The Sanctuary #12

djoi (59)in #fiction • 8 years ago

The knock on the door elicited a grumble from James.
He was sure he woke up from the wrong side of the bed when he had woken up with a severe headache and body pains. He wondered if he went to war in his sleep. He felt unable to do anything, and could not even get off the bed without groaning.
He decided to stay home, and wait for it to pass, promising himself that he would get ready for work the moment he felt better. The thought that someone would see him so helpless was not a welcome one. He hated the weakness he felt.

The knock had woken him from a slumber he didn’t remember falling into. Hoping whoever was at the door would walk away, he ignored the knocking, and tried to get back to sleep, putting a pillow over his head.
“James! I know you can hear me, open up!”
He recognized Ngozi’s voice. What was she doing here? How did she know where he lived? His wristwatch told him it was noon.
Grumbling louder, he got up and dragged himself to the door. He had barely unlocked the door when she pushed in.
“Good afternoon,” she greeted before rambling on. “Sorry I had to come to your house unannounced, but there might be a problem, and since I didn’t see you, I had to come here.”
“Good afternoon to you too,” James mumbled and went to a sofa where he sat down and anchored his aching head with his palm. He didn’t want to be excited at Ngozi’s talk about a problem. The only problem that would lead her to his house could only be related to the case.
“What is the problem?” he heard himself ask.
“Amaka wished herself dead this morning, and there were some customers in the salon when she did. I am not looking forward to another death, especially not the death of one of my workers,” Ngozi said with so much gesticulation, before she went into the little space which served as his kitchen.
Too tired to ask what she wanted there, James allowed his mind wander to the opportunities which Amaka’s slip was offering him. Opportunities he knew he couldn’t pursue because of his weak body.
The killer will most likely attack tonight if she was present at the time Amaka spoke. She worked at night, and on time.
She delivered wishes as fast as she could.
He was still mourning his ill health which could mean Amaka’s death, and was wondering if he could put a colleague of his in charge of the case until he got better, when Ngozi surprisingly materialized from the kitchen with steaming mug of some liquid which smelt like hot chocolate.
“I know you don’t feel too good, and the thought of eating something is not welcome, but I hope you can drink this. You will feel better in a short while,” she said as she offered the mug to him.
He felt better from the first sip.
One of his secret weakness was his sweet-tooth. He acknowledged it and as much as was possible, avoided sweet things, he was not looking forward to having a widened midriff. That was another clichéd expectation for the Nigerian Policeman which he hope to beat.
The chocolate was sweet and welcoming, and before long, he was assuring her that he would get back top work before the closing hours of the day. He might not visit the salon, as whoever was the killer might have left already, but he would not allow any harm befall Amaka.
It was a promise he knew he would keep. He already had a plan.
By the time she left, he felt infinitely better, better than he had felt in a long time.
It was while he whistled in the bathroom that he remembered that the only beverage he had in his kitchen were teabags, where did Ngozi get the chocolate from, since she had come empty handed. If he remembered correctly, she had not come in with anything, not even a handbag.
And how did she know exactly how he felt? How had she known where he lived?

                                                              *                *               *

The day had not gotten better for Amaka.
Through the day, she had felt afraid the something would happen to her because of her words in the morning.
In her heart of hearts, she knew it was unlikely since the salon was always occupied by other people apart from her, but she still felt afraid.
Her fear had increased when Ngozi left the salon for a while, making everyone suspicious. Ngozi rarely left the salon.
In her fear she had said the stupidest thing. She had wished that the killer would be caught so everyone could be free again. She didn’t like that she had to feel afraid of death because she was sad and made a mistake.
Calista’s reply had stuck with her though: “Maybe this is supposed to be a lesson as Ngozi said before. Maybe we should be more conscious of our words and thoughts. Most times what we say comes from our thoughts.”
Calista’s words stuck with her, but did nothing to elevate the fear.
As she walked home, as fast as her legs could carry her, she knew she was going to face another trouble at home from her aunt. Her aunt always finished what she started. Since she started this morning, she was bound to end it this night.
Taking a deep breath she started in the narrow path that was the scariest part of her journey home.
The path was a space of between two walls with a drainage passage. The passage was covered with slabs which served as the stepping stones and it could only be conveniently occupied by a person, more than a person in the path, and a time would come when one had to give way for another to go first.
It was dark and everyone looked like a killer to her, so Amaka hoped she would be the only one to pass through the path.
Seeing no one in the path, she hurriedly started the journey through it.
There were about fifteen slabs to the other side of the path, and Amaka was on the fifth slab when she noticed a figure coming before her. She could not she the figure clearly because of the distance. For all she knew, it could be the killer.
She wondered if she should turn back to the open space so people could hear her scream if she let out any.
Before she could make up her mind on which way to move, forward or backward, she heard footsteps behind her and turned to see its source, ready to breath out in relief. The breath got stuck in her throat.
The person behind her was closer to her, so she could see the person more clearly, so she was quite sure that the figure held a knife in one hand and was covered in all black, from head to toe.
Amaka choked on her own breath, the person she thought to be a safeguard was the killer who was getting closer every second.
Maybe she would get her wish after all, she would join her parents in death.