Chapter Five – A Target on Her Back
1079 Words
Jessica had known fear. The kind that creeps into the corners of the mind when you’re blamed for something you didn’t do. But this was different. This fear had weight. It walked beside her. It followed her shadow. It moved with purpose.
Because now… she had something to lose.
Chisom had become the most important person in the case. Not a lawyer. Not a doctor. A teenage girl who just happened to be at the wrong place, at the right time. And Jessica feared that if she blinked, the girl would vanish — just like Eze.
So she moved Chisom to a safe house. A compound owned by Emeka’s cousin, a retired teacher who understood the value of silence and safety. Jessica sat with Chisom every morning, coaxing her to talk, letting her draw, letting her cry.
Sometimes, it was too much. Jessica herself would step out and cry too.
One morning, Chisom handed her a drawing. Stick figures. One had Xs for eyes. One had a black belt around the neck.
Jessica asked, “Is that Eze?”
Chisom nodded.
“And the belt?”
She pointed at it again. “It’s not a belt. It’s a cord. Like the one in the treatment room.”
Jessica froze.
Meanwhile, the video had reached Abuja. News blogs had picked it up. Panels were shifting. Officials were pretending they’d never heard of the clinic. One of the top health directors had suddenly gone on “medical leave.”
Jessica knew what that meant.
Someone was trying to unplug the truth.
She called Emeka. “We need to move faster.”
Emeka agreed. “But faster means louder. Are you ready for that?”
Jessica didn’t answer at first. She looked out the window.
Then she said, “I didn’t kill Adaeze. But if I don’t speak, I’ll let her killers walk.”
That evening, Emeka arranged a small press conference in town. Not in a hotel. Not in a fancy court.
In the community center.
Jessica stepped up to the wooden table with only a microphone and her truth. Her palms were wet, her mouth dry. But her voice didn’t shake.
“I was blamed for something I didn’t do. But this story is no longer about me. It’s about every woman who died because someone covered up incompetence. About every staff who was silenced. About every truth someone buried.”
She raised the logbook. “This was thrown into a pit. But it still speaks.”
Then she held up a copy of Eze’s autopsy report — done secretly by a private pathologist Emeka knew. “This young man didn’t overdose. He was strangled. And then hidden. Like trash.”
Cameras flashed. Journalists scribbled. Jessica’s name trended on local Twitter feeds.
And just like that, she had power.
Not the kind that came with money. The kind that came with danger.
That night, her window was smashed.
A stone. Wrapped in cloth. No message. Just warning.
Jessica didn’t scream. She stood there and watched the glass settle.
Then she called Emeka. “We go to court. Immediately.”
Emeka didn’t argue.
The court date was set for Tuesday. A human rights judge would oversee the preliminary hearing. Jessica would testify under oath, supported by the logbook, the video, Chisom’s written statement, and Eze’s report.
But they didn’t expect what happened next.
The day before court, Sister Benita was attacked.
They found her inside the church library. Beaten. Unconscious.
Jessica wept.
When the sister woke up, she whispered just one thing: “He was wearing a lab coat.”
Jessica whispered back, “Ugonna?”
Benita squeezed her hand.
Jessica didn’t sleep the night before court. Neither did Emeka. They sat on opposite ends of his office, papers everywhere.
“Do you think we’ll win?” she asked.
“We’re not here to win,” he said. “We’re here to force the system to stop pretending.”
And with that, they went silent.
Tuesday. Court.
The building was crowded. Reporters. Nurses. Even villagers. Everyone wanted to see the woman who wouldn’t go away.
Jessica sat quietly.
Then she heard it.
“He’s here.”
She turned.
Dr. Ugonna.
Clean suit. Calm face. Not handcuffed.
He nodded slightly at her, like an old friend.
Jessica’s stomach twisted.
She stood.
The judge entered. Everyone sat. The bailiff called names.
Jessica was sworn in. She gave her testimony. Her voice clear. Every fact checked. Every tear controlled.
When it was Ugonna’s turn, he smiled.
“She’s making up stories. There’s no proof I was there. That video? Blurry. That child? She’s lying. That logbook? Fabricated.”
Emeka stood. “Then explain this.”
He played the second video.
The one no one had seen yet.
From a hidden camera in the matron’s drawer.
It showed Ugonna placing the fake logbook inside.
Silence.
The judge’s voice was sharp. “Who authorized you to create alternate documentation?”
Ugonna’s face twitched.
Jessica stared.
The system was starting to c***k.
Outside the courtroom, Jessica breathed. Not freely. But finally.
One of the journalists came to her. “What do you want now?”
Jessica looked at the sky.
“To sleep without fear.”
And maybe — just maybe — to live again.
But just as she turned away from the press, her phone buzzed.
A message.
Unknown number.
“You’ve made too much noise, Nurse. Be ready.”
Jessica’s breath caught. She showed it to Emeka.
He read it twice. Then said, “We need protection. Now.”
They drove straight to the police station to file a report. But the officer at the desk looked at the message, then at Jessica, and said, “This could be from anyone.”
Jessica stared. “What do you mean?”
The officer shrugged. “No threat. Just words. You people are bringing attention to things that should stay buried.”
Buried.
The word rang in her ears.
Jessica left the station with Emeka in silence.
That night, she sat beside Chisom’s bed, watching her sleep. The girl mumbled something in her dream — Jessica leaned closer.
“He said… he said they’ll find her… and burn everything.”
Jessica felt her heart slam into her ribs.
Burn everything?
What did they plan next?
She stood, walked outside to breathe, and realized something that chilled her to the bone:
This wasn’t just about hiding a mistake anymore.
They were trying to erase the truth — completely.
- Writer
