Olaitan Catalyst

𝑇𝐻𝐸 𝑉𝑂𝐼𝐶𝐸𝑀𝐴𝐼𝐿 𝐼 𝐷𝐸𝐿𝐸𝑇𝐸𝐷

My father’s voicemail greeting is still the same. Four years since the diagnosis. Three since he stopped recognizing my voice. Two since he stopped speaking altogether. And still, when I call his number, the one he can no longer answer, I hear him say, “You’ve reached Ben. Leave a message, and I’ll call you back.”

He sounds bright. Alert. Just like himself. The self he was before the forgetting began.

I call, just to hear it sometimes. In the grocery store parking lot. On my way to work. Lying awake at 2 a.m. I dial, I listen, I hang up before the beep. I have not left a message in 1,207 days.

But I have recorded 94 voicemails I never sent. They are saved in a folder on my phone labeled “For Dad”. The first one is dated the day after his diagnosis. The most recent one was last night.

I remember the first one clearly. We were in the doctor’s office. White walls, too-bright lights, the smell of antiseptic. My father sat beside me, holding my mother’s hand. The doctor said the word: Alzheimer’s.

My father nodded slowly. My mother cried without sound. I just sat there, numb.

That night, I went into my closet, closed the door, and opened my voice memo app. I pressed record. And I said:

“Hey, Dad. It’s me. Today was… a lot. I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to be brave for you. I’m so scared. I’m so, so scared. I love you.”

Then I saved it. I didn’t send it.
What would he do with my fear?
He had had enough of his own.

The voicemails tracked his disappearance. And mine.

Recording #12:
“You called me by my brother’s name today. I didn’t correct you. It’s okay.”

Recording #28:
“You forgot how to make your coffee this morning. You stood in front of the machine, just staring. I showed you, and you cried. I cried too, after.”

Recording #50:
“You asked me who I was. You looked right at me, Dad. Right into my eyes. And you said, ‘Do I know you?’”

That last one, I recorded in tears. My voice broke in three places.

I became his memory. I reminded him of his own life.
“You were a teacher, Dad.”
“You love jazz music.”
“Mom’s name is Mary.”
“I’m your daughter. My name is Comfort.”

But who reminded me? Who reminded me that I was more than his keeper? That I had dreams before this happened? Who reminded me that I used to be someone he gave advice to, not someone who cut his food into small pieces?

The voicemails became my diary. My confession.

Recording #63:
“I yelled at you today. You spilled your water, and I snapped. I saw the hurt in your eyes. I’ll never forgive myself. I’m so sorry, Dad. I’m so tired.”

Recording #77:
“A man asked me out for coffee today. I said no. How could I explain this? How could I bring someone into this quiet, sad house? How could I love someone when all my love is used up on keeping you alive?”

The last complete sentence my father said to me was:
“You look like your mother.”

He said it on a Tuesday. The sun was coming through the kitchen window. He was looking at me, but I’m not sure he saw me. I think he saw a memory. I think he saw her, young and smiling, before the worry lines.

And I recorded a voicemail that night:
“You said I look like Mom. I do. I have her eyes. I wish I had her strength. She’s holding this whole family together, and I’m just… tired. I wish you were still here to tell me it’ll be okay. Even if it’s a lie. Just tell me.”

After that, he spoke less and less. Words became sounds.
Sounds became silence. Now he sits by the window. He watches birds. He hums sometimes, the old tunes I don’t recognize. He doesn’t know my name. And neither does he remember his.

But his voicemail greeting remains. A pocket of time. A version of him preserved in digital amber.

Two months ago, I almost sent one. It was his birthday.
Mom made a cake. We put candles in it. He stared at the flames like they were a foreign language.

That night, I recorded:
“Happy birthday, Dad. You would have been 68 today. You would have hated the cake, “too sweet”, you’d have said. You would have pretended to love it anyway. I miss you. Even though you’re right here, it feels like drowning. I miss you so much.”

I hovered over the “send” button but my thumb shook. I couldn’t do it. Sending it felt like admitting he was gone. And I wasn’t ready.

So I saved it.
Recording #93.

Last night, I recorded the 94th voicemail. It was short thou.

“It’s late. I can’t sleep. I just wanted to hear your voice. Goodnight, Dad.”

Then I did something I never thought I would do.
I opened the folder.
94 recordings.
94 unsent pieces of my heart.

And I deleted them. All of them. I deleted them one by one.

The sound of my own voice saying “Are you there?” “I miss you.” “I’m scared.”
Gone.

It wasn’t about letting go of him. It was about letting go of the version of me that was still waiting for him to answer, when I knew he wasn’t going to. Not anymore.

This morning, I recorded one more. But this time, I sent it.
Not to my father. But to my mother.

“Hey, Mom. It’s me. I love you. Thank you for everything. I see you. I see how hard this is. You’re not alone. We’ll get through this. Together.”

She called me five minutes later, crying. She said, “I needed that.”
I said, “Me too.”

I still call his number sometimes. I still listen to his greeting:
“You’ve reached Ben. Leave a message, and I’ll call you back.”

I don’t leave messages anymore. But I don’t hang up before the beep either. I let the silence after his voice hang in the air. A quiet space where his words used to be. Where my words used to be.

And sometimes, in that silence, I imagine him hearing me.
Not the recorded me. But the real me. The one who is still here. Still loving him. The one who's still remembering.

The voicemails are gone. But the love isn’t. The memories aren’t. The man he was, the father who raised me, isn’t gone.

He’s in the way I make coffee. In the jokes I tell. In the quiet patience I’ve learned.

I don’t record unsent voicemails anymore. Now, I speak. To my mother. To my friends. To myself. And sometimes, to him, out loud, in the quiet of his room while he sleeps.

“I’m here, Dad. I’m still here.”

And in a way, so is he.


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✍🏻𝑪𝒂𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒚𝒔𝒕 𝑾𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔

CHAPTER TWENTY (Semi-final)

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The discovery of Lucien’s twisted past weighed heavily on all of us. Rayne’s family, the peace they had fought for, and the betrayal that had shattered their hope—it all became clear now. Lucien wasn’t just a threat to the fragile peace between vampires and humans; he was a product of grief, of a thirst for vengeance that had festered for centuries.

We gathered around a table in our war room, the flickering light of the lanterns casting long shadows over the maps and plans we had drawn. The pieces of the puzzle were finally falling into place.

“I’ve been thinking about how to face him,” Rayne said, his voice steady but tinged with underlying tension. “We can’t just attack him head-on. Lucien has too many resources, too many loyal followers.”

Kael leaned forward, his expression dark. “We need to divide him. His followers are loyal, but they’re also scared. If we can sow doubt, if we can make them question his leadership, we might break his control.”

I nodded, my fingers tracing the map in front of me. “We’ll need to hit him where it hurts. But we also need to be ready for anything. Lucien won’t let go of power easily. He’ll come for us with everything he has.”

Rayne looked at me, his eyes filled with determination. “We’ll be ready. We’ve survived this long because we’re strong together. And we have the truth on our side. Lucien’s vendetta is his greatest weakness.”

I could see the resolve in his eyes, and I knew that we were about to face the most dangerous part of this war. It wasn’t just about survival anymore—it was about ending the cycle of vengeance, about breaking the chains that had bound Lucien to his past.

The plan was set. We would divide into two groups. Kael and I would infiltrate Lucien’s stronghold, disrupting his command structure and using the information we had gathered to turn his allies against him. Rayne would lead the remaining forces, setting up a distraction to draw Lucien’s main forces away from the stronghold, leaving him vulnerable.

As we prepared to leave, Rayne found me alone in the corner of the room. His gaze softened, and he stepped closer. “Brea,” he said, his voice low. “I know this isn’t easy. But we have to do this. For the future, for everything we’ve fought for.”

I nodded, my heart heavy with the weight of what was to come. “I know. I’m ready, Rayne. But I need you to promise me something.”

“What is it?” he asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

“Promise me you’ll come back. No matter what happens, you’ll come back to me.”

He cupped my face gently, his thumb brushing over my skin. “I promise you, Brea. I’ll always come back.”

His words, his touch, brought a spark of warmth to my chest, even in the face of what we were about to face. But the truth was, I didn’t know if we would survive this final confrontation. And that uncertainty gnawed at me.

The night was tense as we made our way to the stronghold. The air was thick with the smell of damp earth and the distant echoes of the war that had ravaged the land. Our footsteps were silent as we navigated through the shadows, our eyes alert for any sign of movement.

Kael’s voice broke the silence. “We’re getting close. Stay sharp.”

I nodded, my senses heightened as we approached the fortified gates. The stronghold loomed ahead, a dark and imposing structure, guarded by loyal vampires who had sworn allegiance to Lucien.

“Once we’re in, we need to get to the command center,” Kael said. “That’s where the most valuable information is hidden. We can disrupt their communications, force Lucien’s inner circle to question his leadership.”

We approached the gates and waited for Kael’s signal. He moved with quiet precision, dispatching the guards with minimal effort. The gates creaked open, and we slipped inside.

Inside the stronghold, the air was cold, the silence broken only by the distant sounds of footsteps and muffled conversations. We moved swiftly, ducking into dark corners and avoiding detection. Finally, we reached the command center—a large, dimly lit room filled with maps, scrolls, and records of Lucien’s operations.

“This is it,” Kael whispered. “Now, we just need to find the documents that will turn his followers against him.”

We spread out, searching through the piles of papers, our eyes scanning for anything that would give us leverage over Lucien’s supporters.

And then I found it.

A ledger, worn and filled with details about Lucien’s dealings with the rogue factions—bribes, secret alliances, and promises of power in exchange for loyalty. This was the evidence we needed.

I handed the ledger to Kael, my heart racing. “This will expose him.”

“Perfect,” Kael said, his voice low. “Now, let’s get out of here before Lucien notices we’re missing.”

Back at the safe house, the battle raged on. Rayne and his forces had drawn Lucien’s main army into a conflict that kept them distracted long enough for us to get the evidence to the right people. But we knew Lucien wouldn’t stay distracted for long.

We were preparing for the final showdown. The pieces were in place, the battle lines drawn. Lucien was about to learn that his empire of fear and vengeance had come to an end.

As the dawn approached, the final battle loomed. I stood next to Rayne, my hand in his, feeling the weight of everything that had led to this moment.

Rayne turned to me, his eyes searching mine. “Whatever happens, Brea, I want you to know that I’ve loved you from the moment we met.”

Tears welled up in my eyes, and I nodded, squeezing his hand. “I love you too. And we’ll face this together. No matter what.”

With that, we stepped forward, ready to face Lucien, ready to end the war and the years of pain that had followed us all.

The final confrontation was upon us.

**************************************************************
𝐋𝐈𝐊𝐄, 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐄, 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐎𝐏 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓.
𝐈𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐃𝐎𝐍'𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓, 𝐑𝐄𝐏𝐋𝐘 𝐓𝐎 𝐌𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐒.

**************************************************************


The first light of dawn barely touched the horizon as we made our way to the battlefield. The air was thick with the scent of impending storm, and the weight of the coming confrontation pressed heavily on my chest. The world felt suspended in time—every second stretching out, each one a reminder that the end of this war was near, but with it, the unknown.

Rayne walked beside me, his expression resolute, his hand brushing against mine occasionally as if seeking reassurance. His touch was a constant anchor, pulling me from the edge of my fears. But even his strength couldn’t erase the gnawing anxiety in my gut. We had gathered the evidence. We had turned the tide in our favor. But Lucien wasn’t going to go down without a fight. And I couldn’t shake the feeling that this final battle would come at a terrible cost.

“I can feel it,” I said quietly, my voice almost lost in the stillness. “This is the moment. Everything changes now.”

Rayne’s eyes met mine, his gaze intense. “We’ve already changed everything, Brea. This is about finishing what we started. For you, for me, for everyone who believes in the peace we’ve fought for.”

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. I wasn’t sure if it was fear or hope, but a strange mix of both churned inside me. The stakes had never been higher. Lucien’s forces were mobilizing, his spies everywhere, and the final battle was no longer just about survival. It was about ending his reign of terror.

By the time we reached the battlefield, the armies were already arrayed, each side preparing for the inevitable clash. Lucien’s forces stood like an impenetrable wall on one side, their eyes cold with certainty. On the other, Rayne’s loyal followers, backed by the human resistance, lined up in tight ranks, their faces hard but filled with determination.

The moment felt surreal, like we were standing at the edge of a precipice, waiting for the earth to give way beneath our feet.

“We can win this,” Kael said quietly as he joined us, his gaze steady as he surveyed the terrain. “But we need to take Lucien’s command center. If we can cut off his leadership, we’ll break his army.”

Rayne nodded. “Brea, I need you to stay close to me. You’ve seen Lucien’s power, and he won’t hesitate to strike if he sees a weakness.”

I met his gaze, my heart racing. “I’m not afraid of him. I’m afraid of losing you.”

Rayne’s lips curled into a faint smile, though there was a trace of sadness in his eyes. “You won’t lose me, Brea. We’ve come too far. Together, we’ll end this.”

The battle erupted with a deafening roar, the clash of steel and the cries of warriors filling the air. Rayne’s forces surged forward, cutting through Lucien’s front lines with brutal efficiency. The vampires fought with a savagery that could only come from centuries of bloodlust, but there was a fierceness in Rayne’s followers that countered them—humans and vampires alike, united by a common cause.

I stayed close to Rayne, my heart hammering in my chest as we moved through the battlefield. The chaos around us seemed endless—clashing swords, screams of pain, and the eerie hiss of vampires closing in on their prey. But through it all, I could feel Rayne’s presence beside me, his strength and unwavering confidence a shield against the growing terror in my soul.

We fought our way toward Lucien’s command center, cutting through the enemy with calculated precision. But as we neared our destination, I saw him—Lucien, standing at the heart of the battlefield, his eyes burning with rage as he watched the fight unfold.

He was waiting for us.

“Rayne!” I shouted, my voice rising above the noise. “Lucien’s waiting for us! He’s not going to let us take control.”

Rayne’s eyes locked onto Lucien, a flash of anger flickering across his face. “I know. But we’re not backing down. This ends today, Brea.”

The final moments felt like slow motion as we charged toward Lucien. His forces made way for him, and he stood at the center of his army, a dark king surrounded by his loyal generals. His eyes met mine, and for the first time, there was no pretension, no mask of control. There was only the raw, unfiltered hatred that had driven him for centuries.

“You think you can stop me?” Lucien’s voice was a low growl, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “You’re too late, Rayne. The world is mine. And nothing—nothing—will take it from me.”

Rayne stepped forward, his presence commanding the battlefield. “It’s over, Lucien. Your reign of terror ends now.”

A laugh escaped Lucien’s lips, dark and mocking. “You always were so naïve, Rayne. You think you can change what’s been written in blood? I’ve lived for centuries. I’ve seen kingdoms rise and fall. And I’ve watched your family die. What makes you think you can defeat me now?”

Rayne’s expression hardened. “Because I have something you never did—hope. A future. And the strength of those who believe in it.”

The ground shook as Lucien’s power surged outward, his dark magic swirling around him. He raised his hand, and a wave of energy shot forward, sending several of Rayne’s soldiers flying backward. But Rayne didn’t flinch. With a roar, he lunged at Lucien, their battle beginning in a flurry of strikes and lightning-fast movements.

I stood frozen, my heart in my throat as the two powerful beings collided. Rayne and Lucien were evenly matched, both wielding immense strength, but Lucien’s rage made him reckless, while Rayne fought with the precision of someone who had lived through a thousand lifetimes of pain and loss.

But Lucien wasn’t the only one with power. As the battle raged, I felt the weight of the truth—this wasn’t just Rayne’s fight. It was mine too. And I wasn’t going to let Lucien tear away the world we had fought so hard to build.

“Rayne!” I shouted, stepping forward.
Lucien’s eyes flicked toward me, a malicious gleam in them. “You think you can stop me, human? You’re nothing!”

But I wasn’t afraid anymore. I had seen too much, lived through too much to back down now. “No,” I said, my voice steady. “We are everything you never understood. You’re not unstoppable. You’re broken, Lucien.”

With those words, I felt something stir inside me—a force I hadn’t realized was there. A power that didn’t come from fear or hatred, but from love, from everything we had fought for. I reached out, and the energy surged through me, joining with Rayne’s as we faced Lucien together.

The final battle had begun. And it was time for the reckoning.
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