I do not consider his screaming. I should have grabbed his gun. Killed him, silenced him, then ended myself before the others came.
But they come, pouncing on me. They punch and kick me until they force me off the guard with half his salty, flabby ear in my mouth. I spit it out on the ground. My curses rain down as I kick at him. His blood trickles into my mouth. I spit saliva and blood at the group of them. He writhes on the ground, clutching his ruined cheek and ear.
I am a force for them, a feral animal locked on its prey. It takes four to restrain me. I am alight with lunacy. I want blood, all of theirs. I want death, my own.
Maybe they will make an example of me, drag me into the middle of the courtyard and put a bullet in my brain, take me from this never-ending hell and from my guilty mind.
But they do not.
Instead, it is the Hot Box for me. It is hotter than hell in that little box, only half the size of a coffin. Memories of my family, of Papa’s cologne, and of Mama’s moisturizer torture me. I remember the soccer squabbles my brothers will no longer have. I recall Papa’s language lessons, him telling me I need to speak as many languages as possible so no one can ever lie to me.
In the box, I sing in French. I count in English. I recite prayers in both Ewe and Twi. I meditate in Ga. I mutter the little bit of Spanish I managed to learn before my world dissolved into fire and brimstone. Now, I may never have the chance to learn any more if the Hot Box melts me. If these demons kill me.
Or if I lose my mind.
21
AFTER
Fresh from their father’s reprimand, Elin stood from her chair abruptly. “Maybe we should have tea? Yeah?”
Nena’s words were soft, barely audible. “That man, Dennis Smith, was Attah Walrus.”
The name hung between them like a guillotine. Elin stiffened, having not heard it in years. “Maybe a shot then.” She hurried to the bar at the corner of the living room and selected the first open bottle she could find—whiskey. She was allowed two shots before Nena continued.
“Do you remember who he is to me?”
Elin stepped down into the sunken living room and resumed her place across from Nena. She folded her long legs beneath her, holding the tiny glass containing her third shot. “How could I not? The way you described the lot of them—him, Bena, Paul—they were like the horsemen of the Apocalypse.” Elin shivered. “But Nena, remember, Dad sent a massive number of soldiers scouring Ghana looking for them. They found the Compound in ruins. The locals said Paul’s own men turned on him and killed him. Said he refused to pay them. I’m pretty sure Dad had scouts looking throughout all of Africa in case Paul happened to turn up. Dad knows how to find people.”
“Dad doesn’t know Paul like I do.” Nena’s face was stony. “Paul is . . . resourceful. He knows how to survive.” Like me.
Elin rolled her eyes. “It’s a bit overdramatic, you think?”
“Still the truth.”
Elin was tapping her front tooth with her nail again. She cursed, reaching into her bag for her pack of cigarettes. She was supposed to quit, but Nena knew that wasn’t happening anytime soon. Nena scooped up the gold-plated lighter with sparkling crystals—only the best bling for Elin—from the mirrored centerpiece lying atop the ottoman and tossed it. Elin caught it deftly.
“God, you’re insufferable. They’re all dead. Trust Dad on this, yeah? You mixed this Smith bloke up with the other guy.”
Nena focused on her hands, folded in her lap. She nodded. The man was Attah. She’d know him anywhere.
“These back-to-back jobs we assigned you scrambled your mind.” Elin pointed at her. “And if anyone asks, tell them the wind was fucked up this morning and threw your bullet off or some gun shit like that, okay? But don’t tell them this crazy shit about sex traffickers coming back from the dead.”
Elin was right; no one would believe her without more proof.
Nena’s lips pursed. “I won’t say anything to anyone. Not even Dad. Not until I figure things out a bit more.”
“Let’s just tell him, and he’ll fix this bloody thing.”
“Tell him and crush what he’s spent his life building? The African Tribal Council—his baby? Because that’s what we’d be doing, crushing Dad’s dreams. You want to crush his dreams? You heard him say how close this new member gets them to achieving their goals.” She looked pointedly at Elin. “Truly?”
Elin groaned. “I really hate when you make sense.”
Nena looked at her soberly. “You’re the one who said we needed proof so no one would think me mad. Very sensible of you.”