Dawn Of No Return—Book 1: The Secret's Night Mist

Chapter One 

The Envelope 

The bell's clang came with dawn. Sunrays crept into Grey's shadowy room, the unusual wooden clock made a click, he started with his face pressed to the pillow mumbling something like 'Bevilwoodwarming,' then aimed for the plastic table by the window, going on his knees. 

"Open thou my eyes oh Lord, that I may behold wondrous things, out of Thy word, for Christ's sake. Amen." 

Grey rose, took his seat rubbing his eyes—ready to begin his morning ritual with his Bible. 

He was raised in a strict Christian family with high standards, the kind that don't accept fiddles to pure moral behaviour. Grey was the first of three children, and a graduate of the University of Port City the very one his younger brother had applied to, while his younger sister was in her Junior secondary class three, preparing for her Junior West African Examination (JWAE).

Grey was a fair, healthy twenty-five year old with small brown eyes, black hair, a lean muscular build, and a beard.

"Thank you for the illumination of Your word. Guide my path that I may know Thy precepts. Keep me safe from harm." 

His prayers had shortened with each passing day since the dawn of reality. He rose with a sober face, not for this day being a Sunday, but for the next—he would begin his mad walk through the busy streets of Port City, job hunting under glaring hot sun and a sweat soaked suit with the angry face of a persistent, worrisome landlord screaming in his mind, "I'm not running a charity here. Pay your rent." 

He undressed, had his bath, walked to his cloth hanger, picked out a lace material he donned on. He didn't care so much for his looks these days, that was the least of his concerns—a miracle was all he needed.

Grey walked over to his table to find his Bible study manual. And in his search, a leaflet slid from the table to the floor—his eyes followed it. The search for the manual ceased, he picked up the fiery coloured leaflet reading the contents: 

The Fiery Serpent Church 

No. 34 Beryl Avenue, Port City, Rivers, Nigeria. 

Such an unusual name for a Nigerian Church, he thought. Grey spotted the red faded serpent on a cross with the reading: 

Numbers 21:8 

And the Lord said unto Moses, Make thee a fiery serpent, and set it upon a pole: and it shall come to pass, that everyone that is bitten, when he looketh upon it, shall live. 

Have you been bitten by the reality of life? Worship with us today at the Fiery Serpent Church. 

Grey jerked his head to recollect how he had gotten this, then it clicked. On the joyous day of his convocation, a lady (he couldn't vividly picture with the day's celebration) passed several of these to him and his colleagues. Grey stared at it wondering, not so far from my place. At least he would miss the tiring festival fated to end by two, he thought, for he was a devoted Anglican.

He picked up his Bible still clutching the leaflet, walked out the door, closed his burglary with the usual small padlock, then left through the gate.

He lived in a student's environment with a 'C' shaped two story building—Grey's room was on the first floor. Thankfully, his normal customers who asked if there was any progress with his job seeking were all closed and wouldn't be open until that evening, he made it smoothly to the road. 

He waved down a taxi going to Beryl Avenue, he got in, and moments later, he was out facing a huge white structure seated inside a fenced environment with flashy cars on the inside, sweat sprang on the back of his neck. Grey's jaw dropped.

Something I wouldn't regret today, he thought. He wiped his face, then the back of his neck before acknowledging the blazing sun.

Grey came from a middle class family, the kind content enough to escape the financial cruelty of each passing day, but never privileged to be around the wealthy class.  

"I would be sure to make friends today," he said to himself. 

Grey walked past the armed security at the gate, and a few others spotted around the compound with policemen by certain engine running bulletproof vehicles—into the church. 

Behind sliding glass doors, the chilled air welcomed Grey before the ushers did. The white painted auditorium was brightly lit and packed with people in great fashion attire. He looked to the altar—a man in white robe addressed the congregation before a glass pulpit sitting on a red rug with a large poster of the fiery serpent behind him. The auditorium was filled, an usher vacated his seat for Grey, and he sat—catching the words of the Pastor. 

"There's life between the cracks. In a field of fire, we are the blooming roses. In a dry and thirsty land, we are the ocean. We are calm, undistorted bright rays in the midst of darkening storms," the pastor said, then went into the verse for that day. 

Grey took notes, marked verses called from the Bible, did a brief research on his own, and closed his Bible when the pastor began to summarize. 

“We must pray. A prayerless soul is a Christless soul. Prayer is the lisping of the believing infant. The shout of the fighting believer, the requiem of the dying saint falling asleep in Jesus. It is the breath, the watchword, the comfort, the strength, the honour of a Christian," the pastor said, then gazed from side to side.

A pin drop could be heard from any corner of the auditorium. 

"You have been bitten by life?" the pastor went on to ask. "Look to the fiery serpent who is Jesus. He won't just let you live again, but every area struggling in your life would breathe. Pen down that request now in prayer. Pen it down.” 

What followed next was the resounding tear of sheets, and silent murmurs. Everyone was scribbling on a paper. Grey got out a sheet, then wrote: 

Bless me Lord Jesus. Give me a job with a good pay. Make me a blessing to my family, nation, and the world. Use me to wipe out evil. Make me a great success in my generation. Give my brother an admission. Amen. 

The pastor told the ushers to collect offerings with the request each of them had written down. Ushers began circulating red bags around, he slipped in his.

For a second, Grey admired how well the church was organized, before the pastor prayed. 

"Lord Jesus! We have been bitten, and look up to you for the deliverance of our soul. Each request has been tabled to you and you alone. With our eyes on you, do rescue us from the venomous troubles of life. You've made wonders in our midst and you will make great things happen this week. Bless our offerings…it's from our heart. In our businesses, we would be outstanding. We would rule the modern age, and Lord may your Kingdom be established here on earth as it is in Heaven. Thank you this day for our daily bread. Be thou highly exalted. In Jesus name." 

“Amen," the congregation chorused. 

An announcement was passed, the first timers were welcomed, and Grey found himself shaking hands with men he only got to hear of, or see on the TV—it was amazing. This would be his new place of worship and he knew it. He had never felt so much alive. The church closed, first timers were given brown envelopes, they penned their name, address and phone number on a sheet, Grey set for home with a vibrant face.

He got into his room, tossed the Bible and envelope on the table, undressed, warmed and ate the remaining cooked beans—cleared the pot, gamed a bit on his laptop, then picked up a boring novel to read himself to exhaustion, it worked.

The phone must have rung the ninth time before Grey moved. Slowly, he stirred, picking up the phone to see who the caller was before placing it to his ear. 

"Roy!" Grey said with a cranky voice. 

"Guess what bro?" his brother sounded overly cheerful. 

"Oh God. What?" Grey rubbed his eyes, and stretched. 

"Haa—hahaha. I got it. I got it bro. They just sent me a message." 

"You got what?" 

"The admission, you sissy. I got the admission." 

Grey sat up, saying, "It's a lie." 

"First list," Roy sounded emotional. "First freaking list. The very first." 

"But that result…" 

"Yes. I know. The result was hanging by a thread. A thread. There's no way I came out among the first, man. I just can't believe it." 

Grey pushed back a tear with a smile. "Wow." 

"I'm so happy bro. I'm so happy. My head wants to explode. Like I'm freaking losing my mind. I even got my course of choice. MY COURSE OF CHOICE. Like, even if an admission was possible, I wouldn't have gotten a course of my choosing."

"Damn!" 

"I'll be in school tomorrow to begin my admission process. Please help me thank God," Roy said. 

With watery eyes, Grey found his voice. "Congratulations man. I'm really proud of you." 

"Thanks bro. I'm sure I disturbed your sleep. I had no one to share it with, and I know you never mess with your afternoon sleep...I just couldn't bear the happy news alone—you know." 

"Yeah, I get,” Grey said. “Where's mom, dad and Chloe?" 

"Went with some church members to visit a sick fellow who's a member’s relative I think—or so the announcement stated. They should be home soon," Roy replied. 

"Okay. Tell me when they get home." 

"Sure. Later man." 

"Yeah."  

The line went dead. He was genuinely happy for his brother, but something slowly wrung it out—turning it into the usual worrisome look he wore when something was up. Something his brother hadn't seen, but he could vividly. Money. 

Mom and dad didn't have any for Roy to secure the admission, let alone pay for little expenses that followed behind. Grey knew this because his dad had last sent ten thousand naira to him three weeks back and he was massively in debt. His younger sister was due for exams any time now and couldn't participate if she hadn't paid. Grey was lost in thoughts. This was supposed to be his moment. This was why he needed a job with a good pay. He had to do something now and fast. He picked up his phone, dialed a few numbers. Some picked voicing their expectation for the windows of heaven to open, a few reminded him of the debt he owed, some didn't pick up, and others didn't even ring.

In frustration, Grey tossed the phone on his pillow, spreading on the bed with eyes to the ceiling.

He pictured a world where he was rich, owned a fast car, and lived in a mansion...had a styled wardrobe and exquisite taste for everything. Was that world even possible? A world you rule and call the shots, not the kind that creates problems ready to tear you in twain.

His mind wandered to the church. Those guys for instance, he thought, maybe I should apply for a job there. I mean, what do they even need a guy like me for? I could at least clean the toilets. Something floated to his mind. The envelope.

He looked to the table, he could spot the brown envelope sitting next to his Bible. He slowly got up, eager to have a piece of the church distract him as he made for the table. 

He took the full sized envelope in hand, weighed it, then tore it open. A call came in, Grey left it to attend the call. It was his girlfriend—Tina. 

"Hello!" she said. 

"Babe! How are you?" 

"I'm not fine. You abandoned me." 

"Oh God. How many times do we have to go through this? For any consolation, I planned to call you this evening. Roy surprisingly got that admission." 

"Ohh, good for him. Are we still going out tomorrow?" 

Grey fell short of words. 

"Did you hear me?" 

"Come again," he said. 

"Are we still going out tomorrow?" Tina asked. 

"No, we're not. Did you even hear what I said about Roy?" 

"I said good for him." 

"Right." 

"So, I just called to find out cause I have this guy who wants to take me out."

“Who is he?" Grey asked. 

“One of my friends." 

"I know all your male friends. Which one?" 

"Uhm, I'm sorry. My elder sister is calling...bye." She quickly hung up.

What was this? Tina knew he didn't have a job yet, though she had complained about him trying to make some cash real soon so her family doesn't look at her as a loser. Was she using his current state to mock him? What about all the promises of loyalty to stand with him in times of hardship, and trouble?

Grey wrapped his head in his arm. This wasn't supposed to be happening. On a day of rest, the pressure of the coming week days had already begun stepping on all the wrong spots, posing to crush him totally before Monday began. 

"Aaaaaaaargh," he screamed into his pillow. "Why me?"

A valid question no one could answer. Grey had met Tina at a friend's birthday party, they had talked a bit, exchanged contacts and eventually found so much similarities which led them to date. Everyone told him he was lucky, deep down, Grey knew he didn't deserve her. Tina was the kind you couldn't take your eyes off, the kind you would easily fall in love with because of not just how she looked, but the things she said, though Tina could be rude when she wanted to be.

He had to compete with the guys to stay on board, but he wasn't sure he could meet up now. He wasn't anywhere close to achieving his goal of being a great electronics engineer, or a writer. Maybe he really would apply as a janitor at the Fiery Serpent church. Better to see and hope, than be without hope at all, he thought. Again the envelope came to mind. 

He moved to the table, took the torn envelope by the end, and turned it. The contents, along with lots of one thousand naira notes scattered to the table and floor. Grey froze in his seat, hands still clutching the end of the empty envelope. 

"Oh. Oh. Oh Wow. Wow, wow, wow, fucking wow. Probably a dream in a dream. Ha. I've lost myself in my afternoon sleep," Grey said, then laughed.

It wasn't the first time he so desperately needed something only to see himself dreaming about getting that very thing. This was probably one of those dreams. Of course, It had to be.

“Roy’s name can't appear on the first list, neither could he have an admission in his choice department. No church on earth conceals money...naira of any kind in fat brown envelopes and distributes them to first timers. And, ha—ha, I'm not losing my girlfriend. Tina told me how many babies we would have, and that she would die before she leaves me. Maybe I did hit my head." 

He took to his feet releasing the envelope, took hold of the money to feel it. "This all feels so real. Just a little more sleep, and I'll be fine. I just need to get back to bed, and I would wake up to my norm everyday problem."

He released the money, moved to his bed, then fell on it, sealing his eyes shut. "Lord! Thank you for this dream. It's a promise you would do wonders in my life. And Jesus, please wake me up. Don't get me lost in a reality that isn't real, I beg you." 

Reality stubbornly refused to accept his request to depart as Grey opened an eye turning to the table, the contents and the money was still there. "No, God. Please don't mess with me."  

He stood, returned more cautiously to the table. Grey held each note to the light, feeling its authenticity...it showed Nigeria's coat of arm—it was real. He rested with hands to his mouth.

He took up other contents of the envelope. There was a blank cheque, a book with telephone numbers in it, a cell phone, a single Bluetooth earpiece, car keys, a leather watch, an address on a paper, something that seemed to be for a thumbprint device, and a letter. He unfolded the letter which read: 

IF WE SUFFER THE GOOD TO GROW WEAKER, THE EVIL WILL SURELY GATHER STRENGTH AND 

STRUGGLE DESPERATELY FOR MASTERY OVER US, AND SO PERHAPS, A PAINFUL DESOLATION, AND A LAMENTABLE DISGRACE MAY FOLLOW. 

Dear Mr. Garrett, 

If you've opened this letter, you've officially acknowledged to being a member of The Secret. Take this seriously, for there's no turning from it. You're not to tell anyone about this letter, else they would be killed. Should you be inclined to tell the police, they would be killed. If you refuse to do as told, you would be killed. We know this for your apartment has been wired with C4s, enough to obliterate your existence from God's earth.  

For your first assignment; take the gun under your bed and shoot your neighbor.

Yours faithfully,

The Secret. 

Grey laughed out loud. "This reality must be so cool and funny. Wow. My eyes are messing with me," he said rubbing them.

The leather watch began to tick, Grey moved to it.

A digital stopwatch counted on the screen. Wait, this couldn't be real, right? None of these made sense. Grey tried to stop it by turning the time knob, it didn't spin—it seemed to be broken. He reeled back to the bed to sit. Then it occurred to him to turn the bed upside down—he did. 

A silencer lay vividly on the floor, Grey picked it up, and there was a small note attached to it.

Readied and loaded. Aim, then pull the trigger. 

His time was running out. Another ticking came from the ceiling. Grey kept the gun down, positioned his chair, aimed for a part of the ceiling and moved it aside, took hold of two strong woods pulling himself up to peer into the dark ceiling—there were lots of red blinking lights from notable black devices. He quickly released himself. "What the fuck. What the fucking fuck. Shit," Grey said, spreading both arms. "Okay. Okay. I'm probably losing my mind.” He slapped himself. It was painful. This had to be real. 

Grey looked at his hands, they were shaky. He ran to the table—one minute remaining. Quickly, he hid the gun in his shirt with the watch in hand, left the room to his neighbour's and began knocking vigorously. 

"I am coming," came the voice of a man.

The door opened, Grey's neighbour was in shorts with a huge headset over his head. 

"What's up G!" 

"Hey Anthony! Please, can I come in?" 

"Sure G." Anthony ushered him in then closed the door. "What's wrong with your watch? It's beeping like—" 

"Anthony!" 

"Yeah?" 

Three seconds to go. 

"I'm sorry." Grey briskly got out the gun, and clicked the trigger five times in Anthony's direction. 

Time stopped as did his heart. His shocked neighbours sprawled to the floor, brilliant crimson gradually spreading through from his chest—the ticking stopped, everywhere became still. 

"Thank you, Grey Garrett," a female voice came from the watch drawing the gaze of a bewildered Grey. "The C4s have been deactivated. Your life is safe. You're to return to your room and await your next mission. Welcome to The Secret."