When Silence Screams
772 Words
The night air in Lagos was thick with humidity. Neon lights flickered across the street corners as vendors packed up for the night and taxi drivers leaned on their horns, eager to make that last fare. Tunde locked his office door and stepped out into the dimly lit corridor. His backpack was heavy with the hard drive that now carried weeks of recordings, testimonies, and documents—everything he and Amara had risked gathering.
He had no idea someone was following him.
---
Earlier that day, Amara had sent him a message:
> “He’s getting suspicious. I think he knows someone’s helping me. Be careful.”
Tunde had smiled faintly at the text. Amara was always thinking about everyone else’s safety, even while she was the one bleeding behind closed doors. He texted back:
> “I’m fine. We’re close now. I can feel it.”
But he didn’t feel it now—not when he stepped outside the building and noticed how quiet the street had become. Too quiet.
The streetlight above him flickered once, then went out.
Then he heard the footsteps.
Fast. Heavy.
Before he could turn, a hard object smashed against the side of his head. Pain exploded in his skull. He dropped his backpack and fell to his knees. Another blow landed on his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs.
Two men. Masked. Silent.
They didn’t speak. They didn’t rob him. They didn’t ask questions.
They came for him.
Fists rained down. Boots slammed into his back. His vision blurred. Blood filled his mouth. He heard fabric tearing—his backpack. They were after the hard drive.
"No!" he tried to yell, but it came out a whisper. One of them kicked him in the face.
Darkness.
---
The next morning, Amara woke to the sound of her phone vibrating. She blinked against the light and reached for it with trembling hands.
Private Number.
She hesitated, then answered.
“Hello?”
A low voice replied. “He’s in the hospital. General ward. Room 4. Come alone.”
The line went dead.
Amara sat up, heart pounding.
She didn’t need to ask who “he” was.
---
Twenty minutes later, disguised in a scarf and oversized sunglasses, Amara slipped into the hospital unnoticed. The smell of antiseptic and despair greeted her. She walked quickly down the corridor, her heels clicking softly against the tiled floor.
Room 4.
She entered, heart lodged in her throat.
There he was.
Tunde.
His face was swollen. One eye completely shut. His lip was split, and a bandage wrapped around his head. Tubes ran from his arm. Machines beeped steadily.
She gasped, hand over her mouth.
He stirred.
“Amara…?”
“I’m here,” she whispered, rushing to his side.
“They… they knew,” he mumbled. “They took the drive.”
Tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Tunde. I should’ve never—”
“No.” His hand found hers, weak but determined. “You didn’t bring this on me. He did.”
He coughed, wincing in pain.
Amara wiped a tear from his cheek. “They wanted to scare us.”
“Well, it worked,” he said through a half-smile. “But I’m not quitting.”
Amara looked away, fighting the knot in her throat. “Chuka knows you’re helping me. He won’t stop now.”
“Then we can’t stop either.”
She sat beside him in silence, her heart torn between guilt and rage.
Then he added, voice barely audible: “The cloud backup... I hid it... in the emails I sent myself. He didn’t find it all. He thinks he did. But we still have everything.”
She stared at him. “You’re sure?”
He nodded. “Check the inbox. Code is your middle name… and the year we met.”
A flicker of hope.
She kissed his forehead gently. “Rest now. I’ll handle the rest.”
---
Later that evening, Amara returned to the mansion and stood under the shower for a long time. Her body trembled, but not from fear.
From fury.
She had watched the man she loved—yes, still loved—beaten because of her. She had watched good men get silenced while monsters smiled for cameras.
Enough.
Chuka came home late, humming as he walked in. His tie was loose. His lips smelled like whiskey and victory.
“How was your day, sweetheart?” he asked, unbothered.
Amara turned, her smile flawless.
“Peaceful.”
---
But behind her smile now was a storm.
And it was coming for him.
---
- Writer
