Opemipo folded the last shirt in her bag, pressed the bulging bulk of clothes, and started dragging the zipper slowly. She got halfway, when she released the bag, and expelled a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.
She roamed lazy eyes round the room, before they finally settled on her younger brother, lying down there on the bed next to her, while engrossed with something on his mobile phone.
She took a pillow, threw it at him, and it bounced off him, drawing his attention. “Timothy!”
He shook himself, looking up at her with a glare. “What was that for?”
“I am here struggling with my bag, and you are there pressing phone. So, you don’t know you’re supposed to come help me, abi?”
Timothy sighed and dropped his phone, and began to crawl off the bed, while muttering and grumbling about persistent elder sisters. Ope smiled, but hid it with a sneer.
When he got down and stood beside her, he looked up at her with resigned eyes. “I am here now. What can I do for you?”
“You will help me squeeze this bag together, while I drag the zipper.”
“When you won’t stop packing load like a girl.”
“In case you haven’t noticed, I am a girl.” Timothy was about to say something, but Ope raised a hand. “Just help me zip the bag.”
Timothy was quiet after that, as they worked together to zip the bag. When the zipper got to the other end, she let out a whoop of joy, while Timothy rolled his eyes.
“Don’t go and buy a new bag. Be here yelling over zipping a bag that has been in existence before I was born.”
She picked up the bag before looking at him. “There’s something called treasuring, you know?”
Timothy snorted. “Be deceiving yourself there. Instead of you to say you’re broke.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t be broke, if I could just get a damn promotion.”
Shooting his tongue out mockingly, Timothy responded. “Probably because you are an olodo.”
“That’s it!”
Timothy took to his heels and ran out of the room, while Ope ran after him, still clutching the bag in her hand. They ran to the sitting room, where their mother was sitting, and she had to raise her legs out of the way, before her children stampeded on her feet.
“Opemipo!” Mrs. Akinlolu exclaimed.
Drawing to a halt while Timothy sped away in utter glee, Ope turned to face her mother.
“Ma.”
“What has he done to you this time?”
“He called me an olodo for not getting promoted for the past three months.” Ope sighed before collapsing on the settee beside her mother.
“And you’re letting Timothy goad you into reaction.” Mrs. Akinlolu smiled. “Speaking of your promotion, have you discovered who has been stealing the idea for your pitches?”
Ope shook her head. “No, mummy.”
“I know it is one of those girls in your flat.”
“Or someone from the office. Anyone could have gone to my table and spied during lunch hour.”
“Haven’t you been taking the pitch with you to lunch?” Mrs. Akinlolu looked smug.
Ope sighed, placing both palms on her face. “Fine, you are right.”
Ope shared a four bedroom flat with three other girls from her office. Each girl had a room and an attached toilet and bathroom to herself, while they collectively shared the living room, kitchen, and pantry. She was close enough to Betty, the one whose room faced hers. Aisha and Temitope were also like that with each other.
Every Friday after work, Ope would come stay with her mother over the weekend, and return to their flat by Sunday evening. She looked forward to the constant weekend visits she had with her family. The three of them were very close to one another, ever since their father had left them for his mistress.
Placing a palm on Ope’s shoulder, her mother continued. “I don’t think you’re safe in that house.”
Ope rolled her eyes. “Mum, don’t start again.”
Mrs. Akinlolu ignored her daughter and picked up the Bible beside her on the couch. She opened it, and started flipping through. “Listen, I am not going to ask you to be stupid and not take actions, but we can also combat them with the blood of Jesus.”
“By washing away their sins?” Ope looked incredulous.
“You think washing away sins is the only thing the blood of Jesus can do?”
Ope shrugged, not saying anything.
Her mother flipped to a page, tracing the words with her finger, she read; “And they overcame him by the blood of the Lamb and by the words of their testimony. That is in Revelation. Who do you think John was referring to? Who did they defeat?”
“The beast.”
“Who’s the beast?”
“Satan.” Ope mumbled.
“They conquered him with what?”
Whispering, Ope answered. “Blood of the Lamb.”
“Opemipo, I can’t hear you.”
“Blood of the Lamb!” She exclaimed.
“Good!” Mrs. Akinlolu smiled. “I want you to shout it. Why do you receive communion at Mass then, if you think the blood is simply for washing your sins away?”
Ope shrugged again. “Honestly, I don’t know. I believe in the power of the blood and body of Christ, but I just don’t know what that power does. I simply receive communion, because I feel it would do its job when it’s in my body.”
Mrs. Akinlolu dropped her bible, and faced her daughter squarely. “My dear, you are familiar with the Anima Christi prayer. The third line, Sanguis Christi Inebria me, means what in English?”
“Blood of Christ, inebriate me.”
“Very good. To inebriate means to be intoxicated. To be drunk. When you’re in that state, whatever has intoxicated you controls you. It controls your actions, your thoughts, and your words. Let the scarlet thread intoxicate you. Trust me, it will never lead you astray.”
Opemipo nodded, but her mother suddenly stood up.
“Where are you going to?” Ope asked.
“I’ll be right back.” Mrs. Akinlolu answered, as she walked out of the living room.
Ope sighed, and pondered on her mother’s words. She knew she had to consider the possibility that the thief was living with her. She blamed the office’s policy that allowed anonymous pitches. Each time she prepared for her promotional pitch, somebody would have dropped that same idea in the anonymous pitches email.
It became obvious that whoever it was, was not doing it to garner favour, but to simply sabotage Ope’s promotion. It had to be somebody that had access to her computer and jotter.
Mrs. Akinlolu’s returning footsteps jarred her out of her thoughts. Her mother was holding a bottle of water.
“I’m not thirsty.”
“It’s not for drinking.” Mrs. Akinlolu resumed her position on the couch. “Or, it is. But it is not when you’re thirsty or anything.”
“Mummy what is that?” Ope sighed.
“Holy water. I asked Father John to bless it for you. It will serve as a physical representation of the blood for you.”
“Couldn’t you have gotten wine? Besides, how is water going to represent blood?”
Mrs. Akinlolu’s face was blank and devoid of expression. “When Christ was on the cross and his side was pierced, what came gushing out?”
Ope smiled and grabbed the bottle from her mother. “Blood and water. Point made.”
Standing up, she picked up her bag, while the bottle of water was in the other hand. “I have to go now. It’s getting late. Tell that rascal to take care of himself.”
Mrs. Akinlolu also stood up. “God be with you dear. Remember, be careful!”
“I will mum.” Ope turned to leave. “Good night ma.”
“O daaro, Opemipo.”
“This movie is getting more interesting oh, Ope. Are you sure you won’t join us?” Betty called out from the sitting room, later that night.
Ope was at the dining table, staring at her laptop, and scribbling furiously into her jotter. She raised her head to look at her flatmates, all gathered in front of the TV.
“No, I’ll pass.” She answered.
“What are you working on anyway?” Temitope asked.
“A new pitch for the Shalazam account.”
“Don’t you always have your pitches ready days before you have to present?” Betty asked, looking confused.
Ope nodded, finally giving them her attention. “Yes, but since someone has been sabotaging me, I have decided to keep it to the last hour. The only way anyone can sabotage me before tomorrow morning, is to suction the idea out of my brain, or grab my laptop from my tight grip.”
“We could always just poison you and get you out of the way forever.” Aisha, her least friendly flatmate muttered. “Saves all future stress of sabotage.”
“Haba, Aisha!” Betty and Temitope reprimanded.
“What?” Aisha grumbled. “I was just offering a suggestion.”
“Which foolish suggestion? You want to kill her?” Betty asked.
“It’s fine guys.” Ope called out. “You know Aisha is just being her usual self. She won’t kill me.”
They all went back to watching their movie, while Ope faced her work. It was going to be a long night for her.”
****
Ope grabbed her laptop and her handbag before stepping out of her room. She locked the door, and walked to the dining table; the click-clack of her heeled shoes being the only sound in the apartment.
She was surprised when she found Betty standing by the table, placing a covered plate of food there.
“Good morning, Betty. You never comot?”
Betty turned to give her a dazzling smile. “God morning dear. I’ll be on my way now. I just quickly made you breakfast. You were up all night, it’s the least I could do.”
Ope dropped her bag and laptop, to give Betty a hug. “You’re a lifesaver B. I am so nervous.”
“You’ll be fine. I simply wish we knew who the saboteur was. Have you ever considered that it could be Aisha? That girl holds some serious grudge against you.”
Ope laughed. “We’ll see.”
She sat at the table to begin eating the omelette and plantains in her plate. Betty smiled and waved at her. She wished her goodluck, and soon, Ope was the only one in the house.
About to grab the glass of water, it turned on its side, expelling its content. Ope sighed, but grabbed a napkin to dry the puddle. She saw the bottle of water she had left there at night, picked it up and sighed.
“Well, blood of Jesus it is.” She downed the content in multiple gulps.
When the pain started fifteen minutes later, Ope knew something was seriously wrong. She grabbed her belly and managed to stumble out of her chair. The plate of unfinished breakfast fell to the floor with her. She had not been careful, Ope realised that, albeit belatedly.
Lying there on her back on the floor, groaning in pain, she knew she had to call on the only saving grace she had left. She had the blood in her system, after all.
As if reading it from the ceiling, previous words of her mother came to her mouth. “And when the angel of death saw the blood of the lamb, he passed over them.”
Those were her last thoughts as she slowly passed out.
***
Her heels made the sounds, as the conference room and all its participants turned to look at her. They all looked surprised to see her, especially since she was supposed to be the one standing in front of them, giving her pitch.
Ope smiled at the usurper standing with Ope’s ideas blazingly displayed on the slides, right in front of the executives.
Betty had a shocked expression on her face.
“How?” She finally managed to choke out, while looking as if she had seen a ghost.
Ope smiled again, and strutted into the conference room, policemen now in tow. When she got to Betty, she bent to whisper.
“Sanguis Christi.”
