The next day…

“Hello, darling. I’m back from father’s place. ” He grunted as he surfed the television stations.

“Are you still angry with me, Emmanuel?” Funmi’s dress barely rippled as she made a tsking sound and shook her head. “Go upstairs and swap those scratches with peroxide while I set the table.”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Of course, you are, darling,” she said with a fixed smile. “Run along and tend to your face. I’ll expect you down shortly.”

Emmanuel recognized her suggestion for what it was – a test to see if he would obey. In her subtle way, she was stating the terms under which she would stay with him, financially support his campaign, and decline to expose him for the unfaithful, lying husband that he was. From her on, she was the writer, producer and director of this charade. If he wanted to play, he must accept his role and carry it out to the letter.

What choice did he have but to accept her conditions, no matter how unpalatable? Sure, he’d go along for a while. It would behoove him to toe the line until after the election. Then, if he wanted to resume his affair with Amanda, or start a new one with somebody else, he’d damned well do it. Just because he’d been caught once didn’t mean he intended to live the rest of his life as Funmi’s neutered lapdog. For the time being however, it was prudent to pretend.

“I’ll be down in a minute.”

Upstairs, he inspected his face in the bathroom mirror. The gashes were still fresh and raw, but not bleeding. To avoid giving explanations for the marks on his face, he had avoided going to work that morning. How was he to explain them to his staff and campaign committee? It was just safer to avoid the embarrassment.

He wasn’t even vaguely concerned that Amanda would throw him out like a chunk of meat to the news hounds. True, he’d experienced a moment of trepidation when she had looked at him in way that had chilled his blood. But once she cooled down and her reason reasserted itself, she’d change her mind about seeking restitution. After all, she loved him. Her love had been a curse that might now turn out to be a blessing. She wouldn’t do anything to destroy him politically because she probably still clung to the fantasy that one day she’d wind up being Mrs. Senator Emmanuel.

Besides, she was proud to a fault. She couldn’t publicize their affair without making herself look like a fool. She had a career to salvage, a business to protect, and creditors to pacify. The last thing Amanda wanted or needed was a scandal.

But what if her desire for revenge was greater than her better judgment? What if she did squeal?

Emmanuel shrugged at his reflection in the mirror. So what? The public outcry over such a notorious affair would work more against her than against him. All he had to do was sit back, hold hands with Funmi, and vehemently deny any allegations that Amanda might make. Who’d believe a virtually bankrupt, morally depraved, hysterical woman from the creeks of Delta over an affluent, stable, happily married Lagosian?

With all that resolved in his mind, his mood was almost buoyant as he went back downstairs. Funmi hugged him and gently patter his injured cheek. “It’s all behind us now,” she said as she extended him a glass of perfectly chilled juice. “Tell me about your day.” She served him jollof rice, fried plantain and beef.

They were lingering over their meal when something smashed against the dining room window. It landed hard, making a horrific crash that caused the large pane of glass to vibrate.

“What the hell was that?” Emmanuel whipped his head around.

Funmi shot straight up from her chair, knocking it over backward.

Emmanuel gasped in horror at the blood and gore splattered on the glass.

Funmi covered her mouth with her hand to keep from gagging.

“Jesus,” Emmanuel wheezed. “Stay inside, Funmi.”

“Emannuel – ”

“Stay inside!”

He had never been inordinately brave, so it wasn’t so much courage as anger that propelled him through the front door of his house, down the front stairs and out onto his carefully manicured lawn. The gate stood wide open, the security man was nowhere to be found. He heard the squeal of tires, but it was too far away and too dark for him to see the make of the car.

He turned back, bolted the gate and called the security man.

“Garba! Garba!!”

No answer.

He moved to the guard house, pushed open the door and found Garba fast asleep.

“Garba! What I this? Will you get up! Garba!!”

No answer.

He walked towards the sleeping man and viciously shook him, shouting his name.

Still, no answer.

Emmanuel hissed and walked towards the house. He approached the dinning-room window with caution and fear. Looking at the blood-splattered glass from this side made it even spookier, more real. He could smell the blood. He could see the feathers and the red and black cloth holding the contraption together.

He leaned across the flower bed to inspect it closer, lost his balance and fell into the shrubbery beneath the window, and landed on a dead chicken. Its throat had been slashed. The cut was fresh, wide, and gaping. The feathers were wet and shiny with dark blood.

The senator screamed.

He scrambled to his feet, thrashed through the shrubbery, and stumbled up the front steps. Once safely inside, he slammed the front door and slid home the bolts. Frantically, he rubbed his face.

Funmi, having recovered from her initial shock, demanded an explanation. “Who made that disgusting mess on our front window? Do you realize what a chore it will be for the maid to get that stuff off?”

He wanted to shake her until her perfectly straight white teeth rattled. “Don’t you understand what this means? She wants me dead.” He released her and rubbed his face again.

“Who?”

“Her.”

“Your former lover?”

He nodded, stuttering, rubbing his eyes, “She…she’s put a curse on me.”

“For heaven’s sake, Emmanuel, get a grip on yourself. You’re being ridiculous. It’s just blood and some feathers.”

“No, it’s voodoo.”

Funmi burst into laughter at the same time Emmanuel screamed with abject terror, his hands stretched out, flailing wildly.

“Please, Emmanuel, stop this nonsense. The neighbors can hear –”

“I can’t see. I can’t see. My eyes…”

“What do you – “

“I am blind!” His high-pitched voice echoed through the rooms.

Funmi looked at him.

“Darling, are you there. Darling, say something,” Emmanuel crowed as he reached out for her.

“Oh, I’m here. I’m just thinking that there has never been a blind senator,” she replied in a chilling voice. “And I can’t have a blind husband. What are you going to do, Emmanuel?”

The End.

You can read:

The Affair Part 1 : https://dumebie.com/2016/05/23/the-affair/

The Affair Part 2 : https://dumebie.com/2016/05/31/the-affair-2/