emaciated figure barely covered half of the hospital bed. She sat beside his bed while her husband kept standing, holding her hands, trying to console her.

They arrived in Ikeja as soon as possible, after receiving Chukwu’s phone call about their son’s hospitalization.

Chukwu stood on the opposite side of Abe’s bed, looking sober and placid.

“Please wake up, mummy is here. Abraham wake up,” Mrs Martins said with an uncontrollable wail. Mr Martins pulled her head to rest in his arms.

He had no choice than to stay strong by pushing behind the flood behind his eyes, watching his son lose himself by the minute.

For seventeen years the Martins have always considered Abe their own son, the son they never had. They showed him nothing but love, since they adopted him from the mental garden for children and young teenagers, a psychiatric center for children.

After the cold-blooded murder of his parents right before his eyes at the early age of eight, Abe lived with his uncle and his family. The trauma of the tragic incidence affected him with a slight mental disorder, whereby he would cut his flesh with a razor blade or any sharp object, wanting to feel what his parents felt when the knife slit their throat. He saw everyone around him as his enemy, sometimes threatening his classmates with a fork or pin. His uncle, who never wanted him to stay at his place in the first instance, saw his case as demonic, he dropped him off at an orphanage, where he was later transferred after six months to the place the Martins found him. And ever since, they treated him as their blood, the missing link to their joy, raising him together with their daughter.

“Doctor please wake him up, wake my son,” Mrs Martin said, holding the doctor’s hand as he walked towards them. The doctor adjusted his eye glass, feeling pity for her.

“Who brought him here?” the doctor asked, observing the drip attached to Abe. His eyes widened when he saw how fast Abe’s body absorbed the liquid.

“I did,” Chukwu said, swallowing a cupful of saliva. His eyes locked with the doctor’s, and he shifted his attention to Abe. He felt miserable within himself for inviting Abe to something he was not interested in, his only vindication came from Abe’s choice to attend the party.

The doctor squints his eyes, measuring the range of the liquid level in the drip, he was confused, “what did you say happened to him?”, he asked curiously stepping away from the beds side.

Chukwu cleared his throat, “we were together at the club ,” he said, trying not to keep eye contact with Mrs Martins, who considered Abe’s precarious situation his doing, “I left him on his couch for the dance-floor, then after a while, I saw him laying unconcious on the couch,” he continued, carefully selecting his words, “I thought he was deeply asleep, so I carried him to my car, and drove him back to his house.”

“And that has been how many days now?” the doctor inquired, his attention, eagle-eye focused on Chukwu.

“Four days…”

“”Four days!” Mrs Martins exclaimed profusely, “you did this to him, you killed him. You have used him for your rituals.” She wept into the arms of her husband, pointing fingers at Chukwu.

Chukwu remained speechless for some seconds, frozen at the words of Mrs Martins. Her allegations drove a spear through his heart, tearing it apart.

“Four days and you decided to bring him yesterday night?”

The doctor’s harshness in his voice could not be hidden. He sounded as if Abe was someone he cared for beyond the regular doctor-patient bond.

“It was weekend so it didn’t occur to me that something might actually be wrong with him.”

“When did it occur to you?”

The interrogative tone of the doctor made Chukwu raise an eyebrow but he didn’t dwell much on it. He was more concerned for himself than whatever relationship the doctor had with his friend.

“He was not in office, I called and he was not answering so I decided to check him, that is how he got here.” Chukwu took his stand, without flinching, he manned up to look the doctor in the eye.

“Doctor, what is happening to my son?” Mr Martins asked, holding his wife’s hands. Hope filled his eyes expecting something affirmative from the doctor.

The doctor, clothed in a khaki chinos trouser and a blue shirt, looked like a man in his mid forties, he looked like someone who could relate to the pain.

“I wish I could help, but this is something beyond my twelve yearss experience in the field,” he said with a distressed sigh and bowed his head. “All we can do now is hope and pray.”

The advice didn’t go well with the concerned parents, especially Mrs Martins, her husband consoled her to keep her voice down in the ward, while Chukwu looked at Abe hoping he would open his eyes the next second.

In Abe’s reality, it was darkness, it was war, emptiness of an abyss. He saw some human-like bulls trying to knock him down. He fought and ran. His fears shook him hard, the very nightmares he tried to escape all his life. It came back like a wraith feasting on his soul. He called for help but his voice was not heard, he had no choice than to keep running. He saw his Mrs Martins weeping, but he could not reach her, something restricted him. He was on the other side of life in this cold void, all he could think of was survival.

He screamed at the top of his lungs hoping his father or Chukwu would hear him, or anybody else but all was to no avail. The dust of the abysmal desert starteed to swallow him up, he could feel life walking away from him, yet he kept on fighting, struggling to see the next second. The coldness of death came closer at every struggle he made. He only wanted to live.