"Pay no heed to Baalzebub's tricks," Raph said with a tone of detached patience, his ancient eyes reflecting wisdom beyond human years, as if he had been expecting this reunion since the beginning of time. "He enjoys exploiting your greatest weakness..." he paused, a faint, knowing smile touching his lips, "which is also your greatest strength."
"What the hell does that even mean?" Gozie barked, frustration and fear mingling in his voice as he stood and took an aggressive step forward. His hands trembled slightly, betraying his outward show of anger. "Stop with the cryptic crap! Who the hell are you?!"
Raph's lips curved in a wry smile, as if amused by the outburst. "Who the hell am I? That's not the question you should be asking. I am nothing compared to who you are. The real question is…" he leaned in slightly, "Who are you?"
Gozie blinked, suddenly breathless. The question echoed deep inside him, vibrating through memories both lived and forgotten. "Who… who am I?" he repeated in a whisper.
"Good question," Raph murmured. "That, I can help you with."
For a heartbeat, silence settled like a veil between them. Then Raph looked upward, eyes tracing something invisible—like constellations etched into the ceiling.
"Yours," he said softly, "has been a most complicated life."
A strange stillness followed the words. The air seemed to hum with unspoken truth. Even the shadows stilled.
Gozie's jaw clenched. His instincts flared. He didn't like this. He had seen enough in the last few months to know that danger rarely announced itself loudly—it crept, masked in riddles and silk-tongued prophets.
Raph stepped forward, but halted just as quickly, catching the flash of mistrust in Gozie's eyes. His smirk returned.
"Ah… but why should we burden our legs with the weight of cosmic secrets?" he quipped lightly. "Let's not unravel the meaning of existence while standing. What if you faint and I have to carry you?"
The grin on his face was playful, but Gozie remained stone-faced.
"I'm serious," Raph added. "What we're about to discuss… deserves drinks."
"You mean a bar?" Gozie asked flatly, arms folded.
"Exactly! Winers & Beerers." His grin widened. "Best spot this side of Accra. Ever heard of it?"
Gozie hesitated. "Fine. But no tricks."
Raph placed a hand over his heart. "No tricks. Scout's honor."
At nightfall, they slipped out of the manor like two silent cats on a stealth-mode mission. A few crisp bills into the guards' pockets turned suspicion into casual nods. Gozie couldn't help but feel that Raph had done this many times before.
The city had changed its colors under the moonlight. Accra breathed differently after dark. The air was cooler now, tinged with the scent of roasting kebabs, shea butter, and exhaust. Flickers of neon lit up the streets in pinks and greens. Laughter spilled from alleys and patios like music.
As they walked side-by-side, Raph exuded calm confidence, navigating the city like it was part of him. Like he owned it. Not arrogantly. But knowingly. Every turn, every shortcut, every flick of his wrist suggested experience. Gozie followed in silence, absorbing the night's rhythm—the quiet hum of taxi engines, the rhythmic splash of sandals against concrete, the call of street hawkers winding down their day.
A patrol van suddenly rolled to a stop beside them, its headlights cutting through the darkness.
"Where are you two going this late?" barked an officer, half-seen behind the spotlight shining into their faces. His voice carried the weary irritation of someone nearing the end of a long shift.
Raph smiled coolly and stepped closer, shoulders relaxed despite the intimidating presence. "Just heading to Winers & Beerers," he explained, his tone casual yet respectful. "My friend here just arrived in town. I'm showing him what Legon hospitality feels like." His eyes never wavered from the officer's face, a practiced confidence in his stance.
"IDs," the officer grunted, extending a calloused hand.
Gozie's heart raced as he pulled out his UNILAG Transfer ID card, fingers trembling slightly. The officer squinted at it, tilting it toward the light. "Nigerian, eh?" he remarked, suspicion lacing his voice.
Raph, however, took a more traditional approach—he slipped a folded note into the officer's hand. The gesture was smooth, casual, like passing a mint. Years of navigating such encounters had taught him the unspoken language of local authority.
"As you can see, officer," Raph said with mock solemnity, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth, "all our permits are in order."
The officer smirked and pocketed the bribe, his earlier hostility melting into complicity. "You boys should vermose before I change my mind," he warned, though the threat had lost its edge. He tapped the van door twice, signaling his colleague to move on.
Inside Winers & Beerers, the bar pulsated with an intoxicating blend of Afrobeat rhythms, warm alcohol fumes, and cascading student laughter.
A captivating female DJ commanded the corner, her fingers dancing across turntables as she conjured nostalgic tracks that transported patrons to bygone eras.
The crowd—predominantly undergraduates escaping academic pressures—clinked glasses and exchanged flirtatious glances over colorful cocktails, their faces glowing in the amber light.
Gozie and Raph navigated through the throng and claimed a booth where a solitary flickering lantern cast dramatic shadows across their faces. The wooden table between them bore the scars of countless nights like this one—carved initials and ring stains telling stories of conversations long forgotten.
A waitress approached with the practiced nonchalance of someone who had witnessed every variety of youthful exuberance and folly. Her eyes, slightly bored yet knowing, surveyed them briefly.
"Guinness," Gozie ordered, his voice steady despite the nervous energy coursing through him. The familiar comfort of his usual drink felt necessary tonight.
"Pure Heaven," Raph added with a mischievous wink that made the waitress's professional mask crack into the faintest smile.
Minutes later, their drinks materialized before them—Gozie's stout dark and brooding, Raph's cocktail deceptively innocent in appearance.
Raph lifted his glass, swirling the contents with exaggerated theatrical flair. The ice clinked musically against the sides as he studied Gozie's face. "So," he drawled, savoring the moment of suspense, "where do I begin?" His eyes held secrets Gozie couldn't yet decipher.
Gozie leaned forward, elbows on the table, his heartbeat accelerating—not from the familiar grip of anxiety this time, but from a mounting sense of anticipation that tingled through his veins. Whatever Raph knew, he needed to hear it.
"From the beginning," he said, his voice barely audible above the bar's vibrant symphony.