Utianle

I never got a chance to knock before the tall gates opened to reveal a man in uniform. Surprise danced on the gateman's face as he opened the small gate wider for me to enter and I managed to reciprocate his smile.

"Aunty Uti, na you be this?" I nodded. "E don tey o," Barnabas greeted. The short, vertical line on his flat cheeks almost blended into his dark skin, he shook his head with a sigh that conveyed the joy shining in his eyes. I flashed him a real smile. "Ah. E don tey."

Folding his skinny arms on his chest as he appraised me, he smiled until the harsh lines of his forehead softened and I stood there awkwardly with a wide grin plastered on my lips. I didn't want to be here. I didn't want to remember the life before King. How we joked about me becoming the madam of the house because we thought I had a future here with that gambler. I wanted to be back home, working on my baby's shirt.

"Na so we see am," I replied and he nodded like he understood. Leaning on the gate to support my weight, I asked, "How body?"

Speaking of body, I should be in bed resting. King would throw a fit if he knew I came here but I guess that didn't matter since I wouldn't be there to witness his rage once he found out. I should have stayed in my room a little longer, that way I would never have overheard the phone call. My throat closed up at the memory, I swallowed hard. He knew the person who took my baby yet he kept mute about it, dared to smile at me.

"Body dey inside cloth." My gaze lowered to his baggy trousers tucked into his boots, they were as tattered as I remembered. I should get inside the house not analyse his shoes or pretend to be interested in this gibberish talk. But I needed to confirm what I knew. He added, "Wetin you bring for us?"

He would find out soon. Sooner than later.

Sliding my bag off my shoulder, I dipped my hand inside to retrieve the Rite gala and bottle of LaCasera I got specially for him. It used to be his favourite, I hoped that hadn't changed about him. My fingers brushed the brown envelope tucked between an album of my baby and a chill crept up my spine. I shook the hesitance off, shoved the logical thoughts to the back of my mind. King tried legal means, it didn't work. I had to do this.

I handed the snacks to Barnabas, his lips curved into a grin that showed brown teeth. His words of gratitude slid into my right ear and out of the left, he closed the gate with his foot and I took another step forward. My eyes scanned the large compound, took in the row of flowers that surrounded the mighty building before settling on the canopy that provided shelter for the cars.

A Range rover, Brabus and a fancy car I did not care to identify were parked under the tent, I scoffed at the spot that should have accommodated his beloved Bentley. I needed no soothsayer to know why it was missing.

Barnabas made himself comfortable on the long bench outside his cubicle, patted the spot beside him for me to join him. The effect of standing for longer than I was accustomed to was beginning to take a toll on me so I accepted his offer and lowered myself to the bench. King would be proud to know how much of a distance I walked today. Cars still scared me, bikes were safer.

"Where your oga dey?" I asked as a voice filtered in from his aged radio. He stretched the opened wrap of gala in my direction, I shook my head. My nervousness wouldn't allow me stomach anything. Even the akara King made before he left. I had to admit, his cooking was better, one level above awful.

Thinking of him brought tears to my eyes, I swiped the back of my hand against my closed eyelids and focused on picking out the words of the broadcaster. Anything to distract myself. Barnabas looked at me, I gripped the edge of the bench and nodded my reassurance with a grimace. My bag felt heavier than it was but I couldn't put it down, what if he saw the content? If he did, he would stop me. I couldn't be stopped.

I was doing the right thing. For him. What about Esther? She was in safe hands. No better person to take care of her than King.

My gaze followed his to the entrance of the white mini-mansion with flowerpots on each side. After ages of silence passed, he said, "Oga dey main house." His hardened eyes rested on me like he was trying to convey a deeper meaning behind his reply. "E no dey gree commot house again. Big oga don travel but e go come back next week."

I nodded and my grip on the bench slacked. I liked that he still trusted me after months of unexplained absence. Shame soaked my bones knowing I would betray his trust but it had to be done. I cast another look at the main house and dread unfurled inside me.

It was reserved for his father who he barely spoke about, we never went there and I was content with that. The boy's quarter behind the house was ours. At some point, we made big plans in there. About his huge music break, his risky gambles and my tailoring. His optimism rubbed off on me, it was easy to believe him. Whichever one paid off first, the revenue from it would go into getting a small apartment for us to start our new life.

Me. Him. And the kids. A proper life for us.

We could still do that but in the other world. I might see Joseph, ask him to kick that killer in the balls for sending his son to the next world earlier than God wanted.

Barnabas stuffed the wrap of his gala into the empty bottle of LaCasera and I smiled more than I should have when he dropped it under the bench. He continued switching channels until he found one playing an old Yoruba song. He laughed, I laughed. I didn't know why. But we laughed until the radio fell out of his hand. Maybe it was the fact I knew I would never listen to music again or the reminder I would never watch my baby do something as simple as taking a drink. Or even breathe. But I could still watch Esther.

That thought clawed at my subconscious but I pushed it down the same way I defiled logic when I went out to purchase the rod in my bag. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to remember the instructions on how to use it. How to attach the silencer to the tip so it made no sound when I pulled the trigger.

An image of Esther disrupted my thoughts. Guilt pricked my skin, I sniffed. Did I really want to leave her alone in this cruel world?

To be fair, she wouldn't be alone. She had King. Soon, she would have Junior and the rest of King's gang. Having always longed for a father figure, she would be getting a father and four kind uncles. Faith would have to step up as her godmother. But they would be alright. I haven't been much of a mother to her of late and she did just fine. She might miss me but she would get over it. King too. He has his way with women. Soon, he would be back to his Playboy ways.

Another pang went through my heart, a dull ache spread through my chest. It became harder to convince myself I was doing the right thing. I didn't want my daughter to be raised by a strange woman who only cared about getting into King's pocket. I wanted to raise her myself. With King. In his house. To tease him about his awful cooking skills.

Taking a deep breath, I exhaled slowly. My eyes burned with unshed tears, I bit my tongue to stop from crying. Maybe I should have written a letter. To him. To Esther. To Faith. To explain the emptiness I feel. Could I even explain it? No. But reading a note from me might help them understand the gaping hole in my heart. The unfading ache.

It would give them the closure I came here to seek. A sigh escaped me, I closed my eyes. There was no manual for this stunt I was about to pull. Uncrossing my legs, I adjusted my handbag. I needed a sign. Stay or leave?

The sky rumbled, I looked up and the first droplets of water hit my forehead. I glanced at Barnabas sleeping on the bench with his hands folded on his chest and maroon beret covering his face. His snores floated to the air, I looked to the sky again, no sign of rain. I stood. Maybe this was all the sign I needed.

Each indecisive step to the white mansion felt like a stride in the direction of the death chambers. My limbs trembled and I had to keep adjusting my bag to stop it from sliding completely off my shoulder. For me, it was the same thing, only that I wasn't a criminal sentenced to death by the government. Either way, I wouldn't be coming out alive.

I tried not to think of the end as I focused on the interlocked floor. The tall fences with electric barb wires that provided privacy to the house occupants. The lone pawpaw tree by the corner. His father must have spent a lot on this masterpiece, the model of house you prayed to have enough money to build.

On reaching the front door, I hesitated.

To knock or not to knock?

This one was too easy. To surprise him.

Thankfully, the sliding door was unlocked. I slipped in and hesitated again. The interior was painted the same colour as the exterior but my confusion came from my next move.

To my left, there was a rectangular hole in the wall where a door should have been, straining my neck to take a peek revealed nothing but an empty room. I paused, guilt tried to drown me but determination saved me. Not today. To my right, there was an opened door with cream curtains blocking my view of what lay beyond. My feet moved in that direction before I could consider my options. I didn't stop until I was inside.

It was the parlour. The portraits hanging on the walls confirmed it. The flat TV attached to the wall, speakers under it and brown sofas in the shape of the letter U. I stood in the middle of the parlour like the outsider I was, hands numb from cradling my bag against my chest like it could be snatched by the shadows lurking behind the drawn curtains. I sighed. No turning back now.

Light sneaked in through the holes between the curtains, I jumped at the sound behind me. My toe collided with the centre table, I ignored the pain shooting up my leg to face the intruder. Oh, wait. I was the intruder.

We stared at each other long enough for him to process my appearance and me to register his presence. I imagined the wheels rolling in his head as it did in mine but my shock vanished first. His eyes widened and he launched out of the couch, almost tumbling due to the bedsheet tangled at his feet. I dared to wave at him, he stared hard like his gaze would make me disappear.

Too bad for him. I was going nowhere. Yet.

"Hi," I said. He swallowed hard. His Adam apple bobbed. How did I ever fall in love with this man? He could never measure up to King. "Please, don't stand on my account."

Umoh sunk into the sofa like a puppet, he discarded the bedsheet and my lips twitched seeing him in his grey shorts and tank top. King wore an outfit similar to this in the morning. He was relaxed as we cuddled. Heat flooded my body at the memory of our last minutes together and my skin tingled. At least we were intimate one last time.

My gaze descended to Umoh, he had been relaxing. Sleeping. Mirthless laughter left my lips. Didn't the Bible say no rest for the wicked? No worries, I could fix it. I would.

Real soon. He would get to sleep forever.

Without waiting for his invitation, I joined him on the sofa and the sharp intake of breath that came from his direction had my head angling to the side so I could grin at him. Coward. He was still the same, as bald as I was with thick beards I might have used to strangle or hang him from the overhead chandelier if they were longer.

He shrivelled under my gaze, I hissed and looked away to something more manly, worthy of my stare. The portraits stole my attention. Four of them, side by side as if demanding praises. The face on them was strangely familiar but I couldn't pinpoint the exact thing that required extra thought.

Umoh's father graced the portraits, that much I could tell. I never got to meet him but the resemblance was uncanny. Maybe it was his beret or decorated uniform that piqued my interest. His ranks and medals.

"I'm sorry," Umoh whispered.

My gaze returned to him, I bridged the gap between us and placed a hand on his leg.

"No, you are not," I replied with a smile. It would be good to hang him by his beards to the ceiling. One look at the high ceiling and I had a rethink, getting him there would be hard for me. Pulling a stool close, I dropped my bag at my feet and retrieved the album.

Opening the picture album, I spared him a glance to be sure he was listening. "This is Emmanuel as a baby," I started. "Emma."

My finger flattened on a picture of a baby boy with scanty hair and the sweetest smile. His teeth were missing. I flipped the page and my heart constricted at the next image. My baby. He was on all fours, smiling to no one in particular. My boy. I turned to Umoh.

"He was learning how to crawl here." A smile took over my lips at the fond memory that swept over me. "Emma liked to touch everything." I laughed and pinched my cheek like he always did whenever I pulled his thumb out of his mouth or stopped him from chewing whatever he found. My legs swayed as if he was on my lap and I was rocking him. "So inquisitive, you know?"

I pressed a finger to my lips as tears flooded my eyes again but I didn't let them fall. A tear slid down the corner of my eyes, I exhaled and mimicked a mother cradling her crying infant, rocking harder so he could fall asleep. Mummy was here for her little boy. She would follow him wherever.

"Utianle." His voice dragged me out of my trance, I looked down at my laps. My baby was gone. "I'm sorry." His voice was almost pleading, I brought out the brown envelope, placed it beside the picture album. "Uti."

My baby was gone, he took Emma from me.

In silence, I flipped to the next picture. "You are not sorry but you will be. Very soon." The next image was of Emma on his feet, he had his thumb in his mouth. I giggled. "Do you know his first words?" With the smile playing on my lips, I crossed my legs and shook my head. "Da-da. I carried this boy for nine months and those were his first words." Poking Umoh gently in the side, I said, "Not cool. It should have been Mama."

The ensuing silence was stifling, I filled it with stories from Emma's childhood. When I got to the last picture, I jammed the album close and hugged it to my chest. It was time. But I had questions. Too many of them.

"How did you know where we were going?"

"I followed you," he answered after decades of silence. I hummed, that made sense. "It was stupid of me." Oh, yes, it was. Very stupid of him but it didn't matter anymore. "I was drunk." Drunk that early in the evening? I shook my head. See who I dated? A domestic animal. "I should have gone home but I needed to talk to you. We had-"

My eyelids fluttered open, I cast him a good look. His beards lacked the usual shine, his confidence was missing. "About what?" He stared at me in confusion, I sighed. "You wanted to talk to me." He nodded, I set the album on the stool, clutched my knees to calm my raging thoughts. "About what?"

"Us."

A hollow sound slipped from my mouth, I scoffed. He wanted to talk about us. We watched his interview with his girlfriend on TV, he was the reason I fought with King. He caused everything. His stupid existence was a mistake. No worries, I would handle that.

The parlour grew quieter as my hand disappeared into the envelope, I smiled at the gun in my grip. Faith would be shocked and awed, I took her suggestion. I got a gun.

Light caught the tip of the gun, I brandished the cold metal with a lazy smile playing on my lips. I must look crazy with the wild look in my eyes. I inspected the gun, the brand was foreign to me. What did it matter, the most important thing was I could shoot with it. I could shoot two adults with it. Simple.

Umoh's voice broke me out of my reverie, I cocked my head to the side. "You don't have to do this. We can settle this in court." I didn't want to spend the little time I had looking at him. I wanted my last moments to be filled with thoughts about my baby.

"Utianle, think about this," he added. No more thinking. I fixed the silencer to the tip of the gun, tightened it with shaky hands. At least, he wasn't struggling with me, it would have been harder to take him down. "Uti."

There was nothing to consider. He knew people in high places, when that happened I would never know. If he escaped jail, then his friends had more power and connection than the almighty King. If only they could stop a bullet, they might have saved him.

"I have never used a gun before," I said. Fear seeped into his eyes, I flashed him a smile. My baby also felt fear in the backseat of that car and I couldn't help him. No one could and I wanted him to experience that same feeling before he kissed this world goodbye. "The guy said it was easy." I waved the gun in his face, his eyes darkened with dread, satisfaction torched my veins. Good. "I will just have to find out myself, won't I?"

One finger hovered above the trigger of the gun pointed to him, I continued, "There are six bullets. Four for you, two for me." Umoh's gaze lowered to the gun, emotions warred in his eyes. I might have shared in his fear if I wasn't in control but I was. He would die first. I stood, pressed the silencer to his forehead. "If you're lucky, I won't use all four." I shrugged. "Maybe I will."

His eyes rounded to the size of saucers, the raw fear present in them filled me with an indescribable emotion. I put that look in there so why were my eyes wet with tears? I should be happy. Justice for my baby.

"Soon, you will be able to tell Emma how sorry you are." His nails dug into his knees and a part of me wished he was making more effort to stop or convince me. Bloody coward. "Can you? Can you do that for me?" He froze and I screamed, "Can you do that for me?" He gave a shaky nod. I released my breath, swiped at my teary eyes. "I don't like shouting, don't make me shout again."

Umoh nodded. "Let's talk about this."

Talking time was over. He must die. A wave of tiredness hit me, I shook my head. Did holding a gun require this much energy?

"Think about Esther."

"Don't you dare call her name," I screamed. I switched the gun to my left hand and back to my right. I was thinking about my baby. "This is happening because of you."

Sweat broke out on my forehead, I wiped it with my free hand. "You should have gone home. You should have stayed away."

And I should stop talking. Pull the trigger.

Umoh gestured to the portrait. "My dad will be here soon. You don't have to do this."

Smiling sadly, I replied, "I have to."