The meeting
1143 Words
Later that evening, Damilare sat in the living room with Zainab. The TV was on, but no one was really watching. A printed search map lay open on the table between them.
“We should talk to more students from her department,” Zainab said, her voice flat with worry. “Maybe someone saw her leaving the house.”
Damilare nodded, distracted. “Yeah. Also thinking of checking the riverside areas. There’s a lot of empty land there.”
Zainab sat beside Damilare Adigun on the couch, the open search map forgotten between them. Her mind had wandered from the discussion. Something wasn’t sitting right. Her suspicion of him had never really gone away—just pressed into silence. He was always too composed. Too involved. Too convenient.
“I need to use the restroom,” she said, standing abruptly.
Damilare nodded without looking up from his phone. “Down the hall. Second door.”
Zainab walked off slowly, eyes scanning the hallway. Everything looked… normal. But that was the problem—it looked too normal.
She pushed the bathroom door open, then paused. Something about the house’s silence made her uneasy.
After rinsing her hands, she moved toward the kitchen instead of returning immediately. She needed to stall. Needed to look around without seeming too suspicious. A quick check couldn’t hurt. Just in case.
In the kitchen, she opened a cupboard, pretending to look for a towel. She knocked a plate accidentally—it slipped and clinked loudly on the tiled floor.
“Damn it,” she muttered.
---
Below the floorboards, Amara sat frozen in the corner of her tiny prison. She had heard something. Clear as day. A plate.
Then—voices.
Was someone upstairs?
Her heart leapt. Maybe it was someone new. Maybe they would hear her.
Fumbling in the dim light, she grabbed the spoon she had carefully hidden away—the same one she’d been using to scratch the corner of the wall every night.
She struck the spoon softly at first—tap tap tap. Then harder. Clink. Clink. Clink.
---
Back upstairs, Zainab stopped. She blinked.
That sound. It wasn’t from the plate this time.
It was… rhythmic.
She listened hard.
Silence.
Then—
Clink. Clink.
She stepped closer to the wall beside the fridge, heart picking up pace.
“Is there something—”
“What are you doing?” Damilare’s voice came suddenly from behind her.
Zainab turned quickly. “I dropped a plate,” she said.
“You were in the kitchen for long,” he said with a strange edge.
“I was wiping my hands. I heard a weird sound.”
“Oh. Probably the neighbors,” Damilare said smoothly. “They’ve been doing plumbing work for days now. Old pipes. Noisy stuff.”
Zainab looked at him.
He didn’t blink.
She let out a slow breath. “Yeah… makes sense. I thought it was coming from the wall.”
“Old buildings,” he said. “They echo weird.”
She nodded, forcing a chuckle. “Right.”
He walked over and closed the cupboard slowly. “Let’s go back. We still need to plan where we’re going to check tomorrow.”
“Sure.”
As they walked back toward the sitting room, Zainab took one last glance over her shoulder toward the kitchen wall.
It was quiet now.
Too quiet.
And slowly, whatever concern she had… she let it go.
Maybe it really was just plumbing.
---
Amara waited. Waited for a door to swing open, for footsteps to rush down, for Zainab to scream her name. She recognized the voice, her best friend's voice.
Nothing.
Only silence.
Her heartbeat slowed, crushed under the weight of disappointment. She dropped the spoon and slumped against the wall.
Then came the footsteps. Heavy. Furious.
The door burst open, and Damilere stormed in. His eyes were wild.
“You stupid girl!”
The slap hit her face before she could brace for it. Her cheek stung, and she cried out.
“What the hell were you trying to do?!” he roared. “Do you want to get her killed?!”
Amara trembled. “Please—I wasn’t—”
He slapped her again, harder.
“You were knocking! You wanted her to hear you. You wanted to get found.”
“I’m sorry! I wasn’t thinking! I just—please—don’t hurt Zainab!”
Damilere dragged her up by her shirt, his breath hot and angry on her face. “If she had gotten suspicious, if she had asked one more question, I would’ve had to silence her. Do you get that?”
“No! Please—she’s my best friend—don’t touch her! I won’t try anything again! Please!”
He shoved her back down. She fell hard, her ribs aching.
“You’re going to ruin everything,” he growled. “You think this is a fairy tale? Someone’s going to just knock on the door and rescue you?”
“I’m sorry!” she sobbed. “Please…”
He stared down at her, disgusted and torn between rage and something else. Then, as quickly as he came, he turned and stormed out.
The lock clicked behind him.
And once again, Amara was left alone—with pain, and fear, and the slow, creeping dread that Zainab had just missed her one chance.
---
As soon as he was done with Amara, Damilare turned and rushed out through the front door, his heart pounding, mind racing. He slid into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and pulled out hastily, scanning the streets. She couldn't have gone far. And then—he spotted her. Zainab. Her strides were quick, arms folded, her entire posture radiating agitation as she trekked along the road.
He slowed his pace, driving a distance behind her, watching. Waiting.
Where are you going, Zainab?
His eyes narrowed. If she turned left toward the police station, he’d have to act fast. But she didn’t. She walked straight ahead, never looking back, until she finally reached her own compound. She opened the gate and disappeared inside.
Damilare sat motionless for a moment, engine humming beneath him. Relief trickled through his veins—but only for a second. Zainab hadn’t gone to the police. Not yet. But he knew her.
She’s an overthinker. She’s going to sit down, pace the floor, connect dots that no one else sees. And then she’ll talk. She’ll talk to someone. And when she does...
He clenched the steering wheel tighter, his jaw twitching.
I have to take her out of the picture. She’s too loud to keep quiet for long.
His mind began to spin, cold and calculated. He didn’t know how just yet, but one thing was certain—Zainab was becoming a threat. And threats needed to be silenced.
- Writer
