You Can't Stop The Unraveling Truths

PROLOGUE "Note that this is my first book, and I'm still learning. As a result, the narrative may jump between events that are connected but not necessarily linear. To help guide you through these transitions, I've used a visual separator [-------] to indicate a shift to a new event. Please don't be confused by these narrative jumps." THE STORY BEGINS The evening air carried a hint of dust and mango leaves as the last streaks of sunlight brushed over the street. Finn sat quietly on the old wooden bench outside the compound wall, head low, thumbs rubbing a nervous pattern into his palm. Elias kicked a pebble as he approached, his sandals scraping against the concrete. He flopped down beside Finn, their shoulders barely touching. For a few beats, neither of them spoke. Then Elias tilted his head toward him. “Your folks still breathing down your neck?” Finn didn’t look up. “Yeah.” A pause. Elias let out a short laugh. “You’re nineteen, man. They still act like you’re in junior secondary.” Finn’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “My dad’s barely ever around. Work, travel, whatever. When he is around, he barely says ten words to me. Everything falls on my mom.” “And she tracks your every move?” Finn nodded. “Every move. Every breath. If I come home late, she acts like I’ve committed a crime.” Elias leaned back on his elbows. “You ever talk to her about it?” Finn snorted. “Tried once. She said I was being rude. Then she cried. Then somehow it turned into me not appreciating her sacrifices.” He laughed—but it was bitter, tight. “She says I need to start making money. Help out like a real man. Like my father.” Elias blinked. “Wait—she said that? That you need to be a man?” “More than once.” Finn finally turned to face him, and his eyes looked tired in a way no teenager’s should. “She doesn’t care how I get the money,” he muttered. “She just wants me to bring it.” The words hung between them. No wind. No bird sounds. Just that truth sitting raw in the air. Elias sat up straight. “You serious?” Finn gave a slow nod. “If I started doing yahoo or something tomorrow, I honestly think she’d just look away. As long as I put something on the table.” Elias shook his head. “That’s not right, man. That’s… that’s heavy.” Finn didn’t respond. He stared ahead like he was somewhere else. “I mean, your art,” Elias added, more gently. “Your drawing—people like it, don’t they? It brings in something, right?” Finn’s fingers curled around the edge of the bench. “A little. Not enough.” Elias nudged him lightly. “Still something. I remember that sketch you made of the old woman by the roadside. I swear, I saw her soul in that picture. You’ve got something real, Finn.” Finn looked at him then—really looked—and something in his chest eased just a little. Elias smiled, that crooked one he always wore when he wanted to say something deeper but didn’t know how. “I should head home,” he said after a beat. Finn nodded, eyes dropping to the ground again. “Yeah.” Elias stood and brushed off his shorts. As he turned to leave, Finn said softly, “Thanks… for not making it feel like I’m crazy.” Elias didn’t answer. He just raised a hand in quiet understanding before walking off into the deepening dusk. The smile hadn’t fully left Finn’s face from talking to Elias, but the moment he stepped inside the gate, the air shifted. Voices. From the backyard, he could hear his mother, Mercy, her tone sharp but tired. “How much did you make from the fish you caught today?” “Three thousand,” Paul replied, his voice calm, as always. “It should cover a few things we’re missing at home.” Mercy sighed. “It won’t feed us tomorrow. If Finn had a job like his friends, maybe things would be different.” A beat of silence. Paul’s tone deepened. “Don’t pressure him.” “He’s not a boy, Paul. He’s nineteen. That’s a man.” “He’s my son,” Paul said firmly. “And when it’s time, he’ll find his own way.” There was a pause. Then Mercy’s voice softened, almost to a whisper. “Where’s the money for the food?” The sound of fabric rustling. Paul dipped into his pocket and pulled out crumpled bills—₦2,500. He pressed it into her hand without a word. Finn didn’t move. He stood just inside the door, listening. He could feel the weight of their struggle in every sentence. He wanted to speak—wanted to defend himself—but his throat felt like it had closed shut. --- On the other side of town, Elias was walking home when he spotted Peter leaning against a wall, arms crossed. “Guy, how far?” Peter grinned. “Where you dey go?” “Home.” Peter fell in step beside him. “Boss man said we get meeting this evening.” Elias frowned. “Sheeet. Where?” “Our usual spot—not the one police scattered the other day.” Elias rubbed his jaw. “What’s it about?” Peter shrugged. “Who knows. Maybe something serious. Maybe not. He just said we should show.” “If it’s to fight again, I’m not in,” Elias muttered. “Last time, we lost two people. I almost lost my own life.” Peter was quiet for a second. Then he nodded. “Let’s just go hear. Nothing spoil.” --- Elsewhere, Arlo stood in front of a dusty mirror, twisting side to side. “Look at my outfit. You think it’s okay for the party?” Sandra glanced over from the bed, smiled. “The trousers fit the top. Who bought you this fine cloth?” “I did,” Arlo said, chin raised with pride. “I saved for it. Can’t I buy something for myself?” Sandra grinned. “Okay, boss. Just make sure you bring your wife home next.” Arlo rolled his eyes but couldn’t help smiling. Arlo raised an eyebrow, then let out a sharp hiss. “Tch.” Sandra burst into laughter, her eyes lighting up. “I swear, I think you’re the one who’s changed,” she teased, nudging his arm. “I haven’t seen you around any boys either.” He gave her a crooked smile. “That’s because I haven’t found the right person yet.” Sandra arched a brow. “Oh? So you’re waiting for ‘the one’?” Arlo stretched out on the edge of the couch, arms crossed behind his head. “Do you think it’s that easy to find love?” His voice was calm, but there was a shadow in it. “Real love doesn't just fall into your lap.” Sandra tilted her head, watching him closely. “You know… if your mother’s parents ever find out about this side of you, it’s going to be a serious problem.” Arlo went still. “I know,” he said after a pause. Then he opened his mouth to say more—but nothing came out. He just looked away, lips tightening, like whatever words he had were safer left unsaid. --- Meanwhile… “Finn, your friend is here,” Mercy called from the sitting room. Jasper stepped inside the house without waiting for a response. He gave Paul a quick nod of respect, then made his way straight to Finn’s room. Finn was at his desk, his pencil gliding over paper with slow, careful strokes. Jasper leaned over his shoulder. “So you’re really handing this over to the birthday girl?” Finn shrugged. “Yeah. She paid.” Jasper chuckled. “She’s beautiful in real life, but in this drawing? You made her look even more fine. Like—way past reality.” Finn turned to face him. “Wait. If she looks better in the drawing than real life, then how is it still her?” Jasper grinned. “Don’t underrate your skill, abeg. I love it. For real.” Finn gave a small smile, but his eyes flickered—tired, maybe unsure. Still, he said nothing more, and neither did Jasper. ------- Elsewhere The compound smelled of damp earth and leftover heat as night settled in. A faint buzz of generator hum filled the background, mixing with the chirp of crickets. Inside an abandoned classroom turned hideout, they gathered—half-circle, dim bulb swinging from a single cord overhead. The room was thick with sweat and anticipation. Boss Man stood at the center, arms folded behind his back. His eyes swept the room, slow and sharp. “So now, as you're all here,” he began, voice low and deliberate, “let me remind you who you are.” He paused. “We are Archivers.” No one moved. Some nodded. Some just stared, waiting. “Anybody that keeps their things carelessly, we archive it. Phones, wallets, anything. You see that birthday party tomorrow?” He raised a hand slightly, and a few of the boys straightened up. “I want results. Phones, at least. Money, if you can. Don’t come back empty.” His eyes narrowed. “And listen—if you bring me what I want, your rank changes. Promotion, boys. But if you waste my time...” He let the sentence hang, unfinished. “Dismissed.” The boys scattered, footsteps fading into the darkness one by one. ------ Mercy and Paul The glow from the television flickered across Mercy’s face as she pointed at the screen. “I just don’t understand,” she said sharply. “Two full-grown men. Kissing each other like it’s normal.” Paul shifted beside her on the couch, barely glancing up. “It’s just a movie.” Mercy turned to him, eyes wide. “Just a movie? They love each other? You’re calling that love?” Paul gave a short laugh, not cruel—just tired. “Yeah. It’s love. Even if you don’t get it.” Mercy clicked her tongue and shook her head. “It disgusts me. God forbid it was us. What if my only son turned out like that?” She spat the words with a bitter rhythm. “I would throw him out this house.” Behind her, the door creaked. Finn stepped out from his room, silent, catching her last sentence mid-air. Paul looked up, startled. “God forbid,” he muttered quickly. Mercy turned to continue, but Finn was already out the door. Outside, the night wrapped around him like a thick blanket. He found a spot near the fence and sank to the ground, knees pulled up, arms resting over them. His mind replayed her voice. Again. Again. Louder each time. I would throw him out. He stared into the dark, the ache in his chest slowly building. What if she found out? he thought. She wouldn’t protect me. She wouldn’t even ask questions. And maybe—just maybe—she never really loved me to begin with.