I Spoke in Silence – Part 2 of My Romance with Fear

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They stormed into the room. Some dressed in blue and some in black, but I still couldn’t move. My feet felt stuck to the ground, like gravity had sworn I wouldn’t escape the law—not like I planned to anyway.

I could hear the voice of the policeman reel out the usual “You have the right to remain silent; whatever you say will be used against you in a court of law” cliché.

The scream had made me breathless, so I tried stabilising my breathing again, but the more I tried, the worse it got. My head pounded like some local Yoruba women were pounding yam for a send-off party. My send-off to jail.

The voices got fainter and fainter, and then I heard some screams in the background. For some seconds, I felt light, like my cares were all gone. Then a stinging pain hit my shoulder, and I blanked out.

I opened my eyes to see two policewomen and a nurse whispering. I turned to look out the window, and my mouth screamed before my brain caught up with the pain that raced through my shoulder down to my fingers. I didn’t dare make another move, not even to turn. They ran towards me and helped me back into position.

I expected to see angry, hateful stares, but they all looked pitiful. I closed my eyes again and opened them, hoping to erase the first sight, but they still looked the same.

One of them walked to me, tapped my arm, and said, “You need to rest. Your case can wait until you are better.”

I opened my mouth to speak but felt dumb, so I closed it and nodded. They all piled out like schoolchildren in uniform, and I knew there really was no escaping. This monster I was must face the wrath of the law—but maybe she wanted to.

After two weeks, the doctors said I could be discharged. Two police officers stood in front of the hospital. As I walked out, they came towards me, locked my hands in handcuffs, and led me to the back of a black police van.

They took their seats beside me, boxing me into that van that smelled like death.

We got to the station, and I was asked to write a statement. That was when I saw my mother-in-law. Her glare was sharp enough to stab life out of me. She stood with a man I guessed was her lawyer.

As I turned away from her to at least save my life before the court decided, I saw my neighbour—a woman who knew more than even my mother about my agonies for years. The woman who had begged me several times to get help.

Only then did I feel the clouds gather, and my eyes let the tears rain. I wept even more as she walked up to me, hugged me tight, and whispered, “We will get you out.”

I nodded, as that was all I had done for two weeks since his death. I breathed in deeply, as though forcing the river of tears back in like a dam.

Three days later, Mrs Judith, my neighbour, returned with her husband and a lawyer. They briefed me on their plans and what was expected of me in court. Again, I nodded.

The lawyer then began asking questions, and for the first time, I spoke. I shared my story and all that happened, amidst tears. I spoke and sobbed, and when the time was up, I rose heavier because again I had vividly replayed the details of how I killed a man.

My man.

The policeman escorted me back to the cell that now housed me. The stench of the poorly ventilated room hit my nose again, reminding me that this was where monsters deserved to live. And I was one of them.

So I slid to the hard, cold floor and wept myself to sleep.

I looked at the faces around me as we walked into the courtroom. I searched for my mother repeatedly, but she obviously wasn’t there. “Maybe she was running late,” I thought.

The interrogations started, and I kept glancing back, hoping to see her. Hoping she would at least stand with me now, since she was the one who encouraged me to marry John despite how I had complained about the way he spoke to me—even before we got married.

She was the one who said I couldn’t leave my husband’s house, not even to protect my life. The one who said she was with me in it and that she was praying for me from a distance.

The more I glanced back, the clearer it became that even she could not associate with a monster like I now was.

As I thought about it, I concluded there really was no point being free from jail because I was still going to be alone.

I looked up at the judge as he asked me to confirm the claims of my lawyer that the murder was self-defence. I shook my head, glanced at Mrs Judith, and said, “No, I murdered him. I didn’t like him, and I murdered him.”

I heard the eruption of exclamations in the courtroom as my eyes blurred again. After some other things were said—which I barely heard as I wept in my seat—the judge pronounced judgment.

I was escorted by two policemen to my new home for life in a cell.

I couldn’t dare look at Mrs Judith, because once more, I had embraced silence and killed my chance at life.

To be continued…