Chapter 5 Rehabilitation opportunity.

Becoming an assassin requires much more than being handed weapons, it requires black minded schemes and a seemingly harmless, well meaning program. This programme was not particularly a secret, there was even a campaign for it. They said it was a rehabilitation opportunity for the displaced children, to provide for their mental and physical needs. It was a grand initiative applauded by the masses.

Few lucky children left with a living relative but most of the living relatives of children who came to claim their nieces, nephews, grandchildren best friend's children decided it was best to leave the children in the care of the program. The DCRP(displaced children rehabilitation program) was an 'opportunity'. While the government officials were receiving applauds, praises and flowers, I barely received proper education. the ruling party wanted us to train and that's exactly what we did. The 'programme' lasted for about eight years. My entire teenage years. Once the crisis was curbed to a manageable amount, we were dismissed. No names on the wall, no plastic medals, no acknowledgement, no nothing. We were not allowed to disclose anything about the program to the public or in private, in a way we were to be grateful that that there no grand scheme to have us permanently silenced. Not many made it out alive and the remaining recruits left eagerly and quietly. But there were people like me who had nothing else. I couldn't leave, I had no education, no money, no family, no friends, no nothing and honestly, I was just scared. I continued 'rendering my services' for but a fee, that was another twelve years old my life.

The first time I entered this town nine years ago, was a wonderful two weeks everyone kept talking to me as if we were old friends as if they had known me from way back as if they knew my roots, as if I had roots. Till this day, I can't rationally explain why I left to torture myself for three more years.

By the time I finally had enough I ran, literally, back to LoachesVille and that's when my life continued. The first three months of my stay in the village, I was unemployed and living off charity of the townsmen morning, afternoon, night and I was eating fat. Until the towns butcher requested for help. He was big and tall almost as huge as my dad, just as grumpy too. Guess it comes with the job. He was a billion years old (eighty four) went I met him. old, grey, huge but definitely not weak, he still had enough energy to carry out his task. He died at the age of eighty eight after four years of being the parent I lost. I inherited the shop from him. I owe a lot to him especially my present more stable mental health.

Honestly, if I were to choose between the hundreds of millions I acquired at the other side and the life I have now. I would choose this small peaceful life a million times over. Money can only buy happiness when you have a life to begin with and it should be established by now that I had nothing. I had enough money to build a skyscraper or two. 'Had' because I don't think I have any money anymore something about escheatment policies. Plus I didn't really properly resign or announce my intentions to disappear. I'd like to think that I was a free agent and I don't work for the government but let's not kid ourselves, eighty percent of my jobs were contracts from the so called government of the people. Not only did I not properly announce my retirement, I had also left a few 'projects' undone. I just woke up one morning six years ago and decided to raise a middle finger. This time, my mind was made up, I would never return. Knowing my malevolent employees, they probably freezed my accounts and seized my properties the moment they confirmed me missing. So, I'm not rich and right now I'm not poor either because I have a shop and a home and a friend like Nile that laughs with me and laughs at me and worries about me and I had Barney.. I'm not a fan of wishes because they obviously don't come true but I have only one wish; I wish I was born here -like Barney.

Umph!

When I go on walks like this, I always forget how steep and uneven the ground is so I normally fall victim. Every now and then (at least once a week) I go umph on my rump. It was not a new spectacle. The new sighting is of that man walking and laughing with an entourage of young ladies a distance away.

None other than Denzel. C. Wheeler.

None of the others from the DCRP program ended up here, none that I know of and I didn't expect the excitement I feel seeing someone I recognize from the other side. I'm not a runner, never been a fan even before I got my limp (we're still not talking about that) so I walked calmly restraining my need to touch him. This place, LoachesVille is my paradise and I am so glad he made it.

Denzel saw me, smiled at him yet he kept his pace still conversing with the ladies.

'Run to me damnit'

My excitement didn't shrivel. It took almost less than two minute for us to be face to face and as soon as we were, I jumped into his arms. It has been so long yet he feels familiar. His stature hasn't changed much and he still smells like cold spices. The ladies gasped and giggled, even I am aware of how odd my behavior is but damn.

"Leona. You okay?"

I stepped back to examine him and the son of a gun was grinning at me. He wasn't surprised to find me her in the middle of nowhere. He knew I was here.

How?

Who else knows I'm here?

Is this trouble?

"Leona. Chill. Nobody knows."