THE WALL - by Favyyy

The sun lazily crawls through the semi open blinds, seeps across the recently vaccumed rug, and peacefully settles on a pair of vintage shoes on the floor. The alarm rang, 5:30 am; I got out of bed, hit my modest home gym, showered, made and had breakfast and then proceeded to go about my daily house chores. It was a Monday and I had an unhealthy amount of meetings lined up for the day.My name is Nonso Daniels. On paper, there's nothing particularly remarkable about me. My work entails me to be at home most of the time but I recently just got a promotion which requires onsite presence all day, every day. This change has been really tough and uncomfortable and while many people will deal with it by making schedules and setting alarms, I have my own different ways.I am a man of very few words, I hate getting into quarrels with people and my gentle demeanor makes me in the eyes of some of my neighbours, something dangerously similar to a Casanova, but my flair for observing things most people miss and solving problems without provoking an escalation gives me a sort of immunity against their hatred. People in this country often complain about how messed up our government is, but it's even easier to find a Nigerian bribing their way through a difficult situation, or loitering the floor because of inconvenience, or humiliating someone who caused them pain. Maybe it's not just Nigerians, maybe it's just the self destructive nature of humans.It's now 7:30am and I turn on the large television in the living room to half-heartedly listen to the news. Politics, sports shenanigans..I'm not a fan of either and just as I am about to change the channel, a disturbing image flashes across the huge screen. It is a murder scene and the news reporter sadly announces the death of a young college female student at the gate of her school. This is the third similar death in three days now and the entire populace is getting restless. I gaze at the television, now displaying a seasoning advert, the image replaying over and over again in my head. A small smirk sweeps across my face as I fight the urge to call the news and correct a few things. The body wasn't dumped at the entrance to the school, she was killed at the entrance to the school, just outside the security post which was guarded by armed personnel. I know all of this because I was present at the scene, I felt a rush of joy as I watched her choke on her own fluids, as I positioned her lifeless body at the exact spot I wanted them to find it.Just like my earlier victims, this wasn't a coincidence; I chose her not because she offended me, or supported a wrong political party (I have no interest in politics or sports). I chose her because of something so mighty that she owned in excess. Aura. However young or however old, all of my victims exuded a certain kind of confidence that I saw in myself. Whether it was a professor who was at the peak of their career, or a college student who was journeying on that path, or a gifted child whose path to success was already being lined with yellow bricks.Call me insane if you want, that's a word that has grown with me through my mischievous childhood, to my prankish teenagehood, to my current profession: but it is this same insanity that made me rise through the ranks within a short period of time. Anyways, back to the present, people are sticking more to their homes at the slightest hint of dusk, the police and every security organisation in the country are at complete alert, trying to stop me from making my next move. Poor guys, they can't even figure out one simple thing right. They're all searching and probing and testing and guarding things that are fine on their own. This was fun, watching them grope around in the dark despite the huge light. Days turned into weeks and they hadn't gotten any closer to discovering me than they had the first time. Every news report, newspaper story, interviews, checkpoint every block, the heavy mist of fear fast descending upon the city. I watched with extreme joy as the chief officer in charge of the investigation named the numerous ridiculous theories of cults, gangs, politics, even witchcraft. How ridiculous! It's not even funny because they're wrong, it's funny because they're not even making any efforts to be right.As at the twelfth day, I was exasperated; this was turning out to be a solitary chase. By the thirteenth day, I realised I was no longer excited by the killings themselves. Those had become routine. The planning was still enjoyable, but what I truly looked forward to now were the reactions that followed. The newspaper headlines, the interviews, the endless theories people came up with just to convince themselves they understood what was happening. It was almost insulting how confidently people could be completely wrong.Then they brought someone new into the investigation.I never bothered to learn his name.Apparently, the department had decided they needed fresh eyes on the investigation. Looking back, I suppose it was the smartest decision they had made in two weeks. He wasn't loud. He didn't bark orders or walk around pretending to know everything. Most of the officers rushed through the crime scenes as though they were racing against time. He did the opposite. He lingered. He stared at walls longer than he stared at bodies. Sometimes he stood so still I found myself wondering whether he'd seen something... or whether he was simply thinking.I liked that about him, not because he was close to finding me- he wasn't. But he was asking better questions than everyone else. After a while, I started arriving early just to watch him work. It became strangely entertaining. He always noticed the things everyone else ignored, but he never quite noticed enough. I even caught myself wondering what sort of person he was outside the investigation. Did he ever sleep? Did he have anyone waiting for him at home? Did he realise the entire city had quietly begun expecting him to succeed where everyone else had failed?He was the first person who made me think the game might actually become interesting. The marks on the walls were never meant for the victims, they were for him. Every one of them was carved before the murder ever happened. They looked unrelated because that was the point. Seen on their own, they meant absolutely nothing. Together, however, they pointed in only one direction.The puzzles had been waiting long before the victims were. Every location had already been chosen, every measurement had already been calculated. The murders weren't creating the trail, they were simply unlocking it.By the fifteenth day, I had almost convinced myself I'd expected too much. Maybe the wall would stay hidden forever. Maybe years from now someone would tear it down without ever realising what had been inside it all along. I refused to believe it would end like that; then I switched on the evening news, the investigation wasn't over after all. Someone had convinced the department to revisit every crime scene from the beginning.I couldn't stop smiling.At last...Someone had realised they were looking in the wrong place.By dawn they had reached the warehouse. I was already there long before the first patrol vehicle arrived. It almost felt unfair watching them search. Every shovel driven into the ground, every brick tapped, every frustrated sigh only convinced me that I'd expected too much from them. One after another, they drifted back to their vehicles until only one man remained. He stood before the wall longer than the others had. His hand moved slowly across the bricks, pausing every now and then as though he was listening to them.I smiled.Finally.I watched him reach for the only brick that didn't belongBefore he could say a word, I clipped my badge back onto my belt.

Other insights from Favyyy

Referral Earning

Points-to-Coupons