Cynthia’S Diary: The First Quarter

By Ayodeji Erubu

Cynthia Douglas is about to discover how she was born into substance abuse. Then just when her troubled spirit is gradually conceiving the reality of being the daughter of a wanted drug dealer, her psychiatrist comes out of the blue and turns into her grandfather.

With an ultimatum of seven days to give up her fatherin an exchange for her kidnapped motherCynthia finds herself in the worst dilemma of her life. Would she survive her adversaries brutal assaults and blackmails? Find out, as Prof. Tom Turnbull and Detective Oluma prepare to embark on the daunting task of recovering her mother from a vicious drug-pushing Hispanic brotherhood.

An African short tale set in Spanish-British theme, Cynthia, daughter of Bimbo Douglas, fights many demonsboth within and without.
The story highlights the negative effects of alcoholism, the prevalence of crime, and the law of karma; that justice always finds its course, even though it may come at a stiff price. The story is mixed in swift, graphic scenes, flaunting descriptive prowess, with the authors medical background resonating intermittently

Dr Adeniyi Marcus, poet, essayist.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Partridge Publishing Africa
• Release date: Jul 31, 2015
• ISBN: 9781482802405

Ayodeji Erubu

Ayodeji Erubu is one remarkable discovery in the literary world today. A medical doctor, blogger, and a creative idealist, Ayodeji has sculptured for himself a unique niche in fiction writing and medical-thriller stories. Creativity is the word and has been better spelt out in his maiden fiction set, “Cynthia’s Diary.” Ayodeji currently lives and works in Kwara State, Nigeria. He’s an avid follower of sports and could, in a way, be said to be “deluded” with the idea of “practicing medicine beyond its borders.” Find him on twitter @ayoerubu and get updates of his newest works and posts from his blogs: www.facebook.com/hcnblog www.ayoevan.blogspot.com www.yourthriller.blogspot.com

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Copyright © 2015 by Ayodeji Erubu.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

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CONTENTS

I. THE REFLECTIONS

II. THE MAN IN THE ASYLUM

III. YET ANOTHER MAD GIRL

IV. A COLD NIGHT

V. LIKE TEARS FROM MY DREAM

VI. REVELATION

VII. FORTY FIVE YEARS BACK

VIII. THE DETECTIVE’S SPEECH

IX. WHO MURDERED PATIENT NO. 22?

X. ‘HIDE-AND-SEEK’

XI. AT THE CRACK OF DAWN

XII. THE DARK ALTAR

XIII. THE EVENING AT THE BAR

XIV. SMASHUP

XV. THE LAST CHANCE

XVI. END OF SEMESTER BREAK

DEDICATION

To Almighty God, the most gracious and merciful King.

Out of his abundance of kindness, he gave me Dr.&Mrs. F.O.N Erubu, on whose shoulders I rode to pursue my passionate dreams. I appreciate you my dear parents and love you dearly, God bless you.

Also, to all adolescents and young adults out there battling with the physical and psychosocial scourge of Drug abuse. But if only they could find help…

APPRECIATION

My editors, my colleagues and senior colleagues, friends and families:

Dr Issa Baba, Consultant Psychiatrist, University of Ilorin Teaching Hospital, Ilorin, kwara state. Sir, you are indeed a father and a great counsellor.

Dr. Ayotunde Omotoso, Senior Registrar, Department of Psychiatry, University of Ilorin Teaching Hospital. I admire and appreciate your strife. You have always being a huge inspiration for me, way back since I was in Medical school.

Dr. Seyi Adebola, Dr. Marcus Adeniyi, Dr. Shogo Adegboyega, Dr. Ojapa Jemima, Dr. Ismail Smiles Truly, Dr. Owolabi Femi Amberacious, Dr. Wale Afolabi Waru, Dr. Efuntoye Ayodeji, Dr. Olajugba Olamide, Dr. Arowolo Olakunle, Dr. Abifarin Opeyemi, Ms. Oyindamola Johnson, Dr. Orugun Mosope, Dr. Oluwaseun Oyinlola, Dr. Olawale Morouf and all the wonderful souls that have encouraged me and contributed in a way or the other in the publication of this literature, God bless y’all.

NOTE FOR READERS

‘’Substance abuse is widespread with an estimated 120 million users of hard drugs such as cocaine, heroin, and other synthetic drugs. In 2013, drug use disorders resulted in 127,000 deaths up from 53,000 in 1990. The highest number of deaths are from opioid use disorders at 51,000. Cocaine use disorder resulted in 4,300 deaths and amphetamine use disorder resulted in 3,800 deaths. Alcohol use disorders resulted in an additional 139,000 deaths…’’ Culled from Wikipedia; Substance Abuse.

CYPHAR

The Republic of Cyphar is a small Island fictitiously located at the equatorial belt of Africa.

BRIEF INFORMATION

Official Name: Republic of Cyphar

Capital City: Victoria Hills

Other Major Cities: St. Peterson, Otakho, New Lagos, Levante Isle.

Form of Government: Republic

Currency: Cypharian Pounds

Type of Economy: Mixed System of Economy

Religion: Roman Catholicism, Protestantism, Islam, and Traditional Religion

Independence Day: 20th July, 1935

Colonial Masters: The British

Languages: English, Spanish, Yoruba, and minor ancient African dialects

GEOGRAPHY

Area: 5,550 sq. mi

Population: 2,725,000

Climate: Typically warm and humid almost all year round except during harmattan. More often stormy in areas like Levante Isle

Neighbours Across The Atlantic: Equatorial Guinea, Nigeria, Benin Republic, and Togo

BACKGROUND

The year was 1901 when St Peterson City College was built in Cyphar—then a British colony.

A facsimile of Oxford University, St Peterson City College was carved out of the heart of a modest city, the spring of civilization in Cyphar. Traditionally, other institutions across the equatorial African Island were constructed by the British in the likeness of top higher institutions in the United Kingdom. In the early 1950s, when the population and activities of Hispanic immigrants rose significantly in Cyphar, the college began to run a broader curriculum that extended beyond the academic requirements of the majority English-speaking Cypharians and started catering for the dues of the minority Spanish speakers. These minority Spanish speakers were predominantly children of many reputable Hispanic immigrants who settled in Levante Isle—the same region Cynthia grew up—towards the close of British rule. Cynthia, like Funmi, her best friend, despite being raised in a Spanish dominated Island had chosen the English curriculum of the college. This was what Bimbo Douglas, her mother, wished for. She wanted a kind of standards that would make her daughter live an unadulterated lifestyle, purged of Spanish experience. The only way she thought she could protect her daughter from Spanish influence was to break her chain of Spanish lifestyle. Perhaps she alone, and nobody else, understood her devious reason for not wanting Cynthia to flock with Hispanic folks. After all, Cynthia herself couldn’t be totally drained off the Hispanic blood that ran in her veins!

One way or the other, Mrs. Douglas still couldn’t sufficiently give her daughter that ideal life she thought she deserved; Cynthia eventually grew as an alcohol addict, and had completely cultivated fervor for the vulnerable Spanish way of life. In 1958, at the tender age of sixteen, the beautiful young Cynthia was already a bank of Spanish experiences. Asides the unique English accent she absorbed from her mother’s tongue, she was undoubtedly her own master in Spanish language. Well, to many, that was not worth elevated eyebrows; she was mixed-breed—half-African, half-Spaniard. Her sixteenth birthday party was illuminated by the clapping and stamping display of the classical ‘flamenco’ dance. There were bands from favourite local musicians who performed delightfully for one of their daughters. That night could not pass without the expository show of talented boozers. Young Cynthia was not left out. And at the end, it took the tender arms of the lead musician, Femi Cruz—also her longtime admirer—to walk a drunken Cynthia home.

Femi Cruz, like Mrs. Bimbo Douglas and Funmi, was a native black Cypharian, and regarded as the most successful non-Hispanic musician in the Isle. Funmi and many of Cynthia’s friends had wished Cynthia got married to Femi Cruz. They saw the two buddies as perfect match! But with the reality of Cynthia’s admission into the City College, Femi knew his fervent friendship, or perhaps puny relationship with Cynthia would soon forge a frail path. He had once had his marriage proposal turned down, despite that, he believed he needed more time to amass such a pretty lady’s commitment. For him, after the news of Cynthia’s admission, time became a commodity that was more expensive to procure, not even with his affluence… Femi had since lingered in Levante Isle, hoping Cynthia would come back home one day, possibly after her college education, to marry him.

PROLOGUE

HALLUCINATIONS

Sunday, 22nd January, 1967. Cynthia’s lodge, St. Peterson City, Republic of Cyphar.

2.00am

"T wee! Twee! Twee…"

The chirping notes from the cricket steadily traced Cynthia’s footsteps as she staggered her way into the bushy neighborhood barefoot. With one hand, she was clenching onto a bottle of Pabst Blue Ribbon beer and with the other, she swerved and beat at the cool morning air, heavily well-oiled. The moon was almost full again, casting an amazing illumination on a midnight that had appeared like a bright day. Nevertheless, there was barely a single sound coming out of her neighbors’ apartments except the melodies oozing out of various crannies where the cricket and many of its kind rubbed their wings from nightfall to this time. Each time she returned home late and drunk, it was their solemn musical notes that welcomed her.

After few hours of troubled sleep, Cynthia found herself lay helplessly by the entrance of the door of her apartment. She soon began to realize the familiar evil-being that had possessed her human state; purged her sanity with unholy gratification. But then, at that moment, the banging in her head was becoming unbearable, her vision clouded with an enormous gloom. On one, two, and many occasions that morning, she had unknowingly drenched her gown with alcohol vomits. Cynthia was empty in mind and body; she knew her self-esteem had long faded. By her drunken body was the empty liquor bottle she brought home from the end-of-semester after-party. She had lost memories of earlier events, not even did she remember where her bag and shoes were left.

By the time it was noon, the gaudy rays of the midday sun had fully woken her from her day long sleep. She was now beginning to recall previous events, but only in hazy modes. She couldn’t exactly picture them out as they happened. She, however, remembered been followed earlier by some Hispanic gangs, and then her panties which she knew she had on before the party had been taken