Chapter 4
1215 Words
The morning after Chike left, Adanna told herself she could finally breathe.
She moved through the lobby in the way she always did after a difficult night — cleaning surfaces that didn’t need cleaning, checking the guest log twice, letting the smell of disinfectant push away whatever lingered. The black Jeep hadn’t reappeared. The road outside was alive with motorbikes and traders hauling goods. The sky was the color of wet steel, but dry.
And yet… something in her chest stayed taut, like a rope pulled too tight.
By noon, a pair of regulars checked in — two traders heading toward Owerri with fabric bundles tied in the back of their van. She chatted with them briefly, took their payment, and watched them head to their rooms. The sound of their door bolts sliding into place was oddly reassuring.
Still, every time an engine slowed outside, her stomach tightened.
It was just after sunset when the Jeep returned.
She saw it through the thin veil of the lobby curtains — parked on the far side of the road, lights off. Not moving. Just… there.
She turned away quickly, not wanting to give whoever sat inside the satisfaction of seeing her look twice. Her mind moved to the gate — locked — and the three occupied rooms. Chike’s room was empty now. She told herself that meant she had nothing they wanted.
She told herself a lot of things.
At midnight, she did her final round — checked the kitchen, made sure the back door was bolted, glanced at the corridor lights. The traders were asleep. The other guest, a middle-aged driver who barely spoke, had left his TV on low.
By one, the lobby was still. She switched off the neon sign to avoid attracting attention.
The gate rattled.
Not the friendly clank of wind or a loose hinge. This was deliberate — a quiet, testing movement. Metal against metal.
She froze.
It came again. Then the sound of something sliding — a tool in the padlock.
Adanna moved quickly, her bare feet silent on the tile. She reached the corridor and listened. Someone was on the compound side of the gate now. She could hear the soft crunch of shoes on gravel. Two sets of footsteps.
Her mind raced — call the police? Too slow. Wake the traders? Risky. She grabbed the heavy flashlight from under the counter and slipped into the dark corner by the wall where she could see without being seen.
The figures moved toward Room 4.
Her heart pounded. It was empty, but they didn’t know that. One of them pulled something from his pocket — a thin strip of metal — and began working the lock. The other stood watch, his head turning in slow sweeps.
She stepped forward before she could talk herself out of it.
“Hey!”
Her voice was sharp, carrying across the courtyard.
Both men froze.
“This is private property!” she said, shining the flashlight directly into their faces. The beam caught hard lines, narrow eyes. They squinted but didn’t move away from the door.
“We’re looking for a friend,” the taller one said, his tone too casual. “Tall man. Stayed here last night.”
“No one here by that description,” she said, forcing her voice to stay even. “Leave now or I call the police.”
The shorter one smirked. “You won’t.”
“Try me,” she said, lifting the flashlight like a weapon.
For a moment, no one moved. Then the taller man stepped closer, his face shadowed except for the sharp glint in his eyes. “Tell him Madu says hello.”
The name made her fingers tighten around the flashlight.
She held their gaze until they turned and walked back toward the gate. One of them glanced over his shoulder as they left, a small smile that said this wasn’t over.
When the gate clanged shut behind them, she locked it again — properly this time, with the backup chain she rarely used. Her hands trembled slightly as she threaded the metal through.
Back in the lobby, she leaned against the counter, breathing slowly. The air felt heavier, as if the walls had absorbed the tension and were now pressing it back at her.
An hour later, her phone buzzed. A number she didn’t recognise.
She answered without speaking.
“You play a dangerous game, madam,” a smooth voice said. “But we’re patient. Tell Chike we’ll find him.”
The line went dead.
Sleep was impossible after that. She brewed tea, though she didn’t drink it, and sat in the lobby until the sky began to lighten.
At seven, she heard an engine approach — not the Jeep.
It was Chike.
He stepped inside, looking like he hadn’t slept. “You’re still here,” he said, as though part of him had expected otherwise.
“They came,” she said.
His eyes sharpened instantly. “Did they hurt you?”
“No. But they tried to break into your room. They left when I threatened to call the police.”
He closed his eyes briefly, as if weighing guilt against relief. “I shouldn’t have left last night.”
“I can handle myself,” she said, though the memory of their eyes on her lingered. “But they won’t stop.”
He looked at her for a long moment. Then: “I need your help.”
Her instinct was to refuse — to tell him she’d already risked enough. But something in his voice, low and urgent, pulled her in.
“What kind of help?” she asked.
“I can’t get the evidence to Abuja without passing a checkpoint they control. But if someone else… someone they’re not watching… took it out of this town…”
“You mean me,” she said flatly.
“They don’t know your face. And you’re sharper than anyone I’ve met in months.”
She crossed her arms. “You’re asking me to carry something people are willing to kill for.”
“Yes,” he said.
The honesty of it caught her off guard.
Silence stretched.
Then she said, “Show me what I’d be risking my life for.”
He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, weathered flash drive. “This. Video files, documents, and recorded calls. Enough to bring Obiora down if it gets into the right hands.”
It looked so small. So harmless.
“You really think one journalist can take him down?” she asked.
“I think the truth can,” he said. “But only if it survives the journey.”
For a long time, she studied him. The set of his jaw. The steady way he held her gaze. The flicker of something unspoken between them — not quite trust yet, but the shape of it forming.
Finally, she nodded once. “Alright. But we do it my way.”
A slow smile tugged at his mouth — the first real one she’d seen. “Your way it is.”
Outside, the sun was climbing. The road beyond Mile 46 looked ordinary again.
But they both knew the shadows were still there.
And now, they were moving closer
- Writer
