***
Hysterical sobs of a woman greeted me as I sailed back into reality. Before me laid a scene I could not fathom. My step mother, in tears, relaxed in Cynthia's seemingly comforting embrace. I stiffened at the thought that Stella's friends had hurt her. Had they?
Sensing my fear, Stella placed her hand on the small of my back and led me forward.
"What's going on?" I asked, eyes round as saucers.
"Do you have no regard for family?" Cynthia said, the brittleness of her voice melting my heart into a bloody puddle. Her words sliced through me like a two edged blade. "What have we ever done to you that you brought in these men and lied against us?"
"I have never ..." My stepmother's voice trembled with emotions. "Never assaulted her. Why would I? Why would I work against the family I have worked so hard to build?"
Stella and her friends exchanged befuddled glances, and then their eyes rested on me. My mind darted, searching for a word to say, but words eluded me.
"I am Sergeant Charles Davies," the bald man said. Like I had suspected, he had a husky voice. He tilted his head toward his partner. "Sergeant Evans Fineface of the Nigerian Police Force."
"We need to ask you a few questions," the one called Evans said.
I nodded, swallowing a lump in my throat. Although I pinned my focus on the policemen, I could see Cynthia and her mother from the corner of my eye.
"Child abuse is a very serious crime," Evans said. "We received word concerning you and we would like you to tell us the whole truth."
My wounded gaze zeroed in on the notepads in the cops' hands. They would write down every word I uttered, or at least every word they found relevant. They had obviously interrogated my stepmother till she broke into tears. I had never seen her cry, save for when dad died. She never allowed a fellow human intimidate her. So what had these men done to her?
"You should sit down," Stella said. "We want you to be comfortable."
"I'm okay," I said.
"Okay," Charles said. "Let's start from the scratches on your face. The nurse confirmed that they are new. You've had them for no more than two hours, true?"
I nodded.
"Care to tell us how you got them?"
My mind worked fast, retrieving the lie I had told Stella at the gate. "I...fell."
"That's not the kind of wound someone sustains from a fall," Charles observed.
Stella gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze, wordlessly reassuring me of her support, and reminding me of my promise to tell the truth. I opened my mouth to speak, but Evans advanced to me. He scanned my wounds with a knowing look in his eyes.
"It sure isn't," he reported back to Charles. To me he said, "It even extends to your ear."
"I fell," I insisted. "And then I...I scratched my face by accident."
"With what?" Evans asked, training experienced eyes on my fingers. His eyes told me he could see through my little white lie.
I clenched my fists to hide my nails. But Evans had already seen them. "Your nails are so blunt for this accusation," he said.
A sudden bolt of self-defense hit me. "What? I can't cut my nails again or what?"
As though I'd whirled at him brandishing a gun, he raised his hands in surrender. "Okay. Okay. Let's drop the whole scratch thing."
"Care to tell us how you got those scars all over your back?" Charles asked. He had just crossed the room to meet me.
My lips stayed glued together. I could not tell them my stepmother had done that to me. I would not see her behind bars for my sake. Moments passed, and I said nothing.
"Victoria?" Stella called, reminding me of the unanswered question. "Tell them. Your statement is important if these people are to pay for all the things they have done to you. Please."
My stepmother stood up. Arms folded, she said," Tell them. Don't be ashamed to tell them a family member was depraved enough to do this. Tell them! Go on! Tell them how your Uncle Ben assaulted you."
Stella whirled around to face her. "What are you saying?"
"Perhaps we should turn around the question," Charles suggested to Evans.
Evans nodded. Keeping his eyes trained on me, he said, "Who is responsible for the scars on your back?"
'Tell them how your Uncle Ben assaulted you,' My Stepmother's voice rang in my ears. 'What happens in this house stays in this house. Do you understand?'
I recalled dad's words. 'Truth is a word you must define for yourself.'
'What is truth?'
'Truth is a great word, covering a multitude of sins.' Dad's voice, loud and clear, seemed as though he were standing right beside me, giving me the advice I needed to tread on the right path.
I reflected back on the words I had told Stella. 'My stepmother and her daughter make the whole world believe they love me, but they don't.'
"Speak to us," Evans pressed on. "Who is responsible for this abuse?"
"Uncle Ben," I blurted out.
Stella's eyes widened. She shook her head. "No. You...you told me-"
"Uncle Ben did this to me," I said.
"Why are you covering up the sins of this woman?" Stella asked, pulling at my arm. "She does not deserve this act of kindness. Why won't you speak the truth?"
"I am speaking the truth," I said. "My mother would never do this to me."
"Stepmother," Stella corrected. Her hold on my arm loosened just enough for me to retrieve my arm. I caught a flicker of disappointment in her eyes. Unable to hold her gaze, I turned away.
Charles cleared his throat. The look in his eyes said he didn't buy my story. And neither did Evans. But what could they do?
"So...a certain Uncle Ben did this to you?" Charles asked.
I nodded.
"Full name?" he asked.
"Ben Brown."
"Ben Brown." He scribbled in his note and looked up at me. "Father's brother?" Again, I nodded.
"Care to tell us how it happened?"
"Holiday," I said. "I went to spend holiday at his place. Dad had just passed away, so my Uncle asked me to come spend a few days with him and his wife." Uncle Ben had made physical abuse his new lifestyle, so fabricating the story came easy.
"Do they have kids?"
"No."
"So...your uncle did this to you?" Charles asked. How many times would he try to verify this information? Squinting, he studied me as though the truth would leak through my features.
Again, I nodded. A nod too mechanical. At least to me. I prayed they found it genuine.
"Where is your uncle now?" Evans asked.
"He's an alcoholic," I said. "Committed petty crimes. Spending seven years of his life in jail."
"What's he jailed for? Abusing you?"
I shrugged. "I'm sure his profile is somewhere in the police archives. He was arrested not too long ago. Should not be hard to find."
Uncle Ben had a reputation for abusing people, especially when alcohol held him hostage. He had beaten his ex-wife to near-death. At least when Charles and Evans found such information about him, it would put their minds at ease.
Staring at his notepad, Charles flipped to another page. "And your health? What can you say about it?"
"My health?" I asked. Although I knew the direction of his question, I needed him to elaborate on it. Hopefully, it would buy me time to come up with another story.
"You mentioned that your stepmother neglected your health," Stella said. "Since your father's death, you have been struggling with what you know to be malaria. Your health has been off and on for four years, and she won't pay you any attention. Isn't that what you told me?"
"Me?" my stepmother asked, pressing a palm to her chest. She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head as she clutched on to her chest like she'd just been stabbed. Bursting into another fit of tears, she advanced to me and stuck out her hands.
Before Stella could react, my stepmother enclosed her fingers around my arms and squeezed, shaking me so hard, tears threatened to scald my cheeks. I sniffed, trapping the tears in my eyes.
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"Tell me!" she cried. "Tell me what I ever did to you that has made you slander me like this! Tell me what I ever did to you."
"Mummy, please." Cynthia held her from behind and made to pull her from me. "Mummy please calm down."
"No," my stepmother insisted. "She has to tell me what I did to her. Why would she lie against me like this? Why?" She pried her hands off me and turned away, sobbing.
Cynthia took over as words failed her mother. "What is our crime? Why go out and spread hurtful lies against us? Do we not love you as our own? Does not my mother give you the same treatment she gives me? Do you not go to the same school as I do, eat when we eat and sleep when we sleep?"
My stepmother sobbed, her shoulders bouncing. My heart broke into a million pieces to watch her cry, to hear her choke on her sob.
"This is too much for me to bear," she said. "Had it been an outsider throwing stones at me, I would overlook it. But now, someone who is like a daughter is doing this. This is too much."
Guilt gnawed at my soul. The tears I thought I had trapped behind my eyes found their way out. Streaming out like rivulets, they tickled my cheeks.
"Mrs. Brown." Stella paused to make sure she had my stepmother's attention. "If you love Vicky as you claim to, you would do something about her ill health."
"Ill health?" my stepmother asked. Her brows furrowed. "I was not informed."
Stella folded her arms. "In the presence of mutual love and understanding, a daughter would always tell her mother about her deteriorating health. But in this case, it's obvious the love is one-sided. I would use the school's facilities to care for her, but that would be illegal since the school provides only first aid to day students, saving intense medical care for those in the dormitory."
My stepmother waved a dismissive hand at Stella and glued the back of her palm to my forehead. "Are you sick?"
I sucked in a deep breath, savoring the feel of her touch. For the first time in many years, my stepmother had touched me in a non-violent way. As much as I wanted this to last forever, I knew it would only be a moment before things returned to normal. For now though, I had to concentrate on my role in the movie we acted, and enjoy it while it lasted. A movie where my unapproachable stepmother played the role of a caring mother.
I nodded in answer to her question. My head throbbed at the subtle gesture. "I am sick, mum."
I stared at my stepmother to gauge her reaction, and as expected, she'd stiffened when I called her mum. But she tried hard to mask her indignation with care.
"Now that this has been brought to my notice, I will see to it that you receive treatment," she said, wrapping an arm around me. "Okay?"
"She has to go to a hospital," Stella said.
"Don't you think I am well aware of my duties as a mother?" my stepmother asked. "I know she needs a doctor. And I will take her to see one."
Pulling me out of my stepmother's hold, Stella draped an arm over my shoulder. "We need not spare one more second. The sickness has eaten her up for way too long. I will take her right away. You don't need to stress yourself. Just go bring the money for her treatment."
My stepmother's expression had morphed from care to an anger she fruitlessly tried to contain. Seeing through her facade, Stella went on, "If you still insist on taking her, very well. But I'll come along, just to ensure that things run smoothly."
Stella nodded at Evans and he produced an A4 containing a typed message. Taking it from him, she presented it to my stepmother. "Here."
Disbelief spread across my stepmother's features as she scanned the paper. Cynthia glared at it from beside her.
"This is too much," my stepmother said. She pointed a finger at Stella. "I can't have you come into my house, accuse of not being a good mother, and then try to teach me how to run my own family. You do not even have a family of your own to start with."
My stepmother locked eyes with Stella, just to rub in her last words. She no doubt expected it to hit home. It only took a moment for her to realize her attempt at provoking Stella yielded no result. Even if it had, Stella knew better than to express such feelings.
Paying no heed to my stepmother's game, Stella held a black pen a few inches from her face. "Take it."
"I will not sign this." My stepmother threw the paper to the floor and folded her hands in defiance.
"Leave us," Stella said to the policemen. Once they were gone, she turned to face my stepmother. "You have two options. Sign that document and free yourself from any investigations that will push through if you don't sign it. You think I buy that little show you just performed? That can only buy you a space in Nollywood. So are you signing the document or nah?"
Tentatively, my stepmother reached out and grabbed the pen. I noticed she had dropped her good-stepmother act, replacing it with pure venom. If looks could kill, Stella would drop dead. But her courage never wavered.
My stepmother's fury crumbled before Stella. Instead of getting to Stella, it bounced off the armor of esteem she clad herself in. An armor too expensive for my possession. I would give anything to show off a measure of her courage; to stand tall in the face of my stepmother's fiery wrath without being consumed.
My stepmother signaled Cynthia to retrieve the document. Once Cynthia returned the document to her, she signed it and handed it over to Stella.
Stella smiled a continuous smile. "For a start, we need twenty five thousand Naira."
"Let me bring you the money," my stepmother said, defeated. She made her exit, with Cynthia trailing behind her.
"What is wrong with you?" Stella exploded. The disappointment flashing across her face could not be mistaken. So intense, it looked like rage. Or did she feel both rage and disappointment?
"Do you realize you have just blown your first real chance of freedom?" she asked . "Why on earth would you shield her when all she's done is cause you harm?"
Settling in a chair to rest my wobbly legs, I buried my head to shield myself from Stella's scorching gaze. "I'm sorry."
"Do you have any idea how humiliated I felt when you testified against everything I told those police men? Do you? Why did you act like that? You promised me you would speak the truth. What went wrong?"
"My dad once taught me another dimension of truth," I said. Slowly, I raised my face and held her gaze. "He made me understand that there is much more to truth than just the opposite of falsehood. Truth covers a multitude of sins, just like love. Truth, in this context, is a function of love. It is any statement that builds up one's family. By telling those men the whole story as it actually happened, I would be tearing down this family with my own hands."
Stella shook her head. Splaying her palms in the air, she said, "This is a very destructive way of thinking. This is just...absurd!"
"What will I gain if my stepmother goes to jail?" I asked.
"Freedom. Uninterrupted freedom. You would finally receive justice."
"You assume that is what I'm after? Justice?"
"We are fighting for your justice," Stella said, emphasizing on her last word. "Isn't this all you ever wanted? A chance for them to pay for their wrongs?"
"This is where you've got it all wrong," I clarified. "You assume I am after justice. But it's all wrong. The only thing I'm after is a happy family. I crave a chance for love."
Silence fell upon the room. Stella's eyes begged me to reconsider. They screamed out for me to withdraw from this seemingly unrewarding path I had chosen. Any sane person would grab this chance at justice.
It took a moment for Stella to break the silence. "Then I'm afraid you don't know what you want."
"This is what I want," I said. "It's what I've always wanted. Their love. Can I get this while my stepmother is locked away in jail?"
"You are fighting a hopeless war," Stella said, taken aback by my enthusiasm. Her voice dropped to a whisper, "These people will never love you. Don't you understand? They will never accept you."
"Dad told me to keep hoping." I remembered him referring to hope as
a bridge that leads us to where we want to be.
"There is nothing to hope for," Stella said, her voice flaring like fueled fire. "All these years the only thing they've felt for you is hate. What makes you think they will ever change?"
"I don't know." Studying her face for a second too long, I added, "I know you are not exactly happy with my decision."
"Unhappy doesn't cut it. I am disappointed. I just don't understand you. No sane person would toss such a chance into the gutter."
I nodded. "I need to know if I am alone on this path I have chosen. Do I still have your support?
A lone tear glided down my cheek as I awaited her response. I had only been close to her for less than twenty-four hours, but after the little time we had spent together, I doubted I could survive this on my own.
"Always," she said. Perching on the arm rest of my chair, she pulled me into a hug and smoothed her palm over my hair. "This path of yours is a crazy one. But my support is unconditional."
With her non-dominant hand, she reached for the document she had placed on the chair beside mine. "Here. I know you're dying to see what it says."
Grabbing the document, I let my hungry eyes devour it.
I, Esther N. Brown, hereby swear to serve the stipulated child abuse sentence if at any time it is discovered that:
-My stepdaughter reports to school later than 7:30am.
-My stepdaughter fails to get medical checkups every four months.
-I fail to pay for my stepdaughter's medical expenses.
-My stepdaughter receives unfair treatment in my household.
-My stepdaughter is not allowed to join my daughter in the vehicle that takes her to and from school.
My stepmother's reluctant signature stood underneath her name. I looked up at Stella with a quizzical look. She smiled knowingly. "Wondering if your stepmother can live by these conditions?"
I nodded. She had read my mind.
"Quit wondering then," she said. "When we're done with the hospital, I will go have this document signed by the High Court, after which I will make two photocopies. One copy will be forwarded to your stepmother, just so she remembers to live according to code. And if she doesn't, oh well. We got her in a pretty tight corner. So your problems are half-solved. No credit goes to you since you weren't exactly cooperative." She punctuated her last words with a transmissible giggle.
I mused over every effort she had made to help me. She didn't have to, but she had taken my problems as hers. "You have been an angel to me. You're a fairy godmother sent from above. How can I ever repay you?"
Stella smiled. "A simple thank you would be just fine."
Walking into view, Cynthia placed a brown envelope on the armrest of my chair. "That's all the money you need for her treatment. Mum says to get in touch if it isn't enough."
Without waiting for a reply, she walked away. Stella picked up the envelope and peeked at its contents. It seemed to satisfy her. I could tell from the smile that crept to her face.
"Let's go get you tested," she said.
We headed out of the house and met Evans and Charles standing beside a Range Rover parked a distance away.
"How did it go?" Evans asked.
"Piece of cake," Stella said, crushing her thumb and pointer together in an 'okay' gesture.
She held the signed document and the money-filled envelope in Evan's line of sight. Taking a remote control from her front pocket, she unlocked the doors of the jeep and ducked behind the steering wheel. While I sat in the front passenger seat, Evans and Charles warmed the back seat.
Memories of the last time dad took me shopping clouded my mind. That had been the last time I enjoyed the comfort of a private vehicle, or any other vehicle for that matter. After his death, no one found me worthy of any means of transport other than foot.