CHAPTER TEN
After Michelle's recovery and discharge from the hospital,
James slammed his phone down, his heart racing. Michelle's scream still echoed in his mind, a sharp reminder that the case was no longer just about Mariam or Jacob—it was about anyone who dared to look too closely. He ran a hand over his face, trying to force calm, but the adrenaline refused to leave him.
"Ezekiel," he muttered, reaching for his partner. "Get the car. Now. We're going back to the campus. Michelle could still be there—or worse…"
Ezekiel didn't need to ask questions. He knew the urgency in James' tone. Within minutes, they were tearing down the quiet streets, the night air biting at their faces. James replayed the call over and over in his head, every stutter, every pause. Someone had been close enough to her to terrify her. Someone who knew she was onto them.
By the time they reached the university, the campus was eerily quiet. Streetlights cast long shadows over the paths and buildings. James slowed the car, scanning for movement. There—behind the staff quarters, a flicker of motion.
"Michelle!" he shouted as he sprinted toward the shadowed corner. Ezekiel followed closely.
No answer. Just the whisper of the wind, and the faint shuffle of footsteps retreating into darkness. James cursed under his breath. Whoever it was had vanished, but they had left a trail—a discarded glove, slightly damp with dew. He picked it up, examining it under the streetlight. Nothing identifying, but it confirmed that Michelle had been close, and whoever followed her hadn't planned to let her go unnoticed.
Back in his car, James made a decision. "We divide. Ezekiel, check the staff quarters. I'll go around the perimeter. If she's still here, she won't be able to hide forever."
Minutes felt like hours as James circled the building. Every door, every window, every shadow could conceal a threat. He imagined Michelle's terrified voice, her breath shaking as she whispered her last words over the phone. His stomach clenched. Whoever was behind this was organized, patient, and willing to intimidate.
Inside the staff quarters, Ezekiel discovered signs of a struggle. Books scattered, a chair tipped over, footprints in the dust. Michelle had been here—recently. James joined him moments later, scanning the room carefully.
"She's not here," Ezekiel said, frustration and worry lining his voice.
James' eyes narrowed. "She's out there somewhere. And if we don't find her soon, she might not get another warning."
They radioed campus security, instructed patrols to sweep the grounds, and left no corner unchecked. Hours passed, tension thickening with each unproductive search. By the time dawn crept over the horizon, they still had no sign of Michelle.
Exhausted, James leaned against the car. He thought about Jacob—lying poisoned in the hospital, possibly alone, possibly scared. He thought about Mariam, gone too soon. He thought about the missing CCTV footage and the strange orders to restrict access to Jacob's ward.
Everything was connected. Somehow.
James drove back to the station, Ezekiel beside him, both of them silent except for the low hum of the engine. They needed information—any clue that could reveal who was targeting Michelle and why.
Back at headquarters, James spread the files across his desk: CCTV stills, witness statements, medical reports, and the mysterious missing footage notification. His eyes lingered on Jacob's file. The boy was critical to the case, but no one had seen him fully conscious since the poisoning. James wondered what Jacob might be hiding, what he might remember about that day.
A knock on the office door drew his attention. Detective Raymond stepped in.
"James," he said evenly, "I hear you've been… digging around where you shouldn't. I need to remind you that this investigation has boundaries."
James didn't flinch. "Raymond, I don't care about boundaries. Someone is being threatened. Someone's already dead. And now a student's life is at risk. I'm not stopping until I know the truth."
Raymond's expression hardened. "You need to consider that some truths are dangerous. Sometimes, the less you know, the safer everyone is."
James leaned forward, voice low but firm. "I don't deal in safety, Raymond. I deal in facts. And right now, the facts are screaming that someone is playing a game with people's lives—and I intend to find out who."
Raymond stared at him for a long moment, then nodded slowly. "Just… be careful. That girl you're worried about… don't make her another casualty."
James watched him leave, then turned back to the files. There was one angle he hadn't fully explored: the students who had seen or interacted with Michelle before her call. Their testimonies, their locations, even their routines could reveal patterns.
He called his team. "I want statements from everyone who was on campus yesterday around the time of the incident. Every student, every staff member. If someone tried to follow Michelle, we'll find them."
Hours ticked by as interviews rolled in. A few students mentioned seeing a shadowy figure lingering near the staff quarters. Some described a person wearing a hood, watching, but keeping their distance. One student even said they'd seen a gloved hand flick something shiny—a keychain or perhaps a flash drive—into a nearby bush.
James collected that bush evidence personally. The object was a small USB drive, dirt-streaked and nondescript. Plugging it into a secure laptop, he froze. The contents weren't from the university's security cameras—they were personal recordings. Someone had been documenting the victims, the suspects, and Michelle's movements.
"Ezekiel," James whispered, voice tight, "this isn't just about Mariam or Jacob anymore. Someone is orchestrating this. And they've been careful… patient… always one step ahead."
Ezekiel's jaw tightened. "Do you think Michelle knows too much?"
James didn't answer immediately. He stared at the files, piecing together the puzzle. "She's observant," he finally said. "Too observant. That's why she's in danger. Whoever's behind this doesn't want anyone to see the connections they've made, the moves they've planned. And Michelle… she's just scratched the surface."
Night turned into early morning. James barely slept. He thought about Jacob's poisoning again—how it might have affected him, not just physically but mentally. A boy caught in a world of suspicion, fear, and violence, held against a backdrop of mystery and secrecy.
At the hospital, Dr. Stones paced outside Jacob's room, exhausted but vigilant. His wife, Dr. Mrs. Stones, tried to maintain calm, but the tension in the air was palpable. James knew he needed to speak to them—not just about the medical facts, but about anything Jacob might have said, any behavior that seemed odd.
Arriving at the hospital, James was greeted by a mix of concern and wariness. Doctors and nurses recognized him, but they didn't offer any information voluntarily. He spotted Dr. Stones.
"Detective Eluwa," Dr. Stones said cautiously. "I'm… not sure what you want from Jacob. He's still weak, disoriented."
James nodded. "I don't want to pressure him. But anything you've noticed—changes in behavior, things he's said—could be important. Lives are at stake."
Dr. Stones sighed, shoulders slumping. "He's… different. Quieter than usual. He asks questions, sometimes repeats the same ones. We monitor him, but he's… anxious. Afraid, I think, though he won't say why."
James noted everything. Every detail mattered. "I'll be discreet. But I need access when he's ready."
Dr. Stones gave a curt nod. "When he's conscious enough, I'll tell him you want to talk. Just… don't frighten him further."
James left the hospital with a heavy mind, the USB drive clutched tightly in his hand. The mystery had widened, the stakes higher than ever. Someone had died. Someone had been poisoned. Someone had been followed. And Michelle's life was still in immediate danger.
The pieces were falling into place—but the picture they formed was darker, more twisted, and infinitely more dangerous than James had ever imagined.
He whispered under his breath as he drove back to headquarters, the city asleep around him,
"This isn't over. Not by a long shot."