Chapter 7

He found the edge of the shed—rough wood splintering beneath his fingertips. He heaved himself backward, the walls seeming to close in tighter. With one last push, he burst through the rotting barrier, tumbling into the eerie street. He gasped, his lungs filling with fresh oxygen, and scrambled to his feet.

Chaos reigned outside, where swirling purple rifts ripped with dark, cackling edges. Roaming monsters prowled the empty market square, their eyes scanning the lifeless bodies on the filthy ground. Machete-wielding ndiaghads moved through the desolation, offering aid amidst the horror. Of all the people in the market today, why did this have to happen to him? And Doreen—what cruel god made her a victim of the monsters?

Chinua’s eyes ached from crying too much, the dust flinging from his ripped clothes. He clenched his jaw, his mouth dry. A scream ripped from his throat—a raw, primal thing clawing its way out, shattering the suffocating silence. He felt rage twisting his guts and slammed his fist against his chest, the thud a silent echo of the war within.

Why did this befall him? He replayed the moment over and over, believing he should have saved her from those monsters. It should have been him who suffered, not her.

The skies paid no heed to his suffering, the sunlight raining down like molten rays, turning his skin from pale white to a frightful red. Hours flew by in sudden moments as he trekked along Okigwe Lane. He turned left toward the Silver Bridge over the river, stopping at its arc to stare at the water. A blurry reflection stared back, mirroring his pain.

He slipped while climbing the bridge’s metal rails, swaying dangerously before steadying himself with outstretched hands. The wind swooshed through his hair, caressing his sunburned skin.

He thought about jumping. A tugging in his gut begged him to let go, to find peace in the depths of the water. They would never find his body; he knew that. Nobody would worry about him. His mother wouldn’t grieve for long; she’d only have one less mouth to feed, perhaps even a burden lifted. Doreen was his only connection, and her departure felt like a betrayal he couldn’t shake.

If he could reunite with her in death, he would kneel before her and confess his failures. But just then, a whisper drifted over the streaming waters: “What if you could bring her back?” The voice was both enticing and mysterious.

Anger flared within him at the sound of the voice. How dare anyone toy with his grief, feeding him false hopes? “To h£ll with you!” Chinua roared, his voice cracking. “I let her die—I'm a coward. Don’t I deserve to die?”

“Open your mind to the possibility…” the voice whispered back. “Countless scenarios exist where you and she can be reunited. Where her soul never departs…”

“How dare you mention her?” Chinua demanded, his anger boiling over. He climbed down from the rails but found only empty space around him.

A thick fog rolled in, consuming the bridge. The sunlight flickered briefly, then vanished beneath the advancing mist. Rifts tore open on both sides of the bridge, glowing with an eerie light, their edges sparking, swirling colours twisting inside. Hideous monsters emerged, their scaly hides littered with dark patches, eyes glowing with hunger. They advanced in a jagged, unnerving pattern, their growls resonating like grinding gears.

Why? he wondered. Perhaps they had a job to finish or were following the scent of his guilt. They swarmed the bridge, their gaping mouths lined with razor-sharp teeth glinting ominously in the dim light.

Chinua steadied himself, trembling, forcing calm into his breath. The bridge beneath him swayed, but he remained rooted, his mind racing for a solution. Was this the end? He squeezed his eyes shut, preparing himself for the inevitable end.

The growls grew louder until they almost enveloped him, their rotting flesh brushing against his skin.

Resigned, he stopped fighting. For a moment, the monsters surrounded him, suffocating him with their presence. Then, the whisper returned, echoing in his mind, urging him to leap into the river. He opened his eyes. No one was on the bridge except the monsters that swarmed around him.

It was just a leap. Just one leap away from the bridge, over the railings, and he was flying into the river.

BOOM! A deafening sound shattered his eardrums, followed by the gushing water and freezing cold around him. He thrashed wildly, arms slicing through the water, but it pulled at him like a thousand hands, dragging him down. Soaked clothes clung to him, weighing him down like lead. Every kick seemed useless; his muscles burned as panic set in. Swimming had always looked effortless—why did it seem impossible now? His head plunged beneath the surface, cold water filling his nose and throat as he fought to rise again, lungs screaming for air. The water clutched at him, refusing to release its grip.

He gasped for air; water filled his mouth. He could barely feel his toes. Sinking into the dark depths of the water, he thought, why did I listen to that voice? He didn’t know if any of this was real. He thought he was going to die alone, nobody finding his body to bury. Deeper, deeper he sank. His breath escaped him, and his lungs screamed for air. Chinua closed his eyes and took his last breath.

At first, he felt nothing. Gradually, a pulling force began to drag him. He clung to it desperately. Soon, the hard ground was beneath him. Itchy blades of grass pressed against his back.