Empty....

Her heart furiously pumping icicles through her body, slowed to a deep, resounding thud in her chest, making her knees go weak as apprehension took its toll.

The pounding in her head was palpable in her temples, filling her ears, and, besides the faint, ominous tick-tock of the wall clock, nothing else registered.

Nothing else moved.

Chineke!

An ornate vase, amongst many disposed at corners, had been knocked to the floor and there it lay in shattered ruins of ceramic bits and clods of black earth, the flowers in disarray.

"How am I going to explain this?" Uche muttered to herself, careful to whisper. Armed with the pipe, she cast wary glances about while she stalked to the mess and knelt down in front of it, dropping her weapon at her side and staring impotently, her mind distraught as she sifted the sand through her fingers.

There was nothing to salvage; it was completely destroyed.

The imminence of danger almost didn't matter to Uche, for it was momentarily forgotten, that an intruder still lurked somewhere inside, maybe, with a lethal weapon-a gun, most probably-and that as she fretted over the woes that could befall her after the nightmarish hour, her mind already somewhere in the future, that weapon could be taking aim at her unguarded back, the distraction making her a sitting duck.

The keys....where are the keys?

Somewhere in the midst of her panic, it occurred to her addled brain that she had flung her keys in the heat of the moment earlier, and now, they were nowhere in sight.

Behind her, there was a thud, which was followed by a series of tap tap tap...

Her breath hitched, pressure quickly building in her throat. In one fluid movement, before the meagre courage she had mustered dissipated, Uche grabbed the iron pipe, shot to her feet, and spun around, battle ready for whatever threat.

It wasn't human.

It moved fast.

It was probably the furriest and biggest of its kind she had ever seen, and she had seen enough, courtesy the school's hostel.

Squeak! Squeak! Squeak!

A filthy, skanky rat

The animal, frightened by Uche's sudden movement, jinked way through tables and chairs then vanished behind the door she had come through.

The air deflated out of Uche's lungs and she bent over, placing the rod erect in front of her, and clasping her hands on the upturned end. Eyes drooping close, deep, slow breaths eased through her lips.

Then she chuckled into fits of laughter, hysteria bubbling to the surface, and for a long time, the sound resonated until it petered out into dry sobs.

"Okay," she murmured drowsily, and heaved as she straightened, moving towards the door, her hand firmly gripping the pipe. "It's just a rat."

While Uche peeked into corners, craned her neck as she stretched to look over highly placed objects, wandered in and out of rooms, searching for the rodent, she thought about how irrational her fears had been.

Uche couldn't help but think that she was teetering over an edge, from which, if she toppled over, something malevolent awaited her descent.

She was standing in the kitchen, a finger scratching her brow, at a loss, when she couldn't think of anywhere else to look.

It would be appalling if her employer were to find out, or, heavens forbid, it happened to make an appearance later in the day when the restaurant was teeming with customers.

How had it gotten in here? Her job description entailed keeping the place rodent free, ensuring the rat traps were set with crumbs of bread, seeking out and stuffing any holes that these animals may have bored with rags-for the meantime, before it would be fixed-and since she had been permitted to stay, her employer had been pretty clear when he told her the terms and conditions, and Uche had obliged.

Everything had been going so well until a few days ago when she started to slack in her duties. When was the last time she checked on anything?

A scraping sound drew her attention to the base cabinet to her right, where she had just searched and found nothing, and as Uche moved towards it, sinking to her knees and lowering the pipe gently to the ground so as not to alert the creature, she ruminated over possible ways to corner and rid the place of it.

Swinging the cabinet doors open, she peered in, the light bulb glowed from a lofty ceiling and at its position some corners were shadowed.

At first, nothing moved, and then something lunged at her, knocking her to the floor as it slammed into her chest, wriggling and squeaking.

"Ah!" Uche hissed when the back of her head collided with the floor and pain flared in her temples.

Without intending to, her hands shot out to grab hold of the animal clawing and nibbling at her. It thrashed in her hands as she held it at arm's length and scrabbled to her feet.

Uche grimaced in disgust, turning her head away as a fetid smell hit her nose. The rat continued to squirm and Uche had to tighten her grip; it must have triggered its instinctual defence mechanism as it lashed forward and sank its massive teeth into the finger within biting reach.

She shrieked, letting go of the animal, and as it dropped with a thud, she kicked it with a surge of anger and it sailed across the kitchen, smacking hard into the wall next to the fridge.

She cursed under her breath and shook the hand, rubbing at the sore, throbbing finger.

It bit me

In stark disbelief she gazed at the welting skin that began to ooze blood.

Something shifted in her, quick and consuming, overwhelming her senses with a familiar, vindictive rage as she stared out through a haze of red.

Uche wasn't aware of picking up the iron pipe or when she was walking towards the animal, the object trailing behind her, noisily scuffing floor.

The rat hobbled as it attempted to scurry away, but its injured legs kept it trapped where its beady eyes regarded the approaching figure whose shadow gradually loomed over its miniature form, its whiskers twitching in apprehension, frantic squeaks racking its body.

Uche's eyes were vacant as she held the pipe over her head, staring down at the animal and not particularly seeing it.

"Your honour, the accused has displayed violent behaviours in the past."

Her face was suddenly saturnine, and she began to breathe hard, her teeth barring as she brought down the object, screaming.

"The medical report came back positive. Her drink had been spiked excessively with the drug."

Blood sprayed, splattering the floor and wall, and even when the rat had gone limp, she continued to whack down, harder and harder.

"The result also showed abnormal serotonin levels."

Harder. Harder. The object came down until the animal was nothing more than a smudge on the bloodstained floor, its entrails ripped free from its mangled body.

It was only then, the light came back to her eyes, and she let the pipe clank to the floor as her knees wobbled. She stumbled and fell back on her buttocks. Gasping, she scrambled away, pedalling with her feet, until her back rested on the table behind her.

Breathing heavily as she stared in disbelief, Uche shook her head and shut her eyes. Drawing her legs in, Uche huddled and gently rocked back and forth while she mumbled, her head on her knees.

************

"Auntie, I want to plait your hair." Khadija told her, and Huma watched the child in the mirror as she bounded away and back, a plastic stool in her hands, which she placed just beside her chair and clambered on, kneeling while she fussed over Huma's hair.

It was in the early hours of the morning, the sun was shining through fleecy clouds, saturated blue bathed the room, and Huma was sitting at the window, her arms folded on the window sill, looking out at the scenery, a rapturous glow on her face.

She was wearing a knee length long sleeve flowy chiffon dress and loose pants. Her face was gloriously bare.

From the vantage point, she could see the lush garden, the humble homes of their distant neighbours-they had lived in a face to face apartment, where everyone had been unavoidably entangled with everyone, tolerating repugnant behaviours, enduring rowdy incidents because nothing could be done about it, which had been unfortunate for her parents since they loved serenity-and the trees towering over houses.

Huma could hear the early morning crows of a cock nearby.

Khadija bumped into her back and Huma turned to steady her so she wouldn't fall off the chair, the little girl gave a goofy laugh. Just last night, she had been in tears and had fallen asleep almost immediately in her arms. Huma had thought Khajida would slumber longer, but she had come into the room after her chores to see her awake and boisterously bouncing on the bed. They had brushed, bathed and prayed together after the little girl had pestered her relentlessly. For some reason she was clingy this morning.

Huma felt the light tug of her hair as Khajida weaved, and concentrated on the chirping birds that nested in the tree outside.

"Auntie, why can't you talk?"

Huma turned to the child, astonishment raising her brows. Khadija stared back with childish curiosity, the gravity of the question not registering. "Did the witch steal your voice?"

Witch?

When Khadija continued to weave messy knots, Huma gently brushed the wisp of hair from her tiny hands and turned in her chair to face her. Khadija sat back on her heels, but climbed down and wriggled into her chair at Huma's hands motioning for her to.

Huma then nodded towards her, prodding her to continue, and Khadija obliged with delightful giggles. "Like the singing fish with red hair," she enthused. "The wicked witch in the water said pretty fish give her voice for legs. Voice will come if pretty fish meet prince."

What is she talking about? Maybe something she had seen on television, Huma thought as she leaned in to pluck her nose and stroke her hair with motherly affection, watching Khadija's face radiate with unsullied joy, the kind that tugged at her heartstrings and ushered in thoughts of being a mother.

What kind of mother would she be? One who couldn't croon a lullaby to her squalling child, a mother who couldn't call her child by her name when she wanted something done, and a mother who couldn't admonish her child for some wrong doing-that was the kind she would be.

Worse than her own mother.

Her cheery smile lost some of its optimism, gazing into those dark eyes twinkling playfully, but some things couldn't be helped, and it was better not to dwell on the immutable ones---something embodied in the alcoholic anonymous prayer that she had read somewhere.

There was a small knock on the door, and Mohammed's voice called from behind it. "Khadija! Are you inside?"

"Yes," Khadija replied, springing to her feet to open the door.

Mohammed peeked in, looked at his sister and bobbed his head at Huma as he greeted. "Nyene, auntie." Huma waved in response, smiling sweetly, and then to his sister, he said. "It's time to eat."

Khadija turned to look at her as if for permission, and when Huma nodded, she dashed to the bed, snatched the drawing book and bounded out, her voice echoing outside the closed door as she raved about last night to Mohammed.

I will need a new drawing book..

With a sigh, Huma turned back to the window, gazing out just in time to see Effiong, the gateman, saunter into view, whistling a native tune in high spirits, a bucket containing washed clothes swinging from a hand and a chewing stick in the other, which he plunged into his mouth infrequently.

He was a lanky man in his thirties, married with two children, both girls who resided in his village. Despite his many years of hardship, he had a face that was prone to a smile, and Huma liked his local charisma, his ability to see the bright side in all things.

Although, he was uneducated, he took pride in watching the gate like they led to paradise and he had been assigned the honoured post of a custodian. How could someone be so content with so little?

When he happened to glimpse at the window and saw her, he greeted. "Ah! Small madam. Good morning o!" he said jovially, raising his chewing stick in salute while he strode to the hanging line he had made with a rope tied from one pole to pole at the backyard.

"Thank you for the bread and groundnuts you gave to me the other day," he said in accented English, smiling lavishly as his arms swung at his sides, his gapped teeth showing.

He had strolled back after hanging his clothes to air dry, his empty bucket on the floor beside him, and was gabbing with Huma in a one-sided conversation. "It was what i ate yesterday, eh, before I slept. It was very sweet." He stuck the chewing stick in his mouth, humming as he cleaned his mouth.

His grimaced suddenly and began to cough, Huma winced at the sound, gazing down at him with concern, but the hacking ceased abruptly, and he stirred his throat and spat. "Sorry, oh! Small madam." He rasped, looking sheepish.

Huma shook her head dismissively, amused. He picked up his bucket and waved as he moved back to his post. And Huma, who had been hungry all the while, was glad to be left alone, turning away from the window she went downstairs to the kitchen to get something into her cramping stomach.

After a quiet, bland breakfast in her room, she ambled downstairs to her father's study, wrapping her hair with a scarf as she went.

Huma rapped sharply on the door. There was no response. She pressed an ear to the door and could pick up the muffled sound of the television inside.

He was in.

She leaned away and knocked cryptically, the way he had thought her to do whenever grandmother visited from now on, because he would be in hiding.

"Huma? Is that you?" his tone was doubtful.

Once for yes

Twice for no

She rapped once. And assuredly, the lock was unlatched and opened a crack as her father peered out with an eye, and when he was convinced that it really was Huma, he stepped aside and ushered her in, latching the door immediately after her.

Huma walked to the television as her father fussed with lock, drawn to the fusillade on the screen as hooded and heavily armed men wearing camouflage raided a village. Under, highlighted in blue, it read "fresh terrorist attacks," and Huma watched in horror as teenage girls were rounded up and coerced into their ramshackle vehicles.

A shudder went through her body and she turned away, the image rankling. Huma caught her father's eyes and they shared a dejected look.

"You have chosen someone?" her father asked, his gaze dropping to the band gleaming on her finger. He walked up to her and placed a hand on her shoulder, while Huma kept her eyes downcast as she twiddled the band, her face sombre.

Holding her chin up so that she could look at him in the eyes, he smiled paternally, and said, "It is for your own good. Believe me when I say this is not to punish you. We just want someone we can trust to take good care of you."

Huma wanted to say she could take care of herself, but words always failed, and all she could do was listen. Listen for the rest of her life, doing as she was told.

"Do you believe me?"

Huma gazed into her father's eyes, sincerity shone in them, and she managed a nod.

He smiled and gave her shoulder an affectionate squeeze before positioning himself behind his desk, leaning forward in his chair to continue important work she must have interrupted. "So who did you choose to marry?" he asked as he shuffled through some papers, glancing up when she was at his side.

Huma perched on the arm of his chair and reached for a pen and paper across the table. She stilted down the name and held it out to him. He glanced at the name she had written and reared his head back to stare at her in disbelief.

"Are you sure?" he asked incredulously. "Did your grandmother put you up to this?"

Huma hid a smile. She shook her head, but he continued to eye her dubiously.

"He is a good man, well known, considering his....reputation," he acquiesced. "But are you sure you want to be his tenth wife?"

Huma shrugged a shoulder in a noncommittal manner. She had thought deeply about the matter. It was an arranged marriage, and it didn't matter if it was to a man who was as old as her grandfathers.

There would be no courtship, as she didn't care for such -neither did he--and the man had enough children to fill a school bus, and he was far too old for bedroom affairs. With almost no demand on her, she could focus on her work. The wedding would be after her graduation, and she was perfectly at peace with that.

Her father desisted from questioning her further, but Huma could see her decision had caused him some discomfort. He refocused on his work, and she sat there observing him.

It hadn't been so long ago when the man in front of her did menial jobs to put food on the table. Their former place had a car park, a dilapidated structure where her father would be, among like fathers and hustling youngmen every day with his decrepit car, driving people home, driving people on their way to work, until very late in the evening. The country had sunken into recession at the time, a lot of people had lost their jobs, and he had been unfortunate to have been among those laid off.

Something occurred to her as she studied his inscrutable face--the incident of before. She scribbled down her question and inserted it between him and his work. He inched back and squinted to read it, frowning as he averted his eyes, waving the paper aside.

For some time, he didn't answer, intently scrutinising a set of papers, but Huma could see his jaws tense while his eyes rifled through the pages. "Your mother.......i don't understand her anymore. I admit it had crossed my mind, because" he faltered, unable to say the words. Then he put the papers down and reached for Huma's hands, placing them between his. "..... You need someone to be there for you. I still love her, but I also have a duty to you, as your father. I keep hoping she would come around and leave the past alone.....she has refused to."

Tears welled up in Huma's eyes. She sniffed, dropping her gaze to their joined hands.

"We are so sorry. I do hope that one day you will forgive us. For everything." He said softly, and Huma leaned in to place her head on his shoulder, clinging to his arm as tears slid down her face. And in the comfort of each other's arm, they sat in quietude for heartfelt moments, the television droning in the background, the cackles and shrieks of the children playing outside carrying across the compound.

**********

"Uche!"

"Uche!"

Uche was roused by someone shaking her vigorously. Her lids fluttered open and Bisola's horrendous face bent over hers slowly came into focus as her vision cleared. Pain flare in her head and she moaned. Around her she could hear hushed whispers.

"What happened?" Bisola's voice was strident, causing Uche to wince as she sat up and held her head, blinking furiously.

For a moment, she didn't know where this place was, and then it all flooded back: the run, the rat....

Ignoring Bisola's fusillade of questions, her eyes flicked to where she had thrashed the creature, thinking she had dreamt it, and blanched when she saw its mangled remains in a pool of blood.

"I am talking to you," Bisola was kneeling beside her, a hand on Uche's shoulder, shaking her to attention. "What happened?" Uche blinked back, in a daze.

Bisola turned to someone behind her. "Get Oga on the phone,"

At the mention of her employer being called, Uche snapped out of her trance-like state, instantly looking up at Bisola who was rising to her feet, and begging. "No, please, don't call him. Please, don't tell him about this." She scrambled to her feet, holding her head as she grimaced in pain.

Her coworkers eyed her cautiously like they were ready to bolt out the door if she so much as looked at them.

"Please," she implored Bisola with her eyes. Bisola seemed resolute in her decision, but faltered when Uche continued to stare at her with desperation. Finally, she gave a reluctant nod.

"Somebody should clean this mess up," Bisola said to no one in particular on her way out. "Everyone get back to work."

As they trooped out, shooting glances over their shoulders, Uche relaxed, wiping the drool from the corners of her lips with the sleeve of her shirt. Her head throbbed painfully, and she winced, massaging her temples and walking out to get ready for the day's work.

At the door, she paused to look over her shoulder at the grisly scene before staggering away.

Ten minutes later, Uche was comported and smiling as she attended to customers, the shadows under her eyes nonexistent in her mild make up. A couple over at a table signaled for her attention, and she ambled over to them to take their orders.

The woman, wearing a stunning peplum dress, smiled up pleasantly at her. "I will have the Jollof rice special," she said, reading off the menu in her hands. "And this wine." She traced a finger along the name and Uche shifted to see the brand, mentally noting it down.

The husband was familiar to her. In fact, he was a regular customer. His workplace was a stone throw from the restaurant, and for some reason, he frequented the restaurant. Uche knew their kind: they had some sort of cafeteria where they ate at the office.

Then why come here?

She turned to him, dissimulating her displeasure. "And you, sir?" the sir was clipped.

The man, aware that his wife wasn't looking as she bowed her head over her phone, gave her a lascivious smile, his eyes scoping her body, lingering at her hips and breasts. "The same." He said simply.

"It will be ready in a few minutes." Forcing a pleasant smile, Uche turned away, aware of his eye at her back.

Arriving with the order, she gently placed their food and drinks on the table while ignoring the man's lecherous gaze.

Opening the wine, Uche noticed the man leaning away from the table just as a hand snaked up her leg. She bristled, her jaws clenching. She glanced at the woman-his wife-to see her still engrossed in her phone. Her breath hitched as he explored higher, her hands trembling as she uncorked the wine.

Out of the corner of her eyes, Bisola stood steadfast at her station, vigilant.

One...two...three....four....

She restrained herself inside her body, until he reached up and fondled a butt cheek in a lewd caress.

She gently set the wine bottle down.
"Do you know your husband likes women with big asses?" she suddenly asked the woman who looked up at her, brows creasing with confusion.

"Pardon?" The woman's gaze flicked to her husband.

The second the woman's head was raised, her husband's hand fell away. "You heard me."

"I am sure that is what attracted him to you," Uche began, her voice rising. "Big breasts, an enormous backside.....that was before. And now, look at you, fat and all over the place. Do you know he comes here to feast his eyes? Now I can see why."

In an instance, she was up on her feet, her eyes flashing."How dare you?"

By now, the restaurant had lulled into silence as customers were riveted by the heated altercation. Bisola, foreseeing disaster, rushed to scene, pulling someone along with her.

"How dare i?" Uche let out a dry laugh. "Tell her," she turned to the man, who was regarding them like they were ticking bombs. "Tell her how she looks like a mansion," she faced the woman, eyes blazing. "How you whined to me that you couldn't stand this fucking pig!"

The hand whipped across her face, so hard Uche tasted metallic copper. It was what she needed.

Whirling around, Uche slapped the unsuspecting man, jarring him in his seat.

His eyes goggled as he held a hand to the assaulted cheek. Before Uche could begin the pummeling she had originally intended on the man, someone held her by the waist, pulling her back and away, while she struggled and wailed in protest, her eyes wild, and her fingers clawing at nothing.

Recovering from his shock, the man looked at his wife, his face crumbling with remorse. "Magdalene, it's not what you think. I--" the livid woman doused his face with her drink, and left with a flounce.

**********

Somewhere along the way, Uche was released by the strong hands encircling her waist. She breathed hard as she eyed Dominic who was wise to keep his distance.

"Go inside," Bisola commanded, gesturing to her employer's office, which she had just come out from. They walked away, mumbling to each other.

Uche was suddenly fearful. What had she done? She tarried, fidgeting where she stood, soliciting for help wherever it was. She couldn't ask God: He didn't care about someone like her. When she finally mustered enough guts, she approached the office, hands crossed at her back.

The man sitting behind the glossy wooden desk peered up at her as she stepped in and lingered by the door. The light shone on his bald head. His bifocals were perched forward on the bridge of his nose, his lips grimly set. He didn't say a word as he clasped his hands on the desk and regarded her coolly.

It was a contemplative look and Uche tweaked the collars of her shirt, her clothes suddenly too tight, under his scrutiny.

"Sir," She attempted, "please, I---"

"You are fired." He stated firmly.