Unexpected Love

Chapter 5: The Kidnap

“Mama Benne was last seen in her compound yesterday night. I checked on her this morning, and the door was locked, though she left yesterday afternoon prepared,” said the cleaner, who helped my mother with some household chores.

“When last did you speak with her?” I asked.

“Yesterday morning, after taking her out to jog for her knee training,” she answered.

“Did you call her when you noticed her absence?”

“I did. Her number kept ringing, but no one was answering.”

“Did you ask the neighbors in case any of them know about this?”

“I only saw one neighbor, and I asked if she said she did not know of that.”

I told her to come as fast as her legs could carry her so we could put her together and know her whereabouts.

I employed her last summer when my mother started having issues with her sight. My mother spoke highly of her every chance she got. I had no one else to trust with my mother's situation except her.

I had called my mother's number continuously. The phone kept ringing, but she has yet to answer.

The unusual silence that welcomed me when I stepped into my mother's compound was worrisome, coupled with the fact that the environment was not swept, which was never my mother's attitude.

I made my way to the next neighbor's compound to ask about the whereabouts of my mother, and no one knew.

I knocked on her door but was met with complete silence. I assumed she must have slept off in her room because her room window was wildly open. I couldn't make it through because I wasn't tall enough.

I went to the nearest neighbor's house to borrow a hammer, and they offered to help me by breaking off the door knob.

I forced my way into the room but saw no one, but an unusual sight met me. Her clothes and belongings were scattered and emptied.

I laid flat on the ground to check under the bed, where she usually ties little amounts of dollar notes into a piece of paper and threw it into a wooden box that had a little rectangular hole at the top. All had disappeared.

“Thieves attacked,” I thought.

I looked through her window, and my eyes met my mother's neighbor, who had been looking at me in a strange way since I came. Her eyes followed me in every direction I took. I felt she must know something. I called her closer.

I called her name and lured her closer with some sweets as a reward. You should give me some information.

“I saw people taking my way. I was scared I couldn't say anything because they might take me,” she narrated, breathing fast.

“What does it look like?” I asked, putting some of the sweets into her palms.

“They look huge,” she responded, and that was all the description she gave me.

I opened my mouth to ask her one more question. She started breathing first and ran away.

I was suspecting someone, but the lack of description made me turn off the light on for the time being.

At least with the bit of information I have, it was clear that it was a kidnapping.

I made my way to the gates when I came face-to-face with the cleaner stepping in.

“I was just heading to the police station; I suspect it was a kidnapping."

“There is no need for guessing. Did you check the security cameras?” She asked to point to the security camera that was mounted by the edges of the house.

I forgot all that in the heat of the moment, but she was the perfect person I needed to remind me.

"No, I didn't.”

I was already anxious and fidgeting, but she dragged me by my hand, and we rushed inside the house.

She opened my handbag, reached for my inhaler, and gave me some shots. I was already breathing fast.

We made our way to the security room. Unfortunately, they carried out a still operation and disconnected the cameras, also breaking the ones they couldn't access into pieces.

A voice recorder was not dismantled; perhaps they didn't know what it was. We connected the device and turned it on, and I had a fiery exchange between the dreaded men and my mother.

Hearing my mother in such a condition kept me in a heart-wrenching state.

Without any video evidence, we rushed to the police station to lay our report with the audio evidence we recovered.

A few minutes after we filed the complaint and left the police station, my phone rang. I reached for my phone swiftly in anticipation of a call. It was my mother calling.

I didn't waste a second answering the call.

“Hello,” I said with a sign of relief.

There was deep silence for some time; no one said anything, and then came a coarse voice that sounded like two people were talking at the same time.

"Annabelle, we are holding your mother, and you never think of f****** up,” he ordered.

I quickly tapped the loudspeaker so that the cleaner, who was struggling to hear the conversation, could follow through.

His words were unclear, and the line was breaking.

“We need $20,000 for your mother's release. If you don't bring it as soon as possible, your mother will get the worst of this,” he blurted out.

In the background, my mother was crying to the sound of whips landing on her body. The more we communicated, the more the lashings increased, which was a way to coerce me to give them what they wanted.

“Please, I don't have that kind of money now; I really don't. Is there a way for me to pay half?” At that point, the negotiation was my only option.

“If you report this case to the police, we will make do with your mother sooner rather than later. You're going to get what is coming for you," he threatened, hanging up without giving me a chance to say anything more.

As he made the final threats, my eyes and those of the cleaner collided. “We have already gone to the police,” she confessed.

“We are stuck in the web!”