Chapter 5
1125 Words
Morning came too fast.
She'd been up all night. The photograph was on the nightstand. Nathan Cross. His face. His smile. She'd been staring at it for hours. She knew every line of his face. Every shadow. The way his eyes looked like they'd never been afraid of anything.
Jake was sitting by the window. He was awake too. He'd been watching her all night. She could feel his eyes on her, but she didn't look at him.
"Ife," he said. "You need to sleep."
"I can't."
"You've been staring at that photograph all night."
"I know."
He didn't push. He never pushed. It was the thing she loved most about him. And the thing that sometimes made her feel like she was alone.
"What are you going to do?" he asked.
She sat up. She looked at him.
"I need to find someone who was there. Someone who knows the truth."
"Who?"
"I don't know. But I need to find them."
---
She went to her mother's house the next morning.
The sun was already high. The streets were already crowded. A woman was selling oranges from a cart. A man was arguing with a taxi driver. The world was moving. She was moving through it, but she wasn't part of it.
Her mother was in the yard. She was sweeping. The broom made a soft, rhythmic sound against the concrete. She didn't turn when Ife walked in.
"Mama," Ife said. "I need to find someone who knows the truth. Someone who was there."
Her mother stopped sweeping. She leaned on the broom. Her face was tired. Her hands were shaking. She pressed them against the broom handle.
"There is a man," she said. "His name is Michael. He worked for the Cross family. He was there that night."
"Where does he live?"
"In the village. At the end of the road. The house with the blue door."
"Will he talk to me?"
Her mother was quiet for a long time. She looked at the ground.
"He's been hiding for years," she said. "He's scared. But he knew your grandfather. He might talk to you."
---
She walked to the village.
The heat pressed down on her like a hand. She felt it on her skin, in her throat, in her lungs. The dust was everywhere. It coated her clothes, her hands, her face. She didn't wipe it off.
A woman was selling oranges from a cart. She called out to her. Ife didn't stop. She kept walking.
A man was sitting on a stoop. He was watching her. She felt his eyes on her. She didn't look back.
She found the house at the end of the road. The paint was peeling. The windows were dark. The door was blue. Faded. Chipped. The paint was curling at the edges.
She knocked.
An old man opened the door. His face was lined. His eyes were tired. He was wearing a worn shirt and trousers. He looked at her. He didn't look surprised.
"You're Amara's cousin," he said.
"Yes."
He stepped aside. "Come in. I've been waiting for you."
---
She didn't see them. But they were there.
Two men. Sitting in a car at the end of the road. Watching. Waiting.
Temi was in the front seat. Her hands were gripping the steering wheel. Her knuckles were white. She was trying to keep her voice steady.
"She's inside," she said.
The man beside her didn't speak. He was wearing a dark suit. His face was still. His hands were resting on his knees. He didn't move.
"She doesn't know," Temi said. "She doesn't know I'm here."
"Good."
"What do you want me to do?"
He turned to look at her. His eyes were cold. He didn't blink. His voice was flat.
"You wait. You watch. You tell me everything she does."
Temi looked at the house. She looked at the blue door. She thought about Ife inside. She thought about the letter she'd given her. She thought about Amara. The way she'd laughed. The way she'd trusted her.
"What if she finds something?" she asked.
"Then you let me know."
"What if she finds the truth?"
He turned to look at her. His voice was calm. His eyes were cold. She felt something cold settle in her chest.
"Then we silence her."
Temi looked at the house. She looked at the blue door. She thought about Ife. The look on her face when she'd opened the letter. The way her hands had been shaking.
She didn't say anything.
---
The room was small. A table. Two chairs. A lamp. The air smelled like old wood and dust.
Michael sat down. He didn't offer her a seat. She sat anyway.
"Your grandfather was a good man," he said. "A hardworking man. He built everything he had. He gave everything to his family."
"What happened to him?"
"The Cross family happened. They wanted his land. They wanted his business. They wanted everything he had."
"When he refused—"
"They killed him."
She heard the words. She didn't want to believe them. But she knew they were true.
"They made it look like an accident. No one was punished. No one was even questioned."
"Who killed him?"
He looked at her. She felt the weight of his eyes.
"Nathan Cross."
---
He opened a drawer. She heard it creak. He pulled out a small envelope. It was worn. The edges were soft. He handed it to her.
"She left this for you," he said.
Ife took it. Her hands were shaking. She couldn't stop them.
"Amara found proof," he said. "Proof of what the Cross family did. She was going to expose them. They killed her for it."
Ife opened the envelope. Inside was a photograph. A man. Young. Smiling. Standing in front of a building she didn't recognize.
"Who is this?" she asked.
"Your grandfather."
She stared at the photograph. She didn't remember him smiling. She'd only ever seen him in photographs where his face was still and serious. She didn't know he'd ever been young. She didn't know he'd ever been happy.
Michael looked at her. His voice was low.
"You have to leave, Ife. They know you're here. They're already watching you."
"Who?"
"The Cross family. They'll kill you like they killed Amara."
---
She left the house. She didn't remember walking out.
She just remembered standing in the dust, the photograph in her hand. Her grandfather. Young. Smiling. She looked at his face. She tried to imagine him alive. She couldn't.
She looked up.
The blue door. The dust. The empty street.
She didn't see the car at the end of the road.
She didn't see Temi watching her.
She walked away.
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