Chapter 3: Running With Ghosts
731 Words
Alfa could barely walk, but he insisted on leaving that night.
“They’ll check the records,” he said, swinging his legs off the bed. Stitches pulled at his side. “Once they realize ‘Michael Okoro’ doesn’t exist, Room 17 becomes a trap.”
Amaka should have said no. Should have called security, Dr. Ebube, anyone. Instead she handed him her brother’s old hoodie and a pair of crocs from the nurses’ locker room.
“If we get caught, I lose my license,” she muttered, shoving meds and gauze into her backpack.
“If we stay, I lose my sister.” He met her eyes. “And you might lose more than your license.”
They slipped out through the morgue exit at 1:44 AM. The rain had finally stopped, but Port Harcourt felt heavier without it. Wet streets, empty roads, and the kind of silence that hides watching eyes.
Alfa’s contact point was a bar in D-Line called _The Anchor_. “Ask for Mama Tee,” he said, limping as Amaka half-carried him down Aba Road. “She knew Zara. If Zara was scared, she’d go there.”
Mama Tee was 60, sharp-tongued, and ran _The Anchor_ like a general. She took one look at Alfa’s bloodstained hoodie and pulled them into the back room.
“So the devil didn’t take you,” she said, pouring him a shot of kai-kai. “Your sister’s been here. Three nights ago. Scared out of her mind.”
“Where is she now?” Alfa’s voice cracked.
Mama Tee glanced at Amaka. “Who’s this one? Your new bodyguard?”
“Someone who’s saved my life twice,” Alfa said. That shut Mama Tee up.
Zara had been hiding in the old UniPort quarters, Block D, Room 204. She left because “men in black SUVs” were asking for her. She left a note with Mama Tee: _If Alfa comes, tell him Choba Creek. Midnight. Come alone._
“Choba Creek at midnight?” Amaka hissed once they were outside. “That’s a k********g scene waiting to happen.”
“It’s a test,” Alfa said. “If she’s alive, she wants to see if I’m compromised. If she’s not…” He didn’t finish.
They didn’t make it to midnight.
At 10:20 PM, Amaka’s phone buzzed. Unknown number. A photo. Zara — gagged, eyes wide, holding today’s _Guardian_. Behind her was a wall with a symbol: a silver ram’s head. The same symbol on Alfa’s ring.
The text under it: _You have 6 hours. Bring the ring. Or we send her back in pieces. – K_
Alfa went pale. “Chief Kenechukwu. The chief’s son. The one Zara testified against.”
“You said assault case,” Amaka said slowly. “You didn’t say the assault was on _her_.”
“I didn’t want you in deeper.”
“Too late for that.” She grabbed his arm. “Why does he want the ring?”
Alfa pulled it off, pressed it into her palm. Inside the band, tiny letters: _Property of Okpara Consortium_.
“My father’s company. Kenechukwu’s father and mine were partners. Until my father found out they were using the company to launder money through political campaigns. He was going to testify. Died in a ‘robbery’ last year.”
Amaka’s blood went cold. “So this ring is evidence?”
“It’s a key. To a safe. With documents, recordings, everything. Zara had it. She gave it to me for safekeeping before she testified.”
Headlights cut across the street. A black SUV, no plates, crawling slow.
Alfa pulled Amaka into a doorway. “Listen. You take the ring. Go to the police. Or the press. Anyone but Kenechukwu.”
“And you?”
“I go to Choba Creek. Buy Zara time.”
“Like hell you will. You can barely stand.”
He kissed her then. Fast, desperate, like he thought he’d never get another chance. It wasn’t romantic. It was survival. It was _thank you_ and _I’m sorry_ and _remember me_ all at once.
“Alfa—”
“Go.” He shoved the ring into her hand and stepped into the street.
The SUV stopped. The back door opened. The woman in red stepped out.
“Well,” she said, smiling for real this time. “Found you.”
*End of Chapter 3*
- Writer
