Kunle Adebisi answered his phone with the enthusiasm of a man who had already received too many calls that morning.
"If this is about the property, speak to the agent."
Femi cleared his throat.
"Cousin, it’s me."
"Femi?"
"Yes."
"What have you done?"
"Why does everybody assume I’ve done something?"
"Experience."
Kade exchanged a glance with Tobi.
Apparently, suspicion ran in the family.
Femi explained that two former classmates wanted to ask about an old house in Ogba.
Kunle listened.
Then asked, "Which house?"
"Number fourteen, Adekunle Close."
Silence.
"Who wants to know?"
Femi passed the phone to Kade.
"Good morning, sir. My name is Kade Adeyemi."
"Do I know you?"
"I don’t think so."
"Then why are you asking about my father’s property?"
Kade took a breath.
"My friend’s family lived there years ago. We’re trying to trace some correspondence that may have been delivered to that address."
"What correspondence?"
"We don’t know exactly."
Kunle gave a short laugh.
"Young man, that’s not encouraging."
"I understand."
"How long ago?"
"Several years."
"Then you should ask the people who received it."
"We have. They remember the letters, but not who sent them."
Kunle went quiet.
Then he asked, "Did you say Adeyemi?"
"Yes."
"Your mother’s name wouldn’t happen to be Adunni?"
Kade stopped breathing for a moment.
"Yes."
Another silence.
Then Kunle said, "I think we’d better talk."
Kade wanted to leave immediately.
Mama Efe disagreed.
Strongly.
"You are not going to Ogba today."
"I can sit in a car."
"And what happens when you arrive?"
"I sit somewhere else."
Tobi nodded.
"A compelling medical argument."
Mama Efe folded her arms.
"Your ankle is still swollen. You need rest, not another adventure."
Kade looked toward Bamidele.
The repairman raised both hands.
"Don’t involve me."
"Traitor."
"Alive traitor."
In the end, they arranged a telephone conversation with Kunle that afternoon.
Kade hated the delay.
But he had promised himself not to repeat the mistakes that had nearly killed him.
So he waited.
And discovered that waiting remained deeply unpleasant.
Kunle called at three.
This time, he sounded less irritated.
"I spoke with my mother," he began.
Kade sat upright.
"About Adunni?"
"Yes. She remembers her."
"How?"
"Your mother came to our house once."
Kade frowned.
"To visit Tobi’s family?"
"No. To see my father."
Tobi looked up sharply.
"Your father was our landlord."
"Exactly."
Kade leaned forward.
"Why did she want to see him?"
"Something about receiving letters."
Kade’s pulse quickened.
"Did he agree?"
"Apparently."
"Do you know who sent them?"
"No."
"Did your father keep records?"
Kunle hesitated.
"He kept records of everything."
"Are they still available?"
"Some."
Kade looked at Tobi.
"Can we see them?"
"Depends what you’re asking for."
"Anything relating to my mother."
Kunle sighed.
"Look, I don’t know you. I’m not handing over my father’s private documents to strangers."
"Understood."
"But I can check whether her name appears in his old correspondence."
Kade exhaled.
"Thank you."
"Don’t thank me yet."
"Why?"
"Because most of those papers are in storage."
"Where?"
"At the old house."
After the call, Kade opened his notebook.
CONFIRMED: Adunni arranged to receive letters through the landlord of the Baloguns’ former home.
He paused.
That was more specific than anything they’d learned before.
His mother hadn’t merely borrowed an address casually.
Tobi leaned over.
"Why would she do that?"
"I don’t know."
"Could she have been hiding from someone?"
"Possibly."
"Could she have been sending letters too?"
Kade stopped writing.
He looked up.
"That’s a good question."
Tobi smiled.
"Please record the date."
Kade ignored him.
If Adunni had used the address to receive correspondence, perhaps she’d also used it to send replies.
And if the landlord had kept records, there might be evidence.
Not supernatural evidence.
Ordinary paper.
Names.
Dates.
Postmarks.
Things that could be checked.
For the first time in days, Kade felt a cautious sense of progress.
That evening, Bamidele brought news.
"I checked with someone about the symbol."
Kade looked up immediately.
"The split eye?"
"Yes."
"What did they say?"
"That symbols are easy to copy."
Tobi blinked.
"That’s it?"
"That’s it."
Kade frowned.
"Did they recognize it?"
"They wouldn’t say."
"Who did you ask?"
"Someone who knows more than I do."
"Can we speak with them?"
"Not yet."
Kade sighed.
Bamidele sat beside him.
"Listen carefully. You saw the symbol at the shrine. Someone put it on the paper. Someone left a card outside Tobi’s house."
"Yes."
"That doesn’t prove all three came from the same person."
"I know."
"Good."
Bamidele leaned back.
"Because whoever is leaving these signs may want you to believe they’re connected."
Kade considered that.
A copied symbol could be a warning.
A deception.
Or merely an imitation.
He couldn’t know.
Not yet.
The following morning, Kunle sent a photograph.
It showed a metal filing cabinet standing in a dusty room.
One drawer was open.
Inside were folders, envelopes, and bundles of paper tied with string.
Found Dad’s old records, the message read.
Kade sat upright.
Another message followed.
There’s a folder marked A. ADEYEMI.
For a moment, Kade simply stared.
Then he typed:
Can you photograph what’s inside?
Kunle replied:
Not without checking what it contains first.
Kade forced himself to remain patient.
Understood.
Several minutes passed.
Then Kunle called.
"Kade?"
"Yes, sir."
"I found the folder."
"What does it contain?"
"Receipts. Delivery notes. A few envelopes."
Kade gripped the phone.
"Are they addressed to my mother?"
"Some are."
"From whom?"
"No return address."
Kade closed his eyes.
Of course.
Kunle continued.
"There’s something unusual."
Kade sat straighter.
"What?"
"Most of the letters were collected personally."
"By my mother?"
"That’s what the records say."
"Most?"
"Yes."
Kade felt a small chill.
"What happened to the others?"
"One was returned."
"Why?"
Kunle hesitated.
"According to the note, the recipient refused delivery."
Kade frowned.
"My mother refused a letter?"
"That’s what it says."
"Do you know why?"
"No."
"Do you still have it?"
A pause.
"Yes."
Kade sat motionless.
"Can you describe it?"
"Brown envelope. Old. Sealed."
"Any writing?"
"Just your mother’s name." Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
"Nothing else?"
Kunle hesitated.
"There’s a stamp on the back."
Kade’s heartbeat quickened.
"What kind of stamp?"
"Not a postal stamp."
"Then what?"
"A symbol."
Kade looked toward Tobi.
"An eye?"
Silence.
Then Kunle answered.
"How did you know?"
Kade felt the room grow cold.
"Is it divided down the middle?"
"Yes."
"Anything underneath it?"
Kunle examined the envelope.
"A short line."
Tobi stopped breathing.
Kade stared at the photograph of the card left outside the Baloguns’ house.
The same variation.
The split eye.
The line beneath it.
He forced himself to remain calm.
"Please don’t open the envelope."
Kunle sounded puzzled.
"Why?"
"Because I don’t know what it is."
"Young man, that is not a reassuring explanation."
"I understand."
Kunle sighed.
"Look, I’ll keep it safe. But I want to know what’s going on."
"So do I."
A pause.
Then Kunle said, "There’s one more thing."
Kade closed his eyes.
He was beginning to hate those words.
"What?"
"The envelope has a date."
"When?"
Kunle read it aloud.
The date was six years earlier.
Kade frowned.
That was around the time Mr Akin had stopped working at their school.
Not proof of a connection.
But close enough to deserve attention.
Then Kunle added, "There’s also a note attached."
"What does it say?"
Kunle hesitated.
"’Return to sender. Recipient declined.’"
Kade waited.
"And underneath?"
Kunle’s voice changed.
"It says, ’Do not attempt delivery again.’"
Kade swallowed.
"Who wrote that?"
"I don’t know."
"Anything else?"
Kunle took a breath.
"Yes."
The line crackled.
Then he read the final sentence.
"’If the boy is still alive, the agreement remains broken.’"
For several seconds, Kade couldn’t speak.
The boy.
Which boy?
Him?
Someone else?
He looked at Tobi.
His friend looked equally stunned.
Kunle spoke again.
"Kade?"
"Yes?"
"Do you know what this means?"
Kade stared at the notebook on his lap.
At the questions.
The dates.
The photographs.
The names.
He had spent days trying to understand why his mother had disappeared.
Now a six-year-old envelope suggested someone had been concerned about a boy’s survival long before that night.
But he couldn’t assume the boy was him.
Not without proof.
"No," Kade said quietly.
"Then what should I do?"
"Keep the envelope sealed. Please."
"And?"
Kade looked toward his injured ankle.
Then at Tobi.
Then at Adunni’s photograph.
"We need to see it."
Kunle hesitated.
"All right."
"Can we arrange a safe place to meet?"
"Tomorrow. Somewhere public."
Kade nodded.
"Thank you."
The call ended.
Tobi stared at him.
"What agreement?"
Kade shook his head.
"I don’t know."
"What boy?"
"I don’t know."
"And why would your mother refuse the letter?"
Kade looked down at the final sentence he’d written in his notebook.
IF THE BOY IS STILL ALIVE, THE AGREEMENT REMAINS BROKEN.
For the first time, he wondered whether his mother’s disappearance had begun long before the night she vanished.
And whether someone had been waiting years to finish something she had refused.