The crickets resumed their noisy business as Chidera padded as quietly as he could down the hallway, using the semi-darkness and the chirping as a mask. Halfway through the hall, he came to an abrupt stop at a classroom door and placed his palms against the cold metal. Sighing, he peered in through the door’s glass panes and smiled at the brightly coloured room.
My Den of Secrets
Let’s Talk About Sex
Posted by FemmeFaçade in My Life on July 19, 2012
Sex is a funny thing. I have a very strange way of doing it and an even stranger person I do it with. I found this quote today:
“…a person’s sexual choice is the result and sum of their fundamental convictions. Tell me what a person finds sexually attractive and I will tell you their entire philosophy of life. Show me the person they sleep with and I will tell you their valuation of themselves. No matter what corruption they’re taught about the virtue of selflessness, sex is the most profoundly selfish of all acts, an act which they cannot perform for any motive but their own enjoyment – just try to think of performing it in a spirit of selfless charity! – an act which is not possible in self-abasement, only in self-exultation, only on the confidence of being desired and being worthy of desire. It is an act that forces them to stand naked in spirit, as well as in body, and accept their real ego as their standard of value. They will always be attracted to the person who reflects their deepest vision of themselves, the person whose surrender permits them to experience – or to fake – a sense of self-esteem. Love is our response to our highest values – and can be nothing else.” ― Ayn Rand
You know, I think she is right and I wonder what the person I’ve chosen to have sex with says about me. If only people knew. LOL
The ear-splitting sound of heavy metal scraping across a tiled floor cut through the silence in the hallway. Even the crickets that had been chirping away merrily put a halt to their activities as the intruder cautiously side-stepped into the building. He’d never noticed before now how noisy the entrance door to the school building was on account of the fact that it was always flung wide open from 8am, when school officially opened, to about 6pm, when the last of the students were expected to be gone. Plus, the hallways were always crowded with loud rambunctious teenagers, so opening or closing the door would go pretty much unnoticed.
Once inside, Chidera started to shut the door and then thought better of it. The initial screech was loud enough to alert any presence in the building of an intruder but one could easily brush it off as imagination. A second screech, however, wouldn’t be so easy to ignore. The last thing Chidera needed was someone coming to investigate his presence here. He wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t alone in the building, but taking the risk was out of the question. Leaving the door ajar, he started down the dimly lit hallway, mostly feeling his way through as the only light supply was from the steadily rising sun peering in through the glass panels and the crack from the door he’d left open.
The crickets resumed their noisy business as Chidera padded as quietly as he could down the hallway, using the semi-darkness and the chirping as a mask. Halfway through the hall, he came to an abrupt stop at a classroom door and placed his palms against the cold metal. Sighing, he peered in through the door’s glass panes and smiled at the brightly coloured room. The room transformed before his eyes and suddenly, everything was like he remembered – The oversize bean bags were scattered across the floor, math and science posters lined the walls, there were all sorts of science and chemical sets on the tables, and a tall, dark-skinned girl was bent over one looking intensely awkward as she tried to concentrate amidst the noise blaring around her.
A chill breezed through the hall and Chidera shivered, snapping him back to the present. Sighing once more, he pried himself away from the door and continued down the hall. Time was of the essence. He needed to get what he’d come for before students and faculty members started arriving, and the sun was beginning to peek from behind the clouds outside. At the end of the hall, he turned a corner and bounded up the first flight of stairs but the unmistakable sound of whistling ground him to a halt just before he started on the second flight. There was someone upstairs. Of course, he’d factored in the possibility of someone actually being in the school this early, but it isn’t exactly easy to put theoretical plans into motion.
Chidera crouched low at the foot of the stairs and strained to listen. He determined that the source of the whistling was in one of the classrooms at the end of the hall ahead of him. That would have been perfect if he was going to the art studio or music room, in which case all he’d have to do was round the corner after the stairs, but his goal was the computer room upstairs and the next flight of stairs was down the hallway the whistling was coming from. Turning back at this point really wasn’t an option. Someone had tipped him off about the police coming over to the school today and he had to get to Sola’s computer. He just needed a small opening; a distraction of sorts that would allow him to pass by the occupied class unnoticed. As if on cue, he heard what sounded like water being ringed out of a mop or rag and figured he had a couple of seconds to get to the other end and the hall before the janitor looked up again.
Now or never…
“That’s terrible, baby.”
“It’s more than terrible, K.” Bisola shifted on her bed and put her legs up on her lavender wall. “All that blood…” She shuddered as the image of her sister covered in blood, lying lifeless and drained on the cold, disgusting tiles of a public bathroom pushed itself to the forefront of her mind for the umpteenth time that day.
“You shouldn’t have had to see that. I’m sorry.” Kareem crooned into his phone. “Do the police have any leads yet?”
“Not yet. But they’re going over to the school today, so they should be able to get some useful information.” Uncomfortable again, she turned onto her belly and ran her free hand across the plush carpet beneath her. “Everyone’s just so confused. I’m still in shock, even.”
“I can imagine.”
“Can’t imagine who’d want to hurt Sola so badly. What could she have done to deserve being murdered? And why would they do it in a public bathroom of all places?!” A knock on the door interrupted Bisola’s rant. “Hold on, bae.” She whispered into her mouthpiece before tumbling off her bed and going to open the door.
Mrs Odukoya stood at the door, dressed in a simple floral maxi dress. “Hi dear”
Bisola stood, taking in her mum’s simplicity. She couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen her mum looking so simple and without any make-up on. There was no denying how hard Sola’s death had hit her. “Hey, mum. Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Mosun forced a weak smile “I was about to head out, but I don’t want to drive, the drivers are out on errands and I can’t seem to find your brother anywhere.”
“Oh! He left pretty early; said he has some stuff to sort out or something.”
Watching her mum’s crestfallen demeanour get even sadder broke Bisola’s heart. “You know what, mum? I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t have to do that, dear. I’ll manage.”
Bisola laughed “Come on, mum. Lemme just get my bag. I’ll be right down.”
“Alright” A small smile playing on her lips, Mosun headed downstairs to wait for her daughter.
Her mum out of earshot, Bisola put her phone back to her ear. “Sorry sweetie. I have to go.”
“That’s alright,” Kareem’s smooth accent drifted out of the speakers “I’ll see you in a couple of days.”
Bisola all but screamed “Really?!”
“Of course, I’m flying in on Tusday. Have to be there for my baby in tough times, don’t I?”
Inspector Mustapha Nuhu sat on one of the cushioned chairs in the Guidance Counsellor’s office, staring at the spines of the numerous self-help and improvement books that lined the mahogany shelves. He’d attended government schools, growing up; and had to walk by fancy schools like this one, every weekday, on his way to school. Sometimes, he’d linger across the street and watch the students pile in, being dropped off in fancy cars, laughing and high-fiving each other, longing so desperately to be one of them. Unfortunately, those schools came as just one part of a lifestyle that was well above his family’s means and he’d worked extra hard to put himself through university. He’d always secretly resented those rich kids he saw gallivanting around campus, not bothering to read or obey campus rules because they deemed themselves above all the rest.
In more ways than one, his career path had opened his eyes and shown him that there was more than plenty to be thankful for where his upbringing was concerned. The rich had problems that even all their money couldn’t solve. Why else would he be here, in a plush, exquisitely designed room dedicated to helping students with emotional or educational problems, interrogating students and faculty about the murder of one of their own?
Mustapha’s thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door and he turned to see a tall, light skinned boy walk into the room. If he had to guess, he’d say the boy was 19, at least. Obviously played some sort of sport as well; basketball, judging from his height.
“Good morning.” Chidera said as he shut the door behind him and stepped forward to shake the inspector’s hand.
He took Chidera’s outstretched hand “Good morning.” He noted how firm Chidera’s grip was and gestured to one of the seats before the desk. “Have a seat.”
“Thank you.” Settling into the soft cushion, Chidera thought back to the last time he’d been summoned to the GC office. Just a few weeks back, he and Sola had been invited in and told they’d both being nominated for the position of class valedictorian.
Nuhu continued studying the boy lost in thought before him. Information from some of the people he’d already questioned led him to believe this was the person he needed to be talking to. He cleared his throat. “Let’s get right to it. I understand that you and the deceased were close.” He paused, waiting for a reaction. Nothing “Can you tell me what she’d been up to in the days leading up to her death?”
Mustapha raised an eyebrow “Excuse me?”
“She was murdered.”
“Yes, well…” Mustapha cleared his throat again “What can you tell me about her activities?”
Chidera shrugged “Graduation was around the corner. She was doing what every girl who’s about to leave high school would do: picking out dresses, partying with friends, that kind of stuff.”
“Didn’t notice anything out of the ordinary?” Chidera shrugged again “What kind of people did she hang out with?”
“Sola wasn’t that kind of girl. She mostly just kept to herself. Besides her family and me, she rarely socialised. I doubt she was involved in anything shady, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“You know,” Nuhu leaned on the desk and rubbed his temple “I’ve heard a lot of that today. ‘OH, Sola was great!’, ‘Sola was so sweet and quiet.’, ‘Sola was an angel.’ In my experience these are the people who have something to hide.” He stared at Chidera, watching his face closely for even the slightest reaction. Chidera’s face stayed straight, unyielding “If you know anything at all that could help us catch the person that did this…”
When Chidera spoke, his voice was flat and even “Honestly, her family is in the best position to know. There really isn’t much I can help you with.”
Before Inspector Nuhu could say anything else, there was a knock on the door. A uniformed policeman stepped into the office and saluted. “Sir, we located the computer assigned to the deceased in the computer room. All the files are deleted. The hard disk is empty.”
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Patience had never been one of Bisola’s strongest virtues, and waiting for the doctor to come clear Sola’s body was working the last string in her muscles. She’d starting tapping the wooden desk with her French-manicured nails to distract herself, but it wasn’t working and the sound itself was starting to annoy her. Retrieving her hand from the desk, she placed it on her lap and busied herself with studying the doctor’s office instead. Her eyes travelled from the file cabinet to the newly fixed green carpeting, scanned the bookshelves now mostly occupied by numerous files and glanced at the papers on the desk in front of her before finally settling on her mother seated next to her. Bothering the feeble, shaken woman with her childlike impatience at that moment, Bisola deduced, would be an inappropriate move. She’d just have to wait it out.
Dr. Ben Ndukwe had been their family physician for as long as Bisola could remember. They’d moved with him from Zanclin Medical Centre, to the NNPC Hospital, and now to National Hospital. It only made sense that he’d be the one to oversee Sola’s autopsy. Considering they already knew Sola was obviously stabbed, Bisola couldn’t wrap her mind around the need for an autopsy but her father had insisted. Waiting was taking a toll on her; the silence in the room just made waiting tenser, and even the cool room started to seem hot. She was just about to reach breaking point when the office door finally opened.
“Sorry to have taken so long.” Dr. Ndukwe entered the room and shut the door behind him.
“That’s alright, doctor.” Mosun said as the doctor took his seat in front of her. “I trust everything’s set? We can take her now?” Her voice was low, subdued with weariness and mourning.
“Actually, that’s why I was delayed. There was a slight irregularity.”
“Irregularity?” Mosun looked like she was about to crack. The poor woman couldn’t handle any more bad news.
Bisola took her mother’s hand and turned towards the doctor. “What’s the problem?”
“Well, it’s not exactly a problem… It’s just that we found amniotic fluid in your daughter’s blood.”
Mosun’s eyes opened wide, and her words caught in her throat, Bisola, oblivious, continued to stare at the doctor. “What does that mean?”
“It simply means…”
Mosun cut him off, speaking to no one in particular, her voice just slightly above a raspy whisper.
“…Sola was pregnant.”
HOUSE ON THE ROCK
You can read all episodes of HOUSE ON THE ROCK HERE