Chapter 2 - The Gateman’s Smile
The world around me tilted on its axis, spinning into a vortex of sheer, unadulterated terror. My lungs refused to draw air. Every luxury, every diamond, every sweet word Obinna had whispered into my hair over the past eight months instantly curdled into poison. The man I loved, the man who had supposedly rescued me from an ordinary life, was a monster hiding a duplicate of me in a dungeon beneath our mattress.
I scrambled backward on my hands and knees, gasping for breath, my heart hammering like a trapped bird inside my chest.
Get out.
That primal instinct was the only thought cutting through the dense fog of shock. I didn't care about the diamond earring anymore. I didn't care about the designer bags, the gold, or the luxury cars parked in the driveway. I needed to escape. I needed to run as far away from this house of horrors as my legs could carry me.
Scrambling to my feet, I threw open the walk-in closet. I didn't bother packing suitcases; I grabbed a large nylon duffel bag and threw in whatever clothes my shaking hands could claw off the hangers. I snatched my passport from the safe—remembering the code in a frantic blur of adrenaline—along with my backup debit card and my phone.
As I zipped the bag shut, my eyes darted to the mirror. The reflection looking back at me suddenly felt like a ghost. Was I the original, or was she? How long had she been down there? Was that why Obinna had showered me with gifts, molding me, dressing me, perfecting my hair and makeup to match a precise standard?
A wave of nausea hit me so hard I had to grip the edge of the dresser to keep from vomiting.
I bolted out of the master bedroom, sprinting down the grand sweeping staircase. The marble floors echoed loudly beneath my running sneakers. I reached the heavy front door, unlocked the deadbolt with trembling fingers, and burst out into the cool morning air of the expansive paved courtyard.
Freedom was just twenty yards away at the front gates.
"Bala! Open the gate! Open it right now!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, sprinting across the driveway toward the security house.
Bala, our elderly gateman who had worked for Obinna since the day we moved in, slowly stepped out of the small brick security lodge. He wore his usual neat navy-blue uniform, his face expressionless.
"Madam?" Bala said, his voice unnervingly calm as he watched me sprint toward him like a madwoman. "Where are you rushing to with your bag?"
"Open the damn gate, Bala! Call the police! Open it!" I shrieked, slamming my fists against the heavy iron bars of the automated gate.
Bala didn't reach for the remote control on his desk. Instead, he slowly reached into his pocket. He pulled out a small, old-fashioned brass key, slipped it into the manual override lock, and gave it a firm turn. Then, to my absolute horror, he pulled the key back out, raised it to his mouth, and placed it on his tongue.
Before I could process what he was doing, Bala swallowed.
His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as the key slid down his throat. He swallowed the only manual key to the fortress gates, sealing me inside.
A sickening, knowing smile spread slowly across the old man's weathered face. It wasn't the smile of a loyal employee; it was the chilling grin of a warden executing an order.
"Mr. Obinna said you might try to run if you ever found out," Bala said softly, his voice devoid of any warmth. "He told me to make sure you stayed inside until he returned."
"You're insane! You're all sick!" I screamed, lunging at the iron bars, shaking them with all my might. "He's keeping a woman down there! He's a monster!"
Bala didn't flinch. He simply turned his back on me, walking calmly back into his security lodge and sliding the glass window shut, locking it from the inside.
Panic surged through my veins like liquid fire. I spun around, scanning the high perimeter walls topped with jagged security spikes and electric wiring. There was no way to climb out. I was trapped in a cage of my own comfortable making, staring at the manicured lawns and blooming hibiscus flowers that now looked like a painted backdrop for a slaughterhouse.
And then, cutting through the eerie silence of the courtyard, came a sound that froze the blood in my veins.
Honk! Honk!
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Obinna’s signature matte-black Mercedes-Benz G-Wagon pulled up sharply outside the front gates, its deep, familiar horn echoing off the brick walls.
He was home early.
