NEMESIS

CHAPTER 1 -SHADOWS OF THE PAST

Abigail was shaken from the inside by soft snobs that pulled at her chest like little hammers. After noticing that her neighbor's door was open, Salian cautiously entered and saw Abigail hunched over on the couch, her hands gripping the cushions as if they were a lifeline.

"Abigail, what happend? Are you alright? With a gentle, cautious, yet forceful voice, Salian prevented Abigail from sinking farther into despair.

“Hhhmmm…” Abigail's response was barely audible, a broken sound that sounded more like a soul's sigh than a human voice. With white-knuckled desperation, her fingers gripped the cushions as she rocked back and forth. She stared at a place that only existed in her recollections with dreamy eyes.

Salian knelt next to her and gently touched Abigail's hand. "You need to speak with me, Abigail. Are you alright?

"No... no, I'm not okay," Abigail said, her voice breaking like brittle glass.

Salian felt his heart constrict. Then tell me, please. If you don't inform me, I can't assist you. What is it?

Abigail's mouth quivered. “…Nemesis…”

“What?” With a kind question, Salian leaned in and looked into Abigail's eyes.

"Salian... Nemesis..."

Abigail covered her face in her hands as tears streamed down her cheeks. Relentlessly, memories that she had spent years attempting to repress came forth.

The sound of two kids chasing each other under the last of the sun's light filled the compound. Three years older and full of mischief, Abigail's brother ran forward, kicking up dust with his bare feet. Abigail trailed behind, giggling like bells and bouncing her tiny legs wildly.

He was always there for her when she faltered, his strong, steady hand reaching back. "Be careful, little queen," said Brother, chuckling. Even though the world is difficult, I will always find you. Abigail's heart grew full of trust as she gripped to his hand.

He served as her shield at school. Tall and belligerent, he moved forward as older males made fun of her reserved demeanor. "Say what you want to me, but leave her alone," said the brother. Abigail's eyes glowed with pride as the bullies retreated.

They found refuge in the evenings. The outside world vanished beneath the mosquito net, leaving only hushed secrets. He told stories of heroic warriors and wise kings. The cadence of promise was in his voice. "One day, I'll protect you like them," said the brother quietly. You won't ever be harmed. The faint lantern light sparkled in Abigail's eyes. She had complete faith in him.

Their stronghold was the mango tree. They ascended its branches, harvested its fruit, and established themselves as the leaders of their small realm. He bowed dramatically and always handed her the nicest piece. "For my little queen," said the brother. Abigail's laughter reverberated throughout the compound.

He was more than simply a brother to her. He was her universe, her hero, and her protector. There was no loneliness in his company. She found strength in his laughter. And she found hope in his assurances.

With its branches extending like arms to welcome the kids, the mango tree loomed tall in the center of the compound. It was more than just a tree to Abigail and her brother; it was a kingdom, a stronghold, a hallowed location where laughing was king.

They ran across the yard every afternoon, their bare feet pounding the ground as the sun sank low and stained the sky in shades of gold. Following her brother's naughty yells, Abigail's laughter resounded like bells. With the dexterity of a young warrior, he usually arrived at the tree first, while Abigail scurried behind, determined not to fall behind.

He picked the ripest mango at the top, its skin shining in the last of the sun like a jewel. He bowed low in front of her and descended with a flourish. "For my little queen," said Brother dramatically. As if it were a crown, he put the fruit in her hands.

Abigail burst into sheer, uncontrollable laughter. He used the edge of his shirt to wipe away the sweetness that trickled down her chin as she bit into the mango.

They sat together under the tree, the cold ground beneath their feet and the branches murmuring above them.

"One day, I'll climb quicker than you," teases Abigail. "Impossible," said Brother, grinning. This stronghold is ruled by me. However, you will always be my queen.

The tree served as their playground, stronghold, and throne. Its shade protected their dreams, while its roots held their secrets. The mango tree served as a reminder that they were a part of one other when the outer world seemed too vast and harsh.

They ruled over a kingdom that no one else could enter in its branches. They were unbeatable under its shade. They also tasted the sweetness of an apparently enduring friendship in its fruit.

That year's heavy rains pounded the ground until the property was covered in muck and the mango tree continued to drip, its branches drooping from the weight of the water. The scent of melancholy and wet earth pervaded the air.

It was just a fever at first. Beneath the thin blanket, her brother shuddered, his forehead heated to the touch. Like other fevers, Abigail believed it will pass. But he was losing more and more strength every day. The lad who had run her to the mango tree was now lying on the mat, breathing shallowly with his chest rising and falling.

The compound was no longer filled with the sound of laughter. The mango tree remained motionless, anticipating footsteps that never materialized. Desperate to keep him alive, Abigail sat next to him, her tiny hands gripping his.

"Please don't leave me," Abigail said in a broken, whispered voice. Her tears mixed with the perspiration that moistened his skin as they fell onto his hand.

He c****d his head slightly, the warmth of love still shining in his faded eyes. He attempted a smile, his lips quivering. "You'll be strong, Abigail," Brother said. Make me a promise.

With a breath that felt too feeble to last, the words were brittle. Abigail's heart tightened. She gave a hasty nod, but on the inside, she cried out against reality. "I promise, but you can't go," sobs Abigail. You are unable to.

The rain outside pounded more forcefully, as if the skies were grieving alongside her. The flame of the candle struggled against the moist air as it flickered in the corner. Whispering of ends, shadows extended across the walls.

Refusing to let go, Abigail crushed her forehead into his hand. She had a deep-seated belief that her love would keep him here and prevent him from escaping. However, a chilling fear was already seeping in, hinting that the pledge she had made would soon be put to the test.

Silence engulfed the compound a few days later. Her brother's remains was still faintly imprinted in the woven threads of the empty mat where he had formerly rested. There was a lot of sadness in the air. The sound of her parents' sobs reverberated throughout the rooms, shaking the walls and piercing Abigail's heart with their unadulterated agony.

Her tiny feet dragged on the wet ground as she walked aimlessly until she came to rest under the mango tree. The sound of the branches gently swaying in the wind had become a dirge, a melancholy whisper, rather than a joyful one.

She held a mango in her hands, one of the fruits he had once plucked with a flourish for her. When she bit into it, the sweetness vanished. On her tongue, it tasted as bitter as ashes.

Tears seeped into the creases of the hard bark as Abigail placed her face against it. "I'm alone," whispered Abigail.

Once their stronghold, the tree now served as a memorial to their loss. Its fruit no longer crowned her as "little queen," and its shade no longer provided cover for laughter. Every leaf served as a reminder of what had been taken, making it a cemetery of memories.

The world seemed empty. There was an emptiness that nothing could fill in place of the laughter that had previously filled her days. Abigail's childhood came to an end in that silence, which was louder than any cry.

There was a lot of grief in the house. Sadness lingered around like smoke that would not go away, even when the cries of sadness had subsided. Abigail's parents made an effort to show affection during the quiet. They embraced her, caressed her hair, and whispered vows that she would never be alone.

Her father gave her modest gifts—bright ribbons, sweet snacks, anything to make her smile—and her mother tucked her in at night while whispering prayers over her. Desperate to mend the rift that had split their family apart, they poured all of their love into her.

However, the void within her was never filled with warmth. Abigail gave a slight smile, but her gaze stayed far away as she searched for a chuckle that would never come. A reminder of the brother who had once proclaimed her "little queen," the mango tree stood outside with its limbs waving in the wind. It was merely a monument to absence now.

She became their lone kid and the object of their love. "At least you still have Abigail," neighbors remarked, praising her parents' commitment. But loneliness hung over her like a dark cloud. She was reminded of what was lacking with each hug. She thought that each gift was insufficient to make up for the company she had missed.

Abigail felt empty inside from that point on. It wasn't the kind that went away with time; rather, it was a deep wound that shaped all of her desires and thoughts. Fearful of losing adoration once more, she held desperately to it. Beneath that desperation, resentment started to grow—resentment for anyone who may pose a threat to the love she was so zealously guarding.

When the vehicle entered her family's compound, she was thirteen. A girl who would transform everything had been brought to dwell with them by her uncle.

The girl was little, thin, and black in contrast to Abigail. Being the only kid, Abigail had always yearned for company. She had welcomed Anita into her arms, longing for someone to play with, adore, and spend her days with.

Almost immediately, the girls were inseparable. They chased each other through the pawpaw trees and around the fish pond as they ran barefoot across the yard, their laughter resounding like bells. For the first time, Abigail's parents had grinned, happy to witness their daughter's happiness.

After that, the agreement was finalized. Anita would stay with them forever.

“Darayo?” Curious, Abigail asked.

"No, no, no, Anita," the girl gently corrected with a courteous smile.

"What does that mean?"

Anita shrugged and said, "I... don't know ooo," raising her tiny shoulders as if she were bearing the burden of her own doubts.

Abigail wondered why she hadn't been given a Yoruba name by her parents. Maybe it didn't matter. Maybe it didn't exist for her. At the time, she didn't comprehend.

The girls chatted and giggled as they sat by the fish pond. However, a subtle strain started to develop even in those early days; it was almost undetectable, a gentle tremor beneath the surface of innocence.

After a year, the peace of childhood gave way to small cracks. The first significant breakdown occurred on Anita's parents' anniversary of passing away. Anita was taken into the sitting room and placed in front of her parents' photographs while the family assembled. The adults thought she would cry or grieve, but all she did was look.

Abigail's mother tried to console her. Shaking with fear and sorrow, Anita let out a high-pitched, angry scream. Chaos broke out in the room. She was restrained by Abigail and her uncle until she eventually passed out from exhaustion.

Abigail's heart bled with sorrow as she watched Anita suffer, but she also felt a slight twinge of jealousy. She saw that Anita was the focus of her parents' attention and that they seemed to save their compliments for her.

Everything gradually swung in Anita's direction, including money, snacks, clothing, and attention. Abigail's accomplishments, pleasures, and voice seemed unseen. She was there but invisible, a shadow in her own house.

"I simply... One afternoon, Abigail pressed her cheek against the cool wall of her room and whimpered, "I just want my parents back." "I want to be important. I want to be sufficient. Salian could still feel Abigail's recollections weighing heavily and suffocating on her chest. Betrayal and loss appeared to permeate the air.

"That day, Daddy was driving, and Mummy sat in front with Anita in her arms," Abigail recounted, her voice trembling. She went to the center table and rocked back and forth while kneeling a little. "I believed that it would pass."

"However, Salian..." She went to her knees, trembling violently, as her voice broke. "That was only the start."

Her body trembled with the weight of years of pain, and tears ran down her cheeks. With her arms encircling her, Salian whispered to herself, "Holy Spirit, guide her, protect her heart, cure her pain."

With her words stuck in her throat, Abigail went on. "I attempted... I cherished I disclosed... I did everything I could, but it was never enough.

"Even as a child, everything was gradually taken away from me, including affection, clothes, food, and attention," she remarked. I ended up becoming an orphan in my own house.

Salian tightened his grip on her. "Abigail, you're not alone. I am present. I won't abandon you. We've seen you. You are cherished.

Abigail raised her tear-streaked face. "Until Michael arrived, I hardly made it through it all. Maybe then, I thought, it would be sufficient. However, even that was insufficient. I made an effort to fight, to forgive, to live, and still...

The room held its breath as history and present met, and her voice trembled. Betrayals from childhood, neglect, and stolen love loomed large.

on her, exposing and exposing her. Only Salian and the weight of her own experiences made Abigail feel truly noticed.

"Nemesis... it has followed me all my life," she muttered into the silent chamber.

Salian caressed her back and kept her close. "After that, we confront it together. You're not fighting on your alone. You are not defined by your past. No more.