The afternoon sun slanted through the dusty windowpanes, casting long, skeletal shadows across Caleb's room. He returned home from school, his backpack slung over his shoulder, the weight of unanswered questions pressing down on him. The house, usually alive with the sounds of his mother's humming and the clatter of pots and pans, was eerily silent. A tension hung heavy in the air, thick as the humidity that clung to the Lagos afternoon.
Caleb's father, a man whose presence usually commanded respect, sat slumped in an armchair, his face a thundercloud of anger. His greeting, a curt nod, was more an acknowledgment of Caleb's existence than a welcome. His mother, Maria, her eyes darting nervously between her husband and her son, whispered, "Daddy's traveling later and we're looking for his briefcase. What do you want to eat?"
Caleb's stomach rumbled, but the sight of his father's simmering rage extinguished his appetite. "Anything," he mumbled, his voice barely a whisper, retreating to the sanctuary of his room.
The Tupac poster on his wall, once a symbol of rebellion and cool, now seemed to mock him. His brother, Lucas, was out, as usual, leaving Caleb to navigate the treacherous waters of his father's unpredictable moods.
"My briefcase!" his father's voice boomed, shattering the fragile silence. "Where is it? Not too difficult to guess since we have a thief living under this roof. Only two weeks!" The accusation hung in the air, a venomous dart aimed squarely at Caleb.
A moment later, his mother's voice, laced with relief, cut through the tension. "Here it is. This is it, isn't it?"
Caleb emerged from his room, his footsteps hesitant. His father snatched the briefcase, his eyes scanning it with suspicion.
"It would seem so," Maria said, her voice strained. "All it needed was a little more careful searching."
"Please," his father barked, his voice rising. "It's all the same! That boy would have taken it if he'd seen it. Or maybe he did, and you're covering for him!"
Caleb felt a surge of anger, a rare emotion for the usually quiet boy. "Don't talk to her like that!" he blurted out, his voice trembling.
His father's eyes narrowed, his hand instinctively reaching for Caleb. "What did you say?" he growled, his voice a low, menacing rumble.
Maria's hand shot out, grabbing his arm. "Kola, please, he's just a child," she pleaded, her voice laced with fear.
For a heartbeat, the room held its breath. The air crackled with unspoken threats, the tension palpable.
"You see, all of them... bad!" his father spat, his voice dripping with contempt. He snatched his briefcase and stormed out of the house, the slamming door echoing through the silent house.
Caleb retreated to his room, the weight of his father's anger pressing down on him. He watched from the window as his parents argued in the driveway, their voices a low, angry murmur. As his father drove away, Maria gently touched his cheek, a silent gesture of comfort that did little to ease the turmoil within him.
Later that afternoon, Lucas burst into the room, a whirlwind of energy. "The old man has traveled!" he announced, grinning. "Hip-hop hooray!"
Caleb managed a weak smile, the memory of his father's rage still fresh in his mind. "Don't let Mum hear you," he cautioned.
Lucas, oblivious to the undercurrent of tension, launched into a playful banter. "Little bro, you're too serious these days. I know you're a genius, but you need to lighten up sometimes. Anything bothering you? Talk to your bro. Is it the chicks at school? Let an old pro give you some advice."
Caleb chuckled, the lightness of Lucas's words momentarily lifting the weight of his worries. "There's this new girl at school... she's really pretty, you know."
"Ha! Trust my bro," Lucas laughed, his infectious grin returning.
Caleb felt a flicker of his old self, the carefree boy who used to spend hours lost in his own world, before the constant undercurrent of his father's anger had begun to cast a long shadow over his life.
"Where are you going?" Caleb asked as Lucas changed his shirt, a mischievous glint in his eyes.
"Nowhere. Caleb, can I get some cash?"
"Not till you tell me where you're going."
Lucas hesitated, then relented. "Okay, you can come with me, but just keep your mouth shut and don't ask questions."
Caleb, intrigued by his brother's secretive behavior, readily agreed. He yearned for a sense of normalcy, for a glimpse of the carefree life he felt slipping away from him.
They set off, the Lagos evening air thick with the scent of exhaust fumes and street food. Lucas led him down a narrow, dimly lit alleyway, the air heavy with the unspoken tension of the city's underbelly. They reached a dead-end street, lined with unfinished buildings, their skeletal frames stark against the darkening sky.
A man emerged from one of the buildings, his movements furtive, his eyes darting around nervously. "Wait here," Lucas instructed, his voice low and urgent. He approached the man, their conversation a hushed murmur, their hands moving in a series of quick, almost imperceptible gestures. The man, after a brief exchange, gave Lucas a curt nod and disappeared back into the shadows. Lucas returned to Caleb, a small nylon bag tucked into his pocket.
"What was that?" Caleb asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Forget it. Let's go have some fun," Lucas said, his voice evasive.
They headed towards a dimly lit bar, the sound of loud music spilling out onto the street. The air inside was thick with the smell of sweat, cheap beer, and cigarette smoke. Lucas navigated through the throng of patrons, exchanging boisterous greetings with a group of young men.
"Hey yo!" Lucas boomed, slapping hands with each of them. "Who's this?"
One of the men, his face etched with a permanent scowl, eyed Caleb with suspicion. "Relax, he's my brother."
Caleb, feeling a surge of unease, offered a hesitant handshake to each of them. One of the men, his dreadlocks swaying as he moved, gave Caleb a long, assessing look. "Hey, a brother of Lucas's is a brother of mine. Drinks!"
Caleb accepted the beer that was thrust into his hand, the taste bitter and unfamiliar. He glanced around the room, the dim light casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to whisper secrets. Women, their faces obscured by the dim light, stood perched on bar stools, their eyes scanning the room with a predatory glint.
The music pounded, a relentless beat that seemed to vibrate through his very bones. Lucas engaged in a lively conversation with the dreadlocked man, their voices a low, rapid-fire exchange. Suddenly, the dreadlocked man jumped up and disappeared into the back room. He returned moments later, a small, rolled-up paper clutched in his hand. He lit it, the pungent smell of marijuana filling the air.
Caleb felt a wave of nausea wash over him. This was not the "fun" he had anticipated. He glanced at Lucas, who seemed completely absorbed in the conversation, oblivious to Caleb's discomfort.
"Lucas, I'm going out," Caleb said, his voice barely audible above the din of the music.
Lucas barely registered his words, his attention focused on the conversation. Caleb slipped out of the bar, the oppressive atmosphere weighing heavily on him. As he stepped onto the street, he saw a black minivan pull up in front of the bar, its doors sliding open to reveal a group of uniformed figures.
Panic surged through him. He turned and ran, his heart pounding in his chest, the sound of sirens wailing in the distance. He dodged through the maze of alleyways, his breath coming in ragged gasps, the fear of being caught a cold, clammy hand around his throat.
He finally managed to hail a passing bus, the ride a blur of fear and adrenaline. He stumbled off the bus, his legs trembling, his mind reeling from the events of the evening. He reached his house, the familiar sight of his home offering a sense of fragile comfort.
He thought of Lucas, his brother, and a wave of guilt washed over him. He had abandoned him, left him to face whatever consequences might follow.
The front door creaked open, and Lucas stepped inside, his face a mixture of relief and annoyance. "Lucas!" Caleb rushed towards him, relief flooding through him.
"Relax, they found nothing on me. All they wanted was money," Lucas said, his voice nonchalant. He reached into Caleb's pocket and pulled out the small packet, his fingers brushing against Caleb's skin.
"What's that?" Caleb demanded, his voice trembling with anger. "What's that doing in my pocket?"
"Nothing you need to know about," Lucas replied, his tone evasive.
Caleb felt a surge of fury. "You put that stuff in my jeans! What if the police had caught me?"
"You weren't caught," Lucas said dismissively.
"You could have gotten me..."