David wasn't concerned about his mother's concern for him because he felt she had the wrong emotions and opinions towards Sindara's death. It didn't make any sense to David that Folakemi was on his side.

How could she be on his side? How could she not resent him deeply for what he'd done? How could she worry about his wellbeing when he'd destroyed her mentally, emotionally, and perhaps, health-wise?

Folakemi's actions towards the tragedy didn't feel genuine to David. In fact, her compassion and meekness scared him. Her composure reminded him of the neighbor that gave him the poisonous plate of jollof rice. The woman was always calm and controlled no matter what. Yet, the venom that proceeded from within her was deadlier than the toxin from the fangs of a hundred vipers put together.

There was no way that Folakemi, in a way, didn't hate David. It just couldn't be. No mother could ever be that caring to and reasoning with a child that had disobeyed and betrayed her.

Kelvin's reaction, on the other hand, felt a lot more realistic to David. David could not even resent his father for his rash decisions because David knew he deserved that and even more.

Kelvin was a sickle cell warrior. Hence, everyone in the family always tried hard to eliminate any factor that could trigger Kelvin to have a bodily crisis. Now that David had killed Sindara, he couldn't imagine the adverse effect that Sindara's demise would have on Kelvin's bad health. There was no way that such a brutal death wouldn't have such a significant effect on him physically — even though he must be feeling a great deal of pain emotionally.

It was a surprise that Kelvin hadn't already killed David or sent him out of the house —And that was what prompted David to make a decision.

David already knew that ever since the death of his younger sister, he was as good as dead, useless, unworthy, unimportant, and invisible. Hence, instead of wasting more time sitting in his room all day, instead of shutting himself away from the real world into a realm filled with crazy illusions, he was going to make things a lot easier for himself and his family.

David decided that he would leave the house.

Staying in his room was a wasteful activity because while he did, he hoped for many things. David hoped desperately that Folakemi would barge into his room and vent out her real emotions. He wanted her to grab him by the collar of his shirt and slap him hard on his face. David hoped that his siblings would vent out their anger each time they walked into the room and shoved a tray of food under the door (sometimes, he ate the food with hopes that Yemisi or his mother would have laced it with poison) he hoped that they would tell him how much of a failure he was.

David even hoped that someone would save him from the hallucinations he repeatedly had. There on the mattress where he always stayed glued and staring aimlessly into the cold walls of the room, David always saw Sindara with a smile on her face, standing with her hands akimbo. Her dark skin was glistening brighter than a thousand ornate chandeliers, her black, curly hair packed into two whole buns, dressed in a pink gown and twirling gracefully on the tip of her toes like a skilled ballerina.

Whenever David saw Sindara in her pink ballet outfit, glee consumed him. Subconsciously, he found himself stretching out an arm in a motion to protect his younger sister from falling in case the need for it arrived in the middle of her dance. David yearned for another chance to protect her, the way he wished he would have on the day he'd given her poisoned food to eat. But anytime he stretched out his arm and tried to touch her glorious hand, the vision on the wall dissipated and vanished like dust.

David wondered how his siblings never saw him smile occasionally whenever they walked into his room. It was during those times when he stared into the wall, grinning that he wished Yemisi would give him a resounding slap, Alex would give him a jab in the ribs, or Demilade would yell at him to never smile when he'd caused Sindara to die.

He wished either one of them would slap him out of his hallucination and remind him that he was a murderer — that Sindara would always be out of his touch because he'd made her vanish.

But they never did, and it was perhaps because they already considered him to be non-existent. David didn't like his mother and siblings' attitude towards him — the pitiful glares and solemn behavior. He could pass with all of that which was why he was going to leave the house — where he was no longer needed, where his presence only brought endless sorrows.

Hence, today being the day of Sindara's burial, David decided to remain at home. His choice was insane. He knew he was supposed to be at the site where Sindara would be laid six feet under the ground, where the priest would order him to hold the shovel and deposit a mound of sand into the coffin.

David was supposed to be there, to bid his sister farewell. To ask for her forgiveness and get rid of the daily gnawing pain he felt on the inside — that feeling he could not name because even the nomenclature of that sentiment was multi-faceted. But David didn't feel worthy of such cheap redemption.

If he went to his sister's funeral, that would mean that she was truly dead. It would mean that he'd killed her. Every tear that fell down his cheeks as he watches his sister's corpse get buried would be questioned by his family and the onlookers that had come to the occasion of Sindara's burial. Even if they respected Sindara's demised soul and wouldn't want to cause a scene, their hawk-like gazes, watchful murmuring, and bewildered expressions would be hurtful enough to make him cringe shamefully — as though he were being stoned.

David realized that strangely, he didn't want the world to treat him as a murderer. Also, he desired a chance to revive his sister. David didn't want to believe it was over yet. After all, that view of Sindara lying immobile in the hospital didn't look like a dead body. He could remember his mother's words, 'Maybe she's in a coma. She still looks so beautiful on this bed. Her hair is exactly the way I'd packed it this morning. Although her face is pale and has bloodstains, her body is still glowing. Dead bodies never look this neat.'

He could also remember vividly how he'd tried to visualize an alteration of the nightmare he'd had about the faceless woman that cooked the delicious pot of jollof. Although the illusion had failed him then, who said he couldn't try again? Why did Sindara's burial have to come so soon? He needed another opportunity to give Sindara's resurrection a trial — to erase the sorrow his family had been feeling permanently.

David didn't even know what the hell it was that he really wanted. Days ago, he'd wished someone would slap him out of his insane hallucinations. David had wanted to be insulted, shamed, and ridiculed for being a killer. Now, he wanted another chance. He wanted approval and protection from the wickedness of the world.

David wanted to hold on to something while simultaneously wanting nothing. Grief steered the wheel of David's life like a drunken sailor — swirling him through several insane vicissitudes of impossible needs and illusions. Anything to get to the shore of the stormy sea, David was willing to do, and yet at the same time, David just wanted to be consumed by the violent lurches of the sea because he couldn't decipher what each wave of his emotions were — pushing him this way and that. He was a never-ending, disturbing storm.

Earlier in the morning, the pitter-patter sound of sandals recurred through the floors. There was frequent hissing, sighing, and even sniffing from inches away. The faint clang of pots also came from a distance. David could decipher from the sounds he heard that his family had been preparing to go for Sindara's funeral. They were only waiting behind to perhaps, feed Demilade some breakfast.

Then, just a few inches away from the door to his room, David heard a voice laced with coldness and authority that he knew could only belong to one person. Even his father wasn't capable of such apathy — even if he chose to exercise the entirety of his masculine glory.  Also, David was surprised that for the first time since Sindara's death, he agreed with what this person had to say.

"Don't knock at his door. I think he should stay at home since he wishes to. I think it will be dangerous for him to come, especially because of what Iya Saliu said the other day she came here. I don't want him to get more hurt and pricked by the deadly questions that the people at the funeral site might ask him when I'm not looking.

"But..." came a feminine baritone voice that David knew to be Yemisi's. "That will make people more suspicious. His absence will give an idea of circumstantial evidence to the guests at the funeral that perhaps, David might have had something to do with Sindara's death. By the time they start to share their condolences with us and notice that David is absent, what are we going to say when they ask about his whereabouts or his wellbeing?"

For a moment, there was silence—a brooding silence from Folakemi. A brooding silence that was seven times as brooding as Folakemi's usual brooding silences. The lull hovered over the atmosphere so thickly that it wafted its way through the thick oak door of David's room, slashing through David's heart like a vice.

She was probably silent because it was painful for her to think of an answer. Such pain hastily brought back memories. Bad memories that David had brought into her life. Memories that she couldn't even pretend were not as a result of David's disobedience — even if she'd tried. In her soul dwelled the harsh facts, absent of the need to convey faux compassion. Finally, she spoke, saving David from the steerings of grief and its reckless mannerisms of driving David nuts.

"We are not obligated to answer anybody's questions. Anybody that dares to ask will be told to mind their business." Folakemi said coldly, her voice descending a few inches down the thermometer.

"But that's rude. It's only natural for people to ask. You just lost a child, so everyone would want to be sure that the other absent child is doing fine. Besides, it just doesn't make sense that David isn't coming along. This is a funeral for God's —"

"Quit talking, Yemisi! We're getting late for the funeral!" Kelvin's gravelly voice washed over Folakemi and Yemisi's heated conversation, a jingle of keys jiggling in his hands. "Let's leave the house right away!"

Without another word, all of the sounds that could be heard earlier began to dissipate. Footsteps retreated farther and farther away until they were out of earshot. David was the only soul left at home. Sindara's death had birthed a controversy surrounding his situation — either staying at home or going for the funeral could put him at a dangerous risk, which was all the more reason why he had to leave the house.

Still, before leaving, David wanted to give his illusions another try. If the dream of the faceless hand wouldn't work, he could try another. And so the vision appeared on the wall — of Sindara dancing as a ballerina in a pink gown, her dark skin glistening brighter than a thousand ornate chandeliers fixed in a room, her curly hair packed into two whole buns. Sindara twirled on the tip of her toes gracefully in a pirouette. The view of her dancing was radiant and bright, a halo surrounding her like armor. David watched the image of Sindara dance on the wall for a long time.

Then he realized that if he continued to watch her dance, there wouldn't be a need to save her. She would only remain a mirage, an illusion coated in nothingness. He'd imagined this because he needed another chance to prove that he could protect Sindara. So David used the power of his mind to visualize a stronger image.

A few minutes after gazing keenly and thinking of nothing else but the image on the wall, David could now see Sindara dancing solely on a dimly lit stage. A quartet was playing in the background. The obscure ray of the light that fell on Sindara's dancing form like a silhouette came from a chandelier that hung from the ceiling.

The chandelier was dangling, swaying abnormally to and fro in similitude to a see-saw movement. David's heart picked up a fast pace, and he swallowed. Why is the chandelier swinging back and forth like a pendulum? It's not the rainy season. Where's the wind coming from?

David looked around, panicking. Then his eyes landed on a figure that stood behind the black curtains. Slowly as David paid more attention, he saw a hand — a familiar hand that looked very much like the hand that cooked the poisonous jollof rice. Then he saw the hand pulling a rope. What is she doing with a rope at an opera? Then he followed the direction to which the rope extended. He froze.

The rope was tied around the chandelier, and the faceless hand was uncurling the string with each tugging and pulling, causing the chandelier to swing faster and descend lower from the ceiling — to crash to the ground or instead on Sindara's head, broken light bulbs pierced into her tender flesh. Sindara was still twirling on the stage, directly under the glow of the chandelier and unaware of the doom that awaited her.

Then David moved his frozen feet and lunged forward to grab Sindara and pull her away from the stage before the chandelier came crashing down. When he stood up and tried to wrap his arms around her, the vision disappeared again and vanished like fumes from a chimney into the colorless sky.

David tried harder. No, he had to be able to touch her. This was why he'd had the illusion — to create another chance and scenario to save Sindara and bring her back to life. How could she just disappear and get crushed by the swinging chandelier? He flailed his hands, trying to grab a few chaff of smoke he could spot from the vanishing image. The harder he tried, the more impossible his mission was. Trying to touch a ghost was as possible as filling a sieve with water.

That was it. He'd tried again — with another vision. Yet, he'd failed. David fell to the ground and sobbed. He sobbed with so much anger — wrath accumulated from the dejection, numbness, guilt, and a couple of other nameless sentiments that he'd been feeling in the past few days.

Is this really it? Is it the end? Will I never be able to touch Sindara again? My family would never be happy again because I can't bring Sindara back to life. All I wanted was to bring her back so my parents would not have to be so sad anymore.

Moments spent in distress were painstakingly timeless, so when David heard someone open the door of his room, he flinched. He was surprised when he started to hear more footsteps from the living room and wondered how long he'd been crying. When he looked into the window, he saw the sun at the topmost high of the sky — signifying that it was noon which was a reasonable estimated time to have concluded the funeral.

David wiped his tears away and looked up. Alexander was already staring at him, so their eyes met each other. Alexander looked handsome as always, even in his mournful black outfit — jet black curly hair, bushy eyebrows, and small eyes. He looked like someone who would get over Sindara's death and be happy again, unlike David. David didn't fail to notice the gleam of triumph in Alexander's eyes when they stared at each other.

He's probably happy that I look this sad. I can't blame him. I deserve the hatred for killing Sindara, David reasoned.

Alexander's lips quivered as he froze on the spot where he stood. David had never looked at him since Sindara died. Was it okay for him to say something? Would David respond? David had not been responding to anyone. He hadn't looked at anything or anyone either except for the wall in front of him. Alex didn't know what to do, so he kept his mouth shut and looked at the floor, unsure of what would happen to his eyes if he kept staring at David — especially in terms of moisture.

The silence between them was not supposed to be broken — at least by David because he never said a word to anyone for days. So when David broke the silence, Alex was so shocked that he nearly toppled off his feet and onto the ground — to scream, give a joyful cry and give his elder brother a big and well-deserved hug. But Alex tried to remain on his feet because David's question didn't seem to warrant such a reaction.

"Do you hate me?"

"W-what?" Alex stammered, wearing and adjusting his circular glasses that had now fallen off his eyes to fit in between the bridge of his nose. "I don't hate you, egbon mi!"

"But everyone else does, right? Be honest with me," David pressed.

It was slightly believable to David that Alex didn't hate him. Alex never hated anyone, no matter what they did. David knew because Alexander was always such a soft person, apologizing to people who offended him and turning the left cheek whenever someone slapped him on the right.

Alex might currently feel resentment towards David, but David knew it could only be temporary because he loved to reason with people — no matter how undeserving they were of his compassion. However, David didn't want Alexander to lie on behalf of everyone else in the family. If he did, then David would doubt Alex himself and would begin to think that Alex also hated him but wasn't being truthful about it.

"N-no. No one hates you, egbon mi. We have all been worried about your well-being, and we've been hoping you will come around. It wasn't your fault that Sindara died, egbon mi. You were just trying to make her happy. I'm sure that Dad will have the same opinion when he's...no longer...angry with you," Alex answered, saying the last sentence in a much lower tone.

At least he told the truth. It's no doubt that Dad hates me.

"Dad hates me, right?"

"I-I don't think so. He's just angry. I'm sure he will calm down as time passes by."

"Do you really think he will? I haven't seen Dad eye-to-eye since he whipped me in the living room, but you've been seeing him. Tell me truthfully. With his composure, words, behavior, and attitude at the mention of my name, do you really think a time will come when he would no longer be angry at me? Beneath his fury, do you see signs that deep down, he probably cares about me? Be honest, Alex."

There was a moment of silence. A silence thicker than that which proceeded from Folakemi earlier in the morning. Then slowly, he answered.

"N-no, egbon mi."

That was it: the answer and the go-ahead he needed to leave the house. Everyone else could go on pretending to care about him. Still, he knew that once he leaves the house, their compassion would shed away to unfold the real emotions they felt towards him concerning Sindara's demise — feelings that were similar to Kelvin's. Hence, he would no longer stay in the same house with the people he'd betrayed. Even if they never yelled at him or pointed fingers at him, he would always feel obligated to do the impossible just to redeem himself —to bring Sindara back to life.

As though Alex had read his thoughts, he opened his mouth to say something.

"Egbon mi, it wasn't your fault, I assure you!" his eyes went wide beneath his glasses. He fell on his knees and moved closer to David. Then he touched David's hands, grasping onto it as though it were a lifeline. Then he began to sob. "Please, egbon mi. Promise me that you wouldn't do anything bad. We can't lose you, egbon mi. Please, promise me."

David took promises and vows very seriously, but he knew he would have to break this particular one —for the good of everyone. David hated the way Alexander sobbed and pleaded because it made it hard for him to lie.

Hence, David didn't say anything in response. He didn't promise Alex that he wasn't going to do anything terrible. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Alexander's shoulders and gave him a brotherly pat on the back in a way that would make him feel as though all would be well.