Resurgence

21. Blood Truce

Dayo Tijani.

He didn’t hate the man. He had done what any reasonable, agonized man would have done and taking into consideration the fact that Dayo hadn’t gone into a rage or fit of some sort, that didn’t result in launching an attack on him – he figured he was more than honorable in fact. Because Tari couldn’t imagine the type of thing he’d do to the man that’d dare endanger the life of Lani? He didn’t know exactly how he would react, but he knew his action would most likely make him end up in prison like he was currently.

And then his thoughts drifted to Sky—Ose, Adeola, the rest of his colleagues and the nature of their reception of the news. Most of the time, they all had it out for themselves and never really cared much for each other—but he was pretty sure that the lot of them felt broken and sorry for him. Not to the point that it’d make them take a day off to honor his memory, but to the point that they would spend a couple of minutes over lunch, discussing on the possibilities of his fate changing course from a catastrophic one. The administration in general was probably on its toes, doing its utmost best to dissolve all relationships with him and minimize the damage, that he had inflicted on the firm as a whole as a result of his failure.

Mom.

He felt a pang of guilt as he finally thought about his mother. She had visited him in the morning, breaking into a sob when their eyes locked over the glass panel separating them. They hadn’t been able to talk much, before they had whisked him away off course, leaving her to drown in her own pool of tears. It was now he felt bad and miserable than ever, that he hadn’t been the best of sons. He had provided her with every materialistic thing she craved for, but he hadn’t spent ample time to appreciate her position in his life and it wasn’t until he realized that the time might be too late for that—that he regretted it.

“Visitor?” He had been immersed in his thoughts, that he didn’t realize his cellmate had awoken from his slumber and was now staring at him wide eyed. The man didn’t look terrifying or imposing in the slightest bit. If anything, he looked warm and welcoming. He was probably in his late fifties and he had grey scanty hair on his bald hair, with an almost invisible receding hairline. He was lacking a lot in fat and skin, as his body looked like a skeleton simply draped with skin and not flesh. His face was mostly crinkled, but he looked bright and Tari could tell he was an handsome man, in his younger days.

“I’m not a visitor,” Tari said, fighting the urge to scowl because the man looked pleasant. “They don’t dump visitors in the cell and clothe them in the same uniform, that all prisoners are wearing.”

“This isn’t your home, is it?” The man’s back was rested on the wall—his legs spread apart, out wide and his hands clasped. He looked at ease and comfort and it was then Tari knew he had spent a lot of time in prison. “I’m guessing somewhere you have family and friends that care for you, which is of course your home and even if you don’t have, you indeed have a cozy apartment you call home. If that is so, prison is a place you’re visiting for a long time. Or are you going to see it as home?”

Tari looked at him harder, as if there was a chance that he could have missed something in his earlier assessment. The man was indeed peculiar like he looked.

“No it’s not home, so I guess I’m a visitor then.” Tari agreed. “A visitor who doesn’t have a say over this visit.”

“You did have a say over this visit.” He replied. “I mean, you did something that made you end up here. Whether you deserved this or not is a debate for another day. It’s either that or you’re just someone the police picked on the road randomly for appearing like a criminal and looking at you? I don’t think so. So, I know that’s not it.”