CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 41

Konke forces himself to calm down, even though his heart is still racing wildly in his chest. Whatever is happening in this house is far bigger than he expected. Far heavier. He realises, with a sinking feeling, that he won't get all the answers in one day. Not here, Not like this.
He lets out a hard sigh.
Ndleleni was right.
If this continues, he will lose his job at Y3. Even though Josh is backing him up, even though Josh believes in him, the other executives will notice. They'll notice the absences. The fainting. The zoning out. The way he drifts in and out of reality. The signs are already there.
The chances of him being fired are high.
Very high.
But right now, none of that matters.
He decides to use the back door instead of going around to the front. He doesn't have the energy to face anyone else just yet. His body feels heavy, drained, as if whatever he saw earlier took something out of him.
As he pushes himself toward the back door, he almost bumps into Mr Motha.
The old man looks worried. Truly worried.
"Are you feeling okay?" Mr Motha asks in a whisper.
Konke nods slowly, even though he's not entirely sure that's true. He doesn't know if he should tell him what he saw. Not yet. Not like this, especially in this house.
"Just a little tired," Konke replies quietly. "Nothing serious."
He pauses, then adds, carefully, "Would it be possible for me to see Pule's room?"
If his energy is going to be drained anyway, then it's better he goes straight to the place where everything began. The place where the murder happened.
Mr Motha exhales softly, as if relieved by the question.
"We can arrange that," he says in a low voice. "It's not locked. I made sure of it."
Konke sighs in relief, his shoulders dropping slightly. He nods, grateful.
"Come," Mr Motha says gently. "Let's go inside and see the family."
As they walk, Konke makes a mental note.
He needs to provoke Tsietsi.
And he needs to find the maid, the one he saw in his vision.
They enter the dining room. No one is seated.
Everyone is standing. Holding glasses of drinks. Smiling, pretending this is a normal family gathering, like they are not murderers, like nothing evil ever happened under this roof.
"I found him," Mr Motha announces softly as he walks in with Konke.
There's no need for introductions. Konke has already been introduced to the wife, the uncle, and of course Tsietsi.
Konke's eyes drift to him immediately.
Tsietsi looks bored. Completely uninterested. Like he doesn't even want to be here. Like this whole gathering is an inconvenience.
Konke's stomach twists.
How does a man sleep at night knowing he killed his younger brother?
And the wife, Konke's gaze shifts to her. His mind replays the vision again. The thing she handed to the maid. The panic that flooded her face when Pule saw her.
What was it?
And why did she look like she was about to pee herself from fear?
Konke feels the urge to go to her. To touch her arm. To see if something, anything will reveal itself to him. But he can't.
He can't blow his cover.
Not now.
He needs to be patient. He needs to be smart.
All he has to do is sneak away. Pretend he needs the bathroom. Slip quietly into Pule's bedroom.
That's where the truth is waiting.
And whatever he finds there, will change everything.
"Food will be ready shortly," Mrs Motha says, smiling warmly at Konke. "Josh already told me about the charity event you're planning."
Konke nods, forcing a polite smile onto his face, even though his heart is torn apart, these people don't deserve his respect..
"Yes," he says calmly. "We're trying to collect warm clothes and food for the children. June is around the corner, and winter is harsh."
That part is true. The rest is just a cover.
It was Josh's idea. A charity event sounds believable. Safe and Respectable.
Y3 makes a lot of money. Donations for a charity event won't raise suspicion.
"Yes, the children should be warm," Mr Motha's brother adds, lifting his glass slightly.
Konke watches them carefully with a smile of course. Their faces, their eyes and their body language.
Everyone here is playing a role, so perfectly.
"We don't mind helping," Mr Motha says, pulling out a chair and finally sitting down.
Josh smiles instantly. "We really appreciate that," he says warmly. "We're hoping to build a kitchen for an orphanage home. Maybe even a few rooms if possible."
"That's good," Mr Motha replies. "Our construction company can help with the building."
Konke forces a polite smile again, but his thoughts are racing. Of course they can help.
They own a construction company.
They own several businesses on the side.
And suddenly, a dark thought creeps into his mind. What if they wanted this man dead?
What if they wanted his inheritance?
His businesses? His money? His power too?
Konke's heart aches at the thought.
It's possible. Highly possible.
He's seen it before. People change when money is involved. Greed strips people down to who they really are. Blood means nothing when wealth is on the table. Family becomes strangers. Love becomes a lie.
The maids finally walk in, placing bowls of food on the table. Konke looks closely at them, but the maid he saw in his vision is not among them. He frowns slightly. Did she leave? Or is she hiding somewhere?
"Come, let's take a seat," Mrs Motha says as everyone pulls out their chairs.
This is Konke's moment.
"What's wrong?" Mrs Motha asks, concern clear on her face, looking at him.
Konke looks at her, then his gaze slowly shifts to Tsietsi.
"Uhm… I'm not sure if I'm allowed to join," he says softly, then looks back at Mrs Motha. "Your son was very unwelcoming. He said he doesn't like my kind, so I don't know if it would be appropriate for me to sit at the table with him," he adds.
Konke knows exactly what he's doing.
Everyone frowns, everyone except Tsietsi, who rolls his eyes.
"Tsietsi!" Mr Motha snaps.
Tsietsi sighs and looks at Konke.
"Come on, you can't be crying over that," he says dismissively.
Konke expected that.
"Why are you rude to our guest, Tsietsi?" Mrs Motha asks firmly. Then she turns to Konke. "I'm sorry about him. He needs to learn manners," she adds apologetically.
Konke shakes his head slowly.
"He was definitely rude," Konke says softly, then turns to Mr Motha. "May I please use the bathroom? I won't take long."
He nods at him slightly, a silent code. Pule's bedroom.
Mr Motha understands immediately.
"Yes, take your time. I'll deal with this fool," he says, nodding toward Tsietsi.
Everything is working perfectly.
While they are busy dealing with Tsietsi, Konke will be busy too, searching for clues in Pule's bedroom.
.
.
.
.
He makes sure no one sees him enter the room. He closes the door quietly and exhales heavily. He spots a chair and wedges it against the door, just in case Tsietsi or anyone else tries to come in.
If he sees something and faints, he cannot be found here.
The room is spotless. Clean and untouched. All of Pule's things are still here, frozen in time.
Konke walks around slowly. The window is fixed. He touches it, nothing. No vision.
Beautiful artwork hangs on the walls. He touches one item after another. Still nothing.
He frowns. By now, something should have appeared.
Frustrated, he sits on Pule's bed, then lies back, staring at the ceiling.
"Pule," he whispers, "I know you're here."
He swallows.
"I'm sorry for coming in without your permission."
He believes in spirits. He knows the rules. When you enter a space that carries a soul, especially one that died violently, you don't just walk in like it's empty. A room still holds energy. It still belongs to its owner, even in death.
Some spirits are protective of the things they left behind in the physical world. You ask before you enter. You acknowledge them. You don't invade their space.
"I know I'm a stranger," he continues softly, "but I'm here to help you."
His voice trembles slightly.
"You can trust me. Let me expose the people who took your life. Let's get you justice… so your soul can finally rest."
Even as the words leave his mouth, doubt creeps in.
He's not even sure if Pule knows he's dead.
Not sure if his spirit is aware or trapped in a moment that keeps replaying itself over and over again.
Konke sighs softly, blinking rapidly as his heart aches.
And he hears a sound.
A door opening.
His entire body freezes.
His head snaps toward the door, heart pounding violently against his ribs.
The boy walks in. Pule.
He locks the door quickly behind him and rushes straight to the drawer, panic written all over his face. His movements are fast, desperate, like he knows time is against him.
Konke sits up immediately.
Pule pulls out an old-model phone, the kind with a small camera. Then a notebook or maybe a journal. Konke isn't sure, but he knows it's important.
Pule drops to his knees and reaches under the bed, pulling out a small safe. Not one built into the floor, something portable. His hands tremble badly as he opens it.
He throws the phone and the journal inside, slams it shut, and locks it.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The door shakes violently.
"PULE!!! OPEN THIS DOOR!"
A loud, angry voice roars from the other side.
Konke's blood runs cold.
Pule doesn't flinch.
Not this time.
He grabs his school bag, shoves the safe inside, and looks around the room frantically, his eyes searching for somewhere, anywhere to hide it.
He rushes to the long painting on the wall, carefully lifting it down and placing it against the bed. Behind it, a hidden locker.
Konke's breath catches.
He stands up slowly, his pulse racing.
Pule opens the locker, stuffs the bag inside, and shuts it quickly. He doesn't even lock it. There's no time.
The banging on the door grows louder, more violent.
Pule lifts the painting and places it back exactly where it was, hiding the locker completely.
Konke watches as Pule rushes to the door and opens it.
Tsietsi storms in, pushing Pule back violently, his finger stabbing into his chest.
"Why are you disrespecting Mom?" Tsietsi shouts, his voice loud, firm, full of rage.
Pule flinches instantly, raising his hands in surrender, stepping back.
"I'm sorry," Pule whispers, his voice trembling.
Konke's heart sinks. It breaks.
Hearing Pule's voice feels like something is tearing inside him.
"Sorry?" Tsietsi roars. "Sorry?! That's all you can say?"
He steps closer, towering over Pule.
"Where's the phone?" Tsietsi demands.
Konke gasps silently.
The phone, That phone holds the truth, evidence.
"What phone?" Pule asks, shaking.
Tsietsi's face twists in anger.
"Don't act smart with me, you idiot," he snaps and slaps Pule hard across the face.
The sound echoes in the room.
Konke flinches, a soft cry escaping his lips.
"You fool," Tsietsi growls. "Give me that phone or I'll deal with you properly."
His eyes are full of fury. No mercy, No single brotherhood in his eyes.
Konke's knees give in, his whole body trembles.
He knows, painfully, there is nothing he can do to stop this.
Pule rushes forward, trying to run to the door.
But Tsietsi blocks him.
With brutal force, he shoves Pule back.
Pule stumbles and hits his head hard against the drawer.
Konke gasps sharply.
Tears burn his eyes as he blinks rapidly, helpless.
Blood appears, running from Pule's nose, pooling beneath his head.
Konke presses his hands to his mouth, staring at Pule, shaking slightly. His heart pounds, and a cold weight sinks into his chest.
Tsietsi steps closer, frowning at him.
Pule lifts his trembling hand, reaching out like he wants something, someone to help him.
"What?" Tsietsi asks, his voice sharp and rude. "You are bleeding," he adds, clicking his tongue as if it's a nuisance.
Konke watches in horror, frozen in place. The cruelty of Tsietsi is unbearable. Pule continues shaking, his small hand still reaching, still hoping.
"Maybe you dying will be better for everyone," Tsietsi says coldly, eyes scanning the room. "No one will be stressed by taking care of a mentally disturbed fool like you."
Konke closes his eyes tightly. He can't watch this. His chest aches, tears burn behind his eyes. Pule? Pule was not mentally okay? The child's mind was fragile even at nineteen, his spirit small and broken by a brother who should have loved him. Konke shakes his head slowly, hands pressed over his face as sobs escape him.
He predicted it. He knew how this would end. Tsietsi would throw him, he knew it in his bones.
A sudden shattering of glass cuts through the room. The sound rips through Konke's chest, and he cries out loud, a painful, gut-wrenching scream. That's how the child lost his life. That's the moment everything changed.
Konke blinks. He's on Pule's bed, staring at the ceiling. His chest tenses up. The weight of what he just witnessed presses down on him like bricks.
He doesn't waste a second. Standing, his legs trembling, he rushes to the painting on the wall. He carefully lifts it and sees the hidden locker.
He opens it. No resistance, the school bag is still inside. Heavy, but untouched. Relief washes over him in a wave. The portable safe is there too, exactly where Pule hid it.
Now, he has to leave with it without anyone noticing. Every second counts.
He hurries to the window. Below, the garden is full of plants and flowers. If he throws it there, it won't make a sound.
He counts silently in his head, one, two… three.
He throws the bag onto the flowers. It lands softly.
Konke exhales loudly, heart pounding. Relief and fear swirl inside him. He quickly shuts the window, pressing his back against the wall for a moment, listening to his heartbeat.
He knows he has to leave now. Every step could be the difference between escaping or being caught.
His hands still shake. His eyes burn from the tears he can't let flow, but he moves to the door, slowly, carefully. He gently lifts the chair and places it aside, making sure it doesn't make a sound.
Before opening the door, he turns around. His heart sinks.
"Don't worry," he whispers softly into the room, his voice breaking. "Your father will know what happened to you."
He pauses, swallowing hard.
He has the evidence. He has the proof, and no matter what it costs him, he will make sure Pule's story is heard.

As he steps out of the room and gently closes the door behind him, the hallway is empty. Too quiet. His heart pounds as he quickens his pace.
He already knows what he will say. He won't stay. He can't. His energy is drained, completely gone. All he wants is to go back to his apartment and cry for this beautiful, broken soul who never stood a chance.
The moment he enters the dining room, everyone is busy dishing up food, talking softly.
He doesn't even know how long he was in Pule's room.
His eyes meet Mr Motha's. Slowly, Konke shakes his head. Just once.
Konke clears his throat. The room falls quiet as all eyes turn to him.
"I'm sorry," he says softly, his voice low and controlled. "I don't mean to be rude, but I have to leave."
Most of them frown in surprise.
Except Tsietsi, who scoffs bitterly.
"What's wrong?" Josh asks first, worry written all over his face.
"Is this because of Tsietsi?" Mrs Motha asks gently. "Don't worry, he'll apologise."
Konke slowly shakes his head.
"No," he says quietly. "Something happened at home. My great-grandfather passed away."
The lie slips out easily, because it is half the truth. Ndleleni is dead. A spirit that abuses him.
Mrs Motha gasps dramatically and stands up.
"Oh no, I'm so sorry," she says, rubbing Konke's arm. "Can we help you with anything?"
Konke freezes for a second, his body tensing. Thankfully, nothing comes to him. No vision. No memory about her.
"No," he replies softly. "I just need to rush home and see what's going on."
He turns to Mr Motha.
"I'll call you about the event," he adds, giving a small nod.
Mr Motha nods back, his eyes filled with something unreadable or curiosity.
And just like that, Konke turns to leave.

.
.
.
.
He finds himself at the lake.
He doesn't even know why he stopped here, but something inside him knew he had to. His heart is too heavy to carry alone. He needs to talk to Ndleleni. Right Now.
His chest hurts. His soul hurts.
That boy, Pule, the fear in his eyes.
The blood and the cruelty.
Konke presses his lips together as his throat tightens. This work is not light. It never was. And it's only going to get heavier from here. He already knows it. This is just the beginning. The bag is still in his car.
The proof and the truth.
Pule's last attempt to save himself.
He will need someone to unlock that safe. And he's praying, really praying, that the phone still works. Ten years is a long time. Technology changes fast. But hope… hope is stubborn. It survives even in impossible places. Slowly, he removes his shoes.
Then his jacket.
He places them neatly on the grass, with care, like everything deserves gentleness after what he has just witnessed.
He walks toward the lake.
The water is cold when it touches his skin, cold enough to steal his breath. But instead of shocking him, it calms him, grounds him. Like the lake recognises him. Like it knows his pain.
He steps in deeper. And deeper.
The water wraps around him, heavy but comforting.
He sighs deeply, whispers a silent prayer, his lips barely moving.
Then he closes his eyes.
And lets himself sink beneath the surface.
And suddenly, he feels warm.
His eyes fly open.
He is lying on the grass, staring up at the sky. The sun is gentle, not burning him up. The wind is calm. Birds chirp somewhere far away. Konke gasps and quickly sits up, his heart racing. He looks beside him.
Ndleleni is sitting there, calmly.
Konke exhales a broken breath, relief crashing into him.
"You came…" Konke whispers, his voice shaking. Then he breaks. "You came," he repeats, tears spilling freely now.
Ndleleni only looks at him with eyes full of knowing. He always appears like this, when Konke feels like his life is breaking apart. And today… Today it truly is.
"Did I really have to see that boy die?" Konke asks softly, his shoulders shaking. "Did I really have to watch it happen like that?"
He sniffles, wiping his face with trembling hands.
"Is this how it will be?" he continues. "Will I keep seeing people lose their lives over and over again? Will I have to carry their pain and then go back and tell their families the truth?"
His voice cracks.
"And what about me?" he asks helplessly. "Who carries me when it's too heavy?"
His chest aches. His heart feels bruised.
He thought he was strong. He truly did.
But Pule's cries, Pule's fear, the look in that boy's eyes, they are burned into his soul forever.
Ndleleni turns toward him, his presence calm, grounding.
"That is how it is," Ndleleni says gently. "Someone has to see what others cannot. Someone has to stand between the living and the truth."
He pauses, then adds softly,
"It is not a curse, Konke. It is a heavy blessing."
Konke shakes his head slowly, overwhelmed.
"My soul feels shattered," he whispers.
Ndleleni reaches out, placing a warm hand on Konke's shoulder.
"You are helping people," he says. "You are healing them even when it hurts you."
His voice is firm and sure.
"This was your first task. Of course it feels unbearable. First wounds always cut the deepest."
Ndleleni looks out toward the lake.
"The truth will come out," he continues. "That father, the man crying day and night for his son, will finally know what happened. And when he does, his spirit will rest."
Konke lowers his head, breathing slowly.
"You are not alone," Ndleleni says quietly. "You never were."
Konke lowers his head, breathing slowly.
"You are not alone," Ndleleni says quietly. "You never were."
"I don't want this gift anymore," Konke cries. "It hurts too much."
Ndleleni's eyes soften.
"You don't get to choose the calling," he says gently. "The calling chooses you."
Ndleleni stands and looks toward the lake again.
"Pule's soul has been restless," he continues. "Trapped between truth and silence. You opened the door for him. Now you must finish what you started."
Konke gasps silently.
"And what if that family kills me?" Konke asks. It is the most dangerous question of all.
What if Tsietsi kills him when he exposes the truth?
"They will try," Ndleleni says honestly.
"But you will not walk alone."
Konke closes his eyes for a moment.
Tsietsi will definitely come for him. Mrs Motha too. He can feel it in his bones now. This thing he has stepped into is dangerous, and there is no turning back.
When he gets home, when he has calmed down and rested, he will call Mr Motha. He will meet him face to face and tell him everything.
Everything he saw.
Everything that happened to that poor soul.
Pule's truth will not stay buried.
And Konke will make sure he gets justice.