THE INCARCERATED STRANGER

 

CHAPTER 14

 

RILEY

 

She stirred awake, her head pounding like a drum, each throb sending sharp jolts of pain through her skull. Blinking against the dim light filtering through the curtains, she felt the heaviness in her sinuses—a blocked nose that made each breath feel like a struggle. Confusion clouded her mind as she tried to piece together the fragments of what had happened. When had she even fallen asleep?The memory of the call with her mother flooded back, sharp and painful. She rememberers desperately trying to explain, trying to convey the gravity of her situation—that she’d been shot in the shoulder and had just come from the hospital few days ago. But Lulama hadn’t cared to listen. Instead, she unleashed a torrent of accusations—selfishness, irresponsibility, all because She hadn’t answered her calls. 

“Do you know how hard it is to find food for this house?” Lulama’s voice echoes in her mind, cruel and relentless. Not once had she asked about her hand or how it had happened; it was all about her own needs, her own frustrations. The call had ended abruptly, the line going dead—she was sure her airtime had run out just then, leaving her alone in a silence that felt suffocating.

She  rememberes how the tears came unbidden, hot and stinging as they streamed down her cheeks. Each word from Lulama had cut deeper than any physical wound could. She cried until exhaustion took over, surrendering to sleep while clutching her wounded shoulder.

Now, darkness is cripping into the room outside, she becomes acutely aware of another ache—her stomach growling with hunger. The emptiness gnawed at her insides,  She pushes herself up slowly, .Glancing around the room, everything feels heavy and still. She needs food—something to fill that emptiness— sighs! deeply, frustration mingling with despair as she tries to shake off the remnants of sleep and face another long night in this darkened house that feels like a prison for both body and spirit..…

She slips on her slippers and heads for a cold shower, hoping the chill will wake her body up. But as she steps out, she feels no different; fatigue clings to her like a heavy blanket. After putting on her sleeping clothes, she stands in front of the mirror for a moment, taking in the sight of her puffy red eyes—a clear sign of the tears she’s shed. A sigh escapes her lips as her mother’s harsh words echo in her mind, threatening to pull her back into that well of sadness.

Determined to shake it off, she decides to find something to eat in the kitchen. She makes sure not to glance at the guys sitting in the living room; she can’t let them see that she’s been crying. As she enters the kitchen, relief washes over her when she spots her food on the counter. She warms it up and takes a seat, forcing herself to eat despite the relentless pounding in her head. Each throb feels like a hammer against her skull, and she fights the urge to scream, knowing she must endure this pain.

Just then, she senses a presence in front of her. She doesn’t need to look up to know who it is; it’s Mangaliso. 

“Hey,” he says casually, as if everything is normal.

Can’t he just pretend she’s invisible for once? She doesn’t have the energy or the will to argue with him right now; that strength has been completely drained from her. Instead, she focuses on her food, hoping he’ll take the hint and leave her alone in this moment of quiet desperation.

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He washes her eat and finish her meal, then stands up to take it to the sink. He stops her,when she's about to get up and go put the plate in the sink, taking the plate from her hands instead. She looks at him and meets his gaze for a brief moment, then quickly looks away, cursing herself for even glancing in his direction.

“What is wrong?” he asks, and she feels a twinge of panic. This is exactly what she wanted to avoid—having him notice her puffy eyes.

“What happened, Ayakha? Were you crying?” His voice is gentle but probing. She shakes her head vigorously.

“No, I wasn’t crying,” she insists, trying to sound convincing.

“Look at me and tell me that I’m lying when I say you’ve been crying,” he presses. She can feel the weight of his gaze, but she refuses to meet it. He’s relentless; he wants her to look at him so he can see the truth written all over her face. She knows he can tell something is off…

He goes and puts the plate in the sink and comes back, taking her hand as if she’s a little girl. Together, they head to her room—well, it’s her room now since she’s the one using it, right? He closes the door and turns to look at her.

“What’s wrong? Were you crying because of our argument?” he asks gently. She shakes her head; why would she cry over telling him the truth that this house feels suffocating?

“Then why are your eyes puffy? Wait, is your shoulder okay?” His concern feels overwhelming. Why is he being so attentive?

“My shoulder is okay,” she replies, trying to keep her voice steady.

“Then what were you crying about?” His question hangs in the air, He will have to forgive her for not answering. She can’t tell him it’s because of her mother—the way those poisonous words had cut deep. Just thinking about it fills her eyes with tears. She remembers how she wanted to stand up for herself, to fire back at her mother, but something just held her back.

She’s pulled from her thoughts when she feels his arms wrap around her in a hug. If she weren’t feeling so drained, she might have pushed him away, but right now, she’s too numb to resist. She lets him hold her tightly; this embrace feels warm and safe. As the tears finally spill over, she sobs in his arms, releasing all the pain and frustration that has been building inside her.

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MANGALISO

He couldn't sleep at all last night, tossing and turning as worry gnawed at him. It surprised even him how much he cared about her well-being, especially after seeing her so distraught. She had cried almost the entire night, her sobs echoing in the quiet darkness, and he had stayed by her side, whispering soft reassurances until she finally drifted off to sleep.

“Please, just tell me what’s wrong,” he had pleaded numerous times, but each time she only shook her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. It was heartbreaking to see her so lost in her pain. Finally, around 10:00 PM, exhaustion overtook her; the cries turned into soft whimpers until they faded into silence. He gently tucked her in the sheets, careful not to disturb her.

As he turned to leave the room, something caught his eye—her phone resting on the bedside table. He hesitated for a moment, battling with himself over the urge to look at it. He fought hard not to touch it, but before he knew it, it was in his hands. He used her fingerprint to unlock the screen, curiosity outweighing his better judgment.

Just a quick glance, he told himself. He wanted to understand what could have caused her such distress. But as he scrolled through her messages and notifications, his heart sank. There was nothing there that hinted at the source of her tears. The call log showed only one recent call—from her mother. Everything else seemed mundane and innocent.Frustration bubbled up inside him as he set the phone back down. He wanted to help her so badly but felt helpless without knowing what was truly going on in her heart and mind. The unease settled back into his chest as he left the room, —hoping that maybe she would finally share what burdened her tomorrow .

He placed her phone back on the nightstand and quietly exited the room, making his way to the living room. As he stepped inside, Sage looked up from the couch, concern etched on his face.

"Is everything okay?" Sage asked.

He shrugged his shoulders, feeling a mix of confusion and frustration. "I don’t know, but something is definitely wrong with Ayakha," he replied, his voice low as he recounted how she had cried.

"Maybe she just got overwhelmed by the argument you had," Sage suggested, trying to piece things together.

He shook his head, dismissing the idea. 

“I don’t think so. I know that woman; she’s not the type to be… I don’t know, man, but you get what I’m trying to say.”

Sage nodded thoughtfully. “I get you. She’s not the type to cry easily. I mean, she’s a lawyer—used to standing her ground. Unless she’s faking that tough exterior.”

A sigh escaped him as he ran a hand through his hair. “Well, we don’t know. Maybe tomorrow she’ll wake up fine.”

Sage offered a reassuring nod. “Well, good news—we have the guy downstairs.”

A smile broke across his face at that. "Yeah? Let’s go check it out." They both headed toward the basement, anticipation buzzing in the air.

As they descended the stairs, Sage filled him in on what Ghost had discovered about this guy. “The interesting thing is that he lives with his family—two girlfriends and five kids. He’s out there hustling to make money for them.”

"Crazy," he muttered, intrigued by the situation.

"Yeah, but Ghost couldn’t find out much about who he associates with because he’s always in the streets," Sage continued.

They reached the bottom of the stairs and paused at the door leading into the dimly lit basement room. He exchanged a glance with Sage, both of them ready to uncover whatever secrets lay behind it.

They both walked into the dimly lit basement, the air thick with tension. He motioned for the boys to remove the cloth from the man’s face. As the fabric fell away, it revealed a face that looked thoroughly roughed up—bruises and cuts marked his skin, evidence of a rough night. The boys had clearly enjoyed themselves at his expense.

The man’s eyes widened in shock when he recognized him. "Mr. Mazibuko?" he stuttered, fear creeping into his voice.

He chuckled softly, stepping closer. 

"It’s not fair that you know my surname but I do not know yours," he said, his tone calm but laced with an underlying threat.

“Sir, please, I’m sorry for everything. That night I was also ordered to—”

Before he could finish, he delivered a sharp punch to the man’s lips, silencing him. “I don’t need your sorries or explanations. You are here to answer every question I have for you, and you are going to give me the answers I need. Are we clear?”

The man nodded vigorously, panic evident in his eyes.

"Good," he continued, leaning in closer. "And if you value your two girlfriends and five kids, you are going to tell me nothing but the truth." His voice dropped to a menacing whisper.

"Please don’t hurt my family! Ngiyathembisa ngizocula njenge nyosi!" The man pleaded, desperation spilling from his lips as the boys burst into laughter at his fearful demeanor.

He straightened up, a satisfied smile on his face as he grabbed a chair and sat down directly across from the man. 

"Good then," he said, leaning forward with intent. 

"Let us start, my man." The atmosphere shifted as he prepared to extract the information he needed.…

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