Her eyelids fluttered before they opened. There was a figure in front of her. It didn’t surprise or scare her; it was as if she had already felt someone staring at her and that was what woke her up. Why was she sleeping? Who was the person standing in the doorway, piercing light shining from behind them?
Amaka brought a hand up to shield her eyes and the bed creaked. It wasn’t her bed. She wasn’t in her house.
The hazy figure turned and left. The door closed. Darkness. Amaka opened her eyes wide, trying to focus in the dark.
‘She’s awake o.’
It had to be the person in the door. It was a woman. Amaka sat up in the strange bed. It creaked. She strained to see. She began to make out shapes. The bed had no headboard or footboard. Boxes and bags lined the walls. There was a sofa with folded clothes on it. A dressing table had tubes and bottles and plastic jars and picture frames. On the wall, above the mirror, a vertical row of buttons glistened dully from an outfit on a hanger. The door opened. Light. It was a ceremonial police uniform. Its hat also hung from the nail in the wall. Ibrahim walked in. A woman stood in the doorway behind him, leaned her left shoulder against the frame and clasped her finger over her right hip.
‘How do you feel?’ Ibrahim said.
What was she doing in Ibrahim’s home? In his bed. He looked strange in a white singlet and blue sports pants with three stripes running down the sides.
‘You were hit on the head,’ he said. ‘You should have been in bed.’
Amaka touched the back of her head where she felt the pain.
‘What happened to the girl?’
‘It was a man. A thief. They burnt him.’
He sat on the side of the bed. It creaked under his weight.
She’d thought the faint smell of smoke was from the bed. Now, in her head, she saw the burning body. The flames wrapped around it. The smell.
‘No. There was a girl. What happened to her?’
‘A girl? By the time I got there, it was all over. You are lucky. They were going to kill you too. You do not interfere in a mob action. When my boys got there, some women had surrounded you so they couldn’t get to you.’
‘Why didn’t you take me to the hospital?’
‘I did. You don’t remember? We went to Wilmot Point. The doctor gave you something. He said there was a slight risk of concussion. You walked up the stairs here by yourself. You don’t remember? Maybe you have to go back and see him in the morning.’
‘But why didn’t you take me home?’
‘Have you forgotten? The plane crash. I told you. They have blocked all access to the entire area.’
‘Oh. I remember you mentioned it. It was close to my house?’
‘Yes. You know Chief Douglas?’
‘The gubernatorial candidate?’
‘Yes. His house. On Magbon Close. And it was his plane. He was in it.’
She looked at him.
‘Yes. He was in the private jet that crashed into his own home. Crazy. People are saying it is the opposition. Already there are riots and…’
‘You don’t know what happened to the girl?’
‘I already told you, there was no girl. I mean, there were lots of civilians there, and of course the women who protected you, but the boy had already been set on fire and we couldn’t simply arrest all the onlookers.’
‘There was a girl. They were going to burn her too.’ She looked past him. ‘Is that your wife?’
Ibrahim turned to the woman in the doorway. ‘Yes.’
Amaka nodded at her. The woman pushed herself off the frame and crossed her hands over her chest.
‘What time is it?’ Amaka said.
Ibrahim searched his bare wrist for his watch.
‘I’m not sure.’ He turned to his wife. ‘Abike, what time is it?’
She unfolded her hands, and folded them again.
‘Where were you going, anyway?’ Ibrahim said.
Amaka looked at him. He was staring directly into her eyes, his forehead creased with concern. She looked at his wife. Abike stared back, her face tight with loathing or anger or both. Amaka checked the time on her own watch. 11:30pm.
‘Where’s my phone?’
‘I searched for it. I called it but it just kept ringing and my officers couldn’t find it.’
‘I need to find it. I filmed the killers’ faces. And the girl. I got the girl as well. I got everything on video.’
‘Amaka, the phone is gone. Where were you going?’
‘My car?’
‘We found it there. The key was in your skirt, but we couldn’t find your bag. The door was open. Was your bag in the car?’
‘Shit. My passport was in that bag.’
‘Your international passport?’
‘What other type of passport is there? And my laptop, too. And my other phone. Shit. I have to get my lines back.’
‘You can do that in the morning, for now you really have to rest.’
‘No, you don’t understand. I have to get my lines back. The girls, they will be sending messages. I have to… Oh no.’
‘What?’
‘She slammed her palm onto the mattress. The bed creaked.
‘What is it?’
‘There was a memory card in the bag.’
‘A flash drive?’
‘No. A micro card. Fuck.’
‘What is on the card?’
She looked at him, glanced at his wife, and then back at him.
‘Where is my car?’
‘It’s downstairs. You should sleep. Are you hungry? Maybe you want to shower?’
‘I’ll be fine.’
‘OK. I’ll just leave you to rest now,’ Ibrahim said. ‘The doctor said you should sleep. I’ll be just outside.’
He got up, paused to look at her, then turned to leave.
‘Wait,’ she said. ‘Thank you.’
‘You are welcome. Please, go to sleep. We’ll talk in the morning.’
He walked past his wife. She walked up to Amaka.
‘Ibrahim said they did not touch you,’ Abike said.
Amaka was thinking of the lost memory card and didn’t respond. Then she realised what Abike meant but decided it didn’t call for a response.
‘I’m sorry to be imposing on you,’ Amaka said.
‘You are not imposing. Ibrahim said you are welcome, so, that’s all.’
‘Abike,’ Ibrahim called.
‘We are in the parlour,’ she said to Amaka.
Amaka nodded.
Abike lingered. She held her hand out, close to Amaka’s face.
‘Pass me my Bible under that pillow.’
Amaka looked behind her, raised the pillow wet with her sweat, and saw the red copy of a King James Bible. She was a Christian, married to a Muslim. Amaka handed the Bible to Abike who tucked it under her armpit.
‘And the pillow.’
Abike waited as Amaka handed it to her, then she left and closed the door behind her.
Amaka sat staring at the door that Abike had left slightly ajar. She swung her feet off the bed and stepped on cold linoleum. She stood and searched around for her shoes, finding instead her car keys on a stool tucked under the dressing table. She found her shoes by the door, next to three pairs of men’s shoes, polished to a mirror shine. She took one last look around the room.
Amaka stepped into the living room. There was a mattress on the floor in the middle of three red leather sofas that formed a U facing a console cabinet, against which were propped two flat-screen televisions side by side. On the mattress, Abike and Ibrahim were wrapped up in separate sheets with their backs to each other. Ibrahim stood up abruptly. He was shirtless, his chest covered in curly back hair. He reached for his singlet next to Abike’s nightdress on one of the sofas.
‘Amaka, where are you going?’ he said.
Abike sat up on the mattress and pulled her sheet up to cover herself while with her other hands she picked up Ibrahim’s cover cloth and held it up to him. He ignored her.
‘I am very grateful to you for coming to help those people when I called you,’ Amaka said, ‘and I am grateful that you brought me here, but there is somewhere else I need to be. You said my car is downstairs?’
‘Yes. But, you are not in a condition to drive. The doctor gave you an injection.’
‘Probably just a mild sedative. How do I find the car?’