The town of Festac in Lagos had always been a place of whispers. Its dusty streets and old colonial style buildings carried secrets that no one dared speak aloud.But nothing had shaken the town to its core quite like the disappearance of Richard George.
He was the only son of the influential George family, a golden boy with a bright future, and the twin brother of Racheal George. The duo were inseparable, their bond forged in the womb and strengthened by the passing years. Richard had drowned in the Silent River, his twin sister was the only witness to the tragedy.
Racheal's voice was barely above a whisper as she recounted the events of that day to Inspector Jones, the town's lead investigator.
"It was Richard's idea to celebrate our birthday by the river, just the two of us. So, we made our way to the Silent River. We were cruising in the boat, enjoying the warm sunshine and the cool breeze, when... when disaster struck. The boat capsized. I tried to help Richard, but I was powerless."
Jones narrowed his eyes, his tone firm. "And you couldn't save him, Miss George?"
Racheal's eyes welled up with tears as she shook her head. "I tried, Inspector. I tried everything... but I couldn't swim."
For five agonizing days, Inspector Jones and his men dragged the river, their boats slicing through the still, murky water. Every search party returned empty-handed. No body. No sign of Richard. With no evidence to suggest otherwise, the George family buried an empty casket.
The air inside the George's mansion was thick with grief.The smell of freshly brewed tea lingered in the air, untouched on the mahogany table. Racheal sat curled up on the velvet couch, staring blankly at the flickering candle in front of her. The weight of the past few days pressed down on her chest like an unbearable stone. She barely noticed when her mother, Harriet, entered the room.
"He was such a good boy, wasn't he?"
Racheal blinked, her mother's voice snapping her out of her trance. Harriet stood near the entrance, cradling a framed photo of Richard.
"He was such a promising young man," Harriet continued, her voice laced with a bittersweet smile. She traced the edges of the frame with her fingers, as if she could bring him back through touch alone.
"I hope he will come back to this house one day." Harriet's voice wavered, her composure cracking just enough to reveal the raw pain beneath. "I still believe my son is out there."
The words sent a shiver down Racheal's spine.
Her mother had hope. But Racheal knew the truth. Richard wasn't coming home.
Still, she forced herself to nod, her lips pressing into a thin line. "I hope so too, Mom," she whispered. "I miss Richard every day."
Her mother turned to her, eyes glistening with unshed tears. Without another word, she opened her arms.
Racheal hesitated only for a moment before standing and walking into her mother's embrace.
The hug was warm, tight, but fragile like they were both clinging to something that was already slipping through their fingers.
As the morning sun rose over Festac, casting a warm golden light over the sleepy town, Jones and his team resumed their daily search for Richard's body. Jones, hands on his hips, surveyed the river. The air smelled of damp earth and decay. His team stood ready, some knee deep in the murky water, others scanning the surface from the shore.
"Inspector!" One of the officers, John, called out, his voice sharp with urgency.
Jones turned just as John pointed toward the water.
"What is that?"
The silence was deafening.
"It looks like… a body," John whispered, his voice trembling.
Jones took a step forward, his stomach twisting. A white shirt, now stained with dirt and blood, was plastered to the corpse's chest. And right in the middle of his forehead was a bullet wound.
Jones' breath caught in his throat.
"Dear God…" His voice shook. "It's Richard George."
His hands trembled as he reached for his phone. He scrolled to Anthony George's number, Richard's father. He exhaled sharply before pressing the call button. The phone rang twice before a groggy voice answered.
"Jones? Why are you calling this early?".
"Mr. George," Jones replied, keeping his voice steady. "You need to come to the Silent River. We've found a body. We need you to identify it."
There was silence,then, a sharp inhale. "My son?" Anthony's voice cracked.
"Sir, please just get here as soon as possible," Jones muttered as he hung up the call.
Anthony sat frozen at the edge of the bed, his phone still clutched in his hand. His chest rose and fell heavily.
"Anthony, what is it?" Harriet stirred beside him, her voice laced with worry.
He didn't answer.
"Antony," Harriet pressed, reaching for his arm. "You look pale. What happened? Who called?" His grip on the phone tightened.
Finally, his voice came, barely above a whisper. "Jones…., He said they found a body by the Silent River."
Harriet's heart stopped for a second. "A body?" Her voice wavered.
Anthony nodded slowly. "We need to go there now to identify the body."
Harriet's hand flew to her chest. "Oh God…"
"Get dressed, Harriet," Anthony's voice was barely audible as he whispered, already putting on his shirt.
"Wait," she grabbed his arm, her nails digging into his skin. "Is it…? Anthony, is it Richard?"
He turned to her, his eyes heavy with something unreadable. He didn't answer.
A sob caught in Harriet's throat. "No...no, he's alive. He has to be alive."
Anthony's face was a mask of despair, offering no reassurance. We need to see it for ourselves before we jump to conclusions,"he said gravely.
Harriet's hands trembled as she reached for her robe."Anthony, what if it's him? What if it's Richard?
"I don't know, Harriet." His voice was low, almost defeated.
The ride to the Silent River was a blur of emotions, Harriet's mind racing with hopes that it wasn't her son. By the time they arrived, the river was crowded with police officers, and curious townspeople whispering amongst themselves. The air was heavy with the smell of damp earth.
Mrs. George?" Jones approached carefully, his face grim.
Harriet swallowed hard, forcing herself to move. "Where... where is the body?" she stammered. Jones turned, leading them toward the riverbank. The walk felt endless, every second a countdown to a devastating revelation. And then, they saw it. Covered with a white sheet, lying just at the edge of the water.
Harriet let out a sharp gasp, her knees buckling. Anthony caught her just in time. "Oh God," Harriet choked, tears burning in her eyes.
Jones hesitated before giving a nod to one of the officers. Slowly, painfully, the sheet was pulled back. Harriet let out a bloodcurdling scream.
Richard's lifeless body was carefully lifted onto a stretcher,and lifted into the ambulance, Harriet's screams still echoed through the misty morning air
"Get him to the morgue," Inspector Jones ordered, "We need a full autopsy report before sundown."
Antony and Harriet drove back to their house in silence, Harriet sobbing uncontrollably.
As soon as they arrived, she stormed upstairs, straight into Racheal's bedroom.
"I thought you said Richard drowned?!" Harriet's voice shattered the silence.
Racheal bolted upright. Her heart skipped a beat.
"Mom? What?"
Harriet shoved her phone in Racheal's face, her hands shaking with rage.
"You told us Richard drowned!" she snapped. "Then explain this! Explain the bullet in his head!"
Racheal froze. Her stomach twisted violently. She stared at the image in horror. "No… no, this can't be real," she whispered, her body trembling.
Harriet's grip on her arm tightened. Harriet took a deep, unsteady breath, then exhaled sharply.
Tears welled in Racheal's eyes. "I don't know…"
"Get dressed."
"What?" Racheal exclaimed
"You're coming with me."
"Where?"
"The morgue." Racheal's blood ran ice-cold. "No," she whispered, inching back.
Harriet's grip tightened. "Now."
The drive was tense, the air in the car thick with unspoken accusations. Rachael sat in the passenger seat, staring blankly out the window, her mind spinning in a haze of fear. Gunshot? Richard? The words repeated in her head like a cruel echo. An hour later, they arrived at the morgue.
The sterile scent of antiseptic clung to the air as Racheal stepped inside making her stomach churn. Her heartbeat pulsed in her ears. She didn't want to be here. Inspector Jones stood by the entrance, his eyes flicked between Racheal and Harriet before nodding toward the morgue attendant. A tense silence settled over the room as the sheet was peeled back once again.
Racheal's knees buckled at the sight of her brother's lifeless body. "No… no, no, no…" Racheal whispered, shaking her head in denial. "Richard…"
Harriet's breath hitched. Her hand flew to her mouth, suppressing a sob.
Inspector Jones cleared his throat. His voice was firm. "What happened that morning, Miss George?"
"I told you Mr Jones," she croaked. "We went for a boat ride. He..he fell in the water"
Jones didn't look convinced. "And yet, a week later, his body turns up with a bullet wound?" He stepped closer, eyes locked onto hers. "That doesn't happen by accident Miss George"
Jones exhaled, studying her for a long moment. "I suggest you start remembering."
Harriet, still paralyzed with shock, finally managed to choke out a whisper. "Who...who could have done this to my Richard?" she sobbed, her voice cracking with devastating pain
Jones's gaze darkened. "That's what I intend to find out."
He turned to the medical examiner. "How fresh is the gunshot wound?"
The examiner adjusted his glasses, "It's recent. In fact, Richard didn't die from drowning. His body was disposed of in the river after he was shot."
Harriet inhaled sharply, her hand flying to her chest. "That means."
Jones gave a slow, grim nod. "That means he was alive the whole time we were searching for him."
Racheal remained silent, her mind spinning with unanswered questions.
As they climbed into the car, Harriet's fingers trembled on the steering wheel. For a long moment, she didn't start the engine, just staring blankly ahead. Her voice dropped to a whisper, her words laced with determination. "Whoever did this... I want them brought to justice."
Racheal swallowed the lump in her throat, her eyes burning.
"So do I."
With that, Harriet turned the key in the ignition, the car rumbling to life. As they pulled away from the morgue, the weight of Richard's murder settled between them, thick and suffocating.