Chapter Four: The Anonymous Message
1114 Words
Morning came too fast.
I barely slept, again. Each time I closed my eyes, I saw flashes of that night. The blood. The scream. My mother’s face, shadowed and sharp. Jaden, being pushed into a car like a secret that needed to vanish.
And now, he is back.
And we were no longer children.
No longer afraid of questions.
I sat on the porch, clutching the journal that held his letter. The sky was still painted gray, the birds silent, the wind gentle. A kind of calm that made you feel like something was coming.
Something always came.
Footsteps behind me.
I turned. My mother stood at the door with a cup of tea.
“I figured you wouldn’t eat,” she said.
“I’m not hungry.”
She placed the cup on the railing and crossed her arms.
“You’ve been talking to him.”
“His name is Jaden.”
“That doesn’t change what happened.”
“Neither does pretending it didn’t.”
Her lips pressed into a line. “You think this town cares about your truth?”
“I don’t care what they think. I care what’s real.”
She looked away, eyes glassy. “Some truths are better left buried.”
“Not this one.”
Her voice dropped. “Then be careful. People are still watching.”
My heart paused. “What do you mean by that?”
But she walked away.
I went to the town library.
It was almost empty. Just an old man reading newspapers and the librarian asleep behind the counter.
I pulled out the dusty archive files. The year it happened. The missing reports. The police notes. Anything that carried the name of the man who died in our house.
Nothing.
No record. No photo. No obituary.
It was like he never existed.
I wrote down everything I remembered. His height. The scar on his chin. His thick accent. The smell of cigarettes followed him. And then I searched for old neighborhood complaints. Reports. Fights.
Still nothing.
Until I reached the last file in the box.
An envelope.
No name.
I opened it slowly.
Inside was a photo. A man is standing beside a black jeep. The same man. The scar was there. And in the corner of the photo, a shadow of a woman is behind him.
My mother.
I flipped the photo. There were words written in blue ink.
They buried the truth. But someone else was watching.
My fingers trembled.
A second paper fell from the envelope.
If you want to know everything, come alone. Midnight. Old train station. Leave J behind.
No signature. No explanation.
Only instructions.
When I told Jaden, he was furious.
“You’re not going alone,” he said.
“That’s what they asked for.”
“And you’re just going to follow it?”
“I need to know who sent this.”
“What if it’s a trap?”
“Then I walk into it with open eyes.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “Why would someone wait ten years to speak up?”
“Maybe they were afraid.”
“Or maybe they’re just playing with us.”
I reached for his hand. “This might be the only lead we ever get.”
He looked at me, eyes heavy. “Then I’m going with you. Just not close. I’ll wait nearby.”
“Promise me you won’t interfere. I need whoever it is to trust me.”
His jaw clenched. “Fine. But if anything feels wrong, I’m stepping in.”
Midnight came like a whisper.
The old train station was a graveyard of rust and silence. Broken benches. Cracked floors. Graffiti on the walls. The kind of place memories came to rot.
I stood beneath the flickering light, heart pounding.
Seconds turned into minutes.
Then footsteps.
A figure stepped out of the shadows. Hoodie. Dark jeans. A limp in their walk. They kept their face low, but I could tell they were watching me closely.
“Who are you?” I asked.
They stopped three feet away.
“You don’t remember me,” the voice said. Rough. Male. Older than me, maybe late twenties.
“No. Should I?”
“I lived behind you. Same street. House with the red fence.”
My mind raced. Memories. Children are playing. Boys on bicycles. One with a limp from a bad fall.
“Emeka?”
He nodded.
“You were there that night,” I whispered.
“I saw everything from my window. You. The man. The body. The car.”
“Why didn’t you speak up?”
“I was twelve. My father told me to shut up and forget what I saw.”
“But you didn’t forget.”
“No. I wrote it all down.”
He pulled out a notebook. Worn. Stained. He handed it to me.
“I’ve been waiting for someone to ask the right questions.”
My hands shook as I opened the pages. Sketches. Descriptions. Dates. It was all there.
And one page that froze my heart.
A drawing.
Of the man with the scar.
And a name.
Chief Bako.
I looked up. “That’s his name?”
Emeka nodded.
“He’s not just some criminal. He was a power broker. Paid to silence people. Paid to destroy evidence. Your mom got in deep with him. Too deep.”
“Why would she?”
“I don’t know. But he was dangerous. And not alone.”
My voice was hoarse. “Who else?”
He looked around. Then leaned closer.
“There was another man there that night. After, they buried him. Someone came to watch. I saw him from my window.”
“Who?”
He hesitated. “Your uncle.”
I froze.
“My mother’s brother?”
He nodded.
The world tilted.
“He told my dad to keep me quiet. Paid him.”
I stumbled back, the notebook tight in my grip.
“Why are you telling me now?”
“Because I saw you. With Jaden. I knew the moment you came back, the past would wake up.”
“What do I do with this?”
“You keep digging. And you should be careful. Not everyone who smiled at you growing up was on your side.”
I opened my mouth to ask more, but he stepped back.
“I’ve said enough. You know what you need now.”
He disappeared into the shadows.
I stood there, breath shaky, truth pressing heavy on my chest.
Chief Bako.
My uncle.
A town that kept quiet.
And a mother who still swore she did the right thing.
- Writer
