The African Immortal Chronicles

"Dammit, woman," I said softly, and I counted to ten, then headed to the washroom as well. Monica grabbed me as soon as I got in, and kissed me passionately. Just like that, we began making love. There's something awesome and adventurous about a quickie, especially in a place like a restaurant washroom where you're quite likely to get caught. Monica and I simply did not care...

"I want you now, Patrick," Monica whispered hotly as I pressed her against the wall, and caressed her small, perky breasts through her tank top. Monica's hands fondled my crotch, and she unzipped my pants. Out came my dick, which is long, thick, dark and uncircumcised. Monica stroked it, a dreamy look upon her lovely face. I slid my hand into her skirt, and smiled as I realized she wasn't wearing any panties.

"I can tell," I replied, kissing Monica as I began fingering her already wet pussy. Monica does not shave down below and I like that in a woman. As I fingered and prodded her gently, Monica moaned deeply and continued pumping her small hand up and down my dick. Soon I was hard as a rock, and Monica could definitely tell. Locking eyes me, Monica nodded and licked her lips.

"Take me," Monica hissed, and I leaned into her, and she wrapped her arms around me, holding me tight as I began my approach into her. With a swift thrust I entered her. Monica exhaled sharply, and I held her hips as I began fucking her. The washroom was small and uncomfortable, but we didn't give a damn. I pumped my dick into Monica, and she squealed in delight as I fucked her.

"What are you doing in there?" came a French-accented mature feminine voice, and Monica and I stared at each other, and smiled. Busted. We continued fucking, and the knocks continued on the door, and we ignored them. Monica's fingernails dug into the flesh of my arms and shoulders, and her pussy squeezed me tightly. I couldn't take it anymore and came, violently...

"Nature called, madame," Monica said, blank-faced, to the restaurant owner, and the older Haitian lady gasped. Pretty much everyone on the premises stared at us, giggling as we exited together. Outside, it was raining, and we got into a cab and went to Monica's spot, where we continued what we'd started in Alabon Libon Caribbean Cuisine restaurant. It was absolutely fantastic. Afterwards, Monica and I lay in bed, happy as can be...

"To many more days like this one," I said to Monica as I held her in my arms, and my favorite Dutchwoman grinned and playfully tugged on my chest hairs, causing me to wince a bit. I caressed Monica's thick derriere, causing her to purr like a kitten. Lying in bed with Monica, I swear, I felt all my problems melt away. Sure, the Toronto police are after me and there's a supernatural serial killer out there, but in that moment, I felt at peace.

"Amen to that, Patrick," Monica said, then she kissed me on the lips and fell asleep. Monica's got a habit of hogging the covers, and bed space, and sometimes, she talks in her sleep. Other times, she farts. Oh yeah, my diminutive Dutch cutie with the big booty likes to let them rip in her sleep. Doesn't bother me none. I grew up in Nigeria, where the human body and its flaws are a beautiful thing. Only westerners like to pretend they're made of steel...When I woke up, my world ended.

"Rise and shine, sleepyhead," came a familiar feminine voice, and I woke up to see Monica Van Kemmel standing before me, fully dressed. In her hand she held a butcher's knife. I shrank back from her instinctively, and she smiled. I looked into Monica's eyes and my inner Demon told me that this wasn't Monica, at least not the one I knew.

"Eleggua, you're possessing her," I whispered, gasping in shock, and the renegade Orisha smiled wickedly. I stood up, and faced my foe, beyond disturbed that my enemy now wore the face of the woman I loved. The Orisha/Monica came closer, and slashed at me with the knife. With my superhuman reflexes I easily dodged it, but I couldn't keep this up forever.

"The Yoruba Gods must be pretty desperate to send someone like you against me," Eleggua/Monica said, laughing. I stared her down. Everything in me wanted to rush my enemy and take her down, but I knew that I would only be harming Monica Van Kemmel in the process. The rogue Orisha known as Eleggua is a bodiless entity. If I were to kill its current host, it would soon move to another, unless...

"I am Soyinka the Hunter, Servant and Emissary of Ogun, God of War of the Yoruba people, I do not age nor do I fall prey to disease or injury, I am a half-breed, and I have a proposition for you," I said, and a flicker of interest appeared in Eleggua/Monica's eyes. The rogue Orisha stopped, and licked her lips. I could tell that I had its attention, and now, to reel it in...

"What can you offer me?" Eleggua/Monica said, her beautiful face a mask of disdain. The Orishas have always been beings of great power. In West Africa, since ancient times, they were intermediaries between the World of Man and the Abode of the Gods. Immortal, wise, cunning, and quite powerful. Even if I were a full-fledged Demon, I would not be a match for Eleggua at full power. The diminished immortal before me had a fatal weakness, one I intended to exploit...

"Eleggua, you must tire of these human host bodies, they age, they die, they get injured so easily, I am not like them, I am part demon, and as such I do not age and you yourself know I am strong, why not take over me and leave this mortal shell?" I asked, arms wide open. Eleggua/Monica smiled, and I saw genuine surprise on her beautiful face. The rogue Orisha licked her lips, and chuckled softly.

"Soyinka, you're willing to give up your life and your freedom for this mortal woman? You are a fool, but, so be it," Eleggua said, and a moment later, Monica collapsed. Even as I rushed to her aid, I felt something strong and invisible envelop me. I struggled against it but it was like fighting against an ocean which you could not see. Try as I might, I could not resist...

"Patrick, no!" Monica shouted, and she rushed to me, even as the rogue Orisha forced me on my knees. I felt its presence as it entered my mind, and began asserting control over my body. Monica tenderly embraced me, and I heard Eleggua laugh, somewhere inside the deepest recesses of my mind. The monster had been out of sorts since it had to ditch its immortal body in order to enter the mortal realm without the Yoruba Gods permission. Now, at last, it had an earthbound immortal body to possess...

"Run, sweetie," I whispered, even as I steeled myself for what I knew had to be done. I took a look at Monica, whose eyes were filled with tears, and then, with every ounce of strength I had left, I threw myself out the window. Monica's Toronto flat is an eleventh-floor apartment inside a condo owned by a wealthy relative of hers. As I slammed through the window and began to dive-bomb toward the ground, I said a silent prayer to Ogun for deliverance...

"Patrick, nooooooooooooooo!" Monica screamed, and I caught a last glimpse of her lovely face, filled with horror, even as I fell through the window. I landed on the ground, eleven floors below. I've been alive since 1377 A.D. and stopped aging on my thirty second birthday, in 1399. Over the course of the centuries, I've been shot, stabbed, burned, and even hung. I've never thrown myself out of an eleven-floor window, though.

"Fool, I will escape your body and go after your beloved Monica," Eleggua whispered in my mind, and I fought, not to break free of the rogue Orisha's iron will but to grab hold of it mentally. The monster would not escape this time. If this is to be my death, I have made my peace with that. All that matters is that I rid the world of ultimate evil with my passing...

"We're going to hell together," I said to Eleggua, and we screamed in unison as we crashed on the ground. An eleven-story fall can do terrible things to a human body. When you fall from certain heights, it's like your body becomes an egg and it hits the payment, cracking and splashing bits and pieces of you everywhere. Yup, that's what happens to a human body when it falls from such a lofty height. Good thing I don't have a human body...

A few days later, I rose out of my grave, deep inside the Mount Hope Cemetery. As I breathed the cold air, I smiled. I felt like a new man. Patrick Soyinka is officially dead. As is Eleggua the rogue Orisha, according to Lord Ogun. I will miss being Patrick Soyinka, for many reasons.

Oh, well. Nothing lasts forever, right? Patrick Soyinka of Nigeria is dead. The Carleton University academic community mourned the loss of one of its best and brightest. The Black community of Canada lost a great author and humanitarian. As for the murder spree that gripped Toronto these past few months, it has ceased. Canada's largest city can now breathe easier, I guess...

"Excuse me, ma'am, I'm Matthew Soyinka, Patrick's twin brother," I said to Monica Van Kemmel, affecting a deep Nigerian accent so unlike the smooth Canadian one I possessed as Patrick Soyinka. This I did while accosting her. It was a few days after the funeral, and Monica was still grieving. I tracked her down to her favorite spot in Ottawa, the East Side Mario's restaurant inside the Saint Laurent Mall. You should have seen the look on her pretty face...

"Oh my gosh, you look just like him," Monica gasped, and I nodded somberly. Monica stared at me silently, and I sighed, then told her my well-rehearsed lines. I even had some paperwork to prove my claim. I know some crafty Nigerian guys back in the motherland who owed me a favor. It was all too easy. Patrick Soyinka is dead, long live his twin brother ( and inheritor ) Matthew Soyinka, newcomer to Canada.

"My brother often spoke of you, Miss Van Kemmel, rather fondly, I might add," I said in a shy, soft tone, so unlike the brusque confidence I displayed as my former self. Monica looked at me like she'd seen a ghost, and then, impulsively, she hugged me. Gently, I hugged her back. I totally wanted to tell Monica the truth in that moment, but for her own good, I held my tongue.

Monica and I sat down inside the restaurant, and talked about Patrick Soyinka, the late, great and mysterious Nigerian-Canadian scholar and gentleman whom we both loved so dearly. Keeping up this charade is not going to be easy. Monica is one smart woman, she's not going to be easy to fool. If I slip up, she'll discover the truth. Still, it's worth the risk. What can I say? It's good to be back!