The Unburied
1305 Words
Senator Oduma’s mansion loomed behind iron gates, its white walls gleaming like bleached bones. Nathaniel parked his Range Rover a block away, his knuckles pale on the steering wheel.
“This is suicide,” Amara muttered from the backseat, adjusting her hidden wire.
“You volunteered,” Jane said, checking her phone for the tenth time. Tara’s last text glowed on the screen: *“Hacked Oduma’s schedule. He’s alone till 9 PM. GO.”*
Nathaniel killed the engine. “If this goes south, run. Don’t look back.”
Jane met his gaze. “We burn together. Remember?”
They’d rehearsed the roles: Nathaniel as the repentant CEO seeking Oduma’s patronage, Jane as his assistant, Amara as backup. But plans unraveled the moment Oduma’s guards patted them down at the gate, their hands lingering too long on Jane’s waist.
The senator waited in a marble-lined study, a cigar smoldering in his fist. His agbada was embroidered with gold thread, his smile a predator’s grin.
“Nathaniel Ayodele.” Oduma didn’t rise. “The prodigal son returns.”
Nathaniel’s bow was perfectly submissive. “I’ve come to apologize, sir. My… missteps in Lagos hurt many.”
“Including me.” Oduma’s gaze slid to Jane. “Who’s the girl?”
“My assistant.”
“Pretty.” Oduma blew smoke in her face. “Does she kneel as well as she stands?”
Jane’s nails dug into her palms. Nathaniel’s jaw twitched, but his voice stayed smooth. “She’s here to take notes.”
“Of course.” Oduma leaned back, rings glinting. “What do you want?”
“A partnership. My new project needs backing.”
“The Women in Tech scam?” Oduma laughed. “You think I fund *empowerment*? I fund power.”
Nathaniel placed a file on the desk. “Then fund this.”
Oduma flipped it open. Blinked. The color drained from his face.
Jane’s breath caught. Inside were copies of Femi’s letter, bank records linking Oduma to Dele, and photos of the burned clinic in Surulere.
“You have one hour to resign,” Nathaniel said softly. “Or this goes public.”
Oduma’s cigar trembled. “You think you can threaten me?”
“No.” Jane stepped forward. “We’re giving you a choice. Fall quietly, or we’ll drag you through hell first.”
The senator’s scream brought guards running.
Mama’s shrine glowed with candlelight, the air thick with incense and the cloying sweetness of overripe bananas. She chanted over the live chicken, its wings bound with red yarn, while Tara watched from the doorway, clutching a bottle of *Harp* beer.
“This is… a lot,” Tara said.
“Hush.” Mama sprinkled *efun* chalk on the floor, drawing symbols Jane didn’t recognize. “The herbalist said we need blood to break the curse.”
“What curse?”
“The one Jane’s enemies placed on her.” Mama lifted the chicken. “This will protect her.”
Tara grimaced. “Or give her salmonella.”
The knife flashed. Blood dripped into a clay bowl. Mama dipped her fingers in, painting Jane’s name on the wall.
“*Ẹni tó bá lé e lọ́nà, òun náà ló máa rí i.* Whoever follows her path will meet their shadow.”
Jane burst in, still shaking from Oduma’s mansion. “Mama, what the—?”
“Protection ritual.” Mama smeared blood on Jane’s forehead. “Now you’re safe.”
Jane recoiled. “Are you *insane*? I’m covered in—”
Her phone rang. Ngozi’s number.
“Jane.” Ngozi’s voice was a sob. “They took my son.”
The abandoned textile mill reeked of diesel and rat piss. Dele waited on the second floor, Ngozi’s five-year-old boy squirming in his grip.
“You shouldn’t have threatened me,” Dele said.
Jane stepped forward, Amara’s pistol a cold weight in her bag. “Let him go.”
“Where’s Oduma?”
“Resigned.” Nathaniel moved beside her, a USB drive in hand. “Your turn.”
Dele laughed. “You think I care about that fat fool? I have new friends now.”
A shadow shifted behind him. Linda stepped into the light, her face gaunt, eyes burning with hate.
“Hello, Jane.”
Chaos erupted.
Amara fired first, shattering a window. Dele ducked, dragging the boy toward the stairs. Jane lunged, tackling Linda to the ground. The woman’s nails raked her face, drawing blood.
“You ruined me!” Linda screamed.
“You did that yourself!” Jane pinned her, fists trembling.
Across the room, Nathaniel wrestled Dele for the boy. A gunshot cracked. Blood bloomed on Nathaniel’s shoulder.
“NO!” Jane scrambled toward him.
Dele aimed again. Amara’s bullet found him first.
The boy wailed. Linda fled.
Nathaniel collapsed against Jane, his breath shallow. “Told you… we’d burn together.”
The hospital buzzed with police and press. Jane sat by Nathaniel’s bed, his hand cold in hers.
“You saved that boy,” he murmured.
“We did.”
He smiled faintly. “Still no ‘us’?”
Jane kissed his knuckles. “Ask me again when you’re not high on painkillers.”
Jane stood at Femi’s graveside, Ngozi beside her. The boy played in the dirt, innocent of the blood staining his rescue.
“Thank you,” Ngozi whispered.
Jane placed Femi’s letter on the grave. “I’m sorry.”
The wind carried it away, a white bird soaring over Lagos.
Mama’s ritual left a stain.
Not just the chicken’s blood crusted under Jane’s nails, or the *efun* chalk smudging her doorway. A deeper stain, one that clung to her dreams.
She woke screaming again, the vision fresh: Femi standing at the foot of her bed, his face half-charred, lips moving soundlessly. *“You didn’t finish it.”*
Nathaniel stirred beside her, his bandaged shoulder brushing hers. The hospital had released him too soon—against medical advice, against sense—because the board needed a leader, not a patient.
“Another nightmare?” His voice rasped with painkillers.
She nodded, sweat cooling on her skin. Abuja’s dawn light filtered through the curtains, painting his face in grays. He looked older since the shooting, the lines around his eyes carved deeper.
“The herbalist warned me,” she whispered. “Said breaking a curse could invite worse.”
Nathaniel traced the scar above her eyebrow, a habit he’d developed in stolen moments. “We’ll find another ritual. A better one.”
She pulled away. “This isn’t a boardroom problem. It’s *my* mess.”
His hand fell. “And I’m not part of ‘we’?”
Before she could answer, Tara’s call shattered the silence.
“Jane. Get to the office. *Now.*”
The screens in the LTS lobby blared news of Tara’s arrest.
*“…charged with corporate espionage, leaking confidential data to rival firm Adesanya Tech…”*
Jane froze, the footage looping Tara being led away in handcuffs, her sequined headwrap askew, shouting, *“This is bullshit!”*
Nathaniel gripped her elbow. “Linda’s work. Has to be.”
Upstairs, the office buzzed with panic. Amara waited at Jane’s desk, her laptop open to a video file.
“Tara sent this before they took her.”
Jane hit play.
Tara’s face filled the screen, backdropped by a bathroom stall. *“Linda’s framing me. She planted files on my laptop—financials, client lists, the whole damn playbook. But listen: I found something. Check the ‘SUNDOWNER’ folder on the server. And Jane… trust no one. Not even—”*
The video cut to static.
Amara lowered her voice. “Including him?” She nodded at Nathaniel.
Jane’s pulse roared. “Find that folder.”
The folder was a graveyard.
- Writer
