Lightseekers

by Femi Kayode

  I stare at Emeka but I can’t read his expression. Does he want me to go? Is he going?

  ‘All of this is if you’re feeling better, of course …?’ Elechi says, and this caveat allows me to smile sincerely and promise to consider the invitation.

  Emeka steps forward. ‘We should let you rest.’

  I ignore the discomfort and hold on to the hand he placed in mine, indicating with my eyes that he should stay.

  He turns to Mercy’s father. ‘I’ll join you, Elechi –’

  Opara nods but stops his exit at the door. ‘You’ll let me know if you can make it?’

  I’m still grasping Emeka’s hand, but I manage a smile of gratitude.

  ‘I’d be honoured, sir,’ I respond. The die is cast.

  ‘I’ll send the details to Mr Nwamadi.’

  Opara smiles at me again, and as soon as he leaves, I ask Emeka point-blank: ‘Did you order Chika to kill Chief Omereji?’

  Emeka snatches his hand out of mine. ‘What’re you talking about?’

  ‘I saw you give him the bag with the gun, Emeka. Tell me the truth.’

  ‘You took a bad knock to your head, Philip.’

  ‘Don’t patronise me, Emeka.’

  He looks around as though someone might be listening. When he looks back at me, his face is contorted to mime outrage.

  ‘You’re accusing me of something terrible …’

  ‘You’re a grieving father. An angry man. I would understand …’

  ‘No one can understand,’ he says coldly and makes towards the door.

  ‘Did you at least speak with my father? Did you tell him what happened to me?’

  Emeka’s face becomes shuttered. ‘For what it’s worth, Philip, I did speak to him. And thanked him for convincing you to take the case. I also gave him updates on your well-being. I think he has been speaking to the doctors here.’

  I nod. Perhaps my dad and his friends will use this as a way of getting Emeka back into the fold.

  ‘I want to see Chika,’ I say.

  Emeka nods with a fake smile. ‘I’ll let him know.’

  ‘You know he must have missed deliberately, right?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must rest now.’

  ‘He missed, to save you from a terrible mistake,’ I insist, agitated.

  ‘Rest, Dr Taiwo.’ Emeka’s tone says the discussion is over, and the door closing behind him makes sure I get the message.

  For the second time today, I am left alone to wonder who the real villains are in the Okriki Three tragedy.

  REUNIONS

  I dream that Folake is seated at the foot of my bed. I smile at her and she smiles back.

  ‘Hey, Sweets,’ I say.

  When she stands and rushes to my side, I realise she really is here. My heart is beating with joy. I feel a perverse sense of gratitude for the Okriki youths that attacked Chika and me. The look of concern on my wife’s face makes the pain from the cracked and sore ribs and pounding headache almost worth it.

  ‘Thank God,’ she says.

  ‘I’m not dreaming …’

  ‘I’m here, Sweets.’

  ‘The kids?’ I look behind her.

  ‘They’re fine. They’re with your mom.’

  ‘But how did you –?’

  ‘Your dad. Told me there’s been an accident and connected me with Emeka, who organised for me to come down here.’

  ‘In his private plane?’

  She grins. ‘You bet.’

  ‘Ha. Star treatment.’

  I can’t help but laugh even though it hurts my ribs. Folake is laughing too and squeezing my hand, but, without warning, her laughter turns to sobs.

  ‘Please don’t cry …’

  ‘I was so afraid,’ she says through sobs. ‘I couldn’t reach you. Your phone was off.’ She goes to her handbag on the chair for a handkerchief and blows her nose. ‘And … because, I thought, well, the things you said when we spoke –’

  The tears start again. At that moment, I know that no matter what I saw, whatever she has done, she loves me. And I love her. But it stands between us, the things I said. What I saw. I wave to her to come closer. She does, blowing her nose noisily.

  Slowly, wincing slightly, I move my body to one side of the bed, and she climbs in. She can’t rest on my chest, so she shifts slightly so that her head is on my shoulder. I close my eyes and inhale the smell of coconut oil and shea butter in her locks. I lean in and kiss her forehead.

  We just lie there. Silent. Together.

  She doesn’t leave my side and the nurses don’t seem to mind. Since no harm is being done, they let her be and we spend the night together for the first time in almost two weeks.

  I am tired and drowsy, but I’ve missed my wife so much. I stay awake to hear her regale me with stories of the children, her work and everything but our last phone call.

  Less than forty-eight hours after Folake arrived, my CT scan confirms that my head is fine. I should take things easy for a couple of days and use the painkillers for my aching ribs, but otherwise, I am in good enough health to leave the private ward of the State University Teaching Hospital.

  I am ready to call a taxi to take Folake and me back to PH, but I get a text from Emeka that Chika is on his way to me. So, I wait.

  ‘You really haven’t seen him since the attack?’ Folake asks as she helps me to dress in the change of clothes she had brought for me from Lagos.

  ‘Not once. I think he’s ashamed,’ I answer, wincing as I raise my hand to put on a shirt.

  ‘Why would he be?’

  I try to shrug and fail. ‘I’ve only been honest with him and he has been less than that with me.’

  ‘The assault rifle Emeka gave him, right?’ Folake buttons my shirt for me.

  I want to share my suspicion regarding the attempt on Chief Omereji’s life, but it’s best to wait until we get to the hotel. I want to get out of here.

  Just then, the door opens, and Salome enters. She stops when she sees Folake. It is brief, almost imperceptible, but the smile on her face wavers and then becomes extra-wide as she walks towards us.

  ‘You must be Professor Taiwo. Hi, I am Salome Briggs.’

  If Folake is taken aback, she doesn’t show it. She offers her hand.

  ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  ‘Americana,’ Salome turns to me. ‘You look much better.’

  ‘I feel like I’ve been gift-wrapped in these bandages.’

  Salome laughs gaily. ‘And now you have madam here to unwrap the gift.’ Her wink is not as salacious as it is teasing, and she’s not waiting for our reaction because she is already heading back towards the door. ‘I’m visiting my uncle, so I thought I should check on you before I go to him and get stuck there with the whole family.’

  ‘How is he?’ I ask.

  ‘Much better. Nice to meet you, Prof.’

  And just like that, she’s gone.

  ‘Americana?’ Folake says into the brief silence.

  I don’t say anything to explain Salome’s moniker for me.

  ‘That was a quick visit,’ Folake continues, without looking at me.

  ‘She’s quite busy. I’m surprised she finds time to visit her uncle as regularly as she does.’

  ‘Who is she?’

  Then it hits me. In the past two days, I’ve told Folake almost everything about my experience in Okriki and PH, but never mentioned Salome. By name, at least. Freud’s having a field day.

  ‘Remember the friend I told you organised our accommodation in PH?’

  ‘That’s the friend?’

  I ignore Folake’s emphasis on ‘friend’. ‘She’s a lawyer for some of the accused in the Okriki case.’

  Folake’s eyes widen. ‘And she’s your friend?’

  ‘Yes.’ I turn and slowly pick up my watch from the bedside table, but I feel the heat of her gaze on my back.

  ‘And her uncle’s here?’

  The glass covering is cracked in several places, b
ut it’s still working.

  ‘Her uncle is Chief Omereji.’ I keep my voice neutral.

  ‘Wow, Sweet. You sure know how to pick friends.’

  I’m spared coming up with a response because just then Chika walks in.

  He looks tired and the plaster on his forehead makes him look ill. I’m happy to see him but happier for the conversation his presence halted.

  ‘Hello, stranger,’ I say.

  The smile doesn’t reach his eyes. ‘Hello, sir,’ he answers.

  I breathe in deeply. Back to square one.

  CONFESSIONS OF AN ASSASSIN

  After the uncomfortable nights Folake spent with me at the hospital, the Tropicana is paradise. As soon as we checked back into my old room, she runs a bath for herself, selects a playlist on her phone and basically moves into the luxurious bathroom.

  Maybe it’s the pain medicine, or the fact that I’ve been sleeping for almost six days straight, but I am restless, with my mind playing back all the events of the past two weeks.

  I am aware that the attempt on Chief Kinikanwo’s life has triggered a series of events in Okriki. The news of the unrest in the community is everywhere. It’s funny that a month ago, even the deaths of three undergraduates had not stirred my curiosity about Okriki. Today, the town and its people are all I can think about.

  High doses of tramadol, a Band-Aid as large as a planet on my forehead and thick bandages around my ribs all combine to remind me how close I came to losing my life. On reflection, I must admit that being attacked didn’t come as a surprise. After the vandalisation of my hotel room and the antagonism that greeted Chika and me at different times, it was really only a matter of time before things got violent.

  I have spoken to my mom and the kids, who are being spoilt rotten by their grandparents. I have reassured them all of my well-being, but I have not been able to do more than send a brief text message of thanks to my dad. When all this is over, I know we are going to have very serious talks that will extend well past dawn.

  I can hear Folake humming Nina Simone’s ‘Feeling Good’, and I can’t help but reflect on her brief meeting with Salome earlier today. My wife is no fool and she certainly sensed the undercurrents between myself and Salome. My not mentioning her by name when I related the events that brought me to the Tropicana is damning, and although I have never been unfaithful in seventeen years of marriage, I can’t say for sure if I would have remained immune from Salome’s charms were the circumstances different.

  Then, there’s Chika.

  The music coming from the bathroom changes to a selection of Anita Baker’s greatest hits and recognising that particular playlist, I know it will be a while before my wife comes out. I check the time and get up from the bed a bit too quickly. I steady myself and walk over to the desk to write a quick note to Folake. I pause.

  On the desk is a manila envelope with my name and room number written across it. I open it and see that it’s the print-out of the article and its extract from the Nigerian Journal of Law Reform: ‘Legal Implications of the Anti-Gay Bill in Nigeria. A case study of Momoh Kadiri vs Rivers State Police’ by Tamuno Princewill, Faculty of Law, The State University.

  Ah. Yes, the files Chika went to print right before our arrest. He must have given my name for delivery. I see the study was supervised by Professor Esohe, and marvel how quickly things have changed since I never did get to meet the Dean of the Faculty of Law at TSU.

  I don’t put the print-outs back in the envelope. That’ll remind me to make it my night-time reading.

  I head to Chika’s room.

  ‘You’re supposed to be resting,’ he says as soon as he opens the door.

  ‘I could say the same for you.’

  He shrugs as usual.

  ‘Won’t you let me in?’ I ask and he hesitates before stepping out of the way.

  I follow him inside. While my room looks like I now live there, with Folake’s things and mine strewn around, Chika’s room is tidy, his suitcase open.

  ‘Going somewhere?’

  ‘Home.’

  ‘Without telling me?’

  Chika looks everywhere but at me. ‘The boss says he’ll tell you himself.’

  ‘Why?’ Chika still won’t look at me, walks to the suitcase and starts rearranging well-packed clothes.

  ‘Why?’ I ask again. ‘Why are you leaving?’

  ‘The boss will inform you when he’s ready.’

  ‘But I’m asking you.’

  ‘I was fired, Philip,’ Chika announces tersely. ‘He told me I couldn’t deliver and to go home. He only called me to come back yesterday because he needed to keep up the pretence with you.’

  ‘What? But why pretend at all?’

  Chika locks his gaze with mine. ‘You know why.’

  Emeka must have told him my suspicions, perhaps even thinking Chika had confided in me.

  ‘You missed deliberately.’

  Chika laughs sardonically. ‘I was incompetent.’

  ‘That’s what you wanted Emeka to think. Why?’

  He turns his attention back to the suitcase.

  ‘Chika, please be honest with me. Who are you? What do you do?’

  He stops fiddling with his clothes and starts pacing. I can see him considering the wisdom of talking to me. I walk over to the large bed and sit. And wait.

  As if spurred by something he can’t control, Chika looks at me.

  ‘You remember what I told you about being in a cult.’

  I nod. I’m afraid if I speak too soon, he might lose his nerve.

  ‘What I didn’t tell you was what I did after I was rusticated.’

  I say nothing.

  Chika sighs. ‘I joined a security firm. They train young men and women in private security. Some of us who are good, get sent to be personal bodyguards to very important people. Those of us who are the best, become part of an elite group of fighters. And we get contracted to go to war zones. Most times we still end up being bodyguards of ambassadors and travelling dignitaries, but sometimes, some of us are hired out as fighters.’

  ‘Mercenaries?’

  ‘Yes.’

  It’s like a tale straight out of the movies, or a Le Carré novel. But the look on Chika’s face tells me this is not a story fabricated to intrigue or entertain. I remember the scars on his back.

  ‘You were one of those sent to fight?’

  Chika shrugs matter-of-factly. ‘It gave me purpose. I was a drop-out, no school would have me, my family was disappointed in me, and well, I needed the money.’

  ‘You don’t have to explain. It was a job.’

  ‘I hated it, but I was good at it. And I would have continued doing it until I got captured in Say’un. In Yemen. Me and two of my mates. One was from the US, and immediately got a deal and was repatriated. The other one was from South Africa. It took a while, but he also got a deal and was released. Me? Well, Nigeria didn’t even want to acknowledge that there was such a thing as mercenaries. I spent two years and three months in that jail, until the company I worked for raised enough money to get me released.’

  ‘That’s where the scars come from –’

  He smiles ruefully. ‘Those are the ones you can see. But, yes, it happened there. Regular beatings and starvation are standard torture techniques in a country at war.’

  ‘But it wasn’t your war –’

  ‘Which made it worse. I belonged to no side, so I was fair game. Being black didn’t help.’

  ‘So, you were released …’ I say to get him to continue.

  His trademark shrug now comes across as one shaking off a history that can’t be rewritten. ‘I took a desk job at the security firm, worked off my ransom and became a free man.’

  ‘But Emeka knew about you?’

  Chika nods. ‘When I started my security firm, supplying bodyguards and providing cyberware advice for the bank, I had to tell him my background.’

  ‘So, when Kevin was killed, he called you in?’

  ‘Actually, I o
ffered. I was so angry about what happened, I went to him and offered my support. I told him I would come to Okriki and find out how Kevin got involved in it all.’

  ‘That was when you put the file together –’

  ‘Yes. But I couldn’t find out anything beyond what you read in there. And Emeka was getting impatient.’

  ‘Who suggested assassinating the Chief?’

  There’s silence for a beat, then Chika looks at me with a cold smile on his face. ‘The Chief was not the only target.’

  It takes me a moment to find my voice.

  ‘You can’t mean … He wanted you to go after the killers?’

  Chika’s silence is a confirmation.

  ‘If that was the plan,’ I choke out, ‘why did he hire me?’

  ‘I started doubting everything when I found out Kevin was part of a cult. It threw me and made me wonder if there were more things I could be wrong about. I don’t have the expertise to confirm what I found out and I told Emeka this. He didn’t agree and I couldn’t tell him what I knew about Kevin. I told him I’m not a detective and if I’m going to be asked to kill anyone, I needed to be sure they deserved to die. That’s when he told me about your dad saying that you were back in the country.’

  ‘I was a verification exercise?’

  That shrug again. ‘You can call it that –’

  There will be enough time to reflect on this blow to my ego. For now, I need to know. ‘You say it’s not only the Chief …’

  Chika walks to the desk, opens his laptop, and there is a sheet of paper lying on the keyboard. He seems to consider for a brief second, then he hands me the paper.

  It is a list of names, all fitting onto the A4 paper, typed, double spaced. Many of them I recognise from the list of the suspects initially arraigned in the Okriki murder trial. I look back at Chika, who is now shaking his head like someone who needs to wake up from a bad dream.

  ‘I couldn’t do it, Philip. I just couldn’t. Especially when we found out there might be a real killer out there. I couldn’t pull that trigger knowing what we were uncovering.’

  ‘That’s why you missed.’

  ‘But he won’t stop. I know Emeka. He’ll either find someone else or do it himself.’