Content warning: This story contains descriptions and depictions of sexual abuse, suicide, and drug use. Reader discretion is advised.

Halimah dashed into the living room. Her hands trembled as she pointed towards the passage leading to Tony’s room.

“What is it? What has come over you?” Andrew bellowed giving her a cynical look.

Halimah stuttered, sweat breaking out from her pores. “It is… it is… it is Tony, sir,” she said.

“What happened to Tony?” Shalom jumped out of the brown leather sofa, slid her leg into her flip-flops and ran to her son’s room. She pushed the door open and let out a sharp cry. “Andrew!” She hurried towards her son and shook him. She used her thumb to open his eyes, tapped him on his cheek and shook him again.

Andrew appeared at the door. He shoved Shalom aside and rocked Tony. He lifted him in his arms and rushed out to the compound, Shalom on his heels. He dropped him in the back seat of the black Pajero, barked a command at Kofi to open the gate and raced out of the compound raising dust and a snide remark from the elderly woman he almost hit. His car came to a screeching halt at St. Nicholas hospital’s parking lot. He jumped out of the car to alert the nurses of the situation on ground. They swung to action, following Andrew to the car with a stretcher. They pulled out Tony and placed him on the stretcher before heading towards the back of the building where the Intensive Care Unit was located. Nurse Toun, a fair, slender nurse of average height held Shalom from going after the other nurses.

Shalom and Andrew paced the reception avoiding each other, cold stares in their eyes. After thirty minutes of pacing the full length of the small reception area, Shalom sat on a plastic chair towards the nursing station and buried her head in her cupped palm. She drew in air and let it out in a sharp whoosh.

Dr. Collins walked in through the back door to the reception. “Mr. Andrew Williams,” he beckoned at him. Shalom sprang up from her seat and hurried towards his direction. He gave her a cold smile. “Madam, let me talk to your husband in private.”

“Doctor, you don’t have to.” She raised her voice and slapped her palms together. “Say what you have to say here and now. I want to know. That is my son we’re talking about.” She wrapped her yellow, maxi gown around her and held it at her waist.

Andrew glanced at her and shook his head. “Can you just be patient for once and let me hear what the doctor wants to tell me.” He turned and faced Dr. Collins. Shalom glared at him and fell silent.

Dr. Collins looked from Andrew to Shalom and back at Andrew. He placed his hands on Andrew’s shoulders. “We tried to resuscitate him but it was too late. The damage had already been done. We’re very sorry.” Dr. Collins hurried out of their presence.

Shalom let out a shrill cry as she crashed to the floor. She pounded the floor with her fist before she gasped for air and passed out. The nurses ran to her and carried her to one of the wards to stabilise her. Andrew rested his back against the wall, placed his hands on his head and stared into space, tears streaming down his face.

Silence settled between them as they journeyed back to their house in the Ikoyi area of Lagos State. Shalom’s occasional sniffing was the only sound that could be heard in the car. Andrew almost crashed into a stationary truck along the road on two occasions. He wiped the tears that clouded his vision with his palm and managed to keep his focus on the road. Shalom and Andrew went into separate bedrooms as they entered their house. Halimah was nowhere to be found, but plates were set on the table for dinner.

~

It had been two months since Tony’s death, and Andrew and Shalom barely exchanged words, each locked up in their worlds licking their wounds. Halimah moved around the house walking on eggshells. Thankfully, the twins had been sent to their grandma’s place for the long-term break.

The gloom that lingered in the house of the Williams made it a ghost town. Shalom pushed herself into Tony’s room after many failed attempts. Each time she got to the door, she would weep and turn back, memories flooding her heart. While Tony was alive, she could count on her fingers the number of times she had gone to the room. She always had an acceptable reason not to check up on him since he started locking himself in. The room remained the same way it was since his demise. Memories of him stuck in the room and his scent was poignant. Clothes were jumbled up in the wardrobe. A picture frame of him with a football in his arm hung on the left side of the room. The medals and trophies he won for his school’s team served as memorabilia on the wooden bedside table. A full-length mirror stood opposite the bed. She ran her shaky hands on the picture, tears coursing down her cheek. Her mind wandered, replaying images of his innocent, tender chuckles and his childish antics. He was the centre of her happiness many years ago, until…

She walked over to his wardrobe and picked up one of his shirts. She pressed it against her nose and sniffed it. She rolled it, threw it to a corner, and picked another. Her mind raced. She thought she had mustered the courage she needed to clean his room. She stopped Halimah from doing it. She wanted to cling to his last memories with her every breath; it had been a long time since they shared fond memories together. She wobbled to the bed and crashed into it. She stifled the tears with the pillow as her body trembled. She pulled herself from the bed and blew her nose into the edge of her black maxi gown. She retrieved the duvet from the bed and folded it. A small transparent bottle that had a white substance fell off and rolled under the bed. A blue leather journal caught her eyes when she picked up the pillow. It held her attention. Tony was not one to keep journals, at least to the best of her knowledge. Writing was not his forte, and it was a challenge he battled with until he finished primary school. She cleared the room in haste, reached out for the bottle under the bed, and went to her room with the journal.

She made room for the journal on the dressing table. “I saw this in Tony’s room.” Her words were icy. She avoided Andrew who sat on the other side of the king-sized bed. The bedroom looked like three rooms had been merged to become one. On one side was a wooden bookshelf with collections of design and estate management magazines. A couple of inspirational books, business journals and novels occupied another section. Two bedside tables were on either side of the bed with a bedside lamp on each. The wardrobes were enclosed at one end of the room opposite the bathroom and toilet.

“Ok.” Andrew’s eyes were red and bulgy with eye bags. Guilt had formed wrinkles on his forehead. The feeling that he was responsible for the death of his only son formed a knot in his heart. He noticed that things were not right with Tony, but he turned a blind eye. He’s just being a teenager. He’ll come out of it. He clenched his fist, shut his eyes tight and fell on the bed. Images played in his mind. He remembered when Shalom informed him that they were pregnant. He lifted her and spun her around. He placed his palm on her belly, looked into her eyes, and squeezed her in a hug. It had been five years. Of pain. Ridicule. And dashed hopes. Rumours were already flying that he was either infertile or his wife must have done something to damage her womb. He watched him grow and he was involved in every detail of his life until…

“I’ll want us to go through it. There might be some things in it for us.” Shalom interrupted his thought. Shalom could not comprehend how her son who was full of life could slip away from her hands. When the doctor broke the news that the substance had done much damage, her first suspect was Halimah. She kept Tony in her care and made sure she gave him everything he needed since her schedule was always tight. She was at the peak of her career as a diplomat. No month passed by without an engagement that took her farther away from her home. Andrew was not present either. He was too focused on building his Estate Management business to think about the children. Halimah was the perfect help, ever cheerful, and always friendly. Shalom never heard any report of maltreatment. She couldn’t place a finger on why she suspected her maid.

“Would that be necessary?” Andrew replied with a gruff voice, his face buried in the stack of pillows.

“Yes, it is. I’ll want to know what is written there. I’ll want to hear from Tony one last time. You never can tell—”  

“Ok!”

Shalom picked the journal from the table and pressed it to her chest. She wished she could hear his voice and not read his words from a lifeless paper. She sat beside Andrew and placed the journal in the space between them. Shalom ran her hands on the journal, she sniffed and wiped away the teardrops with the back of her palm.

*****

I hate it in this house! I hate the place I’ve found myself! There’s no going back for me! I hate myself! 

Mum and Dad told me they waited for five years and I was their little bundle of joy. I made a grand entrance to their world and my coming was celebrated with pride, but I don’t think I’m that important to them anymore. Perhaps, I never was. My sisters, mum’s career, dad’s business, and many other things have pushed me to the back burner in my own house. I’m like one piece of irrelevant furniture in the house. I enjoyed being the centre of affection and love from my parents until Martha and Mitchel. I hated them. I hated that they came to steal the love I had all to myself. I despised my parents for allowing them to come. I wanted to be the only one. The only child in their world. I hated to share. Yes, I was selfish, and maybe I still am. I hated being the big brother and I hated the responsibilities that came with it. Dad used to carry me on his shoulders and run with me around the compound but he stopped having my time. I’ll run to him for piggybacks and he’ll yell. “Behave like a man, you’re not a boy anymore and you have sisters to take care of,” he’ll shove me aside, and carry my little sisters. I was only a ten-year-old boy in need of his parents’ attention.  Things have gotten worse in the past six years, and again, that’s why I’m coming to you as my last option.  

To be continued…