A Killer In Uniform

I woke up to silence. Not the normal kind of silence that came with early mornings before the neighborhood roosters set of their alarms and raised their voices, but a heavier kind. One that pressed against my chest and reminded me of what was missing. Helena’s bed was empty. Yesterday was her funeral. I stood by her grave with our parents, surrounded by whispers, tears, and the smell of damp earth. Everyone kept saying “suicide” like it explained anything. Like it wasn’t easier to accept that than to actually wonder what had happened. But I knew Helena. She was my twin sister, my other half, the missing piece of my soul. My sister wasn’t the type to give up on life, on me, on anything. I forced myself to get up. JAMB was less than three months away. WAEC right after. Helen would have nagged me if I dared to slack. I could almost hear her laugh as I pulled my uniform over my shoulders. I tied up my braids, did my edges, applied a little lip gloss, and stepped out into the humid Lagos morning. The street was alive with buses honking, akara sellers frying by the roadside, and children in uniforms hurrying past. Life moved on, even when mine felt stuck. When I got to school, my friends were waiting near the gate. “Baby girl!” Mariam waved, her hijab fluttering slightly as she hurried over to hug me. She was the calm one, always so positive and optimistic. “How are you feeling today my love?” I forced a smile. “I’m fine.” “You look like s**t,” Chike said bluntly, adjusting her bag. She was the opposite of Mariam; outspoken, hot-tempered, but loyal. “If anybody says rubbish to you in class today, just point them out. I’ll take care of them” she said cracking her knuckles. I chuckled. That was Chike for you. As we walked through the compound, I noticed the stares. Some classmates looked away quickly, others held pity in their eyes. I hated it. The teachers weren’t much different either. Our English teacher, Mr Sam, paused when he saw me. “Elsa,” he said quietly. “If you need some time, you don’t have to force yourself.” “I’ll manage sir,” I replied. When the bell rang for assembly, I stood in the crowd, heart pounding. The principal gave a long speech about “discipline and focus” for WAEC students, but his eyes kept flicking toward me, like I was an unspoken cautionary tale. After assembly, we filed into class. I sat at my usual desk. Right beside me was the empty one. Helena’s. My eyes welled up with tears as I traced the scratches she had carved into the wood with her pen, doodles of flowers, random formulas, and her name written boldly in the middle. The first three periods dragged on painfully. I tried to concentrate, but every formula reminded me of late night study sessions with Helena. At break time, I sat with Mariam and Chike under the mango tree, where we usually shared snacks and gist. "Guys have you heard that Chris and Joy have broken up?" Mariam adjusted her hijab and sat up straight, ready to give us the latest gossip. "Again!!" I expressed "I bet you they'll get back together before the end of this week" Chike added while moving closer to me "And they will start oppressing us again with their excessive PDA" "Always like 'baby kiss me you know I love you so much' 'hold my hands baby, carry me babe, you're the love of my life ' " Chike mimicked in a mocking tone while ticking me. "Mariam, my love save me" I screamed for help while also chocking on my laughter. Mariam lunged towards Chike and started ticking her as well and it turned to an all out ticking war with all of us kicking, screaming and laughing our asses off. "Pause!" Chike whispered almost out of breath but Mariam was still coming towards her with her arms outstretched. "Pause jare!!" I laughed. Mariam finally paused looking flat and deflated. "For now I'll accept this truce but if you come after my baby girl again, I will hunt you down" she declared. "Yes ma" Chike saluted "I no fit try am" she said in respective authorative tone and we all bursted out laughing. Some girls from SS2 passed by, giggling and whispering. “Suicide, they said…” one of them muttered, not as quietly as she thought. “They said she killed herself…” “Her twin is still in school? I’d have stayed at home…” My fingers clenched and I dug my nails into my palm. Helena hadn’t killed herself. I knew it in my bones. But how was I supposed to prove it, when the entire world seemed content with the easy story? Later, after school, I went by the library. Helena and I used to stop there before heading home, competing over who would borrow the bigger textbook. Today, it was just me. As I pulled out a Physics text, something slipped from the shelf above and landed at my feet; a small folded paper, yellowed at the edges. I frowned, picking it up. The handwriting was unmistakable. Helena’s. My heart skipped. The letter read: "Dear sister..."