Matthew’s predicament deepens in the latest chapter, done artistically by Makaitah. Its beyond what words can describe.
Matthew lay in the dark dingy cell, on an insomniac mattress laden with protruding springs. His mind cluttered with puzzle pieces, each piece an enigma coming together in an immediate unwelcomed realization that he was the main piece of the puzzle. “Whitman set me up,” he whispered to himself.
Whitman had been the backseat driver, playing clubhouse lawyer for the entire scam. Matthew remembered running to him for advice on Adeyemi Eze’s offer. The image of Whitman’s coy smile as he encouraged him to “go for it,” made permanent residence at the back of his mind. “Sonafabitch”
The night was long, ridden with inceptive nightmares of Rose weeping with a steady flow of blood streaming from her eyes. She lay clad in white chiffon in an open casket. She suddenly flicked her…
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