The Dead Man With His Name
802 Words
🔥 Episode 5
Silence swallowed the room.
Not the normal kind.
The heavy kind—the kind that presses against your chest and makes it hard to breathe.
⸻
“Tunde Okoye,” Ibrahim repeated slowly. “That’s the name on the car registration.”
⸻
Tunde let out a dry laugh.
“This is a joke,” he said. “It has to be.”
But no one else was laughing.
⸻
Bello stepped forward, holding his tablet.
“We double-checked it,” he said. “Same name. Same date of birth.”
⸻
Tunde’s smile faded.
“…That’s impossible.”
⸻
Adaeze tilted her head slightly.
“Is it?” she asked.
⸻
Tunde turned to her sharply. “What is that supposed to mean?”
⸻
Instead of answering, she stepped closer.
“Tell me something,” she said. “Have you ever lived anywhere outside Lagos?”
⸻
Tunde frowned. “No.”
“Never traveled for a long period?”
“No.”
“Never used another name?”
“No!”
⸻
His voice echoed louder than he intended.
⸻
Adaeze didn’t flinch.
She just watched him.
Studying.
Measuring.
⸻
“Because,” she said calmly, “according to official records…”
She nodded at Bello.
⸻
He tapped the screen.
Then turned it toward Tunde.
⸻
A file opened.
Government records.
Stamped.
Verified.
⸻
At the top:
NAME: TUNDE OKOYE
STATUS: DECEASED
DATE OF DEATH: TWO YEARS AGO
⸻
Tunde stared at it.
Unmoving.
Unblinking.
⸻
“This… this isn’t me,” he whispered.
⸻
The photo attached to the file flickered onto the screen.
⸻
And the world stopped.
⸻
Because it was him.
⸻
Same face.
Same eyes.
Same everything.
⸻
Just… lifeless.
⸻
The photo looked like a morgue shot.
⸻
Tunde staggered backward.
“No… no, no, no…”
⸻
His heartbeat roared in his ears.
This wasn’t possible.
It couldn’t be.
⸻
“I’m standing right here,” he said, his voice shaking. “How can I be dead?!”
⸻
No one answered immediately.
⸻
Because none of them had a simple explanation.
⸻
Adaeze finally spoke.
“Either someone stole your identity…”
She paused.
⸻
“…or you’re not who you think you are.”
⸻
The words hit harder than anything so far.
⸻
Tunde shook his head violently.
“That’s nonsense. I know who I am!”
⸻
But even as he said it…
A strange feeling crept in.
⸻
A crack.
Small.
But growing.
⸻
Because suddenly—
His memories didn’t feel as solid as they used to.
⸻
“Tell me about your childhood,” Adaeze said.
⸻
Tunde blinked.
“What?”
“Your childhood,” she repeated. “Where did you grow up?”
⸻
“Here. Lagos.”
“Where exactly?”
⸻
Tunde opened his mouth.
Then stopped.
⸻
The answer was there.
It should have been easy.
Automatic.
⸻
But it wasn’t.
⸻
“…Surulere,” he said finally.
⸻
Adaeze’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Which street?”
⸻
Silence.
⸻
Tunde’s chest tightened.
⸻
“I… I don’t remember the exact street.”
⸻
Bello raised an eyebrow.
“You don’t remember where you grew up?”
⸻
“I do!” Tunde snapped. “Just not the street name!”
⸻
Adaeze stepped closer.
“What primary school did you attend?”
⸻
Tunde swallowed.
⸻
“I… I don’t—”
⸻
The words died in his throat.
⸻
Because he didn’t know.
⸻
And for the first time…
Real fear set in.
⸻
Not fear of the police.
Not fear of Amara.
⸻
Fear of himself.
⸻
“What’s happening to me?” he whispered.
⸻
No one answered.
⸻
Because now—
This wasn’t just a missing person case.
⸻
This was something else entirely.
⸻
Something deeper.
⸻
Something wrong.
⸻
“Sir,” Bello said suddenly, looking at his tablet again.
⸻
“What is it?” Ibrahim asked.
⸻
Bello hesitated.
Then turned the screen toward them.
⸻
“Another update just came in.”
⸻
On the screen was a photo.
Fresh.
Recent.
⸻
Taken just hours ago.
⸻
Tunde leaned closer.
⸻
And felt his blood run cold.
⸻
It was Amara.
⸻
Standing somewhere unfamiliar.
Dim lighting.
Concrete walls.
⸻
She was looking straight at the camera.
⸻
Smiling.
⸻
But this time…
There was something different about it.
⸻
Something darker.
⸻
More deliberate.
⸻
In her hand—
She held a phone.
⸻
And on the screen of that phone…
⸻
Was Tunde’s face.
⸻
Not the one standing here.
⸻
The dead one.
⸻
The morgue photo.
⸻
And written across it in bold black ink:
⸻
“YOU WERE NEVER THE TARGET.”
- Writer
