3 CHAPTER ONE: THE FRIGHT

THE FRIGHT

She is knocking, times without numbers. Until her knuckles begin to ache and her fingers beg to stop being squeezed.

'Abu Laylah. Abu Laylah. She yells trying to call her husband out of his room. 'Please answer, it is urgent. Abu Laylah, Abu Laylah. Are you there?'

This girl will not put me in trouble ooh. She says in her mind. She looks distressed. Her eyes bulging, pain upon pain, flowing with tears till it reaches her cheeks. You will see she has been crying for a while.

There is a latter look, it shows doubt.

Her mom bought her a smartwatch a few months ago. It has got this GPS tracker on it. At first, when Laylah saw it, she was all grumpy and kinda moody. Her sister asked her: 'You don't like it? I will take it ooh.' Her sister, Nabeenah, picked up the wristwatch, observing its design.

And said: 'This is for small children ooh. But don't worry, it is perfect for you.'

Laylah, fifteen(15) years of age, was looking at her elder sister like she wanted to rip her off. She has got the eyebrow raised indicating her sister was talking bullshit. Nabeenah said that because it is a kids smartwatch age range of 5-13.

Her mom cut in. 'It might look childish but it has got its functions. You know that I did not even include you sef (at all). It is for my business! So be grateful! 'She says with a stern face.

'Alhamdullilah, may Allah put his barakah (blessing)'. Nabeenah wrapped up.

***

'Why am I been shipped off like a cargo? I live here after all. Nabeenah says as they carry her suitcase to the gate with the ' thank God, less noise ' face. She knows when they are being too kind.

'Take care, we love you. They say all at once.

She gives them a grin but was unable to say anything further when she heard the engine of a narrow-body red family sedan Camry.

'Not a jeep?' Laylah asked.

'It is a ride and secondly, read! . It is a Camry moron.' She is wearing an ashamed look.

'Hey, kind words okay?' Her mom says. 'Be good, if you like join bad friends.'

'I won't okay. I am the good one remember?'

'Just go abeg(please), take care. Don't forget to call.' Her sister says, being sincere this time.

'Ok.'

'Sis hugs.' Trying to hug Nabeenah knowing fully well how she doesn't enjoy hugs.

'Okay, okay, space.' 'Hmm,' she says tight-lipped. She breathes in deeply.

'Madam, I know this is a good moment for una(you all) but na(it is) work I dey(am) work.'

The driver speaks in pidgin hurrying their arses off.

She gets into the car briskly, saying her final goodbyes. And that's it. Off she goes to school.

***

'Abu Laylah, Abu Laylah, where are you?'

The creaks of the bathroom door from his room makes her aware of his whereabouts.

"He's out."

'Stop shouting woman. Can I not take a bath anymore? What is it?'

He says as he opens his room door. He is not dressed. His chest is left bare while the towel covers his lower limbs till knee-length.

'Laylah has not come home. She is supposed to come by 2:30 pm max and she is not here when it is past four.'

'So?'

'What do you mean so? Your daughter might be missing and you just say "so". Did you hear me at all?'

'Madam, get to the point. For God's sake, I am in a towel.'

'You care about you wearing a towel when Laylah is missing.'

'Did she tell you she is missing and even if it was that scenario, let her get missing. After all, she's not a child.'

He slams the door numbing her senses. She is thinking, why would he say that? Yes, he is cold-hearted, she has lived with him for almost eighteen (18) years but this was to the extreme.

Her tears knew no bounds. Flowing freely with agony all over her face. "What to do. What to do."

'The principal!'

She rushes to get herself up from the floor and gets to her room to make the call. Of course, she has been calling her daughter with the watch but the user is not answering.

The line picks.

'Assalamu alaikum (peace be unto you). It is Laylah's mum. The Husseins.'

'Oh, yes. Wa Alaikum salam (and peace be unto you too) Mrs. Hussein. You have such a brilliant kid only if she would be calmer.'

She smiles but it hurriedly changes to her worried face.

'Please, is Laylah still in school? She is supposed to be home now but...' There's a pause for a while. '...she has not come.'

'She has not come? I will ask and give you feedback if she is here or where she has gone.'

She hears him saying to someone 'hey, go check if Laylah Hussein is in school.'

'Okay, I will be waiting to hear from you.'

'No problem ma.'

4:15 pm.

Mrs. Hussein checks her phone again what says the time after a minute gone. 'Should I call him back? He says he would call...I am waiting.'

She just can't wait any longer so she calls the principal back.

'Hello, it is Mrs. Hussein again.'

'Hi ma'am, I was about to call you. She is not here. The gateman saw her leave with the school bus at 2:00 pm.'

'School bus?...2 o'clock?... She was instructed to come home herself using public transportation. We made that very clear.'

'Ma'am I feel you should calm down, nothing bad would happen.'

She breathes in heavily and exhales quickly.

'Have you called the driver?'

'Yes ma'am.' He says.

'And?...' Mrs. Hussein replied hoping he would complete his sentence. Such drama!

'It is not going through but I assure you...'

She cuts in. 'You assure me what? I need to know exactly what is there to assure. My daughter who was in your care, took the school bus and the driver's number happened to not just go through...what?'

She composes herself and refrains her tongue from uterring anything.

'...what is wrong with you guys? No one seems to pull their acts together. If...if what happened to that kid happens to my daughter...'

She hangs up.

'Mrs. Mrs...Damm it...This can't repeat itself. Continue to try his number, now! The principal furiously told the teacher nearby. 'I would call the proprietress.' He says.

Who would she be angry with, her husband or the school?

Mr. Hussein gets out of his room, dressed this time. He seems to be going out. He is holding his car keys, and his maroon backpack, wearing his face cap. But he is not wearing any shoes maybe he is not going out immediately.

His wife comes out of her room.

'Are you going out?'

'Is it me you are tracking now?'

'I am just asking, seeing you seem to be in outing clothes.'

'I am wearing a jean trouser with a turtle neck shirt. It is casual.' He says in a high tone.

He walks downstairs, puts his bag on the couch, gets the remote from the central table, sits next to his bag then switches on the TV. It is news now at 4:30 pm on Channels TV.

He's watching TV when...

Her breath hitches. 'Laylah picks up for God's sake.'

The TV is still on.

'....It is news now on Channels TV. I am Modupe Olarenwaju at the Channels TV newsroom here at the studio and shocking news just came in. We would have our correspondent tell the tale. Demi Apa?' Trying to catch his attention over the live broadcast.

'Yes, Modupe. I am here live at the Benin (a city in Edo state, Nigeria) famous bridge to report what just came in. A helmet! The residents...

He could not complete his sentence before the connection gets interrupted. The correspondent tries to manage the situation.

'We lost him...' *cough* She coughs, a dry one. She drinks the TYTL table water on the desk and continued. 'He is back now. Demi Apa, you were about to tell us the breaking news. What happened at the bridge?'

'Demi Apa?' She smiles at the camera after two minutes of calling out his name. Trying to remain professional, she still smiles.

'Demi Apa? Demi Apa? are you there? Demi Apa?....'

The news broadcaster seems to be on edge but still is maintaining her composure in managing the situation. She fakes smiles at the camera again then continued.

'Demi Apa, are you there? We seem to have lost him. I will be going on a break when we...'

Mr. Hussein hisses.

'Is everybody that is getting lost now abi(really)? Mytchewww. Please, I beg your pardon.'

He says disgustingly. He gets up furiously, takes his bag from the couch, and lousily calls his wife:

'Mrs, I am going out, eat your food do not wait for me.'

He walks briskly, stealthily, as if he stole someone else's feet. He reaches outside opens the gate, gets into his black infinity jeep, honks at our neighbor whose Toyota Sienna was parked outside his very gate, waits for the needful to be done, drives past his gigantic grey gate, puts his gear at the park mode, gets out of his seat, closes the gate noisily, gets into his car and slams the door.

The so-called he who says and tells every living being not to. Well...

He drives past. This night he did not come home. Mrs. Hussein is the only one alone at home. Her daughter, Nabeenah is in school. Her daughter, Laylah, is gone, missing. Not a word is heard about her. And, I, the nosiest neighbor, am on my rooftop with binoculars with a pen, a journal, and my laptop which has BTS Taehyung's face on it.

I am unmarried, single, and still in my 20's. I already am successful but in solitude and loneliness. My father was a single parent. My mother died while she birthed me. God saved me. Miraculously, my head which was stuck at her opening as I passed came out voluntarily.

My father's wealth has been passed to me being an only child. I do not have to work. He is a billionaire and even now, five (5) years later, he still gets his money which technically goes to me. Don't worry, his money's source is a clean one.

What a sight! I do not work so nothing occupies me. Ooh...sorry, I just lied. Nothing occupies me except my neighbours. They give me joy as I watch them like Netflix without a subscription 24/7 through their glass doors and windows. I would have invited you, whoever is reading this, except that I stammer. No one likes a stammerer.

"Ooh, what is that?"

'Mrs. Feline?' I struggled to say under my breath. "Wait, what!"

I almost fell off. "What the hell is she doing there? Shh-chips and ships." Trying not to cuss.

Mrs. Feline does not seem well, my neighbor who is just a house opposite mine. She is wearing a nightie. I hear a knock on my door. "Should I answer?" It is her. She creeps me out. I am sure she saw me or her cats told her where I am. Either way, she knows I currently am sitting on my rooftop at 2:15 am.

I breathe in deeply. 'End of episode 50, Season 5.' I blurt out.

I take my laptop and the remaining of my things as I pass down the ladder. I put my journal, pen, and laptop on my dining table in my kitchen. I open the door after delaying Mrs. Feline for five (5) minutes. She hates being held up purposely. I lose my step because as I open the door for my neighbour, her family joins her, rushing in. I am talking of "extended" family, her children, her pets, her cats! More than ten (10) they are, black.

She looks unwell, worse than I have imagined. Her black hair suits her white nightie with sleeping slippers. She looks like a ghost, a literal nightmare. She is the same colour skin as I, dark. She twists her neck rubbing her neck forth and back vigorously. Her cats gather her like she is their queen. They adore her. I have something to tell you she says.

She grabs my hand, caressing it while she says 'I-I-it is embarrassing to say this but I...trust you. I will be traveling and will not be allowed to take my family...' She smirks.

She keeps on rubbing her neck as though she intends to thaw it. With speed, she gets on her knees, grabs my ankles, and starts to thaw mine. I drag them forcefully but she just will not let go. She raises her head and quickly drags my chair towards her again because I dragged myself from her very self and as she continues to speak, it was as if her long straightened hair begins to touch her face. It was moving! Or was I not seeing well?

'You have to help mee.'

'Mi-ss Fe-line-I me-a Mrs. Fel-ine, let us ta-lk this through a-beg( please in pidgin- a language in Nigeria)'

I continue to pull myself away from her but she bulges not. Not an inch. She continues to thaw and thaw till she calls her eldest one to join in the game.

'Come my dear Vaughn. Come let us eat.' She says.

He rushes towards me and kicks my hair and my neck, bites my nose, and my cheeks, scratches my face till it bleeds. I cry. Still crying till I call out:

'Vau-ghn, I wi-ll do i-t. I'-ll lo-ok after you a-ll so p-lea-se stop. Ple-ase.'

He whispers. His mother stops. She gets up and sits on the wooden chair beside me as if she had understood what her son said. She looks at me and rubs the back of her head. Tilts her head forcefully to the left and smiles and says 'Okay.'

And alone her last born feels. He seems the youngest. He starts to shake like he has taken cocaine. His siblings gather around him as if to inquire what was wrong but the youngest one fought back scratching their furs and continues to whine and thaw the marble floor.

I am in awe, in blood, with fear embedded in my heart.

WHERE'S MY DAUGHTER?