Chapter 48: Dhimpir Awakening

“You’re resigning?” my doctor repeated, clearly surprised.

I could understand his reaction. For the past eight years, I had been the top surgeon in this hospital. My reputation spoke for itself. The Governor of Oyo State was my personal client, and I was dating the hospital director’s daughter. From the outside, my life looked perfect. In this hospital, everyone either wanted to be me… or be with me.

But leaving was inevitable.

It always was.

I was actually supposed to stay two more years. Ten years—that was the limit I had set for myself in any profession. After that, I would move on and start over somewhere else, in another life, another career. It was the only way I knew how to distract myself from the horror of my true nature.

For a while, the routine worked.

But it never lasted for long.I still needed to leave before anyone began to notice the one thing I could never explain—that I never seemed to age.

Eight years was already pushing it.

Sooner or later, someone would start asking questions.

But now I had to leave even earlier.

People from the part of myself I had spent years trying to bury had found me. They came into my home like shadows from a past I had tried to outrun. Whatever they did to me that night… it wasn’t just an attack. It felt like something more. Something deliberate.

Maybe they were trying to kill me.

Maybe something worse.

Either way, it was over now.

I was done running.

Done hiding.

There was only one thing left for me to do.

I had to find her.

The girl who knocked me unconscious.

There was something about her… something strange. Something that had stayed in my mind ever since the night she and her goon broke into my house and attacked me.

I couldn’t explain it, but I hadn’t stopped thinking about her since.

And maybe…

Just maybe…

It was time I finally found out who I truly was.“You can’t leave. You most definitely can’t,” my medical director said, staring at me across his desk.

But my mind was already made up.

“I’m sorry, sir,” I replied calmly. “But I’ve made my decision.”

“Then remake your decision,” he snapped.

He removed his eyeglasses and wiped the sweat from his forehead with a white handkerchief, clearly frustrated.

“Listen, Stephen,” he said, trying to soften his tone. “I’ll just act like I didn’t see this, alright? I’ll trash it. We’ll forget this conversation ever happened.”

“I’m sorry,” I said again. “But I’ve already sent a copy to the HR department.”

His head jerked up.

“Why would you do that?” he lashed out.

“I’m sorry, sir.”

There was nothing more to say.

I turned and walked out of his office into the hallway of the hospital.

The familiar scent of antiseptic filled the air. Nurses moved quickly through the corridors, pushing carts filled with medical supplies. A stretcher rolled past me, two interns walking beside it while quietly discussing a patient’s condition. The soft beeping of heart monitors echoed from nearby rooms, mixing with the distant chatter of doctors and visitors.

For eight years this place had been my world.

The polished floors reflected the bright white lights above. Posters about medical procedures and hospital guidelines lined the walls. Doctors in white coats walked past me with hurried steps, some nodding respectfully as they recognized me.

I walked slowly, taking everything in.

One last time.

Every corner of this building held memories—long nights in the operating room, lives saved under blinding surgical lights, quiet moments of exhaustion in empty corridors.

I kept walking until I reached my office.

I opened the door and stepped inside.

The room felt strangely quiet.

My desk sat exactly the way I had left it that morning. Papers neatly arranged. A few medical books stacked at the corner. The large window behind the desk overlooked the hospital parking lot, sunlight pouring through the glass.

I sat down in my chair and leaned back slightly.

Then there was a knock on the door.

It was soft.

Light.

I didn’t need to look to know who it was.

“My assistant,” I said. “Come in.”

The door opened slowly.

She stepped inside, holding a folder tightly against her chest.

Her eyes were swollen.

She had clearly been crying.Then she spoke softly.

“Mrs. Ayande is here for her checkup.”

Before I could respond, she turned and quietly left the room.

A moment later, an elderly woman in her late sixties walked in. She was dressed in a neatly wrapped native attire, the colorful fabric flowing gently as she moved. I recognized her immediately.

“Good afternoon, Mrs. Ayande,” I said.

“Good afternoon, Doctor,” she replied with a warm smile as she slowly sat down across from me.

A month ago, I had performed surgery on her—removing a tumor from her head. Today’s visit was just a routine checkup.

I opened her file and looked up at her.

“So tell me,” I said, “on a scale of one to ten, how would you rate the pain?”

She thought for a moment.

“Three,” she said. “But sometimes at night it gets to five.”

I nodded and smiled slightly.

“That’s normal,” I assured her. “Your body is still healing.”

“Have you been using the pills I prescribed?”

“Yes, Doctor,” she said.

“Good.”

I leaned back slightly in my chair.

“Do you have any concerns about the scar? Any swelling?”

“No swelling,” she said. “But the scar… sometimes it itches.”

Before I could respond, something else caught my attention.

A scent.

Faint at first… but unmistakable.

Blood.

My senses sharpened immediately.

I looked at her more closely.

“Mrs. Ayande,” I said slowly, “are you bleeding anywhere?”

She looked a little embarrassed.

“Oh… yes, Doctor.”

She lifted her arm slightly.

“My grandchildren were playing with knives in the kitchen,” she explained. “When I went to stop them, one of them accidentally slashed my arm.”

She chuckled nervously.

“I didn’t want their parents to find out, so I just used a bandage to close it up.”

Then she frowned slightly.

“But now… it seems it’s bleeding more.”She slowly raised her arm and rested it on the table between us.

The bandage wrapped around her forearm was already soaked through, the white cloth stained dark with fresh blood that had begun to seep through the layers.

For a brief moment, the scent intensified.

Rich.

Warm.

Alive.

A primitive instinct deep inside me stirred violently, urging me to tear the bandage away and drink.

But I remained still.

Years of studying medicine… years of working as a surgeon… had taught me discipline and control over my darker urges. And besides, I wasn’t some savage creature that attacked innocent people and fed on them like animals.

I reached forward calmly and began to unwrap the bandage.

The cloth peeled away slowly, revealing the wound beneath. The cut was deeper than she had realized, the edges of the skin slightly separated where the knife had sliced across her arm.

I examined it carefully before looking up at her.

“The cut is quite deep,” I told her gently. “You’re going to need stitches.”

She nodded calmly.

“I’ll have my assistant help you with that,” I continued. “Just see her on your way out and she’ll take care of it.”

Mrs. Ayande smiled warmly.

“Thank you, Doctor,” she said. “What would I ever do without you?”

I smiled back at her.

“Well… you might have to find out,” I said.

Her expression shifted slightly.

“Why?”

“Because today is my last day here.”

The smile slowly faded from her face.

“You’re leaving?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“But… why?” she said. “Why would you leave?”

“Personal reasons,” I replied.

She studied me for a moment.

“Why so suddenly?”

I leaned back slightly in my chair.

“My mother is very sick,” I said. “I need to take care of her now. I can’t leave her alone… and I can’t put her in a nursing home.”

She nodded sympathetically.

What I had just told her was, of course, a lie.

My mother had been dead for more than five hundred years.She smiled warmly.

“You are such a good son,” she said.

I returned the smile.

“Thank you.”

She slowly stood up to take her leave, and I rose from my chair as well out of courtesy. She adjusted the fabric of her attire, gave me one last grateful look, and then walked out of the office.

The door closed softly behind her.

I sat back down in my chair and glanced at the clock on the wall.

4:44 p.m.

For a moment I just stared at it.

Then a thought crossed my mind. Since I had already submitted my resignation letter, there was really no reason for me to stay any longer. As far as I knew, there were no more patients scheduled for today.

I picked up the office phone and called my assistant.

“Do I have any more appointments today?” I asked.

“No, Doctor,” she replied.

“Alright,” I said. “Come in for a moment.”

A few seconds later, there was a knock.

“Come in,” I said.

She stepped inside slowly.

Her eyes were still swollen.

She had clearly been crying again.

I looked at her for a moment before speaking.

“Why are you still crying?”

She looked at me, clearly frustrated.

“Don’t act like you don’t know why,” she said quietly.

I sighed softly.

“Come, sit down.”

She hesitated for a second, then walked over and sat in the chair across from my desk.

I leaned forward slightly and gently held her hand.I held her hand gently across the desk and looked into her eyes.

“Pelumi,” I said softly.

Her gaze met mine.

“Look at me.”

She did.

Slowly, deliberately, I focused my will on her. Years of practice had taught me how to guide a human mind without them even realizing it. Her breathing slowed as my words began to settle into her thoughts.

“You’re going to forget about me,” I said calmly. “You will remember that I resigned, but you won’t feel sad about it. You’ll move on with your life. You’ll keep working here, and you’ll be happy.”

Her expression softened.

“I will move on,” she repeated quietly.

I nodded.

“Good.”

Then I said, “Before you go…”

I leaned down under the table and pulled out a small plastic cup and a pocket knife, placing them both on the desk.

Pelumi smiled faintly, as if she already understood.

She picked up the knife, rolled up the sleeve of her lab coat, and made a small cut across her wrist. Without hesitation, she held her arm over the cup.

Dark red blood began to drip steadily into it.

I watched silently as the cup slowly filled. The scent rose into the air, thick and warm.

Pelumi looked at me and smiled.

I returned the smile.

When the cup was almost full, I raised my hand slightly.

“That’s enough.”

She lifted her wrist away and reached for a tissue on the desk, pressing it gently against the cut.

Then I stood and gestured for her to come closer.

She did.

I leaned forward and kissed her.

When she sat back again, she removed the blood-soaked tissue from her wrist.

The skin beneath it had already healed.

She stood up and walked toward the door.

Just as she was about to open it, I spoke.

“Pelumi.”

She turned back.

“Thank you,” I said quietly. “For everything.”

She smiled softly.

Then she opened the door and left.After she left, the room fell quiet again.

I picked up the plastic cup filled with blood and brought it to my lips. I drank it slowly, the warmth of it settling into me with every sip. When the cup was empty, I set it down on the desk and wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

I glanced at the clock again.

It was past five.

There was no reason to stay any longer.

I stood up and began gathering my personal belongings—books, documents, a few framed certificates, and the small items I had accumulated over the years. One by one, I placed them all into a cardboard box until my office looked bare, almost unfamiliar.

Then I lifted the box and walked out.

The hallway was still busy, but as I passed through, people began to notice. Nurses slowed their steps. Doctors paused mid-conversation. Even some patients sitting along the corridor looked up at me curiously.

Word had clearly spread.

For eight years I had been a constant presence in this hospital, and now I was walking out carrying my things in a box like someone who had never truly belonged there.

I kept walking.

When I reached the reception desk, I noticed my assistant’s chair was empty. Pelumi wasn’t there, so I couldn’t say goodbye one last time.

Maybe that was for the best.

I continued toward the exit.

The evening air hit my face the moment I stepped outside. The sun was already beginning to sink, casting long shadows across the hospital parking lot.

I walked to my car and placed the box on the passenger seat. Just as I was about to get in, I heard someone calling my name.

“Stephen!”

I turned.

Dr. Mike was walking toward me.

He stopped a few steps away and looked at the box, then back at me.

“So that’s it?” he asked.

I nodded.

“Yeah,” I said.

“This is it.”

He looked at me for a moment, then sighed.

“So… we’re not even going to throw you a send-off party or something?” he asked.

I shook my head slightly.

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” I said. “I’ll be leaving Ibadan tonight anyway.”

He blinked in surprise.

“Tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Damn,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “I guess I’ll see you whenever I see you then.”

I nodded.

“Take care of yourself, Mike.”

“You too.”

I opened the door of my car and placed the box on the passenger seat. Then I slid into the driver’s seat and started the engine.

The car hummed quietly as I pulled out of the parking space.

Through the rearview mirror, I could see Dr. Mike still standing there, watching me as I drove away from the hospital for the last time.