Chapter 4
2042 Words
Abi leaned on the doorway, arms crossed, eyes fixed on Mercy’s slumped shoulders.
“Mercy,” she said gently. “You look worried. What’s wrong?”
Mercy didn’t look up. Her hands were buried in her lap, fingers twisting together.
“I just feel… useless,” she muttered. “I keep pushing Finn to work, to bring money home. But look at me—I’m not doing anything myself. No job. Nothing.”
Abi stepped inside, voice calm. “You’re not alone, Mercy. And you’re a woman—you have a husband. You’re still his responsibility.”
Mercy let out a bitter laugh. “Still doesn’t feel right.”
Abi gave her a nudge. “Well, there’s something. Timi—my cousin—needs someone to help her sell at her shop. It’s nothing fancy, but she pays steady. It could be a start.”
Mercy finally looked up, her eyes softening. “Really?”
Abi smiled. “Yes. You want to do something—this is something.”
Mercy nodded slowly, a glimmer of relief in her chest. “That’s a great idea.”
---
Finn had just completed another portrait — his fingers still stained with charcoal — and was on his way to deliver it to its owner, hoping to finally collect his pay. As he strolled past a busy roadside restaurant, the low hum of conversations and clinking glasses drifted into the street.
At one of the open-air tables, Arlo sat surrounded by a small group of friends, a half-empty glass of beer resting loosely in his hand. His laughter stalled mid-breath when his eyes caught sight of a familiar figure walking past. At first, he thought his mind was playing tricks on him — but the longer he stared, the clearer it became.
It was Finn.
Without a second thought, Arlo pushed back his chair, drink still in hand, and excused himself, barely hearing his friends calling after him. He weaved through the crowd, his heart skipping faster with every step as he closed the gap between them.
“Hey…” he called softly from behind. “What’s up? How are you?”
Finn slowed, turning slightly, his expression relaxing at the sight of him. “I’m fine,” he answered.
“Where are you heading to?” Arlo asked, the corners of his mouth lifting into a half-smile.
Finn raised the drawing he carried. “Off to deliver this.”
Arlo reached out. “Let me see.”
Without much thought, Finn handed over the rolled paper. Arlo carefully opened it, his eyes scanning the detailed lines and the way every shadow seemed to breathe life into the portrait.
“Wow…” Arlo muttered, genuinely impressed. “This is incredible.”
His eyes flicked back to Finn with a playful glint. “When I’m ready, I want you to draw me too. But make sure you include yourself in the picture.”
Finn blinked, a little caught off guard. “As what?” he asked, chuckling awkwardly.
Arlo tilted his head, pretending to think. “Maybe as the person standing right next to me — where you seem to fit perfectly.”
Their laughter tangled in the air, but even through the joke, there was a soft weight in Arlo’s tone that Finn couldn’t ignore.
A small silence stretched between them before Arlo offered, “Let me get you something. You look like you haven’t eaten.”
Finn narrowed his gaze slightly, curious now. “Why are you being so... nice all of a sudden?”
Arlo’s smile softened. “That’s just me. I like making my friends feel special.”
His words lingered longer than they should, leaving Finn wondering if there was more to them than friendship alone.
“Do you... have a girlfriend?” Finn asked, voice quieter than before.
Arlo shook his head. “No.”
That simple answer stirred something unspoken inside Finn. For a moment, his mind raced — was it just friendship, or something else growing between them?
Breaking the silence, Finn glanced over Arlo’s shoulder at the table of boys still watching them from the restaurant.
“Your friends are staring,” he mumbled, forcing a polite smile. “I should go, I have to deliver this before it gets too late.”
Arlo stepped back but not without a quiet request. “Then at least pick up when I call, okay?”
Finn nodded, the warmth of their exchange lingering long after they walked away from each other.
-----
“Hey—he’s dead!”
The cry rang out, cutting through the air like a blade. It didn’t come from one person—it came from many, all at once. People rushed toward the scene, voices colliding, feet pounding the pavement.
The small crowd thickened. Some stared. Others whispered. Some just stood frozen.
The apprentice, still on the ground, stirred. His eyes blinked open slowly, face pale, blood from Paul’s body smeared on his hands. He sat up, dazed, struggling to breathe as the realization began to sink in.
A man in the crowd bent down, picking up the screwdriver lying beside him. “This was in his hand,” he said, holding it up. “Someone must’ve beat the both of them and used this to kill the man.”
“No,” another voice shouted, stepping forward. “That boy used it on him! Look at the blood! Hold him up before he runs!”
Hands grabbed at the apprentice before he could even stand. His lips parted like he wanted to speak—but no words came. He could berely recall the event. He hadn’t seen the blow. He truly didn’t know what happened.
“Call the police!” someone screamed. “And get an ambulance! That man needs to be taken to the mortuary—this boy to the hospital. Under custody!”
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Moments later, a white ambulance arrived, lights flashing. The paramedics worked quickly, but the result was already clear—Paul was gone. They carefully lifted his body onto a stretcher, sliding him into the back of the van.
Police vans pulled up behind them, tires screeching. Uniformed officers pushed the crowd back, questioning bystanders, locking the area down.
The street, once noisy with shouts and arguments, fell into a tense, heavy silence.
---
Back at home…
Mercy sat on a wooden stool outside her house, hands folded, eyes far away.
“Maybe it’s time,” she murmured to herself. “I should go talk to her about that job. No work, no food... we can’t keep living like this.”
Just then, a girl walked up to the gate, face anxious, voice hurried.
“Madam Mercy! Am I late? I thought someone told you already—”
Mercy looked up slowly. “Told me what?”
Abi stepped out from the kitchen, wiping her hands. “What’s going on?”
The girl hesitated, then blurted it out. “I thought you knew. Your husband… someone killed him.”
Mercy stared. “What did you say?”
Abi stepped between them. “Are you mad? What kind of nonsense are you saying?”
“I’m serious,” the girl insisted. “Your husband… he’s the mechanic at Highland Street, right?”
Mercy nodded once, stiff.
“He got into a fight with his apprentice. People say he’s dead. That boy killed him.”
Mercy’s body jolted like it had been struck. She didn’t scream—not right away. She just turned to Abi, her voice barely a whisper, lips trembling.
“What is she saying…?”
Abi’s face was pale. “She’s saying Paul… he’s gone.”
It hit like thunder.
Mercy screamed—so loud and raw it silenced the street. For a split second, even the birds seemed to pause in the trees.
“My husband!” she cried, clutching her chest as her earrings flashed in the sunlight. Her knees buckled, and she collapsed into Abi’s arms, her face twisted with pain, her eyes spilling over with tears.
“No—no, I must die with him. I must go with him!”
She tried to stand, fumbling with her slippers as she got to her feet again, broken and shaking.
Abi held her tighter, eyes wide with fear. “Mercy, don’t. Please. Stay with me.”
But Mercy was already walking toward the gate, as if she could walk into the pain and pull her husband back.
---
“Hey sir, this is it,” Finn said, carefully unrolling the portrait and handing it over.
The man’s eyes widened with surprise as he studied the drawing.
“Wow… I really love your work,” he said, running his fingers over the edges. “You must be very talented.”
Before Finn could respond, the man’s young son leaned forward with a smirk.
“Daddy, I can draw better than this boy. Just give me your picture—I’ll draw something even finer than this one.”
The man turned sharply. “You? You that can’t even draw a bird, talk less of my face? Go and sit down.”
The boy frowned and crossed his arms.
The man smiled and looked back at Finn. “My artist,” he said proudly. “How much is it?”
Finn shifted slightly. “You can give me eighteen thousand, sir.”
“No problem,” the man said, already reaching for his phone. “Send me your account details.”
Finn’s POV:
She doesn’t even know about this job. I’m not giving her anything. I’ll buy that shirt I’ve been admiring. Finally.
---
Meanwhile…
The boy blinked against the harsh white light above him.
Everything was blurry.
His chest felt tight, like something was holding him down. He tried to move but couldn’t. Then he saw it—a thin, clear tube running into his arm, connected to a bag of fluid.
He was on a hospital bed.
He turned his head slowly and saw another patient across the room, lying motionless.
His eyelids fluttered.
Then a shadow came into focus—blue shirt, badge, eyes staring.
A police officer.
“You’re awake now,” the officer said, voice cold. “Tell me—what happened? Why did you kill him?”
The boy’s throat tightened. His voice cracked. “I… I didn’t…”
The officer stepped forward. “Don’t lie. Do you want me to pull this syringe out? You’ll bleed faster than you can talk.”
Tears welled in the boy’s eyes. “I didn’t… I swear… I didn’t…”
His words were jumbled, frantic.
The officer leaned closer.
Just then, a woman in a white coat entered—calm but firm.
“Excuse me, investigator,” she said. “Please step outside. Now’s not the time. He needs rest. He needs to stay alive.”
The officer’s brow furrowed. “Are you teaching me how to do my job?”
“No, sir,” the doctor replied. “But I’m asking you to let me do mine.”
After a long pause, the officer backed off. The doctor moved to the boy’s side and checked his pulse.
“You’re safe for now,” she whispered.
---
Finn...
The sun was low as he walked the dusty road toward home, still thinking about how he’d spend his payment. His mind was on the new shirt, the one in the boutique window he kept passing.
But as he reached the corner of his street, something felt… off.
A small crowd stood near his compound gate. Women with wrappers tied high around their waists, murmuring. Some were shaking their heads. Others just stared at him, eyes full of something he couldn’t place.
Grief. Pity. Shock.
They stared at him like he was someone famous. Or someone cursed.
Finn: “What’s going on?”
No one answered.
He pushed past them, heart pounding. He reached the door and flung it open.
Inside, Mercy sat on the floor, surrounded by neighbors. Her hands clutched her chest, her face soaked in tears. Abi sat beside her, holding her tightly.
Finn’s breath caught. His chest squeezed tight.
“Mom… what happened?” he whispered. “Where’s Daddy?”
- Writer
