Chapter 2 Grease and Ghosts

Morning light hit Manny hard through the cracked window, showing no mercy. His body felt heavy and sore from the restless night he had. The strange glowing line on his right arm had cooled down, but there was still a thin, angry mark under his skin. He rubbed it roughly, trying to make it disappear.

“It's just stress,” he muttered to himself. “Prison messes with your mind. Today, you find proper work. Keep your head down and move on.”

He pulled on his only decent shirt and a pair of worn jeans, then stepped out into the loud morning of Ajegunle,the compound was already alive with noise, women washing clothes, children running barefoot, loud Fuji music blasting from a nearby radio,and a few people gave him sideways glances and whispered,but he ignored them and headed toward the main road.

Finding work as an ex-con was never easy. He tried three different mechanic spots before anyone gave him a real chance. The owner of the fourth one, Mr. Segun, a big man with a heavy belly and oil-stained overalls, looked him over carefully.

“You’re Manny Okoye? The one who just came out of Kirikiri?”

Manny nodded slowly. There was no need hiding it.

Mr. Segun scratched his beard. “I’ve heard stories about you. But my boys need extra hands with the danfo buses. One trial day. If you work clean and stay out of trouble, maybe we can talk about keeping you. But if anything smells wrong…” He left the words hanging in the air.

“I’m not looking for trouble,” Manny said quietly. “I just need the work.”

Mr. Segun gave him a chance,by ten that morning, Manny was under an old danfo bus, spanner in hand, replacing worn-out brake pads. The smell of grease and hot engine oil felt strangely comforting. For the first time since leaving prison, his mind started to settle. His hands still remembered the work from the prison workshop.

But Lagos never let anyone find peace for long.

As he tightened a bolt, the heat from the exhaust pipe washed over his face. Suddenly the smell changed. No longer just oil and metal it became smoke. Thick, choking smoke. His eyes closed for a second, and the flashback crashed into him like a wave.

He was back there. Twelve years ago. Nighttime. His boys pouring petrol around the rival compound. The other gang leader on his knees begging. Manny had waved his hand coldly.

“Burn it all,” his younger self had ordered. “Make them remember who controls these streets.”

Flames exploded,children screaming from inside the house. A woman running out with her clothes on fire, rolling desperately on the ground. He just stood there watching, chest full of power and pride. Now those same screams rang loud in his ears, as if they had never stopped.

Manny jerked violently under the bus and banged his head hard against the chassis. His breathing became fast and shallow, sweat mixing with the engine oil on his face.

“You alright down there?” one of the drivers shouted.

“I’m fine,” Manny called back, his voice shaky. But he forced himself to keep working, but his hands were no longer steady.

By afternoon, he had finished fixing three buses. Mr. Segun looked impressed but didn’t smile. “You know what you’re doing. Come back tomorrow. We’ll see how it goes.”

Manny collected the small money for the day’s work. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He walked to a roadside food spot and ordered a plate of rice and beans with plenty of pepper. He sat on a plastic chair under a torn umbrella, eating slowly.

That was when he noticed the old man.

Baba Tunde. Skinny, with deep tribal marks on his face, wearing a faded white kaftan. He sat across from Manny, eating carefully with trembling hands. Their eyes met. Baba Tunde stared at him for a long time.

“You,” the old man said at last. “You’re the one who came out yesterday. From Kirikiri.”

Manny tensed. “How do you know me?”

“I did ten years there before your time. Cell block C. I remember your face. You were a hard man back then.” Baba Tunde gave a small smile, but his eyes stayed serious. “Now though… you’re carrying something different. A weight that doesn’t belong to this world.”

Manny didn’t like how the old man was looking at him,like he could see straight through his skin. “I just want to eat my food in peace, old man.”

Baba Tunde nodded slowly. “Peace is hard to find for men like us. Especially when fire has already touched you inside.” He leaned forward. “If the heat comes back, don’t fight it alone. Some fires are not from this world.”

Manny felt a chill run down his spine despite the hot afternoon. How could this stranger know? He stood up quickly, left half his food, and walked away fast. But Baba Tunde’s words followed him like a shadow.

Evening came. Manny returned to his room exhausted, his clothes covered in grease. He washed quickly in the shared bathroom and lay down on the mattress. Sleep took him fast this time.

But the dream refused to be gentle.

In the dream, he stood in a vast empty field. Fire burned everywhere, yet it did not touch him. The flames moved like living things, dancing around his body. They formed shapes the faces of people he had hurt, people he had ordered burned. Instead of screaming, they whispered.

Come. Join us. Finish what you started.

One large flame rose higher than the rest, shaping itself into a tall figure with eyes like burning coals. It was the same presence from the night before.

You were forged in my fire, Emmanuel. Inside Kirikiri. Now the real work begins.

Manny tried to run, but the fire followed him, pouring into his body through the cracks in his skin. He screamed, but no sound came out. The pain was both terrible and strangely sweet.

He woke up with a loud gasp, his body jerking upright on the mattress. The room was dark. His heart pounded wildly. He quickly rolled up his sleeve.

The thin glowing line from the previous night had spread. Three long, angry cracks now ran from his wrist to his elbow, pulsing with a soft orange light like embers buried in coal. He touched them and felt unnatural heat. Not exactly pain but power. Something alive waking up.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, his voice cracking. “What is this? What did I do to deserve this?”

He stood up and paced the small room. The cracks glowed brighter whenever fear or anger rose in him. He tried covering them with a cloth, but the light still shone through faintly.

Outside, the compound had grown quieter. Only a distant generator rumbled. But inside Manny’s head, the Voice returned, clearer and deeper than before.

Rest now. Tomorrow the real test will come. They will find you.

Manny slid down the wall until he was sitting on the dirty floor, head in his hands. He had not felt fear like this since his first night in prison. These glowing marks were no ordinary sickness. Something ancient had entered him during those long months in solitary. Something that had waited twelve years.

And now it had followed him into freedom.

He stared at the window where the flickering lights of Lagos pressed against the night. He had no idea that even bigger trouble was waiting just hours away, the old gang members already searching for him, the journalist who still remembered his name, and this growing fire inside him that wanted to turn him into something he no longer recognized.

The glowing cracks on his arm pulsed once more, stronger this time, like a heartbeat that was not his own.

Manny closed his eyes tightly.

But sleep did not return that night.

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