"Sir there's someone at the lobby who said he has something for you." My personal assistant announced after knocking and gracing me with her presence. I predicted the identity of my August visitor but to be a hundred percent sure, I asked for more information.
"His name is Stan and he said he brought you the information you requested. I didn't let him in because I checked and he had no appointment with you." She replied, a tad overconfident that she was doing her job well. I commended her efforts inwardly. She was truly a great personal assistant that I could trust with the affairs of my business.
"I know who he is. Let him in." I ordered to which she gave a curt nod and walked out of my office to bring Stan in. Stan was the private investigator I hired to help satisfy my curiosity on the railway-singing lady. I found it difficult to understand why I suddenly had the strong desire to know her identity but here I sat, hoping when he came into my office, he'd give me the answers I needed.
It'd been five days since the incident at the train station and a few things had changed. Immediately I left the train station, I went to my penthouse and got to my fax machine to print out the prescription medication the doctor had sent. The next day, I was scheduled for chemotherapy. I was told what to eat and what to abstain from, the right kind of exercise I was going to work on and basically the new healthy lifestyle to practice. The sad news however, was the cancer was already in its third stage and was much worse than it would have been if earlier detected. I didn't think there was much life left for me to live but I was consoled by the nurses that if I did according to all that was required for me, I could live longer and if things got worse, surgery would be the next option.
Yay! How fortunate!
To be honest, a tiny part of me wanted to cancel it all and just go home to die but the other larger part agreed that fighting for my life was the right decision. The last thing I wanted was to disappoint my mother. If she wanted me stay alive then there was an underlying purpose behind it and I had to stay alive to find out exactly what it was. That brought me to the singing lady at the station.
Ever since I slept that night, she was always in my dreams singing and smiling at me and each time I wanted to ask her questions, I'd wake up. From my dreams she proceeded to invade my mind in reality. It grew worse that while I was supposed to be at a meeting two days ago, handling financial matters, I was busy racking my brain to get the exact lyrics to her song. When I got my consciousness back, I realised that if I didn't do something about it, I would go crazy. So I called Stan and asked him to investigate her whereabouts so I would at least get to know her more. Who knew maybe she might be a piece of this whole puzzle.
The sound of a firm knock on my door brought me out of my reverie. I watched as a man of Asian descent walk right into my office. He was a good friend of mine who helped me in many of my private researches but had never shown up in my office. We usually met at a bar or somewhere private but because I was instructed not to take alcohol anymore, I suggested we met in my office to curb any temptation to drink at the bar.
I stood up immediately to shake hands with him and gestured for him to sit. When we were both comfortably seated, I offered to get him a drink to which he declined.
"Its been what, six months since we last met, you look different. Also, you changed our meeting setting. I hope you're all right Mr Adams?" He expressed his concern, a questionable look on his face, no doubt employing his investigative skills to find out what was going on.
"I'm fine Stan. I just thought I'd change a few things around here." I lied through gritted teeth, praying he'd believe my lie.
"You know you can't lie to an investigator right? I can see through your words that you're hiding something and from the look of your face and body, that 'something' is pretty serious." I looked at my body, trying to see if my blue suit and white dress shirt gave off my emaciation but to me it all seemed like I was hiding it pretty well. Oh well, he truly knew his job. I clasped my hands and leaned my forehead on them debating whether to tell him the truth or not. Ultimately, I told him.
"I have cancer!" hearing myself say those words hurt my soul but there was truly nothing I could do. I watched his expression change from that of suspicion to somberness.
"Oh my God, that's terrible. I'm so sorry!" The last thing I wanted was pity so I waved my hands hoping to change the topic.
"It's nothing. So um, tell me what you found about her." I succeeded in changing the topic as he sat down properly and got to business.
"First of all, is this woman in all these pictures the exact lady you're searching for?" his sentence made it look like I was a stalker going around looking for different women but then I completely ignored that when I figured he was only trying to be sure he got my description right. I peered at the pictures, suddenly interested to know more in order to confirm it was the singing lady.
A very dark skinned woman, tall—about five feet eleven inches—a low cut hair tinted gold with a slant parting on the side, tiny eyes, a nose that wasn't pointed at all rather, it was flat and appeared as though she had no bone serving as the bridge on her nose, and plump lips covered in red matte lipstick gazed right back at me from the first picture. I dropped it and scrutinized the other pictures. In one the pictures which I recognized as the day at the train station, she wore a rainbow coloured tie-dye blouse and Jean shorts with white converse and a small instrument bag I predicted contained her ukulele. She wore a pair of dark shades to hide her face but weirdly I could tell she appeared to be hiding from something.
"Yes this is the lady." at last, I answered in a resigned tone, trying to sound uninterested however, in my head, I was like a dog barking with excitement while patiently waiting for its master to throw the bone so it could fetch it.
"Great! It was a really tough search trying to know her whereabouts and the reason is she's trying to live undercover because she is an illegal immigrant here in Canada." That piqued my interest.
"Please go on." I implored.
Satisfied that he had my attention, he continued, "Name: Samira Ntsama, Age: 33, Nationality: Cameroonian but raised in France. She's the first child of four children.While in France, studied music and modelled for local designers. On the quest to earn more out of life, traveled with a group of travellers into Canada on a two-year visa. Four years later and present day, she is on the list of those to be deported and has the police on her heels but she manages to escape everytime. I wonder how long that would last." He ended his explanation while scratching his invincible beard. That explained why she was chased after by the police that day. Wow!
I wondered how it felt to be an illegal immigrant. It definitely must be crazy moreover, the feeling of being caught would be unsettling. However, that sounded like fun to me; like one of those movies I enjoyed watching where the protagonist moves from one place to another, incognito and hoping they don't get caught by the authorities and if they did, an amazing race would begin usually ending with the protagonist still escaping. In this case, if she had the same luck as the protagonists did, she would always find a way to escape.
"Where is she now?" I inquired in light that she was safe from the authorities.
"Well, she got a job yesterday at a local Ice cream shop in Quebec city called Flavoured Papi. If you ask me, that sounds more like a male stripper's name than an actual Ice cream shop." He chuckled at his joke and though it sounded funny, I refrained from laughing.
"Hey, cheer up!" he advised after seeing I wasn't interested in his joke.
"Get me the address of the Ice cream shop immediately." I ordered to which he only smiled and gestured to an envelope he had placed on the table earlier on.
"It's in the file as well as every other information you need to know about her." was his reply. I nodded and thanked him.
"May I know why you suddenly have an interest in this mystery lady?" I knew sooner or later later, he would ask me this particular question that I didn't have the exact answer to.
"Believe me, if I knew the answer to that I'd tell you, but I don't." I made sure he knew that was the end to our conversation. He got the memo and stood up, ready to exit my office.
"You know, if you need my help on anything, I'm always available." He stated on his way out of my office. I decided to see him off so I was right behind him when he stated that.
"I know, thanks Stan. You've been a great business partner." with that, we shook hands for the second and last time.
"I hope you consider me as a friend and let me in on what's going on around you. Cancer is a terminal illness and you shouldn't bear the burdens alone." when he said 'cancer', I quickly looked around to be sure no one was lurking around, eavesdropping on our conversation. Fortunately, there was none around. Oh the relief!
"I'd appreciate it if you kept this between us. You and my uncle are the only ones I've told about this and I'm hoping it stays that way." I admonished sternly. He lifted his hands in defeat and nodded.
"Okay, Okay. You have my word! But consider me a friend and call me when you need my help for anything." I was moved by his compassion but I didn't let it show. Displaying my feelings often made me weak and vulnerable, something I abstained from.
"Thank you." I answered. For all that it was worth, I was grateful.
When he left, I went back into my office, picked up the envelope and stared at it for the longest time, pondering what to do next. One thing I knew for sure is, I had to see her again even if it meant going to the ice cream shop named after a male stripper.
A/N: So I'll be introducing the next character's point of view (this story is centered on Chiké and Samira) and each time I do this, I'll make sure I add the name of the character at the beginning of every chapter. Please take note of that so you can flow with the story.
Lots of love,
Osaro.