A Voice from the Past

Amara stood in the attic, dust clinging to her skin and cobwebs trailing from her fingers like forgotten memories. The last few days had peeled away her composure. Eli's revelation haunted her—his father, once a friend to her mother, may have orchestrated her disappearance. Every answer uncovered seemed to open ten more questions.

She pulled the chain of the overhead bulb, casting dim light over boxes labelled in fading ink: Old Records, Estate Inventory, Personal Effects. One caught her attention—F. Nwosu, 2008. Her mother's name.

Her pulse quickened. She dragged the box toward her, pried it open with a shaky hand, and inhaled the scent of aged paper and perfume. Inside were newspaper clippings, hospital forms, and at the very bottom… a cassette tape. On it was written, For Amara. When she's ready.

Her knees buckled as she sat on the dusty wooden floor. Who had placed this here? Her mother?

She rushed downstairs, nearly tripping on the last step, heart pounding. Eli, noticing her, moved from his seat near the fireplace.

"Amara, are you okay?"

She showed him the tape. "Do you have anything that can play this?"

He nodded, leading her to a vintage stereo setup in one of the guest lounges. "I kept this for sentimental reasons," he said, inserting the cassette with care.

The static buzzed before a woman's voice emerged—soft, with a trace of the Igbo accent Amara remembered from lullabies. It was her mother.

"My sweet girl… if you're hearing this, something has gone wrong. I was supposed to tell you everything when the time was right, but I waited too long. The past I tried to escape found me again in Thornridge…"

Amara pressed her hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. Her mother sounded frightened—but also determined.

"I didn't die in that fire, Amara. At least not the way they said. I had to disappear. I was being watched, threatened. By someone close to your father. Someone I thought I could trust."

Amara's throat tightened. She looked at Eli, who was frozen beside her, eyes wide.

"The journals will guide you. Don't trust everything you see in the manor. The truth is buried under silence. But if you're brave enough to look…"

The tape cut off abruptly. A hollow click echoed through the room, followed by silence so thick it screamed.

Eli's voice was barely above a whisper. "Your mother… she didn't die. And my father might've been involved."

Amara nodded slowly, tears streaming down her cheeks. "I think we've only scratched the surface. The real danger is just beginning."

She stood, fire burning in her eyes now, no longer fuelled by grief but purpose. "I'm going to find her. Or find the truth that buried her."

And this time, she wouldn't run.