The Sanctuary #11

djoi (59)in #esteem • 8 years ago

He now believed the saying was true, that you never know what you have until it is lost.
Who would have believed that he would ever miss his office? The room which was painted brown (who painted a room or an office brown!) with the noisy ceiling fan, and the air conditioner which was always put off because it blew out hot air. The only thing he enjoyed in the office was his personal space. Everyone knew the office was his, and so it was his space.

1. item

The personal space was not what James missed now. It was the comfort, the ease of doing nothing spectacular, nothing daring, just making music with the noise of the fan.
The note which had been pushed under his door had revealed to him that he was still hot-tempered. Immediately he read the words, he was filled with so much rage, he squeezed the note in his palm, making a fist and gnashing his teeth to stop himself from punching the wall.
He used to be a hot-tempered kid, whose actions always did the talking. He still remembered his mother’s prayers for him. He could not say how he changed, but he was grateful when he discovered that he was more in control of his anger.
The note brought back all the adrenaline that came with uncontrolled anger.
He felt a little ashamed that part of the anger was because the killer was a lady. Where did she get off giving him orders? It was bad enough that she was killing with such precision and tactics that left people believing it was the work of a man, now she had to give him orders too?
Even as he walked about twenty steps away form Calista, his eyes fixed on her every move, trying to see what her typical day was like, he could still see the words crawled on the piece of plain paper which could have been checked for finger prints if this was one of those foreign crime movies he loved to watch. Only this was not a movie, this was his life for now.
The killer had written just two words which had said so much more.
DON’T INTERFERE.
He was no psychic, but James had read a lot into those words which was why he had felt the rush of anger. She had expected him to do as she said.
It had been an order which she had written with the calmness of one who believed she was in control, and knew her order will be carried out.
She obviously felt she had an upper hand.
James forced himself to focus on Calista as she got back to the orphanage. He knew he should focus on Amaka, Ire and Ngozi, and stop following Calista since she was one of those who had had her wish granted by the killer.
He only insisted because he knew everyone was a suspect. Watching as Calista walked into the orphanage, just as he had seen her do each time he followed her, he knew she should be struck off his list.
He shook his head at how easily people could get a wrong assumption of someone based on their stance and body language.
Calista was obviously defensive, and expected trouble. One would think she had a bad gang she moved with after her day at the salon, but James learnt she lived a really simple life. She went straight to the salon from the home, and back home from the salon, apart from the times she had to get some things from the market or a store.
Assumptions could be misleading.
Ignoring the feeling of being watched which he was getting used to, he turned to go back home, where he would record his findings for the day, which consisted of the boring routine of the salon and Calista.
The sanctuary was less interesting now that everyone was mindful if what they said. The ladies who initially filled it up, had come to see firsthand if the rumour was true. They were disappointed, and the crowd was reduced.
James missed his office, but knew that the killer will strike again and so he couldn’t relent in his watch. They always strike again. They always find a reason to.
Killing, like any other vice was tempting, and something as serious as taking lives and granting answers to wishes is bound to make one feel like a god, and if there was anything James had learnt as a policeman who has seen a fair share of wickedness and goodness, it was that only God has the self-control to be God.
Any other person who tries to play god would only want to be controlling and is only power-thirsty. James had seen it happen over and over in criminals arrested. Their was a something similar in all of them. They loved the thrill that came with getting away. The feeling of being invincible.
The note the killer had sent him told him that she was also in that trap. She felt she was justified, and she felt in control. She felt she was winning.
Winning was also addicting.
Another thing he had learnt as a policeman was patience. He would be patient and watchful for the next strike by the Killer.
Something will give, the Killer will act, and he would be waiting, he won’t be taken unawares.

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Eyes red, from crying, nose stuffy, and a throbbing on her forehead serving as the early signs of a migraine, Amaka barged into the saloon with a heavy heart.
“This is one of those days I wish I died with my parents. I don’t know why I am still alive. God should have killed me since!”
The pin-drop silence which followed was what reminded her of where she was.
Looking around, she noticed four things in the space of ten seconds.
Firstly, there were about five customers already in the salon.
Secondly, Ngozi was staring at her with something close to fear written on her face. Ngozi never showed fear.
Thirdly, Calista was with a facial expression which asked “Are you mad?”
And finally, Ire was nowhere to be seen.
“Are you okay?” Ngozi asked, breaking the silence. “Why would you say such a thing, knowing that unguarded words have put some people in trouble.”
“I’m sorry, but my au…”
“What did she say?”
With Amaka’s announcement, no one had seen or heard Ire come in, seconds after Amaka.
“The stupid girl just said she wished she had died with her parents,” a customer said, replying Ire’s question.
“Today is a bad day for me, okay!” Amaka defended, she was already feeling afraid. “My aunt seems to…”
“That’s okay Amaka,” Ngozi interrupted. “Later you and I will discuss it so you will get it off your chest okay?”
Amaka nodded and went to start work on a customer.
Ngozi looked around, memorizing the faces of the customers present in the salon when Amaka blurted out her wish for death. She hoped the killer was not present, if she was, Amaka was as good as dead.
Where was officer James?