Danger
.
Continues.
“When I faked that sickness, I had already
resolved in my heart to kill you.”
***
“Written by Stella Adewale?” Cynthia asked,
picking up Stella’s Robber’s Heart from my
bed. “Isn’t that our school nurse?”
“Yes,” I said. “She writes.”
“Seriously? She doesn’t even look like a
writer. I could never have guessed. What’s
the book about anyway? Let me guess.
Someone falls in love with a thief?”
I nodded. “That’s the plot in one sentence.
It’s a great read. There are many twists to
it. A thief jumps into a compound to steal,
but breaks his leg and is nursed by a little
girl who develops a daughter-father love for
him, and so she hides him in her room, away
from her mum.”
“Does the woman ever get to see him?”
Cynthia asked.
I smiled as I thought back to the slow and
steady relationship building between the
woman and the thief. “Yes. And it’s a very
humorous scene. To please her daughter,
she allows him stay with them till he
recovers. But whenever he’s about to
recover, he breaks his leg all over again, just
so he spends more time with the girl. And
then, for the few weeks it takes for him to
recover, the woman envies the bond he has
with her daughter. And so, it’s as though
they are competing for the girl’s love. The
robber seems to be winning in everything. A
fight between the girl and her mother makes
him feel bad and he sneaks out one night,
never returns. His absence makes him
realize he’s fallen in love with the woman.
And the woman realizes this too.”
Cynthia grinned. I had no idea she fancied
fiction. “What happens next? How does it
end?”
“The man is back to being a thief,” I said.
“What?” she asked. “Why?”
“He’d rather return to his old self than be
this love-sick puppy,” I said. “I can’t tell you
more. I am yet to complete the book.”
“I want to read it so bad,” she said. “It’s my
kind of story. Give me when you’re done?
Deal?”
“Deal.” We sealed our deal with a smile. The
door lazied open and my stepmother walked
in with three wine-filled glasses on a tray.
“What are we celebrating?” Cynthia asked,
reading my mind.
My stepmother smiled. As though learning a
pattern, she fixated her eyes on the wine
glasses. “We are a family again. And my
health has returned. This calls for
celebration, doesn’t it?”
“Of course it does,” I said.
Cynthia reached for a wine glass, but my
stepmother sidestepped with such speed
that alerted us. “Mum?”
My stepmother feigned anger. “Do you want
to kill the joy? I’m the only one allowed to
serve.”
“Oh, sorry,” Cynthia said.
My stepmother’s focus adjusted to Cynthia’s
black dress and her made-up face. “Why are
you all dressed up?”
“Party,” Cynthia said. “A friend’s about to
relocate to France, so we’re hosting a send-
forth party at some club. Didn’t I tell you
about this?”
My stepmother set down the tray on the
bed. “Oh, you did. I forgot. When will you be
back?”
“I’ll be back around eleven,” she said. “If I
can’t make it though, I’ll call to tell you not
to expect me. I’d like to take Vicky along.”
“Don’t even think of it!” my stepmother
yelled, a dark shadow creeping to her face.
“Mum, please, calm down,” Cynthia said.
“What’s wrong?”
“Victoria has never been to such parties,”
my stepmother said. “How do you think
she’d handle the boys, the bear and all? I
would never place her in any situation that
could harm her. And besides, I want her
here with me tonight. Or do I not deserve to
have her with me?”
“Mum please don’t talk like that,” I said.
“I’m not going to any party. I’m staying
here.”
“Thank you. Now let’s drink to our
happiness.” She fixated her gaze on the
wine. Taking the first glass, she presented it
to Cynthia. “This is yours.”
“Thanks, mum,” Cynthia said.
“And you, my dearest—” She moved her
hand to pick mine, but then she froze, her
palm hovering over the two glasses as
though she were trying to remember
something. Her face contorted with
confusion.
“Mum?” Cynthia called.
My stepmother clutched her head. “My head
hurts. But neither headache nor any other
intruder can separate me from my share of
happiness. This is yours, dear Victoria.”
Smiling, I gripped my glass. “Thanks, mum.”
My stepmother raised her glass in
salutation. “Let’s toast to our happiness.”
Cynthia and I raised our glasses. “To our
happiness,” we chorused.
Cynthia lowered her glass with a speed that
emptied it of its contents.
My stepmother gasped. “Tonye!”
Cynthia waved off her mother’s worry.
“Mum. I’m fine. Let’s not spoil the fun.”
Turning towards me, she said, “Here, let’s
share yours.”
“No,” my stepmother said. “It’s been years
since we let Vicky drink wine. Let’s allow
her have a full glass. Let’s share mine,
please.”
“Mum, I’m sure my sister wouldn’t mind,”
Cynthia insisted. I could see tension rear its
head between them.
“Do not bother the poor girl,” my stepmother
said. “If you won’t share mine, just wait, I’ll
go get another bottle. Is that okay?”
“I’m not considering that option. I’m sure my
sister wouldn’t mind. And no, I insist.”
Cynthia presented her glass, and just as I
made to pour, my stepmother swatted at my
glass. Both glasses hit the floor, spewing
glass fragments and blood-red wine.
“You stupid girl!” my stepmother growled.
“Do you have any idea what you’ve just
done?” Shaking her head, she snapped her
finger at me and stormed out of the room.
Cynthia sank down in the bed and dissolved
into tears. “I can’t believe mum tried to kill
you. I suspected this. I knew it was all too
good to be true.”
Sniffing back her tears, she went on, “I’m so
sorry this happened. She’s hated you all her
life. It was all too suspicious that she loved
you overnight. I always had a bad feeling
about it. But I couldn’t bring myself to tell
you. A part of me said I was jealous and
couldn’t handle having mum’s attention
diverted.”
Moments passed, and I said nothing. “Vicky,
please say something?”
“What can I say?” I asked. “Can you answer
the questions swirling around my head?”
“I know you’re upset,” she said.
“Upset doesn’t cut it. I feel nothing. I should
feel angry, scared, anything at all. But I feel
nothing. Nothing but curiosity. Why would
she do this? I know she hates me to the
moon and back. But kill me? Why? What
would she gain?”
“I don’t know what’s in it for her. And I don’t
want to know. This is just too much. I’m
ashamed of being her daughter. Where has
my mother gone? I do not know the woman
who tried to kill her daughter!”
“You’re forgetting I’m not—”
“Blood be damned,” she said. “Blood or not,
you are my sister. We are family. Or do
these past few days mean nothing to you?
Mum has denied us each other for so long.
Now that I’ve tasted what life is with a
sister like you, I do not want to go back to
the darkness life was without you. I’m going
to talk to mum. If she ever tries to hurt you
again, then she’ll lose us both. If she
doesn’t like you, then fine. I won’t force her
to, but she shouldn’t keep trying to hurt
you.”
I watched her storm out of the room, her
blonde wig bouncing behind her. As sincere
as she seemed, I didn’t trust her. What if
she had a hand in her mother’s plan and had
only changed her mind at the last minute?
Grabbing my phone, I dialed Sharon’s
number. She picked up almost immediately.
“Heya. My sister from another mother. How
are you?”
I swiped at my teary eyes. “Do you know if
your parents are still interested in taking
custody over me?
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “Did that
woman hurt you? poo! I knew it was all an
act. Are you alright?”
“I’m fine,” I said.
“Can you hear yourself? People who are fine
don’t cry like this.”
“I…I miss my mum,” I said.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice had softened
noticeably.
“If your parents will allow me return, I’d like
to come tomorrow,” I said. “I’m so stupid. I
just thought she was really sick and that
she’d changed and—”
“You’re right,” she said. “You’re an idiot. I
don’t want to say I told you so, but did I not
tell you I didn’t believe she was really sick?
And then, when she insisted that she
wouldn’t go to a hospital, it made me even
more convinced. And you just couldn’t see
it. That woman and her daughter are not
related to you in anyway. I wonder how you
are so attached to them. You are strangers
living under the same roof. I should stop
talking now and save the rest for when I see
you in person. When are you coming
anyway?”
Although I hated to admit it, even to myself,
she had a point. “I’ll come once it’s
morning. There’s nothing for me here. I
cannot stay here.”
“You are leaving?” Cynthia stared at me
from the doorway.
“Sharon, we’ll talk later.” I ended the call
and put away my phone.
Unable to hold Cynthia’s gaze, I looked
away. Going away was the best decision I
could ever make. Why then did the wounded
look in her eyes rip out my heart?
“Don’t go,” she said. “Please. I know what
mum did was not right, but please don’t
leave me again. We’ll stand together.”
“Cynthia,I cannot stay,” I said. “I can’t live
like this. This is not the life I want for
myself. I cannot continue in this fight. I give
up. I lose. Your mum wins. Sir Aaron’s
family is ready to accept me as their own.
I’ll be happy there.”
Cynthia’s eyes blurred with tears. It would
be a shame if she smudged her mascara
because of my supposed selfishness. “And
me? You won’t even think about me?”
Nothing would happen to her, and we both
knew that. Or could her mother give her
stone instead of bread and snake instead of
fish?
“You will be fine,” I said. “Your mother loves
you so much and you know nothing beats
that. But when it comes to me, she despises
the very sight of me. If you care about me,
then you’ll let me go.”
“I need you,” she said.
“You don’t,” I retorted. “You’ve never
needed me, so—” The hurt look on her face
alerted me to my thoughtless words. She
looked as though a dagger had just severed
her heart.
“Don’t listen to me,” I backpedaled, although
I doubted words would be any good at this
point. “I’m sorry I said that.”
She sniffled. “No, go on. Say it. I guess
that’s how you feel. After what’s happened,
I know you don’t trust me. For all you care,
I’m with mum in this. That’s what you think?
That’s how you feel, right?”
She had just described how I felt. But
admitting to this would only break her. And I
didn’t want that.
“How would you feel if you were me?” I
asked. “Would you continue living amongst
people who have tortured you so much in
the past and have now resorted to killing
you? Would you?”
I awaited an answer that never came.
Unless her tears counted.
“Your silence,” I said. “It says it all.”
“I am not with mum in this,” she said. “You
have to trust me, please.”
“I know. I believe you. You knew nothing
about it. But what does it matter?”
Careful not to step on shards of glass,
Cynthia crossed the room to meet me.
Placing her hands on mine, she pleaded,
“Please don’t go. Please stay. Don’t leave
me with her. After what she’s done, it
scares me to think I’ll live alone with her.”
“She would never hurt you,” I said, stroking
her disarrayed strands of hair into place.
“You are safe with her.”
“And as long as you are with me you are
safe too,” she said. “I will stick with you.
Mum will not be able to hurt you. I give you
my word. You stole my heart, Vicky. Who
knows, maybe with your good conduct, your
perseverance, your mildness, longsuffering
and endurance, you’ll be able to win over
mum’s heart too. You’ve always fought for
this, haven’t you? Now, just when you are at
the brink of success, you want to give up?”
“It’s a lost cause,” I said, perching on the
bed.
“You’ve made up your mind? This is it? You
are walking away?”
I let her questions go unanswered. Her voice
had taken a formal tone I didn’t like.
“Okay,” she said. “I will not try to stop you. I
just…I hope you find happiness where you’re
going.”
With the rigidity of a robot, she swiped at
her cheeks and made for the door.
“Cyn?” I called.
She halted, but didn’t turn to look at me.
“Can you ever forgive me?”
“I don’t hold grudges, Victoria.” She turned
around with a transmissible smile. “And to
prove that, I’m asking you to get ready and
come with me to the party. After what
happened here, I didn’t want to go again, but
now that I think of it, I really need to be out
for an hour or two. I need to clear my head.
And you need this just as much as I do.”
“Party?” I asked. “Me? Not happening!”
She pouted. “C’mon, it’ll be fun. Please? I
know you’re not the party type but—”
“Cynthia, I will not be going for any party at
eight in the night. Not happening.”
She plopped down beside me on the bed
and draped an arm around my shoulders.
“Hey I know you’re probably thinking terrible
things right now, but trust me. It’s fun, and
it’s safe. You’ll get to meet new people.”
I would never attend a night party. Not
bloody likely. Dad would writhe in his grave.
Or at least his remains would. Why would I
go partying at night? Possibly, I appeared
old fashioned, but I had principles. Clubbing
would speak no good of my personality, so
what’s the point?
“I know you’re not the party type,” she said.
“But I’ve already explained why it’s
important that we go out for a while. After
what mum tried to do, I don’t feel good
about leaving you all by yourself.”
Arms folded, I stuck out my chin in defiance.
“I don’t feel good about you going for a
night party either.”
“Oh, come on,” she said. “I’ve partied
several nights.”
Touché. “And I’ve spend several nights
alone with mum. I’ll be fine.”
***
Moments after I watched her walk away, I
conflicted within myself. Had I done right by
rejecting her invitation? What if something
went wrong? Something I’d have been able
to prevent had I been there?
Shoving off my pessimism, I pulled out
Stella’s Robber’s Heart from underneath my
pillow and buried myself in it.
In barely an hour time, I found the last page
of the book. It ended with Katherine’s death
bridging the gap between her mother and
the robber. At this point I wished I hadn’t
even read the book from the start. I’d fallen
in love with Kat, only for Stella to kill her in
the name of her mum’s careless mistake.
Why read a depressing book when my life
already had all the depression the world
could offer? Stella had constructed a perfect
story only to mess it all up in the end. Not
cool.
My thoughts drifted to my sister, my exact
opposite. Deep down, a part of me feared
our personal differences would threaten our
new bond. I scrolled through the pictures on
my phone. With the smiles know our faces,
one could mistake this for a magazine front-
cover. We were the perfect family. Or at
least could have been. If only stepmother’s
love was true. What about me did she
despise so much? Did the overdose of hate
not wear her down?
Something crashed into my door. With a
gasp that sounded more like a shriek, I
sprang to my feet. I tiptoed to the door and
peeked through the lens. My heart thumped
at the sight of my stepmother knocking like
her life depended on it. What did she want?
“Victoria, open up,” she said, her speech
slurred. Even from a distance, I could tell
the stench of alcohol camped around her. “I
know you’re in there.”
She waited a few more seconds, after which
she said, “You stupid, stupid girl. You should
have let me in yourself. But stupid is stupid
—”
Her voice trailed off as she staggered away.
I let out the breath I’d been holding. That
was a close one. What if I hadn’t
remembered to lock the door? What would
have become of me?
I’d escaped her this time, but soon she
would surely return. I would not wait to find
out how soon. I moved to my closet and
pulled out my travelling bag. Placing it on
my bed, I stuffed my clothes and my other
belongings into it.
The sound of footsteps and the jingle of
keys rooted me to the spot. I barely had a
moment to react when the door flung open.
Hands held behind her back, my stepmother
strolled in as though she were stepping into
her own room. My heart thumped in
harmony with her footsteps.
“I called you,” she said. “And I knocked. And
knocked. And knocked. You were right here.
You didn’t let me in. You silly, silly girl.”
Her right hand flew out of hiding. I gasped,
not at her swiftness, but at that which she
brandished; a gun, aimed at my head. I
raised my hands in defense. “Mum. Mum…
mum, please.”
“I have told you again and again, you stupid
girl.” She waved the gun, but never lost her
aim. “Don’t you ever call me mum!”
“Okay, okay,” I said, words heavy on my
chest. “I will never call you mum, if that’s
what you want. I’ll do…I’ll do anything you
want me to, I promise. Please don’t kill me.
Please mum, please.”
I eyed the gun, trying to find a way to play
‘hero’. But she gripped the weapon with a
fierce determination that spelt the death of
me. Slow desolate tears streamed down my
unblinking eyes.
“Mum, mum please calm down,” I said.
“You’re upset right now and—” Hell, what
was I even saying? She was buying none of
this.
Smirking at the contents of my unzipped
traveling bag, she said, “You even made
plans to leave?”
“It’s not what you think,” I said.
She waved off my little white lie. “Had
Cynthia not gotten in the way, we wouldn’t
have gotten to this moment. I wanted you
dead. And I still do. One way or another, you
have to die.”
I sobbed. “Mum please what are you
saying?”
As though the gun weighed heavy on one
hand, she gripped it with both hands. “What
part of ‘you have to die’ do you not
understand?”
“Mum I know that you don’t like me, and you
don’t ever want to cross paths with me, and
I can understand that. But I don’t
understand why—” I hiccupped. I couldn’t
even say those words.
“Mum please tell me,” I pleaded. “If I am
going to die, can I at least know why?”
“You are alive,” she blurted out. “I cannot
stand the sight of you. You are everything
my daughter is not.”
“Mum—” The bitter tears I’d had started to
shed could not make her mind grow soft
toward me. But I didn’t sob because I
needed compassion. I sobbed because it
was the only thing I could do at the
moment.
Raising the gun she had lowered barely a
second ago, she said, “You will not interrupt
while I speak, or I swear I will make this a
very slow and tortuous process. Do you
understand me?”
“Y-yes.” I followed the gun with my frantic
gaze. I stood like a statue, barely breathing
as she walked slow circles around me. I
could feel her piercing glare thrashing its
way through the back of my head.
“That guardian of yours,” she said. “Aaron.
He poked his ugly nose in matters that don’t
concern him. How dare he threaten to have
me serve a Child Abuse sentence? No, my
life is way too precious to be wasted like
that. But we can’t blame him now, can we?
Had he known who he was messing with, he
would have thought twice. As the fast
thinker I am, I devised a plan to bring you
back here.”
It all made sense. She had faked the
sickness. This explained why she had so
strongly opposed the idea of a hospital.
As though reading my mind, she said, “Yes. I
faked it. Are you surprised? Really, I am
surprised that you believed the whole
drama. But then again, I shouldn’t be
surprised. The offspring of two full-grown
fools cannot be anything other than a fool.
When I faked that sickness, I had already
resolved in my heart to kill you. You don’t
know how I feel each time you come close
to either me or my daughter. It took so
much effort not to strangle you to death.
Every time you came close to me, I killed
you a million times over in my mind. And
now’s the time for your death scene to play
out in reality. It wasn’t easy deciding the
method to go with. Strangling would involve
a strenuous struggle and I really am not
ready to have your filthy sweat all over me.
Stabbing would be a really messy situation,
with your blood defiling the whole place.
This brought us down to two options. The
first, as you already know, failed, thanks to
my nosy daughter. But I will not miss this
chance. It will be so much fun shooting you
with the very same gun your father had
bought for self defense. Poor, poor him. If
only he knew.”
“It’s hard to get away with murder,” I said,
hoping to ignite fear in her. “The police will
get you. What will you do then?”
She barked out a laugh. “The police? The
police are stupid. They believe whatever I
bring before them. Don’t worry, it’s all under
control. I have already portrayed myself as a
better mother. Everyone believes I’m a
changed person. So, even when I kill you
and bury you in the backyard, no one will
suspect me. I’ll discard some of your
belongings to make it seem like you ran
away. And then I’ll play the part of a worried
mother. It will work out.”
My mind revolved around a way out of this
mess. I could launch at her and knock out
the gun. But what guaranteed my survival?
“Okay, enough talking,” she said, her finger
on the trigger. Her voice, strident and cold,
worked its way into me, shattering what was
left of my broken heart.
I looked toward the doorway and found a
sliver of hope. “Cynthia?”
.
To be continued