Chief Obaego, Enugu (2025)

02/08/2025

EPISODE 1.

“HORRORS OF LAKEWOOD HIGH”

The first thing Ariella Borne noticed about Lakewood High wasn’t the redbrick walls or the iron-gated entrance, but the it was the silence. The kind that made your skin crawl. Birds chirped a few streets over, cars hummed down the main boulevard of Los Angeles, but inside the gates, everything was still. Too still.

She adjusted her backpack strap, eyes darting up to the arched sign above the gates: LAKEWOOD ACADEMY FOR THE EXCEPTIONAL. The gold letters gleamed and glowed differently , almost as if watching her.

"You going in or waiting for it to swallow you?" a voice asked.

Ariella jumped. A girl with short electric-blue braids and winged eyeliner leaned against the stone pillar. She was smirking.

"Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you," the girl said. "I’m Sarah . You must be the new transfer."

Ariella nodded slowly. "Ariella. Just moved here."

Sarah’s smile widened. "Well, Ariella Just Moved Here, welcome to the most beautiful prison in Los Angeles."

They walked through the gates together, boots clicking against cobblestone. The campus stretched across a hill, cloaked in ivy and old secrets. Towering buildings loomed like ancient castles. And everywhere, eyes. Students staring. Teachers whispering.

"Do they always stare like that?" Ariella whispered.

Sarah didn’t look. "Only at the ones who glow."

"Glow?"

"It’s a figure of speech," Sarah said, but her tone was off.

Ariella felt something then, .like heat in her chest, pulsing. A throb behind her eyes. But before she could ask, the bell rang, shrill and hollow.

Class schedules were handed out in the front office. Ariella’s said: Room 5B – Mythology & Ancient Histories – Mr.Blackthorn.

"Oh, good luck," Sarah murmured. "He’s... not like other teachers."

The classroom was dark, despite the California sun streaming outside. Heavy velvet curtains dr***d the windows. The walls were lined with strange maps and even stranger symbols.

Mr. Blackthorn stood at the front, tall and thin, with skin so pale it looked powdered. His eyes were a deep violet, almost black. He didn’t smile when Ariella entered. Didn’t blink either.

"Miss borne," he said without looking at the attendance sheet. "Take a seat."

She froze. "How did you…?"

"There’s always one," he interrupted. "Every generation."

The other students glanced her way. Some with curiosity. Others with... something darker.

She sat beside a boy with dark hair, head down, hoodie up. But she felt him before she saw him. A presence, thick like fog. Her body tensed.

Then he looked at her.

His eyes were ice blue, like shattered glass.

"Kai Mercer," he said.

Just a name. But it rattled through her like thunder.

Mr. Blackthorn began lecturing about ancient bloodlines and cursed lineages. About powers passed down, hidden among regular humans. "In every age," he said, "one emerges unknowingly, connected to an ancient force."

Ariella's vision blurred.

Images flickered, flames, a silver mirror, a face like hers but older, angrier. A voice: She has returned.

She gasped aloud.

Kai was staring at her again. Not surprised. Not alarmed.

As if he’d been waiting.

That night, Ariella dreamt of a tree made of bone, growing in a field of black snow. A woman stood beneath it, chanting in a language Ariella somehow understood. When she reached out to touch the tree, the woman turned.

It was Ariella.

Or at least, it looked like her.

She woke up screaming.

From her window, she saw it again, Larkwood High, lit faintly by the moon.

And on the rooftop, someone was standing.

Watching her.

To be continued….

Written by Chief Obaego

Comment “next” for episode 2 to be posted today

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01/08/2025

EPISODE 8 (FINAL EPISODE).......

“THE HOSPITAL,WARD B5”

---

It was raining.

Not just the soft, pit-pat kind of rain that tickles rooftops and sweeps leaves across sidewalks.

This was the angry kind—the one that floods roads, soaks bones, and buries footsteps.

Maybe it was the sky’s way of mourning. Or cleansing. Or both.

I stood in my private garden, soaked and shivering.

And then, I saw her.

Amelia.

She stepped out from behind the old mango tree like a ghost from the past. Dressed in navy blue. No makeup. No umbrella. Her hair tied into a small bun. And her eyes—those haunting, storm-swept eyes—looked straight at me.

Neither of us moved at first.

For a second, we just listened to the rain.

Then I finally spoke.

> “Why did you do it, Amelia?”

Her lips trembled.

She walked slowly toward me, stopping just two feet away. Her arms folded tightly against her chest, as if holding her heart in place.

> “Because I couldn’t take it anymore,” she whispered. “I couldn’t watch people scream in pain and do nothing.”

I stared at her, every emotion in me battling for control—anger, confusion, sorrow… and something dangerously close to love.

> “So you played God?” I said, my voice cracking. “You decided who deserved relief and who didn’t? Even a baby?”

She shut her eyes.

> “ally wasn’t supposed to die,” she said, shaking her head. “That night… I wasn’t even supposed to kill her. You were busy. Everyone was busy and we could not attend to her. So when I saw her, alone, hungry, screaming… something in me just… snapped.”

> “She reminded me of me.”

Her voice broke at the last word.

> “I thought… maybe ending her suffering was mercy. But it wasn’t. I know that now.”

I clenched my fists. My white coat was soaked, my shoes squishing in the grass. But none of that mattered anymore.

> “Juliana was arrested because of you,” I said.

> “I know,” she whispered.

> “I loved you.”

She looked up. Her tears were indistinguishable from the rain.

> “I still do,” she said.

Silence.

I wanted to hold her.
I wanted to hate her.

But mostly… I just wanted her to tell me it was all a lie.

Instead, she stepped back slowly.

> “I didn’t come to ask for forgiveness,” she said. “I came to say goodbye.”

My heart sank.

> “What?”

Just then, a black car rolled up the side road behind her. It didn’t stop. It just slowed.

And that’s when it hit me.

> “You’re leaving.”

She nodded slowly.

> “My father… he arranged it. I’m flying out tonight. He says there’s a doctor abroad. Someone who can help me—mentally, emotionally… legally.”

I staggered back.

> “You’re running away from justice.”

> “No,” she said softly. “I’m running toward healing. For once.”

> “The police are on their way to your house.”

> “I know,” she said. “That’s why I left them something.”

I stared.

She stepped forward, leaned up gently, and kissed my cheek.

> “I hope one day, you’ll remember me as the girl who made you smile… not the one who broke your heart.”

Then she turned and ran into the car.

I didn’t chase her.

I stood there, in the rain, watching the woman I loved disappear into the mist of a city that would never forget her.

---

Later that night, I went to her house.

By then, the police were already there—flashing torches through every corner, barking questions at Auntie Ivy and Mr.Owen’s , who stood with heavy faces and folded arms.

> “She’s gone,” the lead detective said to me. “Flight manifest confirms she left the country two hours ago. No official destination. Passport marked for medical leave.”

I nodded.

Then Auntie Ivy walked toward me, silently, her eyes filled with guilt and something deeper.

She handed me a brown envelope.

> “She left this for you,” she whispered. “She said you’d understand.”

My fingers trembled as I opened it.

Inside was a handwritten letter. Neat. Clear. Smudged slightly at the corners—perhaps from her tears while writing.

---

The Letter from Amelia

Dear Ezikel,

If you’re reading this, I’m already gone.

Please don’t hate me for leaving. I couldn’t face you again. Not like this.

I always knew you’d find out. You were too smart. Too curious. Too good.

And maybe… that’s what made me fall for you.

You saw people. You didn’t just treat them—you listened. You remembered names, birthdays, scars. You mourned a child that wasn’t even yours. You loved deeply.

I wanted to be like that.

But Ezikel… I wasn’t made like you.

I was made from pain. From alleyways, screams, cold nights on empty stomachs. I was made from the loss of Amanda… and the guilt of surviving when she didn’t.

I saw too much pain in the world. And one day, something in me whispered that maybe ending it was better than prolonging it.

I never thought I’d become… this.

But when I met you, something changed. I wanted to stop. I wanted to be better. You made me laugh again. You made me believe I wasn’t alone.

But the past never sleeps, does it?

When ally died, and I saw your heart break—I knew… my time was up.

I’m not a monster. But I did monstrous things.

I hope you’ll find peace in the truth. I hope you’ll find someone who won’t vanish in the rain.

Thank you for loving me, even when I didn’t deserve it.

Tell ally I’m sorry.

Tell her I loved her too.

Always,
Amelia

---

I folded the letter slowly.

Tears fell—this time freely, without shame. Right there, in the hallway of the Owen’s mansion, surrounded by detectives and whispers and guilt.

I cried for Ally.
I cried for Amelia.
I cried for myself.

---

That was a year ago.

The case was closed quietly. The hospital never made an official statement. Juliana was released with a warning and a transfer. No charges were pressed.

Amelia’s parents kept their distance. I never saw them again.

As for Amelia … she was never seen in benue again.

Sometimes, I imagine her walking along a beach in a distant country, her hair blowing in the breeze, finally free. Other times, I picture her standing in a therapy office, confessing her sins with trembling hands and tearful eyes.

And sometimes… I dream she came back.

But I always wake up alone.

---

Justice was never black and white.

Sometimes the villain was once the victim.

And sometimes, the people we love most carry the darkest wounds.

I’ve never forgotten her.

And I don’t think I ever will.

Because somewhere in the corridors of my mind…

Amelia still walks Ward B5.

Whispering goodbye.

THE END

Thanks for reading from the beginning to the end. Remember, sometimes not a good deed is good.

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01/08/2025

EPISODES 7........

“THE HOSPITAL,WARD B5”

It was nearly 9:00 p.m. I was reviewing lab results and patient updates, trying to quiet the storm in my head, when a soft knock landed on my door. It wasn’t the kind of hurried, anxious knock of a colleague rushing in for a medical emergency. No. It was soft. Hesitant. As if the person on the other side wasn’t sure they should even be there.

“Come in,” I called, not looking up from my files.

The door creaked open, and my eyes lifted.

There she stood—Auntie Ivy.

Amelia’s mother.

Still elegant in her tailored dress and pearls, but tonight she looked… worn. Weighed down. Her steps were slow. Her smile was faint, almost forced.

“Auntie?” I stood up immediately. “What brings you here? At this hour?”

She walked in quietly and sat on the visitor’s chair across from me. I could see something was deeply troubling her.

“I’m sorry for the late visit,” she said softly. “I just… I couldn’t sleep without speaking to you.”

My heart raced. I wasn’t ready for this.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

She sighed deeply, wringing her fingers nervously. “Ezikel , I know you’re angry… hurt… confused. And I understand. But there’s something I’ve never told anyone. I think you need to know.

She looked up at me with tired eyes. “Amelia is not our biological daughter.”

My mouth opened slightly, but no words came out.

“We adopted her many years ago. And I’m only telling you now because… because I can’t bear to lose her to a world that doesn’t understand her pain.”

She stared into space, her voice trembling.

---

Flashback: Auntie Ivy’s Story

After our marriage, I couldn’t have children. We tried for years—every doctor, every herbalist. Eventually, it became clear the issue wasn’t me. It was my husband. He was unable to get a woman pregnant.

We kept it private. My family, the church, society—all kept pressuring me. "When are you giving us a baby?” “You’re not getting younger o!” I smiled. Pretended. Died inside.

Then one day, on a journey to see a herbal doctor in the Eastern Region, we took a shortcut through a rural village. Our driver stopped by the road to relieve himself, and that’s when we heard it.

A scream. Not loud, not long—just enough to freeze your blood.

My husband ran toward the bushes. I followed, not knowing what we were walking into.

And there she was.

A little girl, not older than ten. Shirt torn. Legs scr***d. She sat in the dirt, trembling. Crying silently. A young man ran off into the woods, zipping up his trousers as he vanished.
She was r***d

She didn’t move when we came closer. She didn’t look at us. Just stared ahead, like her soul had already left her body.

We rushed her to a small clinic. Paid for her treatment. Bathed her. Fed her.

For days, she didn’t speak.

When she finally did, all she said was, “My name is Amelia .”

Her parents were gone—burned in a fire in their wooden home. She’d been begging on the streets ever since.

That night, I told my husband, “This is our child. This is the baby we’ve been praying for.”

He didn’t argue.

---

Back in the present, I sat quietly, completely still.

Auntie Ivy looked at me, her voice cracking.

> “It took her years to talk to anyone. She wouldn’t even look us in the eyes. But then… we brought in another orphaned girl—Amanda. A few years older. They clicked instantly. Amanda brought life back into Amelia.” Amanda was brothers daughter.

She smiled faintly, lost in memory.

> “They did everything together. They became sisters in every way. For a few years, we were truly a happy family. Until Amanda got sick.”

My heart sank.

> “Acute meningitis. One night she was fine, the next she had a fever. By the next morning… she was gone.”

Tears welled up in Auntie Ivy’s eyes.

> “Amelia didn’t scream. Didn’t cry. She just… changed. Again. She shut down. She smiled less. She became obsessed with books. Medicine. Pain. Relief.”

She paused, then said something that broke me.

> “I think she decided, in her mind, that she would never watch another person suffer again. Even if that meant making decisions no one else would understand.”

I swallowed hard.

> “She’s not evil, Ezikel. She’s wounded. Deeply. She’s been through horrors no child should go through. And even as an adult, she never truly healed.”

---

I leaned back in my chair. My head was spinning.

Auntie Ivy stood up slowly, placing both hands on my desk.

> “I’m not asking you to destroy your career. Or hide the truth. I’m only asking you to see the whole picture before you make your decision.”

> “Please, if you ever cared about her, remember the little girl who sat in the dirt, broken and crying. Who begged for love and safety, and finally found it.”

She left the room quietly, and I sat there for what felt like forever.

---

My heart was torn in half.

Everything inside me screamed for justice—for baby ally, for the other innocent souls. Amelia had taken lives. Whether out of pain or misguided mercy, it didn’t change the outcome.

But now… I had context. I had a history. And it complicated everything.

I looked at the file again—Juliana’s lab clearance, the fingerprint report that implicated Amelia, the video stills.

The facts were there.

Juliana was innocent. She was rude, yes. But she hadn’t killed anyone.

And Amelia … the woman I had come to love—was not innocent.

But was she a murderer?

Or a healer who lost her way?

---

I spent the entire night in my office. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t eat. I just sat with my thoughts.

By morning, I had made my decision.

I filed the paperwork for Juliana’s immediate release. I attached the evidence that cleared her name and sent a copy to the hospital board.

Then I picked up my phone and dialed the police.

> “I have information,” I said. “About the real suspect behind the patient deaths in Ward B5.”

> “Name?” the officer on the line asked.

I hesitated.

My throat went dry.

> “Amelia Owens,” I said quietly.

---

After the call, I stood by the window and stared at the sky.

The sun was rising. The city of benue was waking up.

But inside me, a storm raged.

I had just betrayed the woman I loved.

But I had no choice.

Someone had to speak for Baby ally

---

To be continued in Episode 8

Written by Chief Obaego

31/07/2025

EPISODE 6.....

“THE HOSPITAL,WARD B5”
---

They came for Juliana at 6:03 the next morning.

Two uniformed police officers. One female, one male. Their eyes were sharp, their voices cold.

She didn’t resist. She couldn’t.

Nurse Juliana was handcuffed quietly in front of her colleagues, escorted out of the hospital like a common criminal. The news spread faster than wildfire—by 9:00 AM, everyone in benue knew.

And truth be told… nobody felt sorry for her.

Not one.

Juliana was the fattest nurse in the hospital—a physical detail that matched the camera footage of the suspect seen fleeing Ward B5. She had always been rude to patients, frequently yelled at cleaners, and had a reputation for talking back to senior doctors.

The public was furious.

> “Of course it was her!”
“Look at her size—it matches the footage perfectly!”
“She was always acting above everyone. Now we know why!”
“May all the souls she killed rest in peace!”

Even her fellow nurses whispered about her in break rooms, nodding in agreement as the news outlets played clips of her being escorted in cuffs.

Everyone had chosen a villain.
Everyone… except me.

---

I sat in my office, motionless.

My mind raced.

Something didn’t fit.
Juliana had many flaws—no doubt.
But was she a murderer?

No. I didn’t believe it. She might have been careless. She might’ve lacked empathy. But what I saw in her eyes that night… was fear, not guilt.

And fear doesn’t lie.

I returned to my notes. All the clues I had gathered since ally’s death. All the statements, video footage, medication records, and patient charts.

One name kept floating back to the surface like a ghost from the depths.

Amelia.

The woman I admired. The woman I trusted. The woman I was dangerously close to loving.
What am I even saying, I love her. I loved a murderer.

I didn’t want to believe it.

But something deep in my bones had started whispering her name.

So I did what I was trained to do.

I dug.

I traced Amelia’s past. From her days as a top student at the College of Nursing, to her first internship at a rural clinic in the Eastern Region. At first, everything looked clean. She had perfect reviews, excellent records, praise from supervisors.

Too perfect.

But then… I found a detail.

A pattern.

Three patients died during her rural internship. All in severe pain. All with minimal family involvement. All in the same bed.

No investigation was done. No one questioned anything. After all, those clinics were under-resourced, and Amelia was the golden girl—dedicated, generous, helpful.

From there, the trail grew darker.

In another hospital where she briefly served during her rotation, an elderly woman died in her sleep after crying for hours for relief. Again, no red flags were raised. Amelia was praised for staying with the woman until her “peaceful passing.”

I felt sick.

But that wasn’t the worst part.

It was the fingerprint report.

When we found the syringe Juliana was holding, I sent it to forensics. As protocol, the glass barrel had picked up two sets of fingerprints—Juliana’s… and someone else’s.

Last night, the lab emailed me the results.

Amelia’s prints.

They were on the barrel. Clear. Clean. In the exact spot a person would hold while injecting.

I dropped the report when I saw it.

I laughed.

Then I cried.

Then I laughed again.

I had no idea which emotion to follow. How could someone so gentle… so generous… be responsible for so much death?

Why would she do this?

Why baby ally?

Why anyone?

---

The next morning, I drove to her family’s mansion. The same home I had been welcomed into as a guest… now entering as an accuser.

Her parents were seated in their lavish lounge when I arrived. Her father looked confused. Her mother—worried.

> “Dr. Ezikel ,” Mr. Owen’s greeted me stiffly. “What brings you here so early?”

I looked him in the eye. Then her mother.

> “We need to talk. It’s about Amelia.”

I didn’t waste time. I laid everything on the table.

Ally. Koby. The syringe. The deaths. The fingerprint report. The past deaths. Everything.

Her mother gasped, pressing her hands to her chest.

Her father, however, stood and pounded the glass table.

> “This is nonsense!” he barked. “You think my daughter—a trained nurse with a golden heart—is behind this madness?!”

“I’m not here to speculate,” I said, keeping my voice even. “I came with evidence.”

I handed over the fingerprint report. A list of matching incidents across her rotations. The syringe images. The camera stills.

He stared at the papers for a long time.

Then sat back down. Silent. Processing.

> “Maybe… maybe it was a mistake,” he said weakly. “Maybe someone used her gloves…”

> “Her gloves had her prints inside and out,” I said. “This wasn’t accidental. This was… deliberate.”

Auntie Ivy broke down.

Tears streamed down her face. “I… I told you,” she sobbed. “She’s not okay. She hasn’t been okay since childhood. Since the death of her cousin—she changed.”

Her husband looked away, struggling to accept what his mind was slowly conceding.

> “I don’t know if you believe me,” I said, standing up. “But I’ll tell you this: the only way I can forgive her, the only way I can stop the investigation… is if she confesses. Willingly. Fully.”

Tension climbed the room like a heavy fog.

And then—

The door opened.

Amelia walked in.

She froze at the sight of me. Her father had already called her when she arrived.

Her father looked at her with wide eyes. Her mother covered her mouth.

She walked slowly into the room. Her eyes locked onto mine.

She knew why I was here.

> “Ezikel …” she whispered.

I didn’t speak.

The weight of the moment was suffocating. Her steps were slow. Measured. Her hands trembling slightly.

> “Were you talking about me?” she asked her parents softly.

No one answered.

She turned to me.

> “I heard the police arrested Juliana.”

“They did,” I said flatly.

She nodded. Her face remained blank.

Then I stepped closer.

> “But they arrested the wrong person.”

She looked up sharply. Our eyes met.

And in that split second…

I knew.

I could see it. The storm in her gaze. The silence in her throat. The guilt hiding beneath her calm.

She turned her head. Exhaled slowly.

And whispered—

> “I never wanted to hurt the baby. I just… I just didn’t want her to suffer.”

The words hit me like thunder.

I blinked, stunned.

> “You… did it?” her mother gasped.

She didn’t answer. Not with words.

She nodded slowly.

> “All those patients… all those people,” I choked out. “Why, Amelia? Why?”

She sat down.

> “Because they were in pain. Because no one else cared. Their families abandoned them. The doctors ignored them. They begged for relief. I gave it to them.”

> “That’s not mercy,” I snapped. “That’s murder.”

Tears filled her eyes. “I didn’t mean to become this… monster. I only wanted to help.”

I looked at her father, whose head had dropped into his hands.

> “Now you know,” I said coldly. “I’ve told you what I know. The rest… is up to her.”

And I left.

---

Outside the gate, I paused beside my car.

My heart was broken.

The woman I loved…

The woman I trusted…

Was the angel of death in disguise.

But I wasn’t done yet.

Justice must be served.

Baby ally deserves peace.

The question now is…

> Do I walk away?
Do I forgive and bury the truth?
Or do I hand her over… and let the law do what it must?

Quick Question
1. What would you do if the one you love… was the one destroying everything you believe in?

---

To be continued in Episode 7

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21/07/2025

EPISODE 5......

“THE HOSPITAL,WARD B5”

It was my first time in such a house—a mansion, really. One of those homes you only see in TV dramas or the cover of real estate magazines.

From the golden lights dripping from the ceiling to the white rose staircase winding into the upper floors,Amelia’s home wasn’t just beautiful—it was intimidating. Marble floors, silent chandeliers, polished glass, a faint scent of fresh lavender and old money.

I stood by the grand entrance, holding my breath like a tourist at a sacred temple.

“Don’t be shy,” Amelia smiled, lightly touching my elbow. “It’s just home.”

Just home, she said. For her, maybe. For me, this was another planet.

She was breathtaking that evening. She wore an elegant emerald green gown that hugged her gently and flowed like a royal robe. Her hair was in curls, her smile soft and vulnerable. This wasn’t Nurse Amelia from the ward. This was… someone else. Someone regal. Almost untouchable.

At the dining table, it was the four of us: Amelia, her parents, and me.

Her mother was the first to break the ice. She looked excited—almost too excited. Her rich Ankara dress sparkled with delicate hand-stitching. Her eyes danced as she spoke.

> “I’m so happy you’re here,” she said warmly. “Amy always talks about you. Doctor Ezikel this… Doctor Ezikel that…”

“Mom!” Amelia exclaimed, her cheeks reddening.

I laughed nervously.

“Don’t mind her,” her father said calmly, reaching to shake my hand. He was quiet but had a presence. Tall, dark, neatly shaved. The kind of man whose few words carried weight.

He leaned in, shook my hand firmly, and whispered:

> “Take good care of my princess. She’s already yours.”

I nearly dropped my fork. My heart skipped.
What was that supposed to mean?

I nodded awkwardly, trying to refocus. What has Amelia been telling her parents about me?

I came to this hospital on assignment—a hidden investigation, a personal mission to catch a silent killer. Not to be anyone’s son-in-law.

But the dinner moved on. They served grilled chicken, yam balls, and jollof rice that could rival any five-star chef’s kitchen. But I barely tasted anything.

Because her mother, who insisted I call her Auntie Ivy, wouldn’t stop talking.

Just as we began the second course, Amelia got a call. She excused herself to the hallway, promising to return shortly.

Now it was just me… and her parents.

That’s when Auntie Ivy leaned in and said the unexpected.

> “Amelia has gone through a lot as a child. I know you see the caring, hardworking woman everyone praises… but as a mother, I see something else.”

I stopped chewing. My eyes met hers.

> “I see a traumatized, depressed, and very fragile young woman,” she continued. “She doesn’t talk about it. Not even to me. But I know the signs.”

> “As a child, she has surfered too much, and the death of her cousin worsened the situation. The sad part is she doesn't want to talk about it either.”

My heart slowed.

Auntie Ivy lowered her voice.

> “She lost a cousin once—inside a hospital. Mysterious death. The same symptoms . But even then, she said nothing. Not even at the funeral. She just stood there, stiff, like a statue.”

I stared at her, unable to respond.
She was telling me something important—without telling me everything.

> “But since you came to that hospital,” she added, “I’ve seen something different. She laughs more. She’s brighter. She hums again. She’s living again. That’s why we wanted to meet you.”

Just then, Amelia returned.

“Mom, were you talking about me?” she asked, smiling but suspicious.

Her dad chuckled quietly. “We were just having a conversation,” he said smoothly.

Dinner ended gently. Amelia and I took a long walk outside the mansion. She gave me a short tour of her family’s garden, showed me the koi pond, and even let me feed the turtles.

At exactly 10:00 PM, I said goodnight.

She touched my arm gently. “Please go home and rest, Ezikel. You’ve been too tense lately.”

I smiled. “I’ll try.”

But I lied.

Instead of going home, I returned straight to the hospital.

I needed to check on Koby—the motor accident patient who had narrowly escaped death two nights ago.

Ward B5 was dimly lit. I walked in slowly… but his bed was empty.

My heart pounded. I turned to the nurse on duty, wide-eyed.

> “Where’s the patient that was here? Where is Koby?”

The nurse looked up from her chart.

> “He was transferred to Ward C3 about thirty minutes ago. Just for closer monitoring. You didn’t get the memo?”

I didn’t wait.

I ran toward Ward C3. My feet echoed through the hallway like hammers. Something felt wrong. Off. Too coincidental.

As I neared the ward, I saw her.

Nurse Juliana.

She stood beside Kobby’s new bed, holding a syringe.

My instincts kicked in.

> “Juliana! What are you doing?” I demanded.

She turned, startled. “Oh—Dr. Ezikel. It’s time for his medication. It’s just antibiotics.”

I frowned. Something about her tone—her posture—wasn’t right.

> “Let me see it,” I said, extending my hand.

She hesitated—just a second too long.

Then smiled, “Of course, Doctor,” and handed the syringe over.

I took it calmly. Walked away. But my hands were already dialing the lab.

> “Test this immediately. Priority One. Quietly.”

Twenty-five minutes later, I had the results.

Not antibiotics. Not painkillers. Not vitamins.

It was Pentabarbitol—a powerful sedative that, in the wrong dose, shuts down the respiratory system during sleep.

Lethal. Untraceable. The exact kind of poison used in mercy killings.

I stormed back into the ward, fire blazing in my chest.

> “Juliana!” I barked.

She stood upright immediately. “Yes, Doctor?”

I held up the results. “Care to explain this?”

She stared at the page. Then at me. Then back at the page.

> “What… I don’t… that’s not what I—”

“Don’t lie to me,” I snapped. “This was about to go into his body. He would’ve died tonight. Just like the others.”

She stammered. “I—I took the medicine from the cabinet. It was already packed for him. Maybe someone—”

> “So now we’re playing the blame game?” I interrupted. “Do you know what this drug does? Were you even paying attention?”

Her hands shook. “Doctor, please, I didn’t know. I swear. I just followed the chart. I don’t even handle prescriptions, I—”

I could see it in her eyes—fear, not guilt.

She might not be the killer… but someone had set her up.

---

That night, I called Amelia.

She answered on the second ring.

> “Amelia. Something’s happening. Juliana was about to inject Koby with a deadly drug. I stopped her just in time.”

Silence.

> “Ezikel, are you saying… she’s the one?”

“I don’t know,” I said truthfully. “Her hands shook. She looked terrified. I don’t think she even knew what she was holding.”

> “How sure are you Dr. Thomps

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “Exactly. And that means…”

> “The killer is still among us but know one can tell if she is the one.”

We were silent for a moment.

Then I asked her something that had been burning in me since dinner.

> “Amelia… your mom told me something. About your past. About the cousin you lost… in the hospital.”

Silence.

> “She said it was a mysterious death. Amelia, was it in this hospital?”

I heard her breathe in sharply.

Then a whisper.

> “Yes.”

Written by Chief Obaego
---
To be continued in Episode 6

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Chief Obaego

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