Chapter Eight: The Quiet Between Us
1023 Words
Efe woke with pain threaded through her spine. Not the emotional kind — though that lingered too — but the kind that reminded her of her body’s betrayal.
The air smelled of antiseptic, incense, and something else — warm ginger tea.
She blinked into the soft morning light filtering through the back window of the funeral home. Ade sat on the wooden bench nearby, a mug between his hands, eyes already on her.
“You didn’t run,” he said quietly.
“I couldn’t,” she whispered. “My whole body feels like it’s been through war.”
He stood and poured her a mug from the flask beside him. “That’s because it has.”
She sat up slowly, wincing as the pain pulled at her back. The welts were still raw, swollen. She took the mug in both hands and held it, letting the warmth soak into her fingers before taking a careful sip.
They didn’t speak for a long time.
Then, finally, she broke the silence.
“They said I had demons inside me.”
Her voice cracked — not loud, but sharp, like glass under pressure.
“My parents dragged me to a prophet. Again. Told him I was talking like someone possessed. That no child of God should wake up wishing to die.”
She stared past him.
“They tied my hands with electric wire. Beat me with their Bibles. Called it deliverance.”
Her laugh came out wrong.
“Said the bruises were proof the spirit was leaving.”
Her hands trembled.
“It didn’t leave. But I did.”
Ade’s jaw clenched, but he stayed still. Didn’t interrupt.
“I ran,” she continued. “Didn’t even know where I was going. My legs just… brought me here.”
“You came to the right place,” he said, voice steady.
She gave a short, bitter laugh. “A funeral home.”
“No,” he said. “To me.”
The words landed somewhere in her chest quietly, but heavily.
She looked away. “It’s not just the beatings, Ade. I didn’t come here to die just because of them.”
He waited.
“I have kidney failure.”
She said it like she was dropping a box too heavy to keep carrying. Not a confession. A tired fact.
“Stage four. It hurts. Not sharp pain. Not a pain you can cry over. Just... tiredness that sinks into your bones. I wake up sick. Go to bed sicker. My body smells like hospital soap most days.”
She looked up, eyes glassy.
“I watched my reflection disappear. Friends stopped calling. My dad said it was a lie from Satan. I needed to fast. I passed out once during prayer.”
Ade said nothing. Couldn’t.
“They diagnosed me last year. We tried everything. But everything costs something. And I’ve got nothing left.”
She stared at the tea.
“Do you know what it’s like to live in a body that doesn’t want you?”
Ade leaned back, his voice quiet.
“When I was a boy, my father left. Violent man. He’d break things. Sometimes people. When he finally walked out, the house got quiet — but it wasn’t peace. It was an absence.”
He stared into his mug.
“My mother tried. But I think something in her broke too.”
He paused.
“The first dead body I ever saw was on the street outside our house. Men were carrying it, wrapped in white. I was six. My mum tried to cover my eyes, but it was too late. I’d already seen how peaceful that body looked. It stuck with me.”
His voice lowered.
“I tried to follow it. A few times. Rope. Pills. Once I stood in traffic and waited. Thought maybe someone else could make the decision for me.”
Efe’s eyes widened slightly.
“What stopped you?”
He shrugged, but his fingers gripped the mug too tightly.
“Regret. Not for the pain. But for what I’d leave behind. For the people who wouldn’t know why.”
She didn’t speak.
“I opened this place because the funeral home that handled my brother… treated him like cargo. His face didn’t even look like him. They wouldn’t release his body until we paid extra money we didn’t have.”
He exhaled, finally setting the mug down.
“So I built this place. A quiet place. To give the dead the dignity I wished someone had given him. And maybe… to stay close to something I never understood.”
She stared at him.
“You’re not what I expected,” she whispered.
“Neither are you.”
A pause.
Then:
“You want me to check for a donor?” she asked.
He hesitated. His voice caught low in his throat.
“I want to check mine first.”
She blinked. “Ade…”
“Just to see,” he said. “In case someone out there... fits.”
She looked at him long and hard. Her face was unreadable.
“It’s not that easy,” she said finally. “We’ve been trying for months. My blood type’s hard to match. Hospitals are full. And donors?”
She gave a short, bitter smile.
“I stopped hoping.”
He watched her for a long beat. Then gently reached for her mug, but his hands hovered in the air a second too long. Like he wasn’t sure if he had the right. Like touching anything too hard might shatter both of them.
He finally took it.
Just then, a knock came at the front door. Sharp. Hesitant.
Ade glanced toward it, then back at her.
“I have to get that,” he said, then paused. “But Efe… some hopes are worth keeping.”
She didn’t answer. Just watched him go.
But this time, he didn’t disappear like a ghost. He looked back once. Gave a small nod — nothing grand, just enough — and then walked into the corridor.
And in the quiet he left behind, her chest didn’t feel so hollow anymore.
- Writer
