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F or so long, Timi had struggled with the concept of family. They were supposedly the people one shared blood with, but for every anguish he suffered, his family had participated in it or just looked on.

Meeting Uncle Jude redefined his preconception of it. In a sea of unknown faces, all he needed to do was follow the light of shared hopes, dreams, laughter and whispered secrets shining on that one different face. And he would know. That's them. That's family.

Seated at the expansive dais of Oba Hall and facing hordes of reporters, well-wishers, actors and actresses, the production crew, Buck staff, and some key invitees, he could see a couple of those special faces. And all of them projected one message. They were there. For him. And For Uncle Jude.

Beside him were a host of distinguished people. Agu, Lillian, Eketi, Dame B, Maxwell, Nollywood's Director, and secretary, and a host of Agu's influential friends, but Timi's eyes remained on his family.

Because if he didn't, his eyes would seek out the one family he'd buried a part of himself to be free of.

Lillian had reached out, and her demand was simple. Expose the content of the memory card in the nationwide press conference Agu had organised, or the grand opening stayed cancelled.

It hadn't been a hard choice to make.

Two days later, Timi was on a flight to Enugu, with Alex and Jaja, as Nejeere had declined coming along. Timi felt bad for her, but he felt better for himself. Glad the end was near, and she wouldn't have to suffer anymore.

Groups of tour guides dressed in Akwete materials, faces painted with white chalks, and heavy beads weighing necks and ankles showed the guests around, with drums, flutes and gongs, completing the perfect traditional festive atmosphere.

Agu had outdone himself. A wide network of roads connected several multipurpose sky-rising buildings, sound stages, back lots, down to the massive four-star hotel reserved for key actors. But as it was just opening, everyone who had flown in for the occasion had a room to themselves.

Oba hall, still receiving external touches, took the cake. A multipurpose magnificent space, with various compartments suitable for conferences, private dinners, receptions, cinemas, libraries, and was large enough to accommodate thousands of people comfortably.

The conference hall within it, reserved for the press conference, was a huge space with natural lights spilling from towering glass ceilings that bounced off sliding partition walls.

The rows of blue attached auditorium chairs balanced the brightness and added a soothing calmness.

Official Red Tinsel posters hung from the ceiling and on jumbo display boards, splattering a reddish hue across the marble floors.

And it was there the MIB clowns found him in the morning of the grand opening. Alex and Jaja had woken very early to go help D'Yoyo with final preparations and Timi had wanted to assess one last time the luxurious hall that would be his final stage.

He didn't protest as they led him firmly to a Lexus and drove him to Agu's yet-to-be-completed glass maisonette. Nor did he ask for anything when they ushered him into a private parlour. However, while alone in the room, his mind wandered to outrageous heights.

Agu and his wife were in on the whole plan. And they'd gathered everyone in one place for a smooth murdering-spree.

Fire would be the most explainable option to the police.

But maybe they liked guns. Bullets tearing through flesh, bursting arteries, blood spraying.

Although Lillian looked like the type to go for the good ol' machete or a chainsaw.

Laughing as she cut through vertebrae and holding up severed heads as trophies.

He'd successfully worked himself into such a frenzy that when Agu eventually arrived with his important guest, all Timi could do was stare at them, his heartbeats pounding in his ears.

The guest had filled out in awkward places. The prettiness he remembered her once having, buried under chunks of solid oily fat and rapid ageing. Now she looked swollen, like a bloated hippo.

“Eyitomi,” she breathed, eyes wide. Face…unchanging.

Timi flew to his feet, but Agu blocked him before he made a sprint to the door.

“Son, easy,” he said softly. “Listen to your sister.”

Timi stared at him, distraught at the shocking betrayal. “I wouldn't have minded the chainsaw.”

Agu's brows furrowed. “I have no idea what that is. But sit down and hear her out. Or how long are you going to keep running?” He dropped his hand when Timi's shoulders slumped, nodded at the woman, stepped out the door...and locked it.

The old fool actually locked him in .

Taking deep breaths to calm the panic rising, Timi returned to his seat. He wasn't fifteen anymore. He was grown. He could tackle her, even if she'd mutated into a giant Michelin baby.

The woman sank into the white seat opposite him. “Eyitomi, I—”

“What—” He pulled at his shirt collar. “What are you doing here? How did you find me?”

The corners of her mouth dragged down in her confusion. “Find you? We've always known who you are. We have all your movies.”

Impossible. If not, why hadn't the chief witch come looking?

The woman must have read his disbelief because she added. “Actually, we had no idea of your whereabouts until Mr. Nwabufor paid us a visit.”

That loosened his tongue. “Agu visited...Ewekoro?”

She chuckled softly. “Would I even call it that?

You just featured in the American Prince.

Ma saw it and was planning to trace you to Lagos.

I don't know how he heard about it, but he showed up the next day. He introduced himself as your guardian, and told Ma if she had plans of visiting, she better have a rethink. He said if she ever came close to you, or spoke about you to anyone, he would first beat her with palm fronds, then lock her up in a freezer, drown her, before cutting her into tiny pieces and feeding her to his special collection of rabid rats.”

Timi stared dumbly at her. Everything she mentioned, Prophet Emmanuel had done it to him, except the cutting into bits and rabid rats. He’d pictured that himself to escape his hell; the only detail he’d given Agu. Had he also sought him out? His heart gave a painful jolt. Did he find Kainye too?

“We thought we would never see him again,” the woman continued.

“Then, he sent people months later to help us pack up and move. He had bought Ma a house in Ibadan. A four-bedroom furnished bungalow. He opened a mini supermarket for Ma, put Sister Tolani through nursing school, and paid all my school fees in the university of Ado-Ekiti.”

“He did all that?” His words came out faintly.

“He's been taking care of us, Eyi. And I under…” Her voice caught. “I understand what we did to you is unforgivable, but I…I had to see you.”

Timi looked away from her welling eyes. “Why? What do you think has changed? ”

She sniffed loudly. “Mr. Nwabufor said the film you're shooting is so big, like Hollywood, and we may never meet like this again. So, I begged him to let me see you today before you returned to work.”

Timi laughed harshly. “So, you're here to famz before I become world famous?”

She shook her head vigorously. “No, Eyi. It's Ma. She's dying. She didn't say it in so many words, but she's also dying to see you. Sister Tolani too. All of us.”

Of all the feelings he thought he would have if he heard a news like this, a giant heap of nothing wasn't on the list. No relief. No sorrow. No numbness. No regret. She might have as well told him she drank water.

He got up. “I don't know who you think I am, but my name is Timi Lawson. I'm an only child, and my father is dead. I wish you and your family luck though. Have a safe trip back.”

Her face crumpled. “Eyi…please…”

He headed to the door and pounded on it. By the time it opened, racking sobs had filled the room. But Timi didn't look back. There was no room for the rot of a past life horribly lived.

But the Witch from the West didn't leave. Instead, she sat amidst the sea of faces. Watching him as she'd watched those years. Waiting to see him crumble. The dirty dried corpse of a boy. Beaten and passed around like a rag.

Timi looked down at the trembling hands against his laps and curled them into fists. Today was his day, and he was going to own it. A blast from the past, and his churning stomach couldn't stop him.

He focused on Agu's voice, and on the reason he had to do what he had to do.

“...I asked myself, what's the difference between our Funke Akindele and Taraji P. Henson? Or Samuel Okeke and Eddie Murphy? Or my son, Timi, and every young famous Hollywood actor you can think of?” Agu spread his hands.

“The difference is this. Agu's Studios. A fertile field for talent cultivation. A well-constructed today for a productive tomorrow. Where Nollywood can meet Hollywood and shake hands on equal grounds. Telling stories that veer from the norm. Fresh. Gritty. Unafraid. Red Tinsel would be our first. And who could bring that story to life if not our own Timi Lawson? ”

As an applause began, Agu raised his voice. “Everyone, make welcome the star of the show, Timi Lawson!”

The cameras broke out in lightning flashes and deafening shutters. Timi, resplendent in his black suit, tried not to squint or hide as he walked to the glass lectern. He commandeered stages like a seasoned thespian. He was the motherfucking star of the show.