Chapter 4

The week was ending. We were to return to Enugu the next day. It was a Saturday evening. Dark clouds hung. Files and equipment being carried to shelter. I tied my hair into a messy bun, wore a cap, and stepped into the rain.

"The story project is over?" a man approached.

"We're leaving."

I raised my head. He stood with quiet composure, sunglasses, a baseball cap. His face study in sharp angles, anchored by a trimmed mustache. His build was athletic without being imposing, wearing a smile that carried his puffy cheeks.

"Nkpuru mma."

Only one man called me that.

He stepped closer. Slowly removing cap and glasses, with his smile still fixed. I saw it, a thin scar through his left eyebrow.

"Dad?" I shivered.

I didn't walk, I collided into him. My arms wrapped around his neck. He lifted me slightly off my feet, holding with terrifying, desperate tightness, as if he could squeeze a decade of missed birthdays into a second.

Then grief turned to fury.

"Where did you go?" I sobbed, pulled back, hands turning to fists. I struck his chest. "Twelve years, Dad! Do you have any idea what they did to me?"

He didn't pull away. He just took the blows, his own eyes shining with unshed tears, before grabbing my wrists gently and pulling me back into his chest.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm right here."

I went limp against him, dissolving back into exhausting heartbreak.

"Talk to me, Dad." We slowly pulled away.

"I'm in the lion's den," he said, leading me to a corner. "I saw things I wasn't supposed to see. All I could do was keep you and your mum safe."

Rain drizzled.

Footsteps approached.

"Kiet?" A figure leaned in the shadows, interrupting our conversation.

"Oh! Grace!" He stepped into the light.

"Dad, this is my friend Kiet." They shook hands. "Nice to meet you, Sir," Kiet smiled.

He stepped back, took out his phone, and spoke into the mouthpiece. "Target confirmed."

"What did you just do?"

He lips shaped to an evil grin.

Seconds later, the thumping of feet, an army of men encircled us.

"There is no Kiet Mensah. It's only Donald Hackney." He laughed with a British accent. "You always did choose your friends poorly, Grace."

"Daddy would be so proud," he sounded Posh. "Get them." And they gathered in.

He pushed me behind him. As the first man lurched forward, he swung, a heavy punch that staggered the attacker. He threw sharp kicks, defending me with the desperate strength of a man who had everything to lose.

I screamed for help. Twelve years of memory flooded back. The present dissolve as panic gripped me. I staggered to a corner, paralyzed by trauma, I watched the man I waited for decades being ripped away again.

Suddenly, a figure bolted into the alley. Kenji launched into action, landing a powerful punch. He somersaulted, inserting himself as a human shield between me and the remaining men.

A silver Sienna screeched around the corner. Two men grabbed him.

"Chisom, run!" he bellowed.

Donald pulled a blade, stabbing him twice in the belly. Blood gushed, his strength evaporated.

"I'll come back for you!" he choked as he was shoved into the Sienna.

"Don't you dare make another promise!"

Fight or flight.

A choice was to be made. This was the turning point my life. Not the decision to apply for the internship or to get on the plane. This moment was it.

I had questions, and before I could get a proper answer, father was taken away. I had been betrayed.

The sienna's tire spun, speeding into the night.

"Grace-san, we gotta go", Kenji yelled.

Flight.

We sprinted through the downpour. We fled into the safety of the shadows as the rain washed away our footprints.

"Leave her for now," Donald ordered

Nowhere to run or hide. Returning to camp was dangerous. Grandma's place meant putting them at risk. Busan was my only choice. But Nigeria is home too. I failed.

What began as an ordinary internship became a cultural exchange and coming of age story, now a crime scene. I hoped it was a dream but I wasn't waking up. No cast and crew stepping out for the next scene.

This is real, probably the end, or perhaps the end of the beginning.