The blaring music in the background was unbearable for Sandy. She regretted sneaking out of the house and was huddled in a plastic chair with her legs pulled to her chest.

In the sitting room, a small group had gathered. They had arranged chairs in a snake-like circle, with a table in the centre. The table was cluttered with empty bottles and stacks of rainbow-coloured cards, some of which had fallen onto the carpeted floor. Sandy noticed the ace of diamonds lying just an inch away from her feet.

Henry Tito was discussing his difficulties studying in a town far from his hometown. He had recently been accepted into Moi University to pursue a Bachelor of Arts degree, and he had only been there for two months. Sandy had shared a class with him back in Grade 5, and she had developed a fondness for him. She remembered him as being pleasant, with a long nose that reminded her of a painting she had seen in her grandmother's house. However, Henry had changed a lot since then and was now quite different from the person she remembered.

"You ask for a smooth cut at the edges. He gives you a river down the Amazon," he was saying, shaking his head. A drink in one hand.

"Down the Amazon, huh! What's that?" Mark asked. He had occupied the seat next to Liam and Rachel and directly across from where Sandy sat. Sandy loved that she could watch the glimmer of lights as it danced on Mark's face. A beautiful rhythm. Perhaps she had had one too many drinks.

Cynthia had the back of her chair to her front, sitting on it as though she was straddling a small pony. She pulled her face towards Sandy, her lips lingering to her ear. Sandy caught a whiff of alcohol in her breath. "What is Henry even talking about?"

Sandy let out a small laugh and leaned her head against Cynthia's shoulders. "His barber."

"Like we give a damn," Cynthia chuckled. "Good Lord, I hate that song."

"Richard Farrel," Henry said, then noting that no one understood who that was, he added, his brows pulled in a close-knit. "Y'all don't know him? The dude played in the movie The Racketeer."

Mark asked, "He the river down your Amazon?" The room fell silent for a sparkling second, then everyone burst out laughing.

"You gotta stop with your analogies Henry," Liam's voice piped up. Liam was Mark's cousin.

"The dude studies literature, whatchu expect? Let his imagination run free. It's a free country after all," Cynthia offered.

"If that's literature, then damn me, for giving one a second glance."

Seemingly irritated, Henry asked, "Will you guys let me finish the story or not?"

"Or not," Cynthia whispered in Sandy's ear. They both laughed. As Sandy looked to the corner of her eye, she noticed Mark's gaze settling on her. She briefly contemplated asking him what he was staring at but ultimately decided against it.

"Damn it! Someone change the stupid playlist."

********

Sandy pulled Haley from the white picket fence and began to pedal home very late into the night. The sky was painted sapphire, silently approaching dawn. The wind howled and was swift against her cheeks. She used the main road, checking behind her shoulders for the black saloon car. She was alone. She parted her lips and smiled, then immediately regretted it as the cold pierced the insides of her mouth.

As she got closer to her neighbourhood, Sandy noticed a commotion outside their compound. People had gathered around, whispering in groups of two and three. There were two police vehicles next to them, flashing distraught colours. Sandy sensed that something was wrong. A constant smart began to nibble at her heart.

Breathing hurriedly, Sandy dropped Haley on the gravel path and pushed her way through the gathered crowd. She nearly ripped the yellow cordon as she lunged for the door.

"Mother!"

Three heads immediately turned at the sound of her voice.

Tricia sat flustered and unresponsive on a sofa with two uniformed police officers standing in front of her. Sandy recognized one of the officers as Michael Tanui, a tall and skinny man she had seen at her father's funeral placing lilac flowers on the grave. She later learned that he worked with her father in the Nairobi County Police Unit. They were former partners.

The other officer, a woman in her early thirties, had sharp, calculating eyes and raven hair neatly pulled back. She had a striking appearance and could easily pass as a model.

Sandy took a minute to regain her composure before asking, "What happened here? Mother, are you alright?"

"Did you know she was out?" came Michael Tanui's voice, a deep timbre.

Tricia turned to him, shaking her head. Sandy hoped to catch her mother's facial expression, but her face was angled away. "No. I thought she was in her room."

"Is she always out at night?" asked Michael.

"I don't understand how that question is important now," Tricia replied.

"What happened here?" Sandy asked.

Michael Tanui merely blinked at her. The policewoman turned to her, a faint line of annoyance playing at her lips. "Sandy, right?"

Sandy nodded and took the seat next to her mother.

"I am Officer Rita Angari, and this is Officer Michael Tanui," she pointed to Michael and then continued, "We are investigating who attacked your mother in the middle of the night."

Sandy's head began to reel at the news. She rubbed her temple and asked, "Attacked?" She fleetingly gazed at her mother and watched the dread in her eyes. The warm flutter of brown had worn out.

"Sandy, where were you tonight?" Officer Michael asked, with a hint of accusation in his tone.

She turned to him, her eyes locking into his. Without his uniform, Sandy realized Michael could be confused for a bear of a man. Rough features, hair thinning at the crown. Eyes so dark, a reflection of long October nights. He gave off the vibe of a bully.

Sandy felt her mother's eyes on her, and the guilt stung. She shouldn't have left the house in the first place. "I...I was at a friend's party."

"What time was that?" Officer Michael asked.

"7:30."

Officer Rita wrote something down in her notebook.

"Tricia, you mentioned you heard the noise downstairs at what time exactly?" Rita asked.

"I.. don't. I don't remember exactly when. But it was around midnight. I had just gotten into bed." Sandy felt the strain in her mother's voice.

"All that time and yet you didn't notice your daughter was out," Officer Michael chuckled dryly.

"I don't like your tone, Officer."

Rita cleared her throat. Sandy thought it might be her method of calming the tension in the room.
"Madam, do you know if there was one attacker or more?" Rita asked.

"I do not know. I was knocked out," replied Sandy.

Officer Rita did not write anything down. She fumbled with the pen in her hand.

"And nothing was stolen from the house?" she asked.

Sandy looked around the room, and she noticed that the cabinet drawers under the TV stand were open, some papers were on the floor, and the wall clock was askew as if it had been moved.

"As far as I know, nothing was stolen," Tricia responded.

"Have you checked everywhere? The other rooms?" Officer Rita inquired.

"Yes. I have checked, and nothing is missing."

Officer Rita turned to Michael, her eyebrows furrowed. "I don't understand. Why would someone break into the house, ransack the place, and not steal anything?"

"Perhaps they didn't find what they were looking for," Michael said.

Sandy realized something and turned to Officer Michael. "Do you think it could have been the work of one person?"

Michael gave her a look that meant he was the one asking the questions, not her. He didn't respond.

Officer Rita wrote something on her notepad and then ripped it off. She handed the piece of paper to Tricia. "Here's my number. If you remember anything, call me."

Tricia took hold of it. "Okay. I will."

Officer Rita quickly made her way towards the front door, stating that she needed to disperse the crowd outside. As she shut the door behind her, Tricia turned to Sandy and requested a glass of water from the fridge.

As Sandy was getting a glass, she overheard her mother speaking to Michael in the living room. Her mother's voice was sharp and cold as she said, "I'll be direct with you, Officer. I have never liked you, nor understood why my late husband kept you around. You are arrogant and conceited. Frankly, I would prefer another officer here, but since I have no choice, I expect you to behave properly towards us. It's the least you can do for us."