Rachael was almost drifting off when a tap came on the window. She got up from her resting position, tired, to see who had knocked on the windshield.
A tall man, unshaved, with sprinkles of gray hair and beard, and a woman, probably in her late fifties, wearing a purple hijab met her gaze when she sat up. She brought the windshield down.
"Are you the lady who called me?" He sounded very impatient.
She nodded her head. "Come on in," she said to them. Rachael shifted on the other side behind the driver seat so they could sit down.
The man opened the door. He gestured the woman to sit in. He closed the door when they were settled in the car.
"Where is he?" The woman asked. "Where's my grandson?" She repeated the question. Restlessness was clear in her appearance. She couldn't hide it.
"Your grandson is in good hands," Rachael said to her, placing her right hand on the woman's left shoulder. A comforting touch.
"Why didn't you bring him along?" Muhammed asked.
"From the story that he explained to me, I'd thought it would have been right that he stays at my house in the main time," Rachael said to them. "I don't think he'll be safe with you."
The few hours that she spent with him felt like since forever. She had loved him. His talks, stories, laughters, and everything brought joy to her heart. She didn't want anything to happen to him.
Rachael saw the offense before they could hide their feelings. Nevertheless, the message had already gone out. It was up to them to take offense, or, like rational people would do, reason with her.
"What story did he explain to you?" The woman asked her, rolling her eyes upward to meet Rachael's.
"He thinks you're dead." Rachael didn't need a machine to tell her that the woman was Jeremy's grandmother.
The woman gasped. She stared at Rachael with wide eyes.
"He thinks his aunt Amira murdered you. I didn't ask him how he had known that. But he told me that she was going to sell him. He had heard and seen her talk to the buyer." Rachael took not a break. It was important that they know all that. It was a way to make them let Jeremy stay with her.
"Please take us to him right now," Muhammed said in a much more demanding than pleading tone.
"Drive," she said to the driver.
They remained silent for a very long time; everyone thinking about something else, deeply.
"He's a very nice kid," Rachael said.
Fatima nodded. "Talkative." A brief smile surfaced then disappeared. She was worried.
Rachael rubbed her fingers together. She had been planning to tell them something and was thinking about a better way to tell them.
"Intelligent." Rachael smiled. "I would like to adopt him. If you'll agree." She spilled the words out fast so she wouldn't have had to hold herself back from speaking.
"No!" The way Muhammed said the word made both women flinch. He realised he had yelled and threw out an apology. "He's the only child that we have. We can't give him out."
"I can take him out of the country. Take him to America, or Europe. Far away from his aunt who wanted to sell him." She pleaded with him.
Rachael couldn't comprehend how she had gotten to love the kid so much in few hours, that she didn't want to let him go.
"You don't understand what I'm saying, do you?" He asked her in a low tone. "We can never give him away. He's the only child that we have." Muhammed was tired of telling her that.
He wasn't just the only child, he was the only male child. She had to know how important male children are in an African home.
"I find that hard to believe. You're a Muslim. Muslim men marry as many wives as they wish. And, I don't want to be judgmental, but you're no exception. You're even an Iman."
"Sorry to disappoint you, Miss, but I have only one wife, and she's the one sitting next to you. The religion allows polygamy, not forces polygamy." He stared hard at her. "You're Christian. Do you do everything your religion says?"
"No. But..." He cut her off when she was about to clear her side.
"Also, Muslim men are not allowed to marry as many wives as they want. A man is legally permitted to marry up to four wives. However, this permission is restricted by the Quran's saying that justice must be done, and if a man fears injustice, he must be content with one wife only. I fear injustice." Muhammed turned his head back to the window when he was done speaking. It was end of discussion.
He didn't come to explain polygamy to her. He had come to get his grandson. He wouldn't see her again after that.
Rachael didn't know what to say next. The man had already preached to her. What could she say to convince him?
Fatima placed her hand on Rachael's thigh to comfort her. She understood exactly what Rachael was going through. She also knew that her husband was overwhelmed.
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Gibson gradually gained consciousness. He stayed in the same position for a while. Not doing anything. Just there.
The nape of his neck hurt from whatever they had knocked him out with. He pushed himself up, sat up and relaxed his back on the wall, right next to the phone. He whimpered through the entire process.
Gibson didn't know how long he had been unconscious for. What he was very sure of was the sun was up when those men arrived. The sun wasn't up again. He could have been sprawled on the floor for hours.
He struggled to get up, using the walls as pivot. Gibson rested his hand on the vase table and dialed Rachael's number. The phone ranged for a long time before she could answer.
"They took him," he said into the phone. "They took him," Gibson repeated, confused. He was going to lose his job.
"What are you talking about, Gibson?" Rachael asked him. She sounded tired. Uninterested. "Who did they take?"
"The boy. Two men. They were dressed in suits."
Gibson explained everything that had happened to Rachael, not leaving a single detail out. His free hand remainded on his neck throughout the entire conversation.
"How could you?" Rachael asked him, her voice quivered. She was at the verge of crying. "How could you be so careless, Gibson? Tell me, Gibson," Rachael yelled into the phone.
"There was two of them ma'am," he stuttered. "I had wanted to call you, but they attacked me from the back. I honestly was about to call you. They hit me with something. I don't know what exactly." His head began to ache from the talking.
"Check on the security at the gate. He better have an explanation. Or else..." She took a deep breath. Rachael hung up the phone before Gibson could say another word.
Gibson remained on the ground for a long while, whimpering, holding his neck. He didn't have much energy to get up immediately.
The pie. The oven. Upon remembering those things, he gathered himself and hurried into the kitchen. Smoke was flowing out of the oven. He opened it and covered his mouth and nose with the inside of his arm.
Smoke was everywhere. He coughed while he carefully got the burnt pie from the oven then put the oven off. His eyes stung with the smoke.
The way the pie had burnt, it told him that he had spent a long time unconscious. There wasn't anything left of it. No piece was left unburnt.
He used the towel in his hand to clear the smoke. Found his way out of the kitchen. It was going to take minutes for the smoke to get out completely. He rubbed his eyes and coughed heavily.
Gibson made his way out of the house. He staggered down the stairs then step on the cemented path. He continued coughing until he reached the security booth.
His mouth dropped when he turned the lights on and found the man tied with duct tape. He had duct tape covering his mouth. His hands tied behind him. His legs wrapped from ankle to knee with duct tape.
♦️♦️♦️♦️
Rachael didn't know how to feel. She didn't know if she should be angry with Gibson and herself for not protecting Jeremy, or sad that she had to give a heartbreaking news to the couple in the car with her.
Muhammed and Fatima stared at her, waiting for an explanation. They feared the horrific expression on her face. Both of them kept wondering who Rachael was talking about.
The moment the phone went down from Rachael's ear, Muhammed didn't hesitate to ask her what was wrong.
"It's Jeremy." There was a long pause. She needed the strength, mentally and physically to continue.
"What happened to Jeremy?" Fatima asked her. "What happened to my grandson?" She repeated the question between mild and yelling tone.
"They took him. He was abducted. Again." Rachael wipe the tears that rolled down from her eyes.
"Amira," the couple said together in unison.
"I'm sorry. I don't know how she knew that I had him. I promise I protected him. My butler was beaten to unconsciousness."
"Stop the car." Muhammed voice was so low.
"I'm sorry," Rachael apologised.
"You're sorry?" His brown eyes were beginning to cover with the tears that he was holding back. He didn't let them drop. " You had just wanted to adopt Jeremy, using protecting him as an excuse. When you couldn't even protect him for a day. If you can't take care of other people's children like you take care of yours, you're not worth to be called a mother." He was hurt.
All his hopes had died along with the news of Jeremy being abducted again. He had thought that everything was going to be over soon.
"I'm sorry. I don't even know what happened. But we could settle this when we reach my house. We can figure how to get him back." Rachael really loved the kid and was willing to risk anything to bring him back to safety.
"We don't have anything to sort out. Stop the car. It's not your fault, it's our fault. I knew you weren't going to be of any good. I should have trusted my instincts."
Rachael saw Fatima holding Muhammed's hand, trying to make him stop saying all those painful words. She spoke few words that Rachael couldn't understand to Muhammed. He calmed down immediately.
The car took a right turn and stopped in front a black gate. The driver pressed the horn, but no response. After few presses that was more force than the previous, Gibson opened the gate. The car light shone brightly on him.