Eleven years later

The hall for the Annual Academic Competition of Lagos is gracefully adorned with ornate lighting and minimal decors with subtle colors of burnt orange and peacock blue. On both sides of the large podium are two large vases that contain colorful chrysanthemum flowers.

The chairs in the hall are decorated with ribbons and are sparsely arranged to aid smooth and easy movement. The spacious hall is moderately filled with students at junior secondary school levels from different schools.

The students who form a part of the audience alongside their teachers are ready to cheer on the representatives of their respective schools with hopes that their cries and cheers of encouragement will motivate and spur their representatives to answer the quiz questions correctly.

Seated on the minimally decorated podium are four young girls of ages ten and eleven years old. The four girls are dressed in different school uniforms to represent the schools they come from by answering forthcoming questions to the best of their ability.

At first glance, one can tell that the four girls are among the less privileged part of the world. One of them is wearing tattered leather sandals, while another girl has a torn hole in the hem of her pinafore. They look like children whose parents could barely cover all of their educational needs and expenses.

These four girls aren't the only ones who look unkempt. The students seated among the audience don't look so well either. Even their teachers. The students are uncomposed, they are doing a lot of side talking, and they seem too fascinated by the sight of the minimally decorated hall — as though they'd never seen something beautiful before.

They are wearing uniforms with permanent stain smears — because they can barely afford to buy another uniform. The teachers look like they haven't been paid their wages for six months. It shows in their haggard appearances, unshaved beards, and tattered wigs. But they are all smiling, clinging to this competition as their only hope for a breakthrough. Six hundred thousand naira isn't child's play.

Beside the four girls is a lanky man with a flying mustache. His appearance speaks volumes — ear-assaulting volumes and his high-pitched voice is enough causative factor for migraine. He is the emcee of the event, and he will be asking the questions which have already been prepared for the competition.

Everyone is full of hope and bubble. They are expectant of many things, but the most important thing on the list of their expectations is the arrival of the chairman of this occasion — the brain behind this competition. Without his presence, the competition can not commence.

Thus, while they all wait impatiently for his arrival, the emcee tries to stall for time by saying all sorts of things.

"Welcome everyone! To the second edition of that Annual Academic Competition of Lagos! This prestigious competition remains the talk of the town each time its season is upon us. Congratulations to the schools that have been shortlisted. Kudos to the representatives for making it this far. Now,  let's see which school is going to take the medal today! Is it Seraphina College? Gibson Academy? Mary-Ann Montessori or—"

The emcee's words are cut short when the big glass doors of the activity hall burst open in a subtle manner, revealing a tall, lean man of age twenty-five in a sleek black suit. His shoes are immaculately laced and pitch black. With each step he takes, his long strides pronounce a subtle danger that only attentive ears can discern.

He embodies evil and villainy, but his unearthly grace and elegance make his presence worthy of worship. He is a rarity. If you happened to see his shadow, you should count yourself lucky. His aura alone is enthralling. It leaves an unforgettable feeling within the people nearby.

But it is never his intention to have such a magnifying, unique presence. More than anything, his desire to remain behind the scenes is topmost. But how can a man as handsome and as intriguing as him not make heads turn — even in the dungeons and dark alleyways?

Silence and discreteness are ironies — especially when these qualities are coupled with an authoritative presence and a handsome face. They do the exact opposite of what you intend for them to do — instead of repelling attention, they attract it faster than a magnet.

All he ever wears is black. His wardrobe is filled with black clothes. It was one of his intentional efforts to make sure he never attracts any attention. But pitch black has never looked so alluring and sexy on any man as it did on him.

He is bitterness in human form. He is doom. But the smooth lines of his sharp, well-defined face, his muscular shoulders, and the impeccable straightness of his suit and shiny shoes effortlessly provide a sweet illusion to him — as though the slightest encounter with him will smoothen every rough edge of your life.

The members of the audience have now got the hang of who's just walked in. And their attention is torn away from the blabbering emcee to this new man whose presence spoke louder words than the emcee could have ever uttered.

The emcee himself had to pause his speech to bask in the hellish but alluring halo of the mighty presence of Mr. David. His halo radiated brighter than the entire solar system. The emcee had seen this man many times, but his presence never ceased to feel like a new morning.

But he dare not say a word. He dare not reveal the identity of this man to the audience. If anyone from the audience knows that he is the founder of this competition program, his head will be a delicious feast for the vultures within five hours.

So as David takes a seat among the people as though he were just an ordinary member of the audience, the emcee swallows every unsaid word quickly. Hopefully, the utterances travel past his esophagus.

The audience is slightly shocked that the emcee didn't acknowledge the presence of the person who'd just walked in. Then they assume that he isn't the one. After all, the strange man is wearing sunglasses. Perhaps, the emcee couldn't recognize him and didn't want to spread false information. Also, why will the chairman of an event sit among the audience as though he were some ordinary person?

But the emcee knows better than to talk. Instead, he proceeds to begin with the competition now that the chairman is here.

David loves where he's sitting because it gives him a better view of the four girls seated on the stage. They are the only people he cares about right now. Although none of them looks like his Sindara, he is still full of anticipation and excitement for which one of them will be following him home tonight.

After staring and scrutinizing each of them beneath the shade of his sunglasses for a good moment, he smirks and licks his lips. It was high time he added another girl to the secret little community he was building.

"Ahem!" the emcee clears his throat to proceed with the order of the event. "Are you ready for the quiz, young girls?" he brings out a large piece of paper from the inner pocket of his suit.

"Yes!" the four girls answer and nod with enthusiasm.

"Great! There are thirty mathematics questions here, and you are to pick any number of your choice from numbers one to thirty. You have one minute to answer the questions. If you don't answer the question correctly, bonus marks will be given to whoever can answer correctly. Is that understood?"

"Yes!" they respond.

"Good. Jemima from MaryAnn Montessori, you will go first. Now, pick a number."

The dark-skinned girl stares into thin air for a moment. She looks shocked — as though she didn't expect to be quizzed first. But once she looks at her classmates and teachers among the audience, she is encouraged.

"Erm... Number four."

"Okay," the emcee looks at the paper and reads out the question from the number she's picked. "Make x the subject of the formula in 2v = m + x²."

The alarm beeps, signaling that her time is ticking.

Jemima swallows thickly and instantly begins to regret picking that number. Quickly, she begins to scribble on the sheet of paper before her, trying to solve the equation. After canceling each trial about ten times, the alarm beeps again, signaling that her time is up.

"What's your answer?" The emcee asks the girl.

"Erm... 2x."

David laughs from where he's sitting. What a dense girl she is. She could have just said she didn't know the answer instead of saying something so stupid.

"Wrong!" the emcee cries.

The girl's face falls in disappointment.

"Who else can answer the question?" the emcee looks at the other three girls.

They, too, look puzzled. They start to scribble on the paper, trying to find the answer. But one of the three girls doesn't look so troubled. Even from the way she's scribbling on her piece of paper, one can sense her confidence. Before the emcee declares the answer, she raises her hand to signify that she knows the answer.

"Go on, Gertrude," the emcee nudges the light-skinned girl.

"The answer is x = √(2V - M)."

"Correct!" the emcee yells.

On the projected screen, two marks are awarded to Gibson Academy.

The members of her school who are a part of the audience applaud their representative loudly. David smiles. He is impressed with the girl. Perhaps, she's precisely like Mr. Louis had said. He is rooting for her.

"Gertrude from Gibson Academy, now it's your turn," the emcee says with a smile.

"Number fifteen," the girl picks a number.

"Okay," he proceeds to read the question. "Ada spent ¼ of her savings on a necklace. She then spent ½ of the remainder on gifts for her friends. If what is left is ₦2,400, how much was her savings? Option a—"

"6,400," Gertrude goes on to answer without giving the emcee the chance to read out the options. And she answers without trying to calculate the answer on her sheet of paper.

"W-wow! Correct!" the emcee screams delightfully.

Members of Gibson Academy applaud their representative again. Their excitement is building up because it feels good to have their student win two times in a row.

"Chinelo from Seraphina College, it's your turn to pick a number."

"Number two," the girl answers with hopes that the question will be as easy as her choice of number.

"Evaluate the following:
[½ + ⅕(8 × ¼ + 2)] ÷ [½ - ½ × ⅘]" the emcee reads out the question.

The bald girl begins to make her attempt at solving the question on her worksheet as soon as the alarm rang. But in the twinkle of an eye, her time is up, and her palms are moist with sweat, and perhaps, silly answers.

"What's your answer?"

"Zero," the girl replies.

The emcee uses the back of his hand to cover his mouth to hide his laughter from erupting to hearing reach. "Wrhoong," he says, his snorts filling up his words. So much for trying to keep his laughter at bay.

"Who else can answer the—"

Again, Gertrude raises her hand to signify before the emcee can ask the other girls.

"Hmm, Gertrude," he calls her name with a tone of excitement. "What's your answer?"

"Thirteen."

"Voila! Correeeeect!" the emcee screams with euphoria.

And that was how the rest of the quiz session went — with Gertrude from Gibson Academy, answering most of the questions correctly — both questions that were meant for her and those that weren't. The questions that the other girls managed to answer had been by sheer effort and a little show of mercy from God since they were getting zero marks too often.

As Gertrude correctly answers each question with confidence, David gazes intently at her. The more he watches her, the more of Sindara he sees in her with each passing minute: the way she unconsciously twirls the tip of her hair at intervals, that sassy flicker of her thumb against her elbow each time she feels happy, and even the way she crosses her legs like a modest little girl.

Everything reminds him of Sindara. He can't wait to get a hold on Gertrude. But he knows he has to wait for her to win the competition to take her with him safely and without unnecessary problems. Mr. Louis's report was always accurate. This well-trusted right-handed man of his had told him that he would love Gertrude, and indeed, he did — even beyond what he'd imagined. She's intriguing, and he can't wait to know all of her.

"Now, it's the time for the last round!" the emcee's voice brings David back to reality. "You have numbers twenty-five, three, eighteen, and twenty-two left. There won't be any bonuses for this round because this is a chance at redemption for the students with low scores. Are you ready?"

"Yes," the other three girls don't answer with much enthusiasm as they had from forty minutes ago.

"Jemima, pick a number."

"Number eighteen."

"Express 1,244,788,942 in words."

"Erm..."

David can't believe his ears. Erm?! For a question as simple as that?

"One million, two hundred and forty-four thousand, seven hundred and eighty-eight, nine hundred and forty-two."

"Wrong!"

"Chinelo, your turn."

"Number twenty-five."

"Convert 237 base 10 to base 8."

"355."

"Correct!"

Chinelo stomps her foot to the ground, glad that she got the answer right even though she knows she is nowhere close to winning the competition. She wished she'd prepared harder if only she had an idea of the math genius she would be competing with.

"Temiloluwa, pick a number."

"Number three."

"Ade's father is six times as old as him. In 20 years, his father will be twice as old as him. How old is Ade now?"

"Hmm... Six?"

"Are you asking a question or answering the question you were asked?" the emcee asks, looking confused.

"Erm... My answer is six."

"Hmm. Very close to the answer. But you're wrong!"

The girl gasped.

"Gertrude," the emcee smiles at the math genius. "The only question left is number twenty-two, so I'll go ahead to ask: Share ₦12,000 between Ayo, Bolu, and Caleb in the ratio 4:5:6. How much is Caleb's share?"

"4,800."

"Correct!!!"

The members of Gibson Academy rise to cheer the obvious winner of the second edition of the Annual Academics Competition of Lagos. Gertrude, who is clearly savoring every moment of the praise, cheers, and sweet congratulatory words, smiles sheepishly. In the process of smiling, she tucks a piece of her hair behind her ear.

Her smile is a shy one — one that shows the child-like side of her. It's a smile that can be likened to that of a little girl whose older brother was pampering. As David watches her smile, the sight of her begins to transform into something else.

Slowly, an image of Sindara smiling on one afternoon fifteen years ago when he'd bought her a ribbon replaces the view of Gertrude on the stage. He can see her in the same pleated blue dress she was wearing that afternoon. The podium before him transforms into the living room from fifteen years ago. He can hear her giggling loudly and talking about how tacky it was of him to have bought her a ribbon for Valentine's Day.

Suddenly, his head begins to throb, and his vision becomes foggy. His hallucination is so vivid that the sudden disappearance of the illusion stabs at his heart like a sword. His harsh reality sets back in. His usual episode of depression is beginning to occur in this public space.

If he'd listened to the doctors from his past and had agreed to take antidepressants medications, he probably would have been feeling better by now. He won't be having these hallucinations anymore. But he'd intentionally refused it.

Consuming pills will stop the hallucinations. If he is trying to stop having hallucinations, that would mean that he is admitting that Sindara isn't real and no longer exists. That means he is trying to get over her death and move on. These are things he doesn't want to do. He doesn't want to get rid of her.

He doesn't deserve to move on. He still wants these little visions of her that appear now and then — even though it comes at the cost of a splitting headache. These little visions give him hope of redemption, that he can still bring her back to life, travel back in time to that fateful afternoon, eleven years ago, and save her. After all, that's the reason he's doing what he's currently doing.

David notices the crowd and their excitement as the emcee announces the scores of each of the students and officially pronounces Gertrude the winner. Quickly, he gives Mr. Louis, his right-hand man, a call.

"Meet me at the park. Bring Gertrude along with you. Credit the school's account with the cash prize and don't leave any reasons for suspicion. Just take her away from the stage. The emcee will handle the rest."

"Understood, boss," Mr. Louis answers curtly.

David straightens his suit and gathers the last strength left within him to stand up because the headache he feels is still threatening to split his head open. He leaves the hall quickly — before anyone will become suspicious of him.

***

Immediately Gertrude wakes up from her unplanned slumber, she resumes her crying. It's unfair to have been kidnapped by a strange psychopath shortly after the best moment of her life. And now, where the hell is she? What the hell is this place?

She looks around her surroundings, and it feels as though she's traveled back in time with some kind of time machine. The living room she's in looks like one from the nineties. The patterns on the chairs are outdated, mundane, and are in dull brown colors. Instead of the rolling blinds that many modern houses use for windows, the window in this living room doesn't even have a curtain, and the shutters of the window are of the burglary design.

The television is tiny. It's a box-sized appliance. When last did she see a tv as small as this? What the hell is this place? Where is everyone she knows? Her classmates, her teachers, the emcee...

Gertrude turns to the right side and what she sees makes her even more confused. She sees three girls of the same age as hers seated on a more expansive armchair, dressed in bright clothes and colorful hair ribbons. Fear seizes Gertrude.

Is she going to become like these girls? Why is she here with them? Why are they even here? And... Why do they look so happy and comfortable? The way they are smiling and laughing as they play with their toys and Barbie dolls causes Gertrude to doubt that they are in danger.

Still, she's desperate for answers and is still afraid. She can never be sure of anything — especially in a certain, unknown, dingy place. Gertrude is about to scream and make some form of noise when she realizes that there is a duck tape plastered against her mouth.

Her heart begins to race madly. Before she tries to remove the tape, she looks down at her hands and feet and sees that they are tied with ropes.

One of the happy girls sitting on the longer armchair throws Gertrude a surreptitious glance as if to quiet her down and silently warn her to stop disturbing their fun with her muffled noises.

It is now that she knows he's going to die. Why else would these girls be less concerned about her? It's because they know that she's dead meat. This is how it always is in the movies. She is in real trouble. Any moment from now, her killer will appear.

And he does. His strides are slow and calculated, and even the mere noises from his footsteps bear a thick, destructive aura. He still has his sunglasses on, and his jet black hair is shiny. The lines of his suit are impeccable. Who knows, his way of killing her will even be smoother.

When he stands in front of her with his tall frame completely overshadowing her, he brings his hands down to her hair and begins to stroke her head. Then he pats her gently on the back. Gertrude manages to turn her head away. She tries her best to avoid his touch.

"I won't hurt you. Relax," the thick voice of this psychopath mister sends a million chills down her spine.

Relax, my foot! Gertrude curses inwardly. If he's not going to hurt me, why did he kidnap me and tie my legs and hands in ropes?

As though the man heard her thoughts, he removes the tape from her mouth and goes on to untie the ropes from her hands and legs. All the while, he does it gently and with some sort of affection — like an older brother. Only that this psycho is not her brother, and she's not supposed to trust him for any reason whatsoever.

Once her lips are liberated from the stickiness of the tape, she bursts into a coughing fit. Gertrude coughs with so much intensity that the veins on her temples are visible as though they will tear into pieces at any minute. While she coughs, David pats her back gently.

"Why am I here, mister?" Gertrude asks once she's able to stop coughing.

"To be taken care of — like these other girls you can see here," the mister smiles.

"Please, mister," Gertrude decides to beg him. She figures that speaking rudely to a man as unpredictable as the man before her may cost her her life. "I don't want to be here. I want to go back home. I want to be with my teachers, my classmates, my friends," Tears pour down her cheeks. "Mister, please think of my parents. Do you even know they must be feeling right now to know that their daughter is missing?"

The reality of the fact that she may never be able to go back to her old life shakes her to the core. How swift it always is when your life changes into something so foreign and awful. Nothing ever prepares you for that sudden alteration.

David removes his sunglasses — something he never does, especially when he's trying to get familiar with his fresh princesses. But Gertrude is quite heartbroken, and all those 'please' in between her words make it difficult for him to stick to his code of conduct. He has to make her feel some form of comfort.

David touches her cheeks softly and traces his finger down to her chin. Then he speaks in a voice so low that only her can hear him. "I already looked into that before bringing you here. You don't live with your parents. Your mom died shortly after you were born, and your dad dropped you off at an orphanage home because he didn't have the means to take care of you.

You live in a public house established by your school for children with needs. Your school doesn't even have the money to provide for the expenses of the public house anymore. So most of the children that stay there are suffering greatly right now."

David tips her chin, forcing her to look at him in the eye. "Am I correct?"

He inspects her face, which is full of rashes and overstayed eczema. Her hands look bony and almost void of any flesh. He has to give her a warm plate of porridge after this conversation. But right now, he needs her cooperation.

Gertrude closes her eyes and nods reluctantly, accepting her defeat. She should have seen this coming — that this creepy man would have stalked the hell out of her before kidnapping her. More tears fall from her eyes as she realizes that there is no way out of here for her.

When she opens her eyes, she stares at David for a long time before speaking.

"Yes, sir. You are correct, sir."

"Why are you calling me sir?"

"Because I know you've brought me here to become your sex slave. My social studies teacher has said a lot about sex traffickers and their manner of acting. I know you brought me here, so you can rape me as many times as you want. And if I don't do as you say, you will kill me."

"I'm not going to do any of that," David takes her hands and clasps them gently in his. Her fear of him is shattering his heart. "I brought you here because you remind me of my little sister. You don't need to do anything to please me. All I just need you to do is to act like my little sister — to become the alternate version of my sister."

"Why do I need to do that?" Gertrude asks out of sheer curiosity now. Her fear has subsided when she learns his reason for bringing her here.

"Are you deaf, little girl? Or is your memory of a short span?" David's teeth clenches. He's losing his temper. "I already told you my reason. You remind me of my little sister. From now on, you will call me big brother," he places his hand on her head and pats it in a not-so-gentle manner this time. "Understood?"

Gertrude swallows down a thick clump of saliva. She tries to accept her weird fate. Gertrude had heard several stories of young girls who psychopathic men kidnaped for gruesome reasons: rituals, sex trafficking, slavery, murder, and all sorts.

But kidnapping a girl because she reminds you of your young sister is entirely new to her, and Gertrude had a terrible feeling that this was about to be a challenging and unbearable phase — something that's a lot more terrible than the other reasons aforementioned.