Book excerpt: Coming home

By Omoruyi Uwuigiaren

Dalmos didn’t just save her life; he became her silent guardian, shielding her from the crushing weight of medical bills and the trauma of her past. When Lizzy reaches out to thank her mysterious saviour, she expects a formal meeting. Instead, she finds a man drowning in a different kind of silence-the lingering grief of losing his wife to a battle he couldn’t win.

In the quiet intimacy of a “party for two,” two shattered souls begin to piece themselves back together. Lizzy is running from a toxic past and a brutal assault; Dalmos is hiding from a house filled with echoes. Together, they discover that while the world can be cruel, the right person can make it worth surviving.

Chapter 1
The task at my office wasn’t just a project; it was a paper mountain that loomed over my desk, threatening to bury me alive. Every end of the season was like this—a brutal marathon that left me stretched thin, my energy reduced to bare bones. A single mistake could be a painful fatality. I felt trapped, stuck in a hole with no way out.

The misery of the long, hard day’s work clung to me. What was the point of waking up early and lying down late, only to eat the bread of sorrow? The troubles would never end, and getting out from under them felt impossible. I was a ship without a rudder, broken and frustrated. But this job wasn’t just a job; it was my purpose, a haven from the dusty, lonely roads that led nowhere. If I had wings, I’d fly far away, but for now, I had to cling to survival and embrace the pain.

The job had made me age significantly. Wrinkles roamed freely on my face. After several hours on the computer, it is time to put the misery behind me. Working without a break can sometimes be a terrible curse. I shut down the computer because it was time to go home. 

Tomorrow is another day. I gathered my bag from the table, took out my makeup materials. Perfectly done makeup would go a long way. I quickly inspected my face in the mirror. My reflection was a roadmap of exhaustion, every line a testament to a year of missed sleep and endless deadlines. Age and frustration have duly served their notice. Wrinkles were competing for every inch of decency and space on my face. I rushed the makeup over them.

The light make up seemed to work wonders. The mess all disappeared under the heavy lines of fine layers as my beauty stood taller than the pair of legs that carried me. It was refreshing because it did not appear as if I wore a mask. It was a cherry on the cake.

My body felt like an old farmhouse, well-loved but showing its age, with every new ache and pain a creak in the floorboards.
I shoved everything into my bag, rose to my feet, and walked to the door. The familiar click of the lock and the gentle descent down the stairs felt heavy, each step a reminder of how exhausted I was. I had nothing to lose and nothing much to growl over tomorrow. I had done a sizable chunk of the job today.

My handbag hung on my shoulder. Then my legs carried me to the gate. The guards on the night shift were around.
I approached the gate. One guard rose from his corner and threw it open. Masking my frustration with a smile, I waved them goodbye. They waved back in acknowledgment as I carried myself out of the premises. Slowly, the gate slammed shut behind me. 

I was alone on the street. The city hummed a different tune now, the rush-hour traffic replaced by a ghostly quiet. I stood on the corner and took a deep breath, the night air cool on my face. The streetlights flickered, weak and unreliable, and I felt a knot of fear tighten in my stomach. Because of poor maintenance, the street lights are hardly at their best. With nothing better to do, I faced the way home and started off quickly.

As I hastened down the quiet road, hunger struck me with a dreadful sting. I had felt famished all day. The task at the office hindered me from tending to my stomach. At any rate, I could eat a house! I stopped at my favourite restaurant and settled for a befitting meal. Arriving at the restaurant, I found that they had closed for the day, dashing my hope of a good meal. I felt it was odd, but when I glanced at my wristwatch, it was hard to blame them. It was 11 pm. For security reasons, they shouldn’t be open. In this town, things can change quickly. 

I sighed, turned and walked away. I could easily count the number of road users as I approached the bus stop. This was the first time that I would leave the office so late, and I wasn’t happy about it. With the frightening night sky staring at me, I won’t work so late again. Then, my pair of legs carried me to the bus stop, where I hoped to board a bus to my destination.

As I stood alone at the bus stop, a bus pulled up in front of me. A police officer sat beside the driver at the wheel. There were two women at the rear. One appeared to be in her late thirties, while the other was in the pool of old age.

About three men occupied the seats in the middle. They didn’t look suspicious. The door opened slightly. The conductor, who was as dark as midnight and whose head was like an egg, flung out his head and looked in my direction. “Madam, where are you going?” he asked me.

“I am going to Oshodi,” I answered, not knowing what to expect. My eyes scanned the bus once again. I wanted to be sure that I was not walking into a nightmare. Thieves and kidnappers are always lurking. I don’t want to get hurt. However, the police officer in the front passenger seat made me feel safe in their company. I swallowed hard and asked, “Are you going to Oshodi?”

“Yes, the bus is going that way. You can join us.” The conductor smiled at me.
Without hesitating, I held my bag close to my body and hopped onto the bus. Slowly, the vehicle rolled onto the road. There was a sudden rush of breeze as the bus picked up speed. Going home to meet a lovely family only made me happy.

Chapter 2
The vehicle had barely rolled onto the street when I knew. I had made a terrible mistake. A hand from behind me, I suspected it was one of the women, yanked a handful of my hair, snapping my head back. Then came a sharp, stinging slap that left my cheek on fire. Before I could recover, another person rammed my head into the metal partition behind the driver’s seat.

A jolt of blinding pain shot through me, and I screamed as something wet and hot trickled down my forehead. Blood. I turned, ready to fight back, but the man beside me was already holding a gun, its cold, dark mouth pointed directly at my face. He pinned me to the seat. “Stay down, madam,” he said, his voice flat. “Cooperate and we won’t hurt you. But if you act funny, I’ll shoot.”

I was in a lot of pain. Because I feared for my life, I won’t let this slide so easily. I did not heed his advice to stay quiet or bother if he had a gun pointed to my head. Why would someone humiliate me in the presence of a police officer? I wanted his attention. “Officer, help me! I am being robbed!” I grabbed the metal bar in order to support my troubled frame and banged it so hard. 

“SHUT UP!” The gunman landed a blow on my neck. I growled, clinging so hard to the metal bar. Then he grabbed hold of me and pulled me back to the seat next. “Sit down! Don’t get on my nerves, woman!”

I looked at him with disdain. Terrible creature, he was a monument of insanity. He had a firm square jaw and thin lips hidden under a heavy line of moustache. “What are you doing? Who do you think you are?” I glared at him, fists clenched.
“KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT!” he fired back. When his attempt to break my spirit did not work as quickly as he had anticipated, he became agitated. “I have a ravenous appetite. I will hurt you if you don’t stay down.” He punched me in the face. 

Sensing danger if I don’t play along, I calmed down. But he had not finished with me. Then he raised his hand to hit me again. As I hid my face to avoid more injuries to my eyes, the blow that he had intended for my eye barely missed the target and hit my jaw. The punch to my jaw sent a lightning bolt of pain through my teeth and up into my skull. I thought I had lost a tooth. I held my jaw and groaned painfully with an eye on the officer that I thought was going to intervene and save me from the petty thieves.

The police officer barely glanced over his shoulders. “Madam, cooperate with them!” he growled.

“What?” I shook my head. The words hit me harder than the punches. “Cooperate with them.” My mind reeled. He was one of them. The cop was a lie, and I had walked right into the trap.

They threw their heads back and laughed aloud. Their laughter was a chorus of cackles, a cruel sound that echoed in the small space. I tried to figure out how to get out of the mess, but I could not think straight. 

Then the man who wielded the gun paused and asked, “What do you have in your bag?”

I swallowed hard and slowly revealed, “A few things…” The question left an unpleasant taste in my mouth.
The gunman snatched the bag from me and passed it on to his cohort. “Search the bag,” he told the fellow. 

“Alright,” the cohort said and descended on the bag. He searched through my bag quickly. My lipstick became the first casualty of the long night. He brought it out of the bag and flung it out of the window. Next was my little mirror that had followed me nearly everywhere I had gone. He tossed it out of the window. The mirror and the lipstick glued my world together. It pained me dearly that the crook had destroyed them before my very eyes. 

As he tore through the bag, while I watched helplessly, the gunman turned to me and said, “I asked you to cooperate, but you refused.” Before I could blink, he punched me in the face again. He left me with a broken nose. I buried my head between my thighs. My hands covered my mouth. The women at the back laughed. It was a free fall as they started again to beat me. They were going to kill me, and I could not fight back. Now I was sobbing dreadfully, trying not to scream in order not to anger them anymore. 

Then their leader, the man with the gun, said, “Enough! We won’t kill her.” The hand pounding ceased. “What’s in the bag?” 
“Some cash, credit cards and expensive jewelry,” his cohort replied, simpering.
“Ah, smart woman. You are fortunate we found something useful in your bag. You would have paid with your life,” the gunman revealed. “Raise your head. I want to see your battered face!” He cocked his gun and pointed it at me.
Scared that the scum could pull the trigger, I slowly raised my head. My body seemed to hurt everywhere. Oh, I could hardly see beyond my nose. I had a swollen face. I had a black eye, and a broken nose.

The man who searched the bag brought out a POS machine. He inserted one credit card into the machine. He straightened his chin and said, “Choose your next words carefully. They may be your last. What is your PIN? Tell us quickly!” 

Then I turned to the man who had the machine. I said, “Let me see the credit card. I have two separate pins for the cards in the bag. I need to see which one you inserted so that I don’t give you the wrong pin.”

As the man pulled out the credit card from the machine, the driver slammed his leg on the brake and the bus halted. 
“What is the problem?” the leader asked.
“I think we have a problem!” The driver pointed to a vehicle that was parked in front of us. It was some distance away. “Look over there!” he said. 

We all glanced in the direction. 
“Is that a police van?” the leader, who had the gun, asked.

“I think so,” said the driver.
“This is not in the plan,” the guy with the POS machine said. Now, he was panting like a terrified lizard.

“What do we do now?” the driver asked.
“We need to back off!” the leader stated. 
The man who I thought was a police officer did something strange. He took off his beret and shirt and flung them under his seat. There was panic on the bus as everyone tried to scamper to safety. Getting off the bus in the middle of nowhere and fleeing on their legs was not an option for them.

The driver hissed. He engaged the gear, and the vehicle reversed. I did not like the idea because moving away from the police van meant I was in for a long night. I was worried that they would kill me once they gained access to all the money in my account. 

“Get the things you can lay hands on and get rid of her,” the gunman said. He pushed me to the man by the door. 
They took my handset, some money in the bag and jewelry. The man who had searched my bag grabbed me by the collar of my shirt. He signaled they would open the door. Now the vehicle was moving at top speed. The conductor shoved me toward the open door. The cold wind rushed in, and then I was flying through the air, hitting the rough pavement with a violent, jarring thud. The world went white hot with pain. My bag fell beside me.

The driver turned and sped off. I thought I had lost a vital part of me. But the desire to live made me jump to my feet. I did not check for fracture for fear of what would happen next. I grabbed my bag, faced the direction of the vehicle they thought was a police van and bolted.
Scared, they could change their minds and come back for me. Perhaps with the injuries that I had sustained, I may not survive another round of torture. As I ran fast, looking back at intervals to make sure that they were not in the chase, I tripped and lost my footing. I fell on the concrete and slipped into unconsciousness.

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