Chapter 4: The Brother

The State Criminal Investigation Department was quieter than Emeka expected.

Not peaceful.

Just exhausted.

The kind of quiet that settled over places where hope arrived every morning and left before sunset.

A weary-looking officer led him through a narrow corridor lined with rusting metal doors. The air smelled of damp concrete, sweat, and disinfectant that had long since surrendered to stronger odours.

"Five minutes," the officer muttered.

Emeka nodded.

His footsteps slowed as they approached the last cell.

For a heartbeat, he wasn't sure he wanted to look inside.

Nothing had prepared him for seeing his younger brother behind iron bars.

The officer unlocked the gate with a loud clang.

"Your visitor."

Chidi looked up.

For a second, confusion crossed his face.

Then recognition.

"Emeka?"

His voice cracked.

Emeka felt something tighten painfully in his chest.

This wasn't the Chidi he had left behind.

The broad shoulders that had spent years lifting engines at the mechanic workshop now seemed to sag beneath an invisible weight. His beard had grown unevenly, his eyes were ringed with sleepless nights, and the easy smile that had followed him through most of his life had disappeared.

He looked older.

Not by years.

By suffering.

Emeka stepped forward.

The brothers stood facing each other in silence.

Neither knew whether to shake hands or embrace.

Finally, Chidi laughed softly.

"You've forgotten your younger brother already?"

That was all it took.

Emeka pulled him into a tight embrace.

For a brief moment, the prison walls disappeared.

They were boys again.

Two brothers wrestling beneath the old guava tree while their mother shouted that they would tear their clothes.

When they finally let go, Chidi smiled faintly.

"You've become thinner."

Emeka shook his head.

"And you've become a terrible liar."

That drew another small laugh.

It lasted barely a second.

Then reality returned.

They sat opposite each other on a narrow wooden bench.

For a while, neither spoke.

It was Chidi who finally broke the silence.

"They ask the same questions every day."

His voice was calm.

Too calm.

"'Why did you kill him?'

'Where did you throw the bottle?'

'Who helped you?'"

He gave a tired smile.

"I keep waiting for them to ask me something I actually know the answer to."

Emeka lowered his eyes.

"They'll find the truth."

Chidi looked at him for a long moment.

"You don't sound convinced."

Emeka had no answer.

The silence between them stretched.

Then Chidi leaned back against the wall.

"You know what hurts the most?"

"What?"

"They've already decided who I am."

His eyes wandered toward the tiny window high above the cell.

"I've worked since I was sixteen."

"I looked after Mama whenever you were away."

"I've never spent one night in a police station."

He swallowed.

"But now..."

"...people hear my name and the first thing they think is 'murderer.'"

The last word barely escaped his lips.

Emeka felt shame wash over him.

Not because of what Chidi had said.

Because somewhere inside him, he already knew who should have been sitting in this cell instead.

"My lawyer says the case isn't looking good."

Chidi continued quietly.

"There are witnesses."

"Witnesses who never saw me."

"There are statements."

"Statements I've never read."

He smiled bitterly.

"Funny how strangers seem to know more about my life than I do."

Emeka clenched his fists.

"I'll get you out."

Chidi studied his brother carefully.

"You said that like a soldier."

"I mean it."

"I know."

Chidi nodded.

"But this isn't a battlefield."

His voice softened.

"This one is different."

The words settled heavily between them.

After another long silence, Chidi asked,

"How's Mama?"

"Trying to be strong."

"Adaeze?"

"She worries about you every day."

At the mention of his wife, Chidi's composure finally cracked.

He covered his face with both hands.

"I haven't even touched her stomach."

Emeka looked up.

"What?"

"The baby."

A faint smile appeared through the tears.

"She wrote that it started kicking."

His voice broke.

"I wasn't there."

Another silence.

"I keep wondering..."

He laughed sadly.

"What if my child is born before I leave this place?"

Emeka couldn't speak.

He simply reached across the bench and gripped his brother's shoulder.

Chidi looked at him.

Not as a prisoner.

Not even as a younger brother.

Just as someone who still believed.

"You believe me, don't you?"

The question came quietly.

Almost fearfully.

Emeka answered without hesitation.

"With everything I have."

For the first time that afternoon, Chidi's eyes filled with tears.

"I knew you would."

Then he looked at Emeka for a long time.

Long enough to notice what everyone else had missed.

The hesitation.

The guilt.

The weight pressing against his brother's soul.

His voice became almost a whisper.

"Emeka..."

"Yes?"

"If you believe me..."

"...why do you look like the one asking God for forgiveness?"

The words struck like a blow.

The officer's voice echoed down the corridor.

"Time's up."

Emeka stood slowly.

His legs felt strangely heavy.

As he reached the cell door, Chidi called after him.

"Brother."

Emeka turned.

Whatever Chidi was about to say seemed to change on his lips.

Instead, he smiled.

A small, tired smile.

"Come back."

"I will."

Emeka stepped out into the fading evening.

Behind him, the cell door slammed shut with a sharp metallic clang.

But the sound that followed him all the way home...

was not the closing of the prison door.

It was his brother's question.

"If you believe me... why do you look like the one asking God for forgiveness?"