Scarred Face

Meghan and I have this unspoken rule, we never call each other except in emergencies. A text always suffices for our conversations. So when my phone buzzed and I picked it up to see ‘Meg’ as the caller, my heart skipped. An unsettling feeling began welling inside me as I picked the call.

"Cassandra have you heard?" she sounded very apprehensive. And did she just call me Cassandra? Something horrible had definitely happened. Meg never calls my full name unless she’s angry or there’s trouble. It’s always ‘Cass’.  "heard what? what are you talking about?" my voice was shaky, I didn't realize how fast I was breathing already. "it's on the news, he's out!". 

My heart started pounding at an increasingly rapid pace. “You have to…..”, she began saying before she was lost to the extremely loud static noise. “Hello, Meg! Hello!”, I said, raising my voice and anxiously expecting to hear her complete her last statement. Suddenly, the line went silent. I attempted a callback, my hands quivering with fear but the call wouldn’t go through. Damn network!

I dashed out of my bedroom to the living room as quickly as my legs could carry. The TV was on 'sound city', the default channel when there's nothing worth watching or no one watching. Snatching the remote from the centre table, I switched to the news channel.

The image that stared back at me sent chills down my spine. The thin face with a snubbed nose, the huge scar above his left temple which must have been from one of his victims fighting back. The mugshot made his eyes seem slightly crossed. 

All these brought back memories from the courthouse. He had a sinister smile on his face as he turned to look at me from the defendant’s stand when the Judge pronounced him guilty and charged him to live in prison. 

 Looking straight at me, he made a hand gesture across his neck as if to attempt slicing it with an invisible knife. Back then, that hand gesture didn’t mean a thing to me, I was just glad that he’ll be behind bars for the rest of his life. Six years after and it’s all making sense now. I’m beginning to think I shouldn’t have agreed to come forward as a witness.

It was a perfect example of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. In the bid to use a shortcut of a dimly lit alley to my destination, one Friday night, I was met with the most horrific sight. There was the victim, hung on the wall with blood trickling down her neck. She was with brown coloured ghana-braids and light brown eyes staring off into space. 

 In front of her stood a male figure, about 6 feet, with a broad shoulder. He had his back against me, wiping what seemed to be his murder weapon on a piece of rag. I could make out his face from his reflection on the slick shiny window. I have my reflex to thank for getting me out of there before he could notice my presence. 

I confided in Meghan and we both decided I should report my gory sight to the police. Investigations were carried out and the assailant was caught. He was found guilty of numerous murders, his victims mostly young girls who were sex workers. When asked his motives for the murders, he said: “I’m helping the society get rid of immorality”. 

The news bar read: "Convicted Murderer Escapes Jail”. It was the last thing I ever expected to see. 

I was filled with trepidation. My heart was thumping so loud it drowned the voice of the reporter. All I could think of was how to get out of the house to a safe place. I knew he was coming for me. Meghan’s number wouldn’t still go through which was quite strange and worrisome. I shrugged off the feeling of something bad happening to her and decided to go to her place regardless.

It was a little past 10 pm when I started frantically filling one of my small samsonite suitcases. The buzzing of my phone notified me of the arrival of my uber ride and within minutes, I was out of the house.

I got into the passenger’s side by the driver and we started the ride towards Meghan's place. It would take about forty-five minutes to get to her. I wished it could be like forty-five seconds, I just wanted to be somewhere I would feel safe, then get out of town first thing the next morning. 

It's been raining lightly that evening. The poor drainage system and the never-ending rainy season worsened the road networks. The car was going in and out of potholes and slightly deep gullies. 

Fifteen minutes into the journey when we were now clear on a smooth highway, I heard a screeching sound and I immediately looked up from my phone which I've since been trying to use to get through to Meghan and failing at every attempt. 

 There was a bright light from an oncoming vehicle, I turned to shield my eyes as I caught a glimpse of my driver frantically working the car steering. I felt my heart pounding and heard a roar in my ears, and then the terrible sound of grinding metal as the bumper tore into the driver’s door. My head smashed forward and everything went black.

I woke up to a frowsty smell invading my nostrils. Everywhere was silent apart from my heavy breathing and the chirping of crickets nearby. I slowly opened my eyes, squinting in an attempt to sharpen the blurred images before me. It appeared that I was in a small room with a yellow bulb that hung loosely from the ceiling. 

I glanced around and took in the deserted white and brown colour scheme of the concrete room. Where am I? I shut my eyes, trying to remember what had exactly happened. 

Then I heard the creak of a door opening and footsteps approaching. I opened my eyes and a shadow hung over me. A wave of panic ran through me and  I tried moving my weight off the wooden platform on which I laid in but I was stuck. I tried to cry out but nothing came out of my parched throat. Then I felt a hot breath on my neck. Looking up, I was terrified to see his scarred face again.

 "Hello Cass, we meet again"!.

THE END