our truths will always be afar

The farther away she drove, the less fog clouded her mind from Ansa's command. Like cobwebs clearing from her eyes, falling away from her mind, sweeping dust from a room filled with clutter. By the time she got back to Akpata, and was driving up the road to her compound, Bassey was herself again.

She could think. She could worry. She could wonder about the new strangeness she'd felt from Ansa. Something wasn't right. She just couldn't put a finger on it. Ansa must have known it too, or she would have indulged Bassey's questions. She wouldn't have kicked Bassey out as quickly as she did. She was hiding something.

Which shouldn't have been a surprise. Ansa was always hiding something.

She wondered if it was linked to why Ansa had left four years ago. After all, that decision, like this new development, had come out of nowhere. Was it something Bassey needed to worry about? Was it something she needed to change? Considering everything else on her plate, did she have room to worry about someone who had more resources than a living being could ever need?

Driving into the open gates of her compound, she noted the bicycle leaning against the fence as the gates closed behind her. The tiny gate on the side was open because someone had walked in, or more like ridden in. As she parked under the shades, Oghogho stood from where she'd been sitting on the front steps, waiting for Bassey.

Groaning silently, she grabbed her bag and exited.

"To what do I owe the pleasure?" she asked, shielding her eyes from the sun with her hands.

"I called you," Oghogho said. "God knows how many times."

Walking past her, Bassey marveled at the strangeness of Oghogho's sudden worry.

"I'm fine. I was going to call you later."

"Hey," Oghogho said, stopping Bassey from moving further. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she replied. "Why would you ask me that?"

"I thought," she pulled her hand back and paced on Bassey's front porch. "I've been calling you all day. The last time we talked, you were going to go snooping around your father's business for secrets that Ansa probably doesn't want you knowing and so I thought… I don't know what I thought."

"Calling me all day?" she asked, pulling her phone from her pocket to check the time. 03:02 pm.

When she'd left to go to Ansa's it had been 9 in the morning. She'd spent about thirty minutes in the study before Ansa came which meant that she had close to six hours missing from her day. Cursing inwardly, she knew that if she checked her fuel tank, it would corroborate the suspicion that she'd been driving around Calabar mindlessly.

Because Ansa had made her do just that.

Sighing deeply, she gestured at her door. "Would you like to come in?" she asked.

Oghogho looked between her and the door. Like it was some farfetched thought for Bassey to invite her into her home. 

"Thank you," she said, pushing her glasses up her nose.

She offered Oghogho a seat as she dropped her bag on the ground.

"I found my father's letters," she said. "Do you want to go through them with me?"

Oghogho cleared her throat. "All?" she asked. "You want me to go through all his letters?"

Bassey shrugged. "I need a second set of eyes. Besides, it's not like my family has any secrets that everyone in Akpata doesn't already know."

"You do have a point."

"Would you like something to drink?" she said, heading for the kitchen.

"Cold water, thanks."

She turned on the tap in the kitchen and doused her face with water as it rushed before her. She could not believe Ansa had done that again. She'd thought Ansa wouldn't treat her that way anymore, but what had she really been expecting from someone who took pleasure in controlling every facet of Bassey's life?

There was pleasure to be taken from the fact that she was going to be free. After all, Ansa had said there was a component. A reason for her submission. By helping Oghogho, Bassey was going to walk right out of her covenant with Ansa. Someway. Somehow. Eventually.

Grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge, she headed back to the sitting room to find Oghogho standing by the wooden showcase where a bunch of family pictures were displayed.

"Here," she said, handing a bottle to Oghogho. 

"Is this your great-grandfather?" Oghogho asked, pointing at a photo of Harry Toubsan and baby Jeffrey.

"Yes," she said, moving away from the showcase to offload the letters from her bag.

"He has your lips," Oghogho noted. "But there's no other resemblance."

Bassey laughed. Usually, people liked to say she was the spitting image of her European ancestor. Like it was some compliment to be likened to him, rather than her grandfather or even her father of whom she was a spitting image. Because he was white. 

Oghogho's candor was very welcome.

The letters were wrapped in bundles of ten to fifteen envelopes, with different colors of strings binding them. As she untied them, Oghogho came to sit beside her.

"How are we doing this?"

"You take this," Bassey said, pushing half the pile in Oghogho's direction. "When you check the letters, put them back in their envelopes."

"How do we know what we're looking for?"

"Spells look like equations, but without Roman numerals."

"Like poetry?" Oghogho asked.

Bassey thought about it and realized that that made more sense. But it wasn't exactly poetry. There were sparsed thoughts, using symbols meant to depict certain locations, people, and times.

"Like poetry," Bassey agreed, regardless. "But you'll want to read through some of them thought. Because some discussions might be important to what we want. We'll use three piles. We'll put any letters with spells here. Any letters with important discussions, here. And then the regular ones, just wrap them back and stack them here."

As they settled into work, Bassey found herself sinking into the world of her father's companionships. These weren't letters he'd written himself, but it was still an insight into how he conversed with different people. There were letters filled with romantic, mushiness addressed from multiple people. There were letters of conflict, some filled with accusations, others filled with apologies, and more. But there were others where his companions discussed their findings. 

He wasn't a witch himself. But he was a curious man.

Every time she read a letter from someone explaining some complexity of the natural world, Bassey couldn't help wondering what question he'd asked to trigger the reply. 

"Hmm," Oghogho said after they'd been at it for a long time.

"What is it?" Bassey asked.

"What year did your father die?"

"What?" Bassey asked, looking up. "Why?"

"1928?"

"1963."

"Are you sure?" Oghogho asked.

"What do you mean?" she asked, reaching out for the letter in Oghogho's hand. "My father died in his 90s."

She remembered it like it was yesterday. He'd lived a full and adventurous life and in his final years, he'd never regretted a thing about his life. He'd gone to bed but didn't wake up the next morning.

He'd died peacefully. That's what she remembered.

She opened the letter.

Dear Ibanga,

I hope this letter meets you before it's too late. We've tried everything we could, but your previous attempts have rendered our endeavors useless. I know you're living in pain and I know you fear the same fate awaits your daughter. But it's simple, really. A vampire's blood will keep you both alive. Your ailment cannot be cured by medicine or natural manipulation. In a matter of months, you will be but a treasured memory. I know how you feel about vampires, but this is your only option. This is your daughter's only option.

Don't let your pride keep you from protecting your family.

Find the vampire, Ansa.

She is the solution to all your problems.

Love, Cynthia.

Bassey read the letter over and over, not sure what to make of it. It was dated 1928; forty-five years before her father was supposed to have died. 

"This doesn't make any sense. 'in a matter of months'," she read from the letter. "My father was hale and hearty till he died. He wasn't sick. He wasn't in pain."

"Were you in pain?" Oghogho asked.

"What? Ninety-five years ago? No, I was not in pain. I was healthy. I was doing fine. I was..." she trailed off, as she sought through her memories feeling a slight migraine.

Pressing her palm to her forehead, she groaned. Oghogho sat up and crawled to her.

"Are you okay?" she asked.

"I don't, ah," she groaned lowering her head as it hammered painfully.

Every time she tried to remember, every time she tried to think of her father's death, of the way she remembered it on the surface, it felt like she was slamming her forehead into a brick wall.

"Bassey," Oghogho said, pulling out her handkerchief and pressing it to Bassey's nose.

When she took the handkerchief, Bassey saw the blood that it had wiped from her nose.

"Is this..." Oghogho began tentatively. "Is this normal? For you?"

No, it wasn't normal. She'd gone her whole life never being sick a single day. A nosebleed wasn't just strange, it was impossible. It had never happened before.

But then again, Bassey couldn't remember a time when her own memories were trying to kill her with a migraine, so maybe it was time to reevaluate what was normal and what was not.