Must Read: Paradox Of Abel - Season 1 - Episode 25

Episode 7 years ago

Must Read: Paradox Of Abel - Season 1 - Episode 25

Believing that, somehow, Remi was in danger, Daniel quickly dashed out of the room into the corridor, he ran down the hallway and reached another adjoining hallway. Others were running in this hallway to a certain direction, the direction of the wail. That scream had been heard all around the house.



They raced down the small stairs and round the bend of the passage, past doors of the dining room and sitting room until they came to the big entrance door. Three people were there already: Remi, the maid and Esther. Daniel sighed in relief at seeing Vera without harm, and on the other hand, he was surprised to see her there. She must have been very fast to have run round the house and come to the door here. The three women were banging at the door frantically.
“The door is locked.” Esther was saying, “The door is locked!”
David pushed past and wrestled it from her. He, too, turned and twisted at the handle. He held up his hand and in silence they all listened. No sound came from outside the house except the barking of the dog.
“We’ve got to break the door down. It’s the only way.” Daniel heard Ariel speak.
“That’s going to be a tough job, brother,” replied David. “This door is made of good solid wood. aren’t you a novelist? I thought you had to be smart to write books.”
“I have the keys.” The maid suddenly said.
“Where’s it?” they all asked in unison.
“In my room.”
“Then go and get it now!” David ordered loudly.




The maid scrambled away and returned two minutes later with a bunch of keys. Soon, the heavy door was unlocked and all rushed out.



The sight that greeted them was beyond expectation. Every face under the illumination of the moon carried a visceral show of horror and revulsion.




The view before them was the landlord of the house – Jamal Malik. The man was lying on his belly, with arms and legs spread widely apart, like an octopus. He was dead; the hilt of a knife stood on his back, and even the blood that oozed out of the stab wound was visible under the moonlight.






The only person absent among them was Hannah Malik. The eight who had responded to the scream now stood watching the corpse.





None of them approached the body. Like spectators at a street-fight, they all continued watching. There was no doubt about it, Jamal Malik was dead.



The first person to speak among them was Esther, “He looks so small in death.”


There was a long shuddering sigh among them all, and then David spoke:
“The moon moves slowly but by daybreak it crosses the sky.”
Daniel, taking up the duty of a police officer he once were, walked steadily towards the figure on the ground, drifted leaves crushed as hard as snail shells under his feet. Although he knew that the man was as dead as an iced mackerel, Daniel still felt it was a necessary obligation to do that, just for certainty. Perhaps, he thought, doing that was the only thing to do aside just standing and watching. The others watched him as he stepped forward towards the body. He could feel about six pairs of eyes drilling curious holes at the back of his head.



When he reached the body he squatted beside it. He could now see the face of the corpse clearly; the eyes were still and the mouth opened as if the man had died while trying to say something. As he reached out his hand to feel the dead man’s pulse, a part of him was scared that the corpse would sputter the words ‘Don’t touch me.’ Corpses don’t make such audible complaints. Not since the days on and off the police force had he witnessed such ludicrous horror. Maybe one day he’d find one suing its murderer for homicide. If that day ever came, Daniel was sure he’d totally lose his sanity, he would, of course, have to blow his own brain out or throw himself off a tall building, or both. When his hand reached the neck the corpse did not complain, but Daniel did not feel any pulse.




The victim had been killed because of who he was, where he was, what he had done, what he knew. The clues to a murder lay always in the clues to life, so Daniel had learnt.






Knowing how sacred most crimes scenes were, Daniel stood up and stepped away from the body. He walked towards the six onlookers and confirmed their beliefs.
“He’s dead.” He said, then continued, “But nothing must be touched.









Remember that, nothing. No one must move close to where the body lay until the police arrive. That is most important.”







No one confronted Daniel for taking a sudden authoritative mantle in a house where he was totally a stranger. As a matter of fact, they seemed not to have heard him. They were just staring at the corpse like a heard of sheep.









Jamal Malik’s personality must have been more powerful in life than was its absence in death, for on no one’s face did Daniel read any meaning to grief Most times, when murders did occur, the yet mortal’s first response was usually varied as it always was: fear, pity, fascinated interest, self-importance; a surge of heightened energy at being alive; the pleasure of sharing the news among folks; the hard-shameful excitement of blood spilt which was not one’s own. Daniel knew that each of these feelings could be found on the face of each one of them standing metres away from the corpse, but not one of them revealed a grievous countenance.




Then Anuli, David’s wife, said, “He won’t be changing the will after all.”