THE BATTLE FOR A SAINTESS | PART SIXTEEN
Heavy curtains swallowed the night outside, cutting off every trace of moonlight. The room was darker than Orean’s.
Only a soft bedside lamp burned low, painting the room in warm, golden shadows while the air-conditioner whispered steadily like a controlled breath.
On the wide bed, Excel lay draped in silk sheets, still—yet awake—her presence unsettling in its calmness.
Her eyes were wide open. Sharp. Calculating.
They stayed locked upward at the crystal chandelier suspended above her, as though she were reading something hidden in its reflections.
The soft tapping of her fingers against the thick duvet marked a slow, deliberate rhythm—like a mind measuring something unseen.
A small smile curled at the corner of her lips. Her voice slipped quietly into the darkness.
Excel (amused):
“Many believers… once you say ‘God said,’ that’s enough. They don’t test anything.”
Her words settled into the room like invisible dust, hanging between the lamp glow and the glass shimmer of the chandelier.
The air-conditioner hummed steadily as Excel rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one arm.
Outside the mansion, the compound remained peaceful, yet a subtle heaviness seemed to gather in the shadows of the room as her thoughts unfolded.
Her gaze sharpened slightly, the stillness in her posture tightening.
A faint shift crossed her expression—measured, deliberate—like she was weighing every angle before letting it surface.
Her voice settled into a careful, calculating calm, each word placed with intention rather than ease.
Excel (calculating):
“The Bible says, ‘Believe not every spirit, but try the spirits whether they are of God.’ Yet how many truly try the spirits?”
The scripture from 1 John 4:1 hovered quietly in the room, its warning strangely twisted by the intent behind her voice.
The bedside lamp glowed steadily beside her, illuminating the faint curve of her smile.
Somewhere in the distance outside, a security guard’s footsteps echoed briefly across the compound tiles before fading again into silence.
Excel’s fingers drummed lightly against the mattress again, each tap slower than the last, as though her thoughts were settling into something sharper.
Her gaze stayed fixed ahead, unblinking. Her tone slipped out under her breath, quiet but certain, shaped by quiet judgment.
Excel (murmuring):
“They don’t take heed. They don’t test the spirit. Once you quote the Bible, they surrender their minds.”
The words rolled slowly through the cool air as if she were studying a strategy already perfected.
The curtains remained still, sealing the room away from the moonlit compound outside.
Yet in the unseen realm, something darker seemed to stir quietly around the edges of the moment.
A quiet resolve settled in her expression, controlled and precise. Her words came measured, each one carefully placed.
Excel (deliberate):
“I’ll give Orean a vision. A dream. Support it with Scripture. Once the Word is quoted, he will relax.”
The room seemed to grow colder as the plan took shape in her mind.
The soft hum of the air conditioner continued, carrying the quiet rhythm of the night while the chandelier above reflected tiny sparks of light across the ceiling.
Excel lay against the pillows, her eyes open in the dim light. Slowly, she turned her head toward the small digital clock resting on the bedside table.
Its red numbers glowed quietly: 9:58 PM.
The silence lingered for a moment as the faint rustle of the curtains brushed against the window frame.
Excel’s breathing slowed as she watched the seconds tick forward. Her lips parted slightly, her voice moved through the quiet room with controlled calm.
Excel (steady):
“I will cry out when it's 10:30 PM.”
The digital clock continued blinking rhythmically in the quiet room while the air conditioner hummed softly above her.
Outside, the moonlight lay across the compound tiles like pale water, and somewhere along the walls a night guard shifted his weight unknowingly.
The spiritual air seemed to tighten faintly around the mansion.
The clock kept counting.
Across the hallway, Orean’s room stood quiet beneath moonlight and the gentle turning of the ceiling fan. Its blades cut through the warm air with a soft mechanical rhythm.
Yet between those two rooms, unseen forces gathered in the spiritual realm—light watching carefully while darkness prepared its quiet deception.
Orean finally lay down on the bed. He turned to the left. Then to the right.
The cotton sheets rustled beneath him as he shifted again, unable to settle. The quiet room seemed heavier than usual.
A strange unease pressed against his chest like an invisible weight.
He rubbed his temples slowly, exhaling through his nose. His voice slipped out into the dim room with restless confusion.
Orean (restless):
“Lord… why I cannot sleep?”
Outside, crickets sang without interruption, yet inside the guest room an unseen tension stirred the atmosphere.
Orean’s spirit wrestled quietly while the unseen realm observed with silent attention.
He rose abruptly from the bed and walked toward the window. His hand reached out and gently pulled the curtain aside.
Moonlight poured softly into the room as the compound lights flickered faintly in the passing night breeze.
His gaze drifted across the quiet courtyard, then slowly returned inward, as though something unseen had tugged his attention back to her presence down the hallway.
His brows tightened just slightly, curiosity settling in his expression before his tone formed quietly, almost careful not to disturb the stillness around him.
Orean (whispering):
“Excel… why are you still unmarried? With all the men around you?”
The night wind brushed against the compound walls outside while the tall lights continued humming faintly above the tiled courtyard.
Orean stood at the window like a man searching through the silence for answers, while unseen forces quietly observed the questions forming in his heart.
He released the curtain and slowly turned away from the window. The moonlight faded from his face as he walked back toward the bed.
His voice softened again, thoughtful and troubled.
Orean (softly):
“She’s beautiful… intelligent… influential. Yet something in her spirit troubles me. Why does her spirit feel distant? I hardly see her seek the Lord deeply.”
In the unseen realm, the tension between light and shadow quietly stirred, as if the question itself had brushed against deeper spiritual currents.
He sat down on the edge of the bed. His fingers reached for the Bible resting beside the pillow.
But he did not open it. His eyes lingered on its worn cover as his tone rose again, thoughtful and restrained.
Orean (reflective):
“Perhaps I don’t know what she does in secret. Only God knoweth the hearts of the children of men.”
The room remained still while the night breeze continued whispering against the window frame.
The sacred book rested quietly in his hands as if waiting to speak, while heaven itself seemed attentive to the thoughts forming in Orean’s heart.
A long breath escaped his chest. His shoulders lowered slightly as his mind weighed the gravity of his decision.
His gaze drifted away for a moment, fixed on something unseen.
His voice came quieter than before, edged with doubt, as if the words were testing their own ground before standing.
Orean (uncertain):
“To reject her now… could that be my greatest mistake?”
The quiet room seemed to hold the question in suspension.
Yet deep within the spiritual realm, the matter of the union was no small thing, and unseen eyes lingered upon the man wrestling with his choice.
He closed his eyes briefly, almost convincing himself. The silence stretched for a moment. Then his tone returned, firm with resolve.
Orean (determined):
“I need confirmation. I must hear clearly from God.”
The fan blades continued their steady motion while the faint moonlight glowed through the curtain folds.
The atmosphere around him sharpened slightly, as though heaven itself had heard the declaration of a man refusing to move without divine instruction.
His fingers tightened slightly around the Bible. He lifted his head slowly and spoke again, recalling the ancient wisdom of Scripture.
Orean (reverent):
“It's written, ‘Trust in the Lord with all thine heart; and lean not unto thine own understanding.’”
The sacred words settled quietly in the room like a prayer rising toward heaven.
Outside, the crickets continued their chorus, unaware that the decision of one man could soon stir spiritual battles far beyond the quiet walls of the mansion.
Far down the hallway, the corridor clock struck.
10:30 PM.
The sound traveled through the hallway like a cold reminder, echoing off polished walls before fading into the quiet.
At that very moment—a sharp cry pierced the silence.
“Ah...!”
The sound came sudden, broken, and distressed, slicing down the hallway like a warning no one was prepared for.
Orean’s eyes snapped wide open. The tension in his body snapped instantly before his thoughts could catch up.
The peaceful stillness in the room shattered instantly, replaced by a rising tension that seemed to press against the walls.
Even the air felt tighter, as though something unseen had just stepped into motion.
His grip on the Bible loosened as urgency overtook him.
Without hesitation, he sprang from the bed, the movement sharp and immediate, and rushed toward the door.
It swung open in a swift motion, cutting into the still corridor beyond.
The ceiling fan continued spinning behind him as he hurried into the dim corridor, his footsteps echoing lightly along the polished floor tiles beneath the yellow hallway lights.
Each step carrying him deeper into a space that now felt unfamiliar—no longer peaceful, but charged with unseen tension.
The mansion that had rested peacefully moments earlier now seemed alert.
He reached Excel’s door. He stopped for a fraction of a second—then knocked once. The sound echoed sharply.
Without waiting, he pushed the door open.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Written by Agbemawle Atsu Norvishi
© All Rights Reserved. Shared freely to bless and inspire.
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