Zainab's discovery
1509 Words
The night was still, the air damp with quiet tension. In the small, dim room where Amara was held, a silence had settled — except for her voice.
She was singing softly to herself. The same song she’d hummed the day he first made her send him a voice note. A lullaby her mother used to sing to her when she was little. Her voice was tired, but steady. Steadier than her heartbeat.
From the hallway, Damilare stood still, eyes closed, letting her voice wash over him. His rage and frustrations always melted in moments like this — when her voice filled the air with something pure, something his. He walked slowly to the edge of the room and sat down on the cold floor, just outside the bars.
He could feel peace in her melody.
But Amara wasn’t singing for peace. She was singing for control. She had learned him — studied him. His patterns. His weakness for her voice. And most importantly, where he dropped the key after every visit.
She had also sharpened the edge of the metal spoon she hid behind her makeshift bed — the same spoon she used to scratch the wall. She had no time left. Tonight had to be the night.
Suddenly, mid-song, she clutched her stomach and let out a loud cry.
“Aghh—ahhh!” she wailed, curling up. “It hurts! Please—!”
Damilare turned sharply, alarmed. “What’s wrong?”
She kept moaning, gripping her side. “I think something’s wrong… I can’t breathe properly…”
He hesitated. “Amara…”
“Please,” she cried, her voice cracking with pain. “Please help me…”
With a grunt, Damilare stood, quickly unlocking the door. He stepped inside, crouching next to her. “Where does it hurt?”
That was her moment.
Her fingers wrapped tightly around the hidden spoon and with all her strength, she drove it into the back of his neck.
Damilare let out a strangled gasp, falling forward onto his side. His body spasmed as he struggled to breathe, his vision blurring from the sudden blow.
Amara scrambled for the key — her hands trembling — and began unlocking the cuffs on her wrist. Each click felt like a gunshot echoing in the tiny room. Freedom was only seconds away.
She leapt up and bolted toward the door.
But she wasn’t fast enough.
She felt a sharp grip on her ankle — Damilare, wheezing, had reached for her with one last surge of strength.
“No!” she screamed, kicking hard. She stomped at his hand, again and again, until his grip loosened. Her leg slipped free.
She lunged for the outer door and began trying each key, praying one would fit.
Click. No. Click. No.
Her breath was wild. Her body was shaking.
And then—
WHACK!
A searing pain exploded at the back of her head.
Everything spun. The keys dropped from her hand.
Darkness swallowed her whole.
---
Zainab stood by the doorway, her shoes already on. “Mummy, I’m going out for a bit,” she said, grabbing her bag.
Her mother looked up from the dining table. “Where to this time?”
“I’m going to check something with Damilare. He says he might have found something—about Amara.”
Her mother’s face tightened slightly. “Zainab, just be careful, okay?”
“I will,” she replied, already heading toward the hallway. She remembered she had to call kamsi so she picked up her phone and dialed Kamsi’s number. It rang twice before Kamsi answered.
“Zai, what’s up?”
“I’m going somewhere with Damilare,” Zainab said quickly. “He says he has a lead—something about Amara. I don’t want to go alone.”
There was a pause on the other end. Then Kamsi said, “Zainab, I can’t come. I’m at my cousin’s place, and they’ve gone out. I’m the only one here with the kids.”
Zainab sighed. “Kamsi, this might be something real.”
“I get it, but I can’t leave now,” Kamsi said. “Zai, please just be careful. I still don’t trust that guy. You already told me how uneasy Amara was around him.”
“I know,” Zainab murmured. “That’s why I’m going. I want to know what he’s really up to.”
There was a brief silence. Then Kamsi added, “Please update me the moment you get there. If anything feels off, don’t wait—just run.”
Zainab gave a weak chuckle. “Got it. I’ll keep my location on.”
“Good. And Zai… don’t be too brave. Be smart.”
“I will. Talk to you soon.”
Zainab ended the call and stared at her phone for a second. Her grip tightened. She slung her bag over her shoulder and headed out, her thoughts a whirlwind of caution and courage.
---
Zainab stood outside Damilare’s apartment, arms crossed, waiting. Moments later, he stepped out holding a small black pot in his hand, the kind used to burn herbs or offerings. His expression was unreadable.
“You ready?” he asked.
She nodded stiffly.
They walked to a car—sleek and clean. "Your car?" Zainab asked. "No. A friend's". He unlocked the doors, and she slid into the passenger seat while he placed the pot in the trunk.
The drive was silent, tense. Damilare said nothing as he sped past the city borders and onto a winding road leading into a lesser-known town. The landscape became rougher—tall grasses, scattered trees, and not a single house in sight.
Finally, he pulled over at a clearing, a wide, empty field surrounded by thick bushes.
“I need to check something quickly,” Damilare said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Stay in the car. I won’t be long.”
Zainab watched him walk a few meters away before stopping and pulling out his phone to make a call.
She sighed and looked around. Then something on the floor of the passenger side caught her eye.
A small object, glinting.
She bent down.
Her fingers closed around a gold hoop earring—the same one she had helped Amara put on weeks ago. Her heart dropped.
She stared at it for a second, trembling, then snatched her phone and tried to call the detective. His number rang once, then cut. She tried again. No answer.
Her blood boiled. Her fear turned to fury.
She yanked the car door open and stormed out.
“What is Amara’s earring doing in your car?!” she shouted.
Damilare turned slowly. His expression didn’t change. “Zainab, calm down—”
“Don’t tell me to calm down!” she snapped, waving the earring. “You said you didn’t know where she was. You joined the protest with us. So what is this?!”
He took a step closer, his voice soft. “Zainab… that earring has been there for a while. Before Amara even went missing. Maybe she dropped it during one of the times I dropped you girls off—”
“Lies!” she barked. “Don’t lie to me, Damilare!”
He took another step. “Please, just listen—”
“No!” Zainab stepped back. “I should have listened to Kamsi. I knew something was wrong—”
In a swift, terrifying move, Damilare surged forward. Before she could scream, he clamped his hand over her mouth, muffling her cry. She struggled, flailing, but he was strong—too strong.
He lifted her, dragging her toward the bushes as she kicked and tried to bite his hand.
But her screams were swallowed by the quiet wilderness.
And the field returned to silence.
---
Detective Ifeanyi stirred his coffee absentmindedly, eyes glancing at the empty seat across the table. The café was quiet, the hum of soft music playing in the background, but his mind was restless.
Zainab was supposed to be here.
They had agreed to meet today—she had called two days ago, sounding shaken, insisting she had something important to share with him. He had sensed her hesitation, the fear in her voice.
Now, thirty-five minutes have passed.
He checked his phone again.
No new messages. No missed calls. Just the two times she had tried to call him earlier while he was in another meeting. He had meant to return the call immediately, but things had gotten in the way.
He frowned.
What did she want to say?
Why the urgency?
Why isn’t she here now?
Just as he reached for his phone again, it rang. Unknown number.
He answered swiftly. “Detective Ifeanyi.”
A tense male voice came through. “Sir, sorry to disturb you. There’s a body... just found on the edge of the Odu River near Ajala Field. Female. Young. Locals say she doesn’t look familiar.”
Detective Ifeanyi was already standing, tossing money on the table.
“I’m on my way.”
- Writer
