CHIBOK (COMPLETED)

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Before you read, I just want to express how grateful this writer is. Thanks for the support and kind gestures. I love you all.

Cynthia heard the repeated knock, the sound came each the more forceful than before. She literally jumped from her bed and ran from the door. She opened, yawning as she admitted Grace into the room, "what's the fuss?" She asked, her voice comically widened by the yawn which she tried to civilize by cupping her widening lips between her hands.

Grace's eyes were wide, apprehension was boldly written on her livid face. "You need to come see this," she said in one hysteric breath, "Quick," she said, grabbing Cynthia's arm, and pulling like the house was actually on fire. Cynthia's mind went reeling from one happenstance to the other. She inwardly hoped that it wasn't Caleb having a convulsion spell, but she thought he was past that, beside he hasn't shown any sign of fever. She followed steadying herself with the hard wood banister as they sprinted downstairs.

"There, Look." Grace was saying as she stumbled into the living room almost knocking down a flower vase. Grace's instructions were needless; the TV had already caught Cynthia's attention. The faces were right there on the screen, and the caption, boldly displayed, 'WANTED'.

"The Metropolitan Police wishes to declare to the general public that these two men are wanted. We have reasons to believe that they work both as spy and suppliers for the insurgence. If seen, please contact the following numbers..." The monotonous voice called some phone numbers and repeated the entire information time and time again.

Cynthia stood frozen, hardly aware of the time that flew by or Grace's pacing up and down the room head bent in thought like she had the day before at the park. The announcement was repeated again, Bello's photograph and that of another man were still there for the whole world to see. And she knew that other man, or thought she did—it must be the second man that approached Bello's car at Kris and Joyce, Yes, the man had the same peculiar look—she recalled—that made him worth a curious second glance that night.

Cynthia was momentarily lost in thought and the repeated announcement was as irritating to her ears as the commotion emitted by the fabricated grinding mill they work at WES workshops. The sort that screech and shriek like an insane banshee only to resolve to clip-clops and muffled protests when filled with food items for grinding. She snapped out of her trance, picked the remote control device lying on the centre table, she clicked the switch and the screen went off. Grace's expression spoke of indifference to her actions, "What do you think?" she finally asked after a heavily pregnant silence.

"You are asking me?" Cynthia asked, still skittish. She sat on the arm rest of a chair with her arms wrapped around her torso, "I don't know what to think." Her honest reply felt like the admission of a wrong. Had she been so blind or what?

Grace ran a hand through her hair, still pacing the floor, "I don't get this? Did you ever suspect anything like this?" she asked again, "I mean, this is so..." she slapped her extended hand on her thigh, not completing the statement. She sat on the sofa, plopping to the edge with obvious agitation. "What sense can any sane person make of this?" she asked the heavy air.

Cynthia took time to compose her thoughts, Yes, she'd been suspicious about the man's life and occupation, at first, but in recent times... had she resorted to blind trust? No, she shook her head, it wasn't blind trust, and she only took him as he was—and she had evidences: his business card, countless trips, and what else? The conversation at Kris and Joyce played in her mind again.

"...What were you doing at the hospital?"

"Oh that, a friend of mine was having some issues, he came to see a doctor and I drove him there."