THE LAST PROMISE
PART 12
The knock on Mary’s door was loud, insistent. Boom. Boom. Boom. It vibrated through the small living room. Mary knew who it was before she looked through the peephole. Andre stood there, his face tight with anger and confusion. He looked rumpled, a small bandage stark white on his temple where she’d hit him.
For a moment, Mary froze, her hand trembling on the door chain. The image of those damning messages – "Pretend if you must," "5 million Naira," "I know my job" – flashed behind her eyes, hot and sharp. Then, a cold, hard calm settled over her. She took a deep breath, wiped any trace of emotion from her face, and opened the door.
"Andre," she said, her voice flat, devoid of warmth. "What do you want?"
"Why?" he demanded, pushing past her into the small sitting room without waiting for an invitation. He looked around, his gaze landing on Kelvin’s framed photo on the side table. "Why did you run out like that? Why didn’t you wake me? What happened?" He turned to face her, his eyes searching hers, still holding a flicker of the concern he’d perfected. "You scared me, Mary."
Mary closed the door slowly, the click echoing in the tense silence. She leaned against it for a second, gathering the storm inside her. "I needed air," she lied, her voice still unnervingly calm. She walked past him towards the small kitchen area, her movements deliberate. "Sit down, Andre."
He hesitated, watching her, a frown deepening the crease between his brows. Something was off. Her stillness was unnatural. But he sat heavily on her worn sofa, sinking into the faded Ankara fabric cushions. He ran a hand over his face, wincing slightly as he touched the bandage. "Mary, talk to me. What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?"
Mary didn’t answer immediately. She stood near the entrance to the tiny kitchen, her back to him. Her gaze fell on the heavy wooden pestle resting in its mortar on the counter. It was smooth, worn from years of pounding yam. It felt solid, heavy in her hand when she picked it up silently.
"I just..." Andre started again, shifting uncomfortably.
That was when Mary moved.
She spun around, a silent blur of fury. Andre barely had time to register her movement, to see the glint of hard determination in her eyes that was nothing like the woman he knew, before the pestle came down. THWACK. The heavy wood connected solidly with the back of his head, right next to the existing wound. His eyes rolled back, a grunt escaping his lips before he slumped forward, unconscious, sliding off the sofa onto the woven rug.
Mary stood over him, panting, the pestle still raised. Her knuckles were white around the smooth wood. She watched his chest rise and fall for a moment, ensuring he was out. Then, she dropped the pestle with a clatter that sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
She worked quickly, efficiently, fueled by a terrifying, focused rage. She dragged Andre’s limp body back onto the sofa. From a cupboard, she pulled out a coil of strong, rough rope she used for tying firewood bundles. With hands that shook only slightly, she hauled his arms behind his back and tied his wrists tightly together. She then tied his ankles together, securing the knots with brutal efficiency. Finally, she used a shorter length to tie his bound ankles to the sturdy wooden legs of the heavy armchair she then heaved him into. He slumped in the chair, head lolling to the side, the bandage stark against his skin.
Two hours crawled by. Mary sat opposite him in another chair, Kelvin’s thick leather belt coiled in her lap like a sleeping snake. She didn’t move. She barely blinked. Her eyes were fixed on Andre, cold and hard as stones. The rage hadn’t faded; it had settled into a deep, icy river flowing through her veins.
A low groan finally broke the silence. Andre stirred, his eyelids fluttering. He tried to move his arms, his legs, his brow furrowing in confusion as he encountered the rough bite of the rope. His eyes flew open, focusing blearily on Mary. Confusion turned to shock, then dawning horror as he realized his situation. He struggled against the ropes, the chair creaking.
"Mary?!" he gasped, his voice thick. "What… what is this? Untie me! What are you doing?"
Mary didn’t answer. Slowly, deliberately, she stood up. She uncoiled the leather belt, the heavy buckle dangling. The sound of the leather sliding free was ominous.
"Andre Udo," she said, her voice low, trembling not with fear, but with suppressed fury. "You have exactly five seconds to tell me the whole truth. Every single word."
"Mary, please! Untie me! This is madness! What truth?" His eyes darted around the room, wide with panic now.
"Five," Mary counted, her voice flat. She took a step closer.
"Four." Another step. The belt hung loose at her side.
"Three." She raised the belt slightly.
"Mary, stop! What do you want to know?" He was straining against the ropes, his face pale.
"Two." The buckle glinted in the light.
"ONE!"
The belt whistled through the air and cracked across his chest, right over his heart. Andre cried out, a sharp, pained sound. The thick leather bit through his shirt.
"AGH! Mary! Stop!"
"Why did Kelvin pay you?" Mary demanded, her voice rising. She raised the belt again. "THE TRUTH!"
"He… he wanted you to be happy!" Andre gasped, flinching as she drew back again. "He paid me to make sure you weren’t alone! To be your friend!"
CRACK. The belt landed on his shoulder. "LIAR!" Mary screamed. "I saw the messages! ALL OF THEM! He paid you FIVE MILLION NAIRA! To PRETEND!"
Andre recoiled, the shock of her knowing evident on his face. "Okay! Okay! Yes! He paid me! He paid me to be there for you, to make you smile, to… to help you move on!"
CRACK. This time across his arm. "Move on HOW?" Mary spat. "By making me FALL IN LOVE? Was that part of Kelvin’s grand plan? Did he pay you to SLEEP WITH ME, Andre? DID HE PAY YOU TO GET INTO MY BED?"
The question hung in the air, raw and ugly. Andre stared at her, breathing heavily, sweat beading on his forehead. Shame warred with fear in his eyes. "No!" he finally choked out. "No, Mary! Kelvin never… he never asked for that! He never paid me for that! He just said… make her feel loved. Make her happy. That’s all! He didn’t specify…"
"Didn’t SPECIFY?" Mary shrieked, the fury erupting again. She brought the belt down again and again – on his arms, his chest, his legs. *CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. Andre cried out with each blow, trying to curl away, but the ropes held him fast. Bruises were already blooming through his thin shirt. "You LIED to me! Every single day! Every touch! Every sweet word! It was all FAKE! BOUGHT AND PAID FOR!"
She paused, panting, the belt held high. Tears streamed down her face now, mixing with the sweat. "Did you EVER care? Even a little bit? Or was it ALL just a job? TELL ME THE TRUTH NOW!"
Andre slumped in the chair, defeated, broken. He looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot. "It was a job," he whispered, his voice raw. "Just a job. Kelvin offered good money. A lot of money. He was desperate. I needed it. I’m sorry, Mary. I’m so sorry. But… no. I didn’t love you. I was paid to make you believe I did."
The words landed like a final, crushing blow. The cold fury surged again, hotter than ever. "Sorry?" she hissed. "SORRY?" She raised the belt with every intention of making him feel a fraction of the pain he’d caused her.
But a wave of exhaustion hit her, so profound it made her sway. The belt felt impossibly heavy. The sight of him tied up, bruised, pathetic – it wasn’t satisfying. It just made her feel hollow. Sick.
She lowered the belt, her shoulders slumping. The fight drained out of her, leaving only a vast, aching emptiness and the bitter taste of betrayal. She stumbled back, dropping the belt onto the floor with a thud. She needed someone. She needed the truth to be heard by someone else.
With trembling hands, she pulled her phone from her pocket. She scrolled through her contacts, her vision blurring. She found the number and pressed call, lifting the phone to her ear.
"Aunty Biola?" Her voice was a broken whisper, thick with tears. "Aunty Biola, please… please come to my house. Now. It’s urgent. It’s about Kelvin… and Andre. Just… please come. Hurry."
She ended the call and sank to her knees on the rug, facing Andre but not seeing him. She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking slightly, silent sobs shaking her body. The storm had passed, leaving only devastation in its wake. The rope marks on Andre’s skin, the discarded belt, and Mary’s shattered form were the only evidence of the terrible reckoning that had just unfolded. The silence that followed was heavier than any blow.
TO BE CONTINUED...
THE LAST PROMISE
PART 12
The knock on Mary’s door was loud, insistent. Boom. Boom. Boom. It vibrated through the small living room. Mary knew who it was before she looked through the peephole. Andre stood there, his face tight with anger and confusion. He looked rumpled, a small bandage stark white on his temple where she’d hit him.
For a moment, Mary froze, her hand trembling on the door chain. The image of those damning messages – "Pretend if you must," "5 million Naira," "I know my job" – flashed behind her eyes, hot and sharp. Then, a cold, hard calm settled over her. She took a deep breath, wiped any trace of emotion from her face, and opened the door.
"Andre," she said, her voice flat, devoid of warmth. "What do you want?"
"Why?" he demanded, pushing past her into the small sitting room without waiting for an invitation. He looked around, his gaze landing on Kelvin’s framed photo on the side table. "Why did you run out like that? Why didn’t you wake me? What happened?" He turned to face her, his eyes searching hers, still holding a flicker of the concern he’d perfected. "You scared me, Mary."
Mary closed the door slowly, the click echoing in the tense silence. She leaned against it for a second, gathering the storm inside her. "I needed air," she lied, her voice still unnervingly calm. She walked past him towards the small kitchen area, her movements deliberate. "Sit down, Andre."
He hesitated, watching her, a frown deepening the crease between his brows. Something was off. Her stillness was unnatural. But he sat heavily on her worn sofa, sinking into the faded Ankara fabric cushions. He ran a hand over his face, wincing slightly as he touched the bandage. "Mary, talk to me. What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?"
Mary didn’t answer immediately. She stood near the entrance to the tiny kitchen, her back to him. Her gaze fell on the heavy wooden pestle resting in its mortar on the counter. It was smooth, worn from years of pounding yam. It felt solid, heavy in her hand when she picked it up silently.
"I just..." Andre started again, shifting uncomfortably.
That was when Mary moved.
She spun around, a silent blur of fury. Andre barely had time to register her movement, to see the glint of hard determination in her eyes that was nothing like the woman he knew, before the pestle came down. THWACK. The heavy wood connected solidly with the back of his head, right next to the existing wound. His eyes rolled back, a grunt escaping his lips before he slumped forward, unconscious, sliding off the sofa onto the woven rug.
Mary stood over him, panting, the pestle still raised. Her knuckles were white around the smooth wood. She watched his chest rise and fall for a moment, ensuring he was out. Then, she dropped the pestle with a clatter that sounded unnaturally loud in the quiet room.
She worked quickly, efficiently, fueled by a terrifying, focused rage. She dragged Andre’s limp body back onto the sofa. From a cupboard, she pulled out a coil of strong, rough rope she used for tying firewood bundles. With hands that shook only slightly, she hauled his arms behind his back and tied his wrists tightly together. She then tied his ankles together, securing the knots with brutal efficiency. Finally, she used a shorter length to tie his bound ankles to the sturdy wooden legs of the heavy armchair she then heaved him into. He slumped in the chair, head lolling to the side, the bandage stark against his skin.
Two hours crawled by. Mary sat opposite him in another chair, Kelvin’s thick leather belt coiled in her lap like a sleeping snake. She didn’t move. She barely blinked. Her eyes were fixed on Andre, cold and hard as stones. The rage hadn’t faded; it had settled into a deep, icy river flowing through her veins.
A low groan finally broke the silence. Andre stirred, his eyelids fluttering. He tried to move his arms, his legs, his brow furrowing in confusion as he encountered the rough bite of the rope. His eyes flew open, focusing blearily on Mary. Confusion turned to shock, then dawning horror as he realized his situation. He struggled against the ropes, the chair creaking.
"Mary?!" he gasped, his voice thick. "What… what is this? Untie me! What are you doing?"
Mary didn’t answer. Slowly, deliberately, she stood up. She uncoiled the leather belt, the heavy buckle dangling. The sound of the leather sliding free was ominous.
"Andre Udo," she said, her voice low, trembling not with fear, but with suppressed fury. "You have exactly five seconds to tell me the whole truth. Every single word."
"Mary, please! Untie me! This is madness! What truth?" His eyes darted around the room, wide with panic now.
"Five," Mary counted, her voice flat. She took a step closer.
"Four." Another step. The belt hung loose at her side.
"Three." She raised the belt slightly.
"Mary, stop! What do you want to know?" He was straining against the ropes, his face pale.
"Two." The buckle glinted in the light.
"ONE!"
The belt whistled through the air and cracked across his chest, right over his heart. Andre cried out, a sharp, pained sound. The thick leather bit through his shirt.
"AGH! Mary! Stop!"
"Why did Kelvin pay you?" Mary demanded, her voice rising. She raised the belt again. "THE TRUTH!"
"He… he wanted you to be happy!" Andre gasped, flinching as she drew back again. "He paid me to make sure you weren’t alone! To be your friend!"
CRACK. The belt landed on his shoulder. "LIAR!" Mary screamed. "I saw the messages! ALL OF THEM! He paid you FIVE MILLION NAIRA! To PRETEND!"
Andre recoiled, the shock of her knowing evident on his face. "Okay! Okay! Yes! He paid me! He paid me to be there for you, to make you smile, to… to help you move on!"
CRACK. This time across his arm. "Move on HOW?" Mary spat. "By making me FALL IN LOVE? Was that part of Kelvin’s grand plan? Did he pay you to SLEEP WITH ME, Andre? DID HE PAY YOU TO GET INTO MY BED?"
The question hung in the air, raw and ugly. Andre stared at her, breathing heavily, sweat beading on his forehead. Shame warred with fear in his eyes. "No!" he finally choked out. "No, Mary! Kelvin never… he never asked for that! He never paid me for that! He just said… make her feel loved. Make her happy. That’s all! He didn’t specify…"
"Didn’t SPECIFY?" Mary shrieked, the fury erupting again. She brought the belt down again and again – on his arms, his chest, his legs. *CRACK. CRACK. CRACK. Andre cried out with each blow, trying to curl away, but the ropes held him fast. Bruises were already blooming through his thin shirt. "You LIED to me! Every single day! Every touch! Every sweet word! It was all FAKE! BOUGHT AND PAID FOR!"
She paused, panting, the belt held high. Tears streamed down her face now, mixing with the sweat. "Did you EVER care? Even a little bit? Or was it ALL just a job? TELL ME THE TRUTH NOW!"
Andre slumped in the chair, defeated, broken. He looked up at her, his eyes bloodshot. "It was a job," he whispered, his voice raw. "Just a job. Kelvin offered good money. A lot of money. He was desperate. I needed it. I’m sorry, Mary. I’m so sorry. But… no. I didn’t love you. I was paid to make you believe I did."
The words landed like a final, crushing blow. The cold fury surged again, hotter than ever. "Sorry?" she hissed. "SORRY?" She raised the belt with every intention of making him feel a fraction of the pain he’d caused her.
But a wave of exhaustion hit her, so profound it made her sway. The belt felt impossibly heavy. The sight of him tied up, bruised, pathetic – it wasn’t satisfying. It just made her feel hollow. Sick.
She lowered the belt, her shoulders slumping. The fight drained out of her, leaving only a vast, aching emptiness and the bitter taste of betrayal. She stumbled back, dropping the belt onto the floor with a thud. She needed someone. She needed the truth to be heard by someone else.
With trembling hands, she pulled her phone from her pocket. She scrolled through her contacts, her vision blurring. She found the number and pressed call, lifting the phone to her ear.
"Aunty Biola?" Her voice was a broken whisper, thick with tears. "Aunty Biola, please… please come to my house. Now. It’s urgent. It’s about Kelvin… and Andre. Just… please come. Hurry."
She ended the call and sank to her knees on the rug, facing Andre but not seeing him. She wrapped her arms around herself, rocking slightly, silent sobs shaking her body. The storm had passed, leaving only devastation in its wake. The rope marks on Andre’s skin, the discarded belt, and Mary’s shattered form were the only evidence of the terrible reckoning that had just unfolded. The silence that followed was heavier than any blow.
TO BE CONTINUED...
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