Story of Michael , livre ebook

THE STORY OF MICHAEL
Damien Dsoul




The Story of Michael
First published in 2013
This revised edition published in 2016 by
House of Erotica
www.houseoferoticabooks.com
Digital edition converted and distributed by
Andrews UK Limited
www.andrewsuk.com
© Copyright 2013, 2016 Damien Dsoul
The right of Damien Dsoul to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1998.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser. Any person who does so may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.




All I’m going to tell you happened exactly as I’m about to tell it. There might be some details I left out. Trust me, it’s for your own good. The least you know, the better you are.



Part One
Girlfriend Missing
I opened the front door of my home and there were two men in suits standing there at my parent’s front porch. Their suits were grey; there was a car parked beside our driveway. They looked official. One of them enquired if I was Michael Paymer; I replied yes I was. As if knowing what my next question would be, both of them reached into their jacket and whipped out their badges. They were security officials from the State Department. They asked if they could come inside for a minute and speak with him. I was curious whatever it was they wanted to speak to me about but a minute later they mentioned my girlfriend’s name and then I knew they weren’t kidding.
The men’s names were Arnoldson and Clarence. Arnoldson, the one who’d shown me his badge, was older with grey hair, somewhere in his fifties, with a voice that made him sound like someone from Texas or down south; Clarence appeared to be in his early thirties, black and a mid-westerner. I was the only one at home and I was glad for that; my parents would have been unsettled and stirred some reaction had they been there to hear them tell me everything I needed to know about the last whereabouts of my girlfriend Catherine and her parents.
It had been four days since last time I saw Catherine; her and her parents had left the country heading to Nigeria. She hadn’t wanted to go and she’d complained to me about it and I’d sympathize with her, knowing it would upset her parents if she declined to go. I’d expected her to call me once she arrived but so far not a word. I knew the flight was a long one though I hadn’t heard from her since. I would have called had I known what hotel she and her parents had checked into and it was the early part of summer I knew they wouldn’t be back till month’s end ... if not more. Not something I was happy about, but I could wait. I knew she would return to me.
But this was something I wasn’t expecting to hear. My girlfriend and her parents missing, presumed kidnapped. It really took the wind out of my sails.
“When was the last time you saw her?” the older one, Arnoldson asked me the question and I told him the last time I’d seen Catherine.
“Have your received any phone call from her since last time you saw her?”
I answered no, I haven’t. I didn’t even know where they were staying except the city they’d gone to - Abuja, it was called.
Clarence took out an envelope from his jacket and poured out some photos and presented them to me. There were faces of other Americans who were as well declared missing, he explained. All of them had one time or another being spending quality time and holiday in West Africa but had suddenly upped and vanished without so much as a trace. I picked up the snapshot of Catherine from amongst the pictures there. My heart was aching; I felt like crying. Once again I looked at them to make sure this wasn’t some silly prank being played on me and the grave look on their faces reminded me again that it wasn’t.
The older detective, Arnoldson, was saying something but I wasn’t listening. Finally he snapped his finger and that made me raise my head.
“Were you paying attention, Mr. Paymer?” he asked me.
“Yes ... yes, sir, I was. You mentioned that all this happened down in West Africa?”
“Specifically between Nigeria and Ghana,” Clarence answered. “Though there’ve been happenings in other African countries as well as in Asia, but this one has gotten quite a spike.”
“My God. I never knew. What do you think will happen to Catherine and her parents?”
Both men exchanged glances with each other, fidgeting, not knowing whether to answer my question or not. I think Clarence wanted to but didn’t wish to break protocol. It was Arnoldson who answered.
“We’re still working on getting them back. This white slavery racket is much too technical for me to explain our efforts right now. What we’d like you to do is maintain silence about this. So far you’re the only one we’ve contacted about this and we’d like for it to remain that way. Also, should in case any of the victims - your girlfriend - should manage to contact you, I’d advice you contact us right away about this.” He reached into his front pocket and took out a card and gave it to me and told me to reach him anytime.
They left me with Catherine’s photos, once again apologised for my trouble and then left. I stood by the doorway and watched them enter their car and drive off. Everything was back to normal again, except nothing was. I felt so lost I didn’t know what next to do, or how to get my head around all what had just being said to me. My girlfriend Catherine and her parents and several others kidnapped in Africa ... I could feel the onset of a migraine coming on to me. I shut the door and ran upstairs to fetch the migraine pills from my medicine cabinet and popped one into my mouth. I was panting like I’d just ran a race. I fell to the floor holding the photo of Catherine to my face. I was crying even before I realised it.
My parents returned home hours later. I was up in my bedroom and didn’t realize when they’re arrived until I heard a knock on my door and my Mom opened my door and stuck into my room to know if I was out at the gym already. I told her my sparring partner had called earlier saying he had a flu and wouldn’t make it. The truth was I was combing through the net searching out more of the subject regarding kidnapping of foreigners in Africa, focusing my attention on Nigeria which was where Catherine and her parents had journeyed to. There was a wealth of information to be found regarding the subject, and my only problem was having time sifting through everything that was written about it in numerous foreign newspapers as well as those in Nigerian press papers; little of it was found in American editions. I was being mechanical in my search. I didn’t want something that would take me the entire week or more to read through. I selected the important ones and printed them out and lay on my bed perusing them. I read of how the alleged history of the nefarious activity, dating as far back as the early twentieth century, and how with time it had depreciated and then gotten a resurgence during the period the country had ditched its military lifestyle and accepted Democratic leadership which had done little to curtail the corrupt malignance occurring in the country’s underbelly. The activity had assumed the form of a cancerous cell, spreading its tentacles as well as getting bolder in its works and yet somehow it had continued to remain one of the world’s best kept secret. It was seldom being debated in the U.N. even here in the U.S., much of the talk was about the war in Afghanistan and the ongoing tragedy happening in the Middle East; Africa was taking a backseat in the world’s eyes. The African governments themselves were at a loss at how to tackle the subject. A lot of the reasons why, I came to realize the more I read, came down to greed, corruption, rebel-militant groups, and inefficient executive policies to combat the crime wave.
I got thirsty and went downstairs to the kitchen to get a glass of water and made myself a sandwich and went back to my room to continue with my reading. Done with whatever I’d read, I returned to my computer and searched out some more editorials and printed them out. I wondered if by any chance the two State Department fellows knew as much about this subject as I was finding out. Obviously they must have - this was too big for anyone not to be aware of, especially since it now involved Americans. They should know ... right?
The hours seemed to pass by without my noticing. When I looked up out my window I wasn’t surprised to see it had become dark outside. With some reluctance I threw the papers on the floor and changed into my night clothes and went to bed; I slept with Catherine’s photograph lying next to my face.
The following day I resumed my reading. I didn’t go out and that was so unlike me - it was summer, and there’s always somewhere to go or something to do around now, but my mind was all focused on Catherine. The more I read about the white slavery kidnapping the more I felt it drew me closer to wherever she might be. I got a sense of whatever hurt she might be passing through right at that moment. A moment came and I stood up and cried out. It felt like I was getting mad or something, and in a way I was. My girlfriend and her parents were out there down in Nigeria, lost and afraid, kidnapped by people who meant to do them harm, and here I was feeling hopeless and un