Lightseekers

by Femi Kayode

  ‘It’s me. Philip.’ Our voices are carrying.

  ‘Philip!’ A flashlight comes on in my face. I direct my phone in Emeka’s face. He squints.

  ‘What are you doing, Emeka?’

  ‘If you’re here, you know very well what I’m doing.’

  ‘Emeka, please listen to me. We’ve made a lot of progress. We know a lot of things about how Kevin died.’

  The flashlight moves off my face briefly. I catch a glimpse of Chika crouching on the far-right side of the huge room.

  Emeka’s voice is ragged with pain. ‘I know how he died!’

  ‘Did you know Kevin was running a campaign for his friend who died in police custody? Did you know that he discovered that his friend may have been framed? Did you know that?’

  Emeka’s tone is at once bitter and pained. ‘What does it matter?’

  ‘Oga, the woman has come out o.’ Emeka’s driver’s voice comes from right about the centre of the room, somewhere behind his boss.

  I move my light from Emeka’s face towards a space behind him to spot the driver’s position and perhaps help Chika see better. I don’t know if it works because I can barely make out a figure. It’s that dark and clearly, Emeka has come prepared because his driver must be dressed in the same dark clothing that he is.

  ‘You’re getting your driver to pull the trigger?’ I deliberately put a jeer in my tone. Where is Chika? Has he figured out the driver’s location and therefore the rifle’s exact position? If he has, what he is waiting for?

  ‘I can pull it myself.’ Emeka’s defensive tone shows my goading worked.

  ‘Oga,’ the driver whispers urgently, ‘she dey come down step oh.’

  ‘Shoot her,’ Emeka orders abruptly.

  ‘You go and pull the trigger, Emeka,’ I also whisper urgently. ‘If you think Salome Briggs should die, then you pull it. It’s not your driver’s son who died. It’s your son.’

  ‘Shoot her!’

  The gunshot sounds like a whistle, and in that same instant, I see a body slams into the driver. I rush past Emeka, knocking him over on my way to the window. There is a commotion down at the Bar Association’s Secretariat and alarmed noises rise. I see people pointing up, towards where we are.

  I turn to the three men on the floor. ‘Run!’

  LETTING GO

  I practically pull Emeka down the stairs until we get to the National Bank branch entrance. We can already hear voices from downstairs demanding to come in. Emeka’s driver has keys, and he hurriedly opens the office door. We enter just as the steps and voices pass, climbing higher towards the meeting room from where the shot was fired.

  All four of us are breathing heavily and trying to stay quiet. It is still dark, but we can make out each other’s faces.

  ‘What took you so long?’ I whisper to Chika.

  ‘I couldn’t see in the dark!’ Chika responds in the same urgent whisper. ‘I had to follow his voice to be sure where he was.’

  The driver is breathing harshly, shaken.

  ‘They must all die,’ Emeka mumbles.

  I crawl to him. This powerful man, broken by the loss of his child. Many things scare me in the world, but none paralyse me like the fear of losing any of my children.

  ‘Emeka …’

  ‘Why did you stop me?’ Emeka hisses at me.

  ‘You were going to turn your driver into a killer.’

  ‘I would have pulled the trigger myself!’

  ‘And become no better than the people who took your son from you.’

  I make out Chika at the water dispenser in a corner. He brings a plastic cup to Emeka. The older man swings his hand like an angry child, and the cup, with its contents, falls.

  ‘They don’t deserve to live! All of them! Animals!’

  ‘I have observed that town. There is no peace there, Emeka. Trust me, they’re paying for what they did to Kevin and those other boys. But if you had succeeded tonight and if Chika had killed the Chief, how would you live with yourself?’

  ‘I don’t want to live,’ Emeka answers in a flat voice. ‘I want my son back.’

  There’s a time to console a grieving person. There’s also a time to be quiet and let him express his pain. Tonight is neither of those times.

  ‘Emeka,’ I say softly, ‘Kevin’s not coming back.’

  Emeka shakes his head, refusing to let my words sink in. ‘I want my son. I want to hold my son.’

  ‘Kevin is gone. And you’ll always want to hold him, and you’ll miss him every day, every second, but the only way you can honour your love for him is through love. Only love.’

  ‘He was such a good boy,’ Emeka says, his voice breaking.

  ‘He was raised by a good father,’ I say softly.

  There, in the darkness, on the floor of one of the branches of the third largest bank in Nigeria, Emeka Nwamadi lets me pull him, shaking, towards me. His head moves from side to side, refusing to accept the irrefutable. My one hand rests firmly on his shoulder while the other gently turns his face towards me. He doesn’t stop shaking his head as he looks at me, his eyes large and lost.

  ‘He’s gone,’ I say gently, nodding. Slowly. My gaze fixed on Emeka. And gradually, the shaking of his head becomes a mirror of my nod.

  ‘He’s gone,’ Emeka says, as though he’s just discovered a painful secret.

  I nod. He nods. And then he collapses into my arms. A man who has been strong much longer than he should have.

  I hold him like this for a while, mourning the young man who I never met.

  It is close to half past eleven when Chika and I leave a somewhat calmer Emeka at the National Bank guest house, where I suspect he has been staying ever since I myself arrived in PH. It was not an easy exit given the man’s emotional state, but I am confident that for now at least, his vengeful rage has abated. The presence of the very shaken driver seems to have had a sobering effect on Emeka. By the time Chika and I get into the Land Cruiser, we are relatively sure that the two men will be fine. For now.

  We are silent as we drive through the gates of the Tropicana. For some reason, I am only just feeling the pain in my ribs now. The power of adrenaline. I rub the bandages through my shirt. Everything seems intact, but I can feel the inflammation. I need my pain meds.

  While waiting for the elevator in the quiet lobby, Chika looks at me and speaks for the first time since we drove away from the National Bank guest house.

  ‘Thank you for not telling him about Kevin … you know, about him being in a cult.’

  ‘What good would it do?’ I exhale. ‘What would it add? Besides, we are now fairly sure that the cult is not the reason why he was killed.’

  ‘But thank you all the same. Emeka wouldn’t have believed that I didn’t know.’

  ‘No, thank you for trusting me. For telling me.’

  He nods and we are silent again when the elevator arrives.

  When the doors open on our floor, we step out and say goodnight.

  ‘Philip?’ Chika calls when I’m at my door.

  I turn to face him.

  ‘This isn’t over, is it?’

  I hold his gaze for a moment. ‘No. We still have work to do.’

  He nods. ‘Goodnight.’

  ‘Night.’

  Folake is sitting up in bed when I let myself in, waiting.

  ‘You just disappeared,’ she says.

  ‘We had an emergency. I sent you a text.’

  ‘I saw it and tried to call –’

  Using my cell phone as a flashlight for so long ran down the battery, but if I say that, then I’ll have to tell her why and what happened. And who I was saving from Emeka’s vengeful quest. I keep quiet.

  She looks at me coolly. ‘This emergency, does it have anything to do with that woman? The woman at the hospital. Salome?’

  I stay silent.

  ‘She called the room. Said she saw your missed call and wanted to ask if you’re all right.’

  ‘She’s been very kind.’

&n
bsp; ‘That’s all you’re going to say? “She’s been very kind”?’

  We’re looking at each other like two people afraid to start a conversation for fear where it will go.

  ‘Nothing happened, Folake.’

  ‘Today or before?’

  ‘Both.’

  ‘Did you want something to happen?’

  I walk to my side of the bed and reach for my medicines.

  ‘You won’t answer my question?’

  I look at her squarely, ‘Because there’s nothing to say. We’re friends. Nothing more.’

  For a tense moment, I think she’s going to insist.

  ‘I think I’ll have a bath,’ she announces in a flat tone. She goes into the bathroom and closes the door with a finality that lets me know not to follow her.

  LIGHT AND DARK

  You won’t get away with it.

  John Paul’s head snaps up from the laptop. He looks around wildly. When he sees that he is indeed alone, he smiles. He shakes his head slightly, and sniggers.

  You killed her! I scream from the shadows.

  He turns back to the laptop and speaks under his breath, like one would to a child who refuses to sit still.

  ‘She was talking of going to the police. We can’t have that.’

  You didn’t have to kill her.

  He doesn’t look up from the laptop. ‘She was dead anyway. Stage 4 cancer. Did her a favour. Now the plan must go on.’

  He is now typing furiously; the clatter of the keyboard is loud in the small room.

  I don’t want to do this any more.

  I can hear myself, and I am sure I sound petulant. Weak, even.

  But I am scared. Too much is happening too fast. Too many unknowns. Too many questions being asked. I also know that ever since John Paul placed that pillow over Mama’s head, I have become more afraid of him than of the risk of The Final Plan going awry.

  We can stop, I say, in case he did not hear me from the shadows.

  John Paul stops typing, looks around, his eyes wildly looking for me. ‘You don’t mean that.’

  You killed Mama.

  My pain and anger must have come through in my accusation, because John Paul stands and raises his voice so loud I am sure he can be heard across the hall.

  ‘For you! For us!’ John Paul’s eyes seem to become steady and it’s almost like he can see me, standing there in front of him. He lowers his voice. ‘She was weak. Just like you. She had to go.’

  She had no choice.

  John Paul clenches his fist, and if I was really standing in front of him, I know he would hit me. He lets out a sharp laugh, mocking and goading me, all at once.

  ‘Everyone has a choice,’ he says flatly, and suddenly, his face becomes twisted with anger like I have never seen. ‘You ingrate! I saved you from that monster. You were dying, too weak to fight him until I came to your rescue. Where was your dear mother then?’

  With this, John Paul gives a long, drawn out hiss and walks back to the laptop. He starts to type again.

  I don’t want more people to die.

  ‘Everyone dies,’ he says to the screen.

  MERCY, MERCY

  Chika pretends not to notice the coolness between Folake and me. As we drive into Okriki, towards the Oparas’ home, he points out places of interest to Folake and she ramps up her enthusiasm as a way of avoiding talking to me.

  To say I’m perplexed would be an understatement. Women are strange. Here I am, ready to forgive and forget when I suspected she had cheated on me, and she is determined to punish me for a crime I only thought of committing.

  My phone rings.

  ‘Hi, Philip. I just wanted to give you feedback. The IP address,’ Inspector Omereji says.

  ‘Yes!’ I exclaim, causing Chika and Folake to pause their exchange. I lower my voice. ‘What happened?’

  ‘There’s been an increase in activity from Harcourt Whyte Hall, the messages are coming almost every half hour –’

  ‘From both of them? Alfurquran and Christian?’

  ‘Yes. And they’re getting worse. More personal in some cases. Alfurquran sent one about an hour ago claiming to know who is causing hatred in Okriki and that he’ll send proof in a couple of hours. He’s asking all his Muslim brothers to be on standby –’

  ‘That can’t be good.’ I can sense Chika and Folake listening intently to my side of the conversation.

  ‘No, it’s not. We’ve asked the local government to support our appeal for a curfew, but they’re refusing because they say there’s no danger. My father is not well enough to call a meeting of the Council of Chiefs.’

  ‘What will you do now?’

  ‘I made an urgent application to the TSU to come on campus with my team and look around, but the Registrar just says he’ll get back to me within the hour. That was three hours ago.’

  ‘I’m also around now. I can drop in at the station later.’

  ‘Good. Let’s compare notes. I’ll keep you posted.’

  Then there’s a pause on the other end, and I just know he’s going to ask. I have my answer ready.

  ‘Philip, something happened yesterday. To Salome, well not to her directly but –’

  ‘Is she okay?’ I cut in.

  ‘Yes. Yes. But I want to know. Were you with your friend Chika all yesterday?’ My ‘yes’ rings true and confident. There’s an awkward silence in the car when I hang up.

  ‘What was that about?’ she asks, curious in spite of her annoyance with me.

  I hide a relieved smile and quickly share the essentials of the Inspector’s side of the conversation.

  ‘You think it’s all connected to the Okriki Three?’ Folake asks from the back seat.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I answer honestly. ‘It doesn’t fit, but there’s something there.’

  We’re now in the neighbourhood where the GPS says Elechi Opara lives. It is quite genteel and comprised of the more white-collar indigenes of Okriki. I call Opara and he picks up almost instantly and confirms we are on the right street and that he’ll be standing outside his house, so we don’t miss it.

  As soon as we enter the Oparas’ house, we are introduced to his three daughters, including Mercy, who is looking much better than when I saw her at the hospital. According to Elechi, she’s been home now for almost a week, and so far there’s been no indication of a possible breakdown.

  ‘She’s been sleeping through the night. No bad dreams or crying,’ he says when the girls go off to tell their mom of our presence.

  Amaka, Elechi’s wife, comes in and she quickly puts us at ease with a wide smile, asking us to sit and offering us drinks.

  ‘Food is after the church service but we have prepared something to hold the stomach until then,’ Amaka says after she is reassured of our comfort.

  We say we’d rather wait until after the service and hand over our thank-you gifts. Chika sits with Folake, as Amaka continues to fuss over them, still insisting that they eat something.

  I pull Elechi aside to talk about Mercy. While I am not ready to give an opinion of her condition yet, I want to be sure he is aware of the danger of her being in a large crowd.

  ‘You’re right,’ he nods in appreciation. ‘We discussed the thanksgiving with her doctor, and he says as long as she takes her medication, she’ll be fine. The other day, he asked us to do a test run of sorts. I drove Mercy and her sisters to the market and she seemed fine. I told the doctor this.’

  This feedback pleases me. It might be that if Mercy is with family members, she can handle the challenges of being in open spaces with people. This is consistent with the responses of people that have experienced trauma in a public space or had it brought on by the actions of strangers, like Mercy’s witnessing the killing of her boyfriend.

  I discuss the medication she is on and share my concern regarding the high dosage of clonazepam for a condition I think may be better addressed by psychotherapy and counselling. I pass on the name of a psychiatrist friend at the University of Lagos an
d ask Elechi to consult with him before Mercy’s next visit to her doctor in PH. He thanks me and calls Mercy to come join us.

  ‘Dr Taiwo has been giving advice about your condition. Thank him for us,’ Elechi instructs her, and despite my protests, she obeys her father.

  ‘Did you write your report?’ she asks.

  It takes me a second to remember the cover story Chika and I had given her at the hospital. ‘We’re still working on it.’

  ‘Why is it taking so long?’

  I consider telling a version of the truth and look around to gauge our semi-privacy. The other daughters have joined in the conversation with their mother, Chika and Folake. I look back at Mercy and decide to risk telling the truth.

  ‘Mercy, we have too many questions. And the most important is not knowing what Kevin was doing at Godwin’s compound that day –’

  She frowns. ‘But sir, I told you. He went to see Tamuno.’

  ‘Yes, you did. And we spoke to Tamuno.’

  ‘Is he saying it’s not true?’

  ‘On the contrary, he said he was late for his meeting with Kevin and blames himself –’

  ‘Meeting?’

  ‘Tamuno says he and Kevin were working on a paper regarding Momoh’s death.’

  Mercy gives a dry laugh. ‘There’s no way Kevin and Tamuno Princewill were doing anything together.’

  The back of my head starts tingling. ‘Why?’

  ‘Sir, they couldn’t stand each other. Also, Kevin found out that Godwin knew that Momoh was set-up and Godwin told him Tamuno was the one who did it.’

  ‘Chika?’ I try to keep my voice level, but the urgency carries. ‘Come, please.’

  Chika leaves Mercy’s sisters and comes over, while Elechi hovers like a guard dog. Folake and Amaka stop talking when they see the attention Mercy is getting.

  ‘Mercy,’ I ask gently, ‘are you saying Kevin thought Tamuno had something to do with Momoh’s death?’

  ‘No, sir. I’m saying Godwin told Kevin that Tamuno was the one that planted those pictures on Momoh’s phone.’

  I can hear Folake gasp behind me, but my eyes are on the young woman.