Huma thought her father looked about to confess some horrible deed-- maybe not horrible, shameful was a better word to qualify the worrisome way his face fell and the unease with which he twiddle his key.

For most part of her life she was conscious of, the man had never expressed overt concern or anxiety over anything, always the calm and rational one, except when she was involved then he became highly territorial and defensive, like now, stroking her hand while their fingers were interlocked-a gesture she had come to know as protective, especially in times when he wanted to reassure her and re establish a connection.

"Are you listening?" Nadeem asked when Huma stared into space, and she blinked at him. She nodded, folding her lips in. He looked indecisive for a moment or two then sighed. "We know you leaving is temporary and staying closer to school would be beneficial to your studies, especially when the projects are given, which is crucial in your finals, and the salient reason we considered the whole thing at all. Your mother and I went through a difficult phase when you left for your internship, we were worried all the time, and if not for that kind woman, your mother was ready to make the trip to bring you back, whether you failed the course or not. Now you're leaving again, not to mention, you'd be married almost immediately after you conclude the year, Alhaji was particular about that. No time for last minute talks before you're whisked off."

Nadeem broke eye contact. "She's worried, like I told you; her outburst was from a deep-rooted sense of concern, but she's seen the errors of her way and how advantageous it will be for you and has agreed to your decision. So don't worry about her."

How he had gotten her mother to agree still puzzled Huma. And when she'd asked him, he had been evasive, repeating what he said now, telling her not to worry, and she had reluctantly accepted his words as the truth; after all, what mattered was her approval.

"And don't be put off by our fall out, either. I know you've not really seen us go at it, but these things happen, married or not. Sometimes it's rosy, other times, the thorns from the flower pricks your fingers. His wives are very welcoming, unlike the troublesome ones you see on television: if they are not fighting you or amongst themselves, they are plotting your death to win the husband's favour."

He plucked Huma's nose with his free hand, making her grin. He chuckled when she batted the hand away. "He is a disciplinarian, and his wives act accordingly."

Becoming sombre, he squeezed her hand briefly. "It was always your mother, the worrywart, now, I'm afraid to say, your grandmother has joined in and that worries me." Nadeem admitted finally.

Grandma? Huma's curiosity was piqued. The woman never mentioned anything other than matters of marriage to her. What had ruffled the old bird's feathers?

"You know our history has not been pleasant to say the least," he was saying, "and as much as I'd like to ignore her, I can't this time. For years, we have been at each other's throats; maybe I don't fully understand her ill nature towards me, but her concerns so far has been.......valid. Although I don't see any reason to worry, I spoke with the girl and she seems okay: respectful, articulate, she sounded sincere. But you still need to watch out. Your grandmother was vague, as usual, but she wants you to be really careful from now on, regarding what? I have no idea, no one ever does."

"I trust you to be chaste, that's without any doubt. You are already wary of people you don't know so I fail to see what she meant. Nonetheless," he gave her a serious look. "Be careful in whatever situation you need to be, hm?"

Although far from piecing things together, bewildered still, Huma nodded. She was always careful.

"Good," Nadeem nodded as well, released her hand, and rose. "Let's go." As he walked to the door, Huma reached into her school bag, which she held in a hand while tarrying behind, for her lavender oil. She locked the door and rushed to her father, who was already descending the stairs, rubbing the oil on her palms. She placed oil scented skin to her nose and drew in a deep breath, her nerves calming.

When they got to the living room, Zainab was waiting. She had been rubbing at her side with a grimace, but stopped on seeing them and gingerly got to her feet. Her brown Kaftan was intricately embroidered at the neck, sleeves, and hemline, complimented with a white hijab, which matched that of her husband's.

Huma jerked her knees in a clumsy greeting, and Zainab acknowledged by nodding, then turned to grab her purse from the seat, wincing as she did.

What's wrong with her? Huma thought, her gaze shifting between her mother and father, but it seemed no answer was forthcoming.

"We will be attending a business function until later this afternoon so I'll come pick you up right after." Nadeem told Huma then signaled for them to follow him outside, where his car was parked.

Huma gripped the strap of her bag tighter as she straggled behind the woman, who was unusually sluggish today, thinking the ride was going to be a long, silent one.

***********

It was barely past midday yet, and the sun shone overhead, blazing heat and warming up the side of her face turned to it.

Probably should have worn her cap, but that thought had come a full five minutes too late-by that time she'd boarded a bus and was on the move before the sunny day occurred to her.

As Uche strolled down the sidewalk of the bustling road, cars occasionally whizzing by, chatters of the clique in front of her failing to register meaningfully, she harkened back to the conversation with the girl, then the father, and how unsettling everything was. Considering the potency of her words, she had expected at least a week or more before the girl suggested to be her roommate, instead of a text message just three days later.

It was too easy.

Is she that naive?

The call from her father had been sudden but not unexpected. He had asked the basics: her name, where she was from, her tribe, course of study, religion (which he didn't seem to mind, narrating his encounter with impeccably mannered few), habits (if she smoked, drank, or, quite blatantly, if she was into dalliance with men), her relationship status and future plans (that aspect she was puzzled by and never predicted because they were just staying together for a year, not getting married or something. Regardless, she'd fabricated enough to satisfy the man). From an hour of lukewarm conversation, Uche had surmised she was dealing with a cloistered girl (it was expected) and protective parents (also expected), which made her situation dicey.

The last family had made her life a living hell. What would this one do if something goes awry? Best not to dwell on that, she thought.

Since they were set to meet today, it meant she had convinced the man out of any doubt about her intentions-a wary part of her had hoped it wouldn't be the case, that the parents would insist she wasn't to be trusted, but no, rather they would deliver Huma to her themselves.

"Did you hear about the corpse they found last week in Igho market?" A deep voice asked from behind, unquestionably male. The sudden mention of what she'd witnessed caused her heart to skip a beat. Uche kept her pace and listened as casually as she could.

"The deceased girl who was said to be a pharmacy student? It's all over social media." A pleasant voiced female responded.

"Did you see the pictures?"

"Sort of. It was blurred mostly--a viewer's discretion thing. But I heard her eyes were plucked out and breasts cut off." The girl gagged, repulsed. "It's such a despicable, disgusting thing to do. I can't understand why someone would do that to somebody's child."

"It wasn't just that. They discovered her heart was missing, too....... I think I have the picture. I'll show it to you later."

"Why would I want to see it? Please, abeg, I don't want nightmares anytime soon. What did they say happened? I'm hearing conflicting stories."

"Uhmmm....according to the account gotten from her friends, she was a real wild card. The girl had gone clubbing as usual and hooked up with some strangers who offered to pay her good cash for a foursome. They had wanted the girl specifically and her girlfriends had tried to dissuade her, but she was nursing heartbreak and felt like being sporadic. Too bad it didn't end the way she wanted."

"Wow....it must be another ritual trend. First it was stealing underwear of girls then raping and killing them. What's wrong with you guys, anyway? This money craze is becoming something else. I'm getting really scared now. It isn't safe anywhere anymore."

"Hey, what's that glare for? I didn't kill her."

"Have they apprehended the culprits?"

"That's the thing...this has been happening for a while now, all around the country. These people just disappear into thin air until they're ready to strike again."

The girl tsked. "You better not get involved in something like this......"

Already at her destination, Uche looked out for oncoming cars on both sides before crossing over to the trees. They were in full bloom, unlike the gnarled, barren wood fingers of last year; currently, variegated leaves and flowers, pink and yellow, speckled the trees and carpeted the ground. A single flower caught in her hair as she leaned against one of the many trunks, bent over at the waist and began breathing hard like she'd just ran a marathon.

Her heart was pounding. She ran the back of her hand across her forehead and felt the wetness of sweat on hot skin. There was this numbing weakness causing her body to ache and she groaned pushing herself up to stand erect, aware of the curious glances casted her way by passersby.

Mind your business

Light headed, she glanced at her watch. Thirty minutes left, which was perfect because being on time might soften them up further( punctuality had a way of doing that)---first impression mattered.

She looked up, peeking above her shades, as a flurry of breeze swept through. Beds of dark clouds encroached from the east of the sky, whereas the west was clear blue with fleecy white clouds and the still blazing sun, which usually portended rain.

The spate of weather should have prompted her to get an umbrella, but even that was too expensive these days. Disinterestedly gazing at the scenery, Uche was dabbing her forehead, neck and chest with a handkerchief she'd pulled out from a back pocket when the throaty cries and lamentations of someone made her turn to look.

An old woman, by the white hair feathered around the scarf wrapping her head, was soliciting a young man, who was empathically shaking his head, for money. She wore a faded blouse, multicolored wrapper folded thickly and cinched around her waist, tattered shoes that had been mended repeatedly for years and now were ripping apart. A nylon bag was in her hands and she held it open.

Her right knee and arm were bandaged, stained with blood, and she pointed at it while narrating the incident that had left her injured and in need of medical attention. The young man was sympathetic and gave her some loose change, which she effusively thanked him for as he walked away nodding to her words that promised blessings and good fortune.

Uche shook her head slightly, a ball of pain in her temples. How do these people manage to get through security? Not that she had anything against them but this was a school, and a private one in that regard, surely such things weren't allowed.

The woman hobbled her way, and Uche pretended to be immersed in how beautiful the place was.

"Beautiful lady, my daughter," the woman croaked before coming to stand in front of Uche, blocking her view of the green park. Her wizened face stretched as she smiled cheerily, revealing tobacco stained teeth. "It's a wonderful day."

"Yes, it is," Uche agreed, glancing away. That was the preamble they used mostly. Something was familiar about the old woman but she couldn't quite put her finger on it. Then she saw the wart on the woman's wrinkled neck, and it hit her. A crying woman had accosted her in the orchard next to her faculty few days ago, saying how the son had been diagnosed of cancer and a huge sum of money was needed for chemotherapy. The heart-wrenching way the woman had told Uche made her give up the meagre amount she'd intended to pay for her IPLPPWD dues.

Dues she still owed.

But the woman had been in her mid forties or thereabout. This woman was much older, unless......

No way. Uche snorted, lips parted in an open mouthed smile at the incredulity. She poked a cheek with her tongue.

"Please, help me." The woman pleaded, her red eyes watering. She held out the bag, which was riddle with holes. "My son and I were involved in a ghastly car accident that left him in a critical condition. He needs----"

"So it isn't cancer this time," Uche retorted, a brow raised. "Your family must be pretty unfortunate. I think you need prayers. It may be a spiritual attack."

"Eh?" The woman looked utterly perplexed, wiping away tears that slid down her cheeks.

"How did you manage to contrive the look? You almost had me fooled." When the woman floundered, mumbling to herself, Uche took off her shades. "Remember me now?"

"No, not at all," She responded, vehemently shaking her head and shrugging her shoulders. Then her eyes widened when she realised she'd blundered. Averting her gaze, she cast a side long glance at Uche, who had her arms folded and was watching the elderly façade crumble. Her voice was no longer hoarse from old age; of a deep and rough quality, it was as if a faulty baritone horn lodged in her throat.

"I'm reporting to security," Uche droned, and turned in the direction that would lead her to their work station.

"Wait!" The woman hastened to say, grabbing hold of Uche's arm and pulling her back. "Please, don't do that." She said in a hushed whisper, wary eyes all over the place. Even the illiterate act she'd put up was dropped.

Uche yanked her arm free. "Whatever you have to say will be to those men."

Panicked, the woman reacted quickly. Before Uche knew it, she was whisked away from the side walk and shoved behind the tree she'd been leaning on; she hit the back of her head when the woman reached for her neck, and Uche groaned at the flaring pain, suddenly dizzy.

"C'mon, show an old woman some pity." The woman said with a feral grin, tightening her grip.

She was awfully strong, Uche thought and held on to that firm hand, letting her shades fall to the floor. Her head was tilted up and she looked at the woman below her nose, struggling to breath. The face was heavily caked to achieve a weathered look, and by some technique, fake wrinkles had been sketched on her forehead, around her eyes and neck, corners of her mouth, prominent malar folds sagged above her upper lip.

Apart from the incredible strength, contrived look, Uche noticed the woman was balanced on both legs and instead of hobbling, they were sturdily holding her up.

This wasn't an old woman. She may not-----

Then she was breathing freely, the hand constricting her windpipe now fishing for something in the nylon bag, and Uche went still when she felt something sharp pierce her side. She looked down and saw the rusty steel of a knife.

This can't be happening.

"Don't move or make a noise," she whispered in Uche's ear, leaning in to shroud the knife and furtively glancing around.

She could, of course, cry out in alarm, disarm and tackle this person to the ground wet from an earlier drizzle, because however she looked at it, there was no way of getting out of the situation unscathed-if the woman intended to stab her, there were surveillance cameras at vantage points in the school and that was mostly due to the banks situated inside. Like now, Uche glimpsed past some trees at the camera set up on a pole, next to the bank in front of them.

But she did nothing, except breathing calmly despite her thudding heart, the pain in her temples, and creeping fatigue.

"You're not a woman, are you?"Uche asked after an observation only close proximity could offer: the sharpness of the jaw line, the broad shoulders, the chiseled chin, the Adam's apple that bobbed each time he swallowed, the stubble underneath layers of foundation.

He plastered on a friendly grin as someone passed by then scowled on turning to her. "What gave me away?"

Uche winced when the knife dug painfully, saying, "Honestly? It was the moment you grabbed my arm. At first, I thought you were role playing an elderly woman because I noticed the wart on your neck. I wouldn't have figured it out since your disguise was done so nicely." She felt the tip drive in further, aware it was on her scar.

"Quite the observer," he chuckled bitterly, "You should work for the police. My son did it, such a talented young boy." His eyes took on a distant look and Uche also noticed something odd.

"You won't get away with it. This is a school full of people, and there are cam---"

"It doesn't matter. At least I'll take one of you stingy, privileged brats out with me." He drove the knife a little deeper, and along with his erratic breathing, wild, hysteric eyes, she noticed he was trembling. Not for one moment did she doubt that he meant it.

He needed to calm down.

"You have a problem with us?" Uche asked, her mouth was dry, her throat even drier. "I wonder why?"

"The way y'all look at me like you're better or something, just because you happen to be much more fortunate than others. My son never thought that way, I raised him well. Yes, very well."

"I'm sure he's really lucky to have a father like you."

"He tells me so," The man smiled dreamily, pride shone in his eyes, "a very good boy, that one."

"I'll very much like to meet such a good boy, where is he?"

His face fell, crestfallen. "I lost him. I'm looking for him. He likes toys, and maybe if I buy him some, he'll come back. He must be angry with me. Yes, very angry."

All her options could draw attention to herself, and Uche didn't want that-there was also the company she was expecting in a couple of minutes. In a surreptitious manner, she craned her head to the side where at least five security men loitered around the gate, listlessly going about their duty, watching them be so close yet so far away.

"I'm warning you," the man whispered angrily when he caught her rubbernecking. He began shaking again, teetering on the edge of rationality. "I'll do it, and they won't get here in time."

Uche cursed under her breath as she reverted back to gazing ahead, back pressed against the tree. By now, she was sure the moisture-laden trunk would have stained her clothes. "Okay, I won't report you, satisfied?" The reply came in the form of another drilling pain. Grimacing, groaning, she reached for the man's hand etching the blade into her side, forcing it back as he pushed forward, his hot breath on her cheek.

She met his now deranged eyes.

"But you want me to do it," he claimed while breathing hard. "I can see it in your eyes."

His words, his maniacal smile on the face of a woman, shuttled her back to a very dark place, to a menacing, malevolent skeleton.

"I haven't done anything to you!" She barked at the person lurking in the darkness, breathing hard. "Why won't you leave me alone?!"

The rain sheeted her vision, making her squint. She swayed a bit, knees buckling, her brain muddling, and steadied herself. Then she held up her trembling fists, squared her shoulders and grounded her feet. Her wet, limp hair clung to her forehead and neck. Her drenched gown clung to her body, torn open across her bosom, abdomen and thighs, where blood dripped from wounds.

A sinister laugh came from the shadows and she couldn't mistake the glint of a blade.

"Not to me, sweet heart, someone far worse. This isn't personal, just business."

Unhurried footsteps approached, then a gangly figure emerged from the alley, someone with a face that would haunt her dreams. His grin was predatory. "There's no use running. I was told you'd be quite the game but so far, I'm just disappointed, but--" he held up the blade "I can tell I won't be for long, I can see it in your eyes."

"Please, don't kill me." She whimpered.

"Not yet, but when I'm done with you, you'll want me to."

When Uche thought her strength would fail her, the knife going deeper, she began to yell for help in earnest, but that didn't deter the man. Suddenly, he released her, his eyes going wide when he caught sight of uniformed men heading their way.

The man flung the knife aside. Uche dropped to her knees just as he took off, bolting towards the auditorium, holding the scarf on his head that had come undone and whooping with mad laughter as he manoeuvred his way past people attempting to restrain him.

"Somebody catch him!" A fraught woman's voice screeched above her. "Sir, that's the man, my husband. He's unwell!"

Clutching at her side, on all four, Uche was retrieving her shades when shoes came into view and a hand fell on her shoulder.

"Miss, are you alright?"

She shrugged the hand off , "I'm okay, I'm okay, I'm okay," she felt pressure build in her throat, then a volcanic rush upwards.

"Are you sure? You're injured, let me see that,"

"It's nothing, sir," she insisted, politely brushing the probing hand away, the rush getting stronger, making her stomach hitch.

Whoever it was squatted, "Hey, you, get me the first aid kit."

"That's not---" Uche pitched forward and with a sudden retch she vomited, splattering greasy chunks of breakfast all over the man's glossy black boots.

Author's note:

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