Chiamaka Ajunwa 9 months ago
@theuntamedwrit... 5 min read Write a comment #short-stories


A Priest by day, an Assassin by night...Father Alex stared at the blood-smeared letters on his reading table.

Father Alex stared at the blood-smeared letters on his reading table. They were the same kind of Letters Father Gabriel, his mentor, had received two months ago. The message was as expected; full of threats and callous language. It wasn't written by a sane but a psychopath: because it had sentences like kill, blade, barbed wire, and some crazy sharp tools one could ever think of in this world.

Attached to the letter were pictures of two dead reverend fathers, a 9-year-old child, and an old woman, all four shot at one part of their bodies, and their mouths gagged. It looks as though the photo was taken from a car. The scene also looked familiar because this was the same place he had met with Mr. Hernandez, the gatekeeper at the local school. Father Alex knew that the letter was written with a left hand. He could distinguish between a right-hand written letter from a left-handed one.

In the past, he had helped the Policia catch a calligraphic criminal who usually mimicked the influencer's handwriting and sent a threatening message to them before killing them. Thanks to his "psychometric powers," the police hunt was a success. And at age 12, he was invited by the Commissioner of Police, but his stepfather locked him in his room for two days straight. That invitation could have earned him a college degree. Ever since that incident, he had been plotting how to deal with the old man by resorting to street fights. He also needed to teach the old man a lesson for always giving his mom rainbow marks on her skin.

Staring at the letters before him with a picture of Father Gabriel attached at the fold of the letter, his blood began to boil in sizzles. All his pent-up emotions of keeping quiet and letting his loved ones slip before his fingers suddenly burst out. In less than two minutes, his well-arranged room was thrown into a mess, except for the pictures of the Blessed Virgin Mary and of Jesus Christ.

At mass the next day, Father Martin with Father Pablo went to see him after they had celebrated morning mass. After Father Alex had blessed the little schoolchildren that morning, he decided to head to the police station and pay a visit to his friend, who was a detective. "We heard some strange noises yesterday night," Father Pablo announced. They already knew that it was from Fr Alex because they, too, had watched Fr Gabriel pick him from the streets and bless him on his ordination day.

Father Martin never failed to ask him why his hands were bandaged on Christmas Eve. "I tripped and fell when I was assisting the Sisters in arranging the Christmas decorations," he said, avoiding eye contact. "Don't you think it's a shame for a Priest of God, who administers the body of Christ to his people, to tell a lie?" Father Pablo retorted. He then continued, "Father Alex, we advise that you don't take matters into your hands and allow the police to do their jobs. It won't do you any good if you get involved" "I understand, Father," he mumbled and left them gaping in shock.

Just as he was about to start his car, Veronica, the village Journalist, pulled into the Parish compound. She had to constantly keep up with his long strides sometimes when walking alongside him. Quickly turning off her engine, she rushed to meet him after greeting the two older priests. "Excuse me, Father Alex," she called out, tapping in his car window. "Yes?" He said, turning swiftly with annoyance as he wound down his glass. But Veronica couldn't care less as long as she was provided with information that made her job easier. "I have a few questions to ask about the news," she said, almost panting.

"Miss Veronica, the fact that I've provided you with little information doesn't mean you can come here as you wish," he rebuked. "I know, Father, and I'm sorry about that. I happened to visit a good friend of mine at the police station, and she gave me a little information about Father Gabriel's death," she said, trying to catch her breath. "Ok. Good luck with that," he mumbled, trying to start his car. "It has to do with your mother's death too," she called after him. "What....?"

To be continued...

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