Sweet sixteen: Part. 40

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Josh sighed, "You betrayed us GG, I'm disappointed in you, I expected better," he said.

Her head shot up, "Oh no, no, you've got the wrong end of the stick sweetheart – believe me," she responded, with alarm.

The man jumped in, "We lured you here for good reason," he said.

"And what would that good reason be?" Asked Josh.

The mystery man moved a little closer, "You are the bait, the two people who would draw them all in – The Girl with the Green Eyes and the boy called Bruv.

Instinctively I walked forward, reaching my hand out until it met the glass, "Draw all of who in; if we're bait, who are we being used to catch?" I asked.

The mystery man placed his hand over mine, our palms at one, yet separated by glass, "Those who use Juju to oppress, control, and profit from innocents," he said.

Josh stepped forward and put his arm around my shoulder, "You mean the people traffickers, those who import the girls from Africa and put the fear of ESHU in them, while they profit from their bodies," he said.

Mystery man nodded, "Yes. And we have all of them, the ringleaders, here in this space, scrambling, trying to figure out how to deal with this unexpected change in their bogus ceremony," he said.

At that moment, I had a profound feeling; with Josh's arm entwined around me, and this man who I now felt strongly was my father – a sense of safety surrounded me.

Yet I knew it could slip away at any moment, and so I wouldn't allow the feeling make me vulnerable. I remained reserved and alert.

I glanced back to check on the man I injured and Dylan. They posed no immediate threat, not yet.

Turning back to the man, I asked, "Why are Josh and I such a prize to them?"

He didn't answer, Granny Grace did, "Because you're Javed Badoe's daughter, the man who murdered the leading Deliverance Pastor, back in Ghana. Sacrificing you and Josh is the ultimate revenge for the sins of your father," she said.

The mystery man, his head infuriatingly encased in a black helmet, turned to her, "That's not entirely true, Javed Badoe acted in self defense, he's an innocent and good man!"

Granny Grace shrugged her shoulders, "If you say so," she said.

I stared intently at the mystery man, "Are you Javed Badoe, my father?" I asked.

His lack of response angered me, "Just spit it out, you owe it to me – I need to know!" I said, my voice raised.

He ignored me and spun round, shouting – "We need to go!"

My despair grew, 'Where you going?" I shouted after him.

Granny Grace answered, "We need to go and sort the enemy out, finish em off once and for all," she said, brandishing her pistol with deadly intent.

The man continued walking away from me – "Dad, are you really gonna leave me here?" he ignored me; again Granny Grace answered for him, whilst he disappeared into the shadows, "You two young uns get out of here." She pointed to the injured man and Dylan, "Don't worry about them two, they can sort themselves out." She gesticulated to far right of the stage, "There's a rope ladder back there, escape through the roof, it's safer," she said, pointing upwards.

My body trembled with frustration and anger as I watched them both disapear into the darkness. Josh took me in his arms and held me tight, his lips caressing my ear as he whispered, "Keep it calm, B. Keep the focus on us getting out of here and let them deal with this, they obviously have the info and ammo to do it," his words were soft and reassuring, and I yearned to be somewhere else, being intimate with him.

Dylan's voice interrupted our moment, "Javed Badoe, he was my father's best friend," he said, a melancholy in his words.

Josh relaxed his hold on me and I turned to look at Dylan, "You said 'was' your dad's best friend, are you saying my father 'is' no more?" I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, "I don't know, but I know my dad is no more, that old woman killed him, she said he was mad." When he looked up at us, we saw his lips quiver with emotion, "He wasn't mad, he was my dad."

When he looked back at us both, he had a different face. I don't mean literally, there was no trickery going on. No, he looked softer, his previous malevolent confidence and intent had vanished, "Is he really dead, or is she just saying that, to upset me and make me walk away from my congregation and calling?" He asked, suddenly vulnerable.

I felt a sudden switch in Josh, like he'd caught an aspect of a previous Dylan, a part of his friend that he recognized and knew how to handle, "They've called you in the wrong direction, Dill," he said, moving forward and placing a gentle hand on Dylan's shoulder. I noted that Dylan no longer acted adversely to Josh calling him Dill.

In many ways, it seemed like Dylan had been exorcised of whatever evil had possessed him. Yet I knew that concept was hokum, and this change in him was grounded in reality, so I remained guarded.

Dylan responded by looking at us both, his eyes moistening with emotion, "No. The powers of good have called me to do their work," he said. Yet I detected a wavering certainty in his voice.

In that moment I knew Dylan was unwell, not physically, but mentally. I didn't have any experience of mental illness, so I couldn't identify it specifically; yet with the realization that he was probably sick, I felt he could get better – and my hate for him turned into an unexpected desire to help him.

But I wasn't stupid, nor was Josh. We were both inherently aware that Dylan's change in demeanor could be a ploy, to divert us from the truth of his intention.

An instinctive sense of caution joined Josh and I, connecting us with its strength and a combined conviction for our positive outcome to the situation.

Josh continued to converse with Dylan, "There is no good in what these people are doing; they're using your goodness to promote their badness, trust me Dill," he said, with a soothing timbre to his tone.

Dylan shook his head, "Now I know my dad is dead, I need to re-think my calling and congregation." He wiped his tears with a determined swipe, "And I need to think about what's best for my sister, Polly," he said.

Josh remained empathetic, like a counselor trained to deal with the vulnerable, "What's best for you and Polly, is that you break away from these people," he said.

Dylan responded with a bewildered brow, "But I was told my father was coming out of the insane asylum, and Polly and I could see him regularly." He stopped suddenly, a questioning look on his face, "What if he's not really dead, maybe they're just saying that to make me leave the congregation, with you?" He asked.

Josh nodded his head sympathetically, "No Dill, your dad's dead," he said, with a kind bluntness.

He stared at Josh for what seemed like an age, then finally just nodded his head, heavy with grief.

###

I tensed as Josh used Granny Grace's secret key selection to unlock his cuffs. 'Was this a good idea?' I thought to myself. I remained silent, but taut, and put my trust in Josh's intuition.

The cuffs dropped to the floor – Dylan spun round and lunged at Josh!

But – it wasn't a violent lunge. No, he fell into Josh's embrace and the two hugged, a tight unselfconscious embrace of two friends who were meeting after time apart. It was touching scene.

Eventually Josh withdrew his embrace and Dylan stepped back, nodding towards the rope ladder, "Go, like the old lady said, get out of here," he said.

"Come with us," said Josh.

He gave a gentle, almost shy smile, "No; I'm needed here."

Josh picked up Granny Grace's stick, re-inserted the keys and attached the knob, he looked at me, "Let's go," he said, walking toward the ladder. I started to climb first, but half way up Dylan halted us, "Josh!" He called out.

We both looked back to see him standing at the bottom of the ladder staring up at us, looking almost angelic like in his white robes, his arms clasped behind his back. "What do you want Dill?" Asked Josh.

"Can we be friends again, one day?" He asked.

Josh held onto the ladder and spun to partially face him, "We can be friends right now, today," he repeated.

Dylan's face lit up, "That makes me happy," he said.

His arms came slowly forward – in his right hand he held a pistol.

I froze.

Conversely, Josh seemed to melt, his body flopped, his voice fell to a whisper, "No Dill, don't do this, give me the gun," he said, reaching out his hand.

Dylan raised the gun toward Josh.

I was paralyzed, unable to move or speak.

Dylan's finger encircled the trigger as Josh's voice continued without a hint of panic, "Give me the gun Dill," he said.

Dylan smiled, "No."

My eyes fixated on his finger as it tightened round the trigger.

I closed my eyes.

Dylan's whispered words entered my darkness, "Goodbye Josh."

The boom of the bullet bang jolted me and I lost my footing while I scrambled to hold on. My free foot desperately searched for Josh. But a thud confirmed the worse; he'd fallen to the stage floor.

My foot found a ladder rung and I steadied myself, "JOSH!" I shouted. I turned to see him slumped over Dylan; blood rapidly pooled around him.

His body moved.

My hope soared.

I jumped down, landing by Dylan's head, which turned toward me, "You're a lucky girl, Benita," his words were said through a wide smile.

"WHAT?" I shouted.

"Josh loves you."

I felt my temper flare, "You've shot him!" I screamed.

His hand reached out to me, "No. I shot myself," he slurred.

Stunned – I looked at Josh and saw him compressing down on Dylan's chest, trying to stem the flow of blood. I took Dylan's hand, "Hold on, we'll get help, you won't die," I said, a mix of elation and concern flooding me.

In my peripheral vision, I became aware of Josh pressing down on Dylan's chest with a rapid repetition. Dylan's head swayed to the beat of Josh's rhythm as he whispered, "Benita, the old lady, she – she lies..."

...His words became increasingly slurred, "What do you mean, what lies?" I asked with urgency

His breathing became heavy and he struggled to speak, "Don't – believe – her..."

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