Fractured

Kemi stirred awake, her eyelids heavy and her head throbbing with a relentless, sharp pain. The room around her was dimly lit, its sterile smell making her uneasy. A fluorescent bulb flickered above, casting erratic shadows across the small space. Panic surged through her as she tried to recall where she was—or even who she was. She struggled to sit up, her limbs weak, her mind clouded.

Her heart raced, each beat thudding in her chest. She scanned the room, disoriented, trying to grasp onto any detail that would make sense. A metal chair sat in one corner, a plain table with a duffel bag on it in another. The walls were a muted gray, almost suffocating in their plainness. There was no window, no sign of where she could be.

"Who am I?" she whispered hoarsely, her throat dry.

Before she could dwell on her confusion, the sound of buzzing pulled her attention to a phone lying beside her on the bed. Its screen lit up with an unknown number. Without thinking, she picked it up, her hands trembling as she accepted the call.

"Hello?" she croaked.

The voice that answered was distorted, cold, and emotionless. “You’ve wasted enough time. Listen carefully. You have 24 hours to kill five people, or your husband and daughter die.”

Kemi froze, her breath hitching in her throat. "What—what are you talking about? I don't—"

"Your first target is Chike Nwosu. He'll be in the marketplace in two hours. Don’t waste time, Kemi. Time is ticking. If you don't act, your family dies."

Kemi’s grip on the phone tightened. “I—I don’t understand. I don’t know—”

The voice cut her off, harsher this time. "No more questions. There’s a wallet with money and your ID on the table. Check the duffel bag. You know what you need to do."

The line went dead, and Kemi’s body trembled violently. Husband? Daughter? She had no memory of them—no memory of anything. Her heart pounded in her chest as she scanned the room again, her eyes landing on the table where the duffel bag sat. Slowly, she forced herself up, her legs shaky as she approached the bag. Her mind raced, trying to process the absurdity of it all.

With trembling hands, she unzipped the bag. A small, gleaming gun lay nestled among a few other items. She recoiled at the sight of it, bile rising in her throat.

"This can’t be real. It’s not real."

But the wallet on the table caught her attention. She opened it with trembling fingers, finding a driver’s license with her picture staring back at her. Kemi Adeoye. Lawyer. Lagos. The information felt foreign, as if she were reading about someone else. Nothing triggered recognition. She flipped through the bills in the wallet, her mind a storm of confusion and fear.

Her phone buzzed again. A single message.

23:57:13. The timer had started.