ROT IN JAIL!

Besides her, the only person in the entire building was locking up his office to go. She glanced at her wristwatch; it was exactly 4:55 pm, fifty five minutes past official hours.

           “Hello, Miss Jane, I hope you didn’t leave your wrist watch at home!” Mr. Ben, the accountant asked, surprised to see Jane in her office at such time.

           “My wristwatch?” Confused at the question, Jane rolled up her sleeve to show her golden wristwatch which she valued so much. It was her twenty eighth birthday present from her father. Her dressing would be incomplete without gracefully sliding her left hand into it. 

           “Did you check the time?”

           Jane smiled. She saw where he was driving at. She hardly stays back in the office five minute past the official hours.           

“I need the overtime dough,” she smiled.

           “Come off it, Jane, If it’s about the dough, a call to your wealthy father will solve the problem?”  

Jane smiled, “I actually applied for a casual leave tomorrow, our boss granted it on the condition that I finish the paperwork on my table and submits to him this evening.”

           “Another wonder,” Ben regarded her suspiciously, “you hardly apply for casual leaves. Is there something you’re not telling me?”

           “Something I’m not telling you, like what, Mr Ben,” she asked, making her face at him.

           “Like a single lady going to a single man and …”

           Picking up the pen on her table, she threw it at Ben. He dodged it, amused.

           “Bad guy,” she smiled.

           “Enjoy tomorrow, Miss Jane,” he winked, adjusted his tie and began to walk away.

           Jane’s mouth still curled in a smile some minutes after Ben left. His kind of person amazed her, always guessing right.

           “Jane, concentrate on your work if your date tomorrow will hold,” she told herself. She worked tirelessly to meet her deadline of 6.00pm. When she finished, she made a sign of the cross, thankfully. Picking up her purse and bringing out a mirror and her hair brush, she made sure she was looking her best before heading to the door, holding the files she had worked on in her left hand.

Opening the main entrance door, she stiffened. Outside raged a blizzard so strong that the familiar sight of the compound had been almost erased.

She stared with her mouth widely open, there was nothing friendly about the snow outside; it falls thick enough to blind anyone travelling either by foot or vehicle, the black clouds were so thick.

           She hit her palm on the wall, tensed up. How could she be stuck in here all alone? Blizzards, she knew, lasts for minimum of three hours.

           “Long enough to die of boredom!” she cried, kicked the door shut and staggered back to her office.

           She flung the files she was holding on the table and collapsed on her armchair. She was mad at everything – the weather, the job, her boss that made her stay behind this late.

           “Calm down, Jane,” she told herself, “why are you working up yourself over situation you cannot control, remember ‘que sera sera!”

           Que sera sera, whatever will be will be, she smiled to her favourite quote and calmed down. Slipping her feet off her shoes, she walked to the sofa opposite the armchair which was almost her length and lay on it.   

           “Blizzard, take your time, Jane is taking her time,” she said, relaxing her nerves.

           An hour later she became tired of lying down and needed a walk. The thought of taking a walk round the building amused her.

           But it wasn’t a bad idea, she thought afterward. There are many rooms in the building; it will be fun to go on adventure. She stepped out of her office and began to walk down the long corridor leading to her boss’ office. She couldn’t remember how many times she had walked through that passage, maybe twenty times every day.

           On getting to the front of his boss’ office, she took the left path and kept walking till she got to the area that was completely dark.

Fear gripped her, when she remembered she was not allowed to go beyond where she was standing.

           “That area is off limit for everyone working here,” Mr. Ben had warned her on her first day at work.

           “Why can’t I walk in there?” she had asked him.

           “Miss Jane, can you remember what they said that killed the rat?” he had returned.

           “Curiosity,” she answered.

           “Good. Don’t let it turn to, ‘curiosity killed Miss Jane’.”

           She was curious to know what was happening there but she decided to let sleeping dog lie. But right now she couldn’t help the feeling of exploring the rooms at the area marked off limit. She felt her jean pocket, her phone was right there. That was all she needed. She brought it out, powered the phone’s torchlight and set forward boldly.

It was a long walk; she passed closed offices whose doors appeared so deserted that she wondered when last it was opened. Finally she got to the end of the path.

           “So what’s the mystery about this part of the building that every worker is afraid to discuss?”

           She sighed and turned to leave when an instinct told her to look by her left. The only thing she saw was a big shelf. She pulled the two doors forward and peered into the shelf. Nothing inside the shelf held her interest. It was full of old stuffs which were either no longer useful or may not be used in a very long time. They were parked toward the left side of the shelf, leaving a slight space towards the right. She was about to close it when she saw something. The rear of the shelf wasn’t fixed like other shelves she had seen. It had a sliding rear. Carefully, she put her hand forward and pushed the slide toward the left.

           She opened her mouth, astonished. The rear of the shelf opened to reveal staircases leading to an underground apartment. She had listened to many rumours since she joined the firm but not about the firm having an underground apartment. And taking much pain to conceal the entrance to the abasement was indeed suspicious. She sensed danger!

           Her first thought was to run back to her office as fast as her legs could carry her; but her strong will took better part of her.

           Don’t let it turn to, curiosity killed Jane. She heard Mr. Ben’s word loud and clear in her brain.

           “But one thing must kill a man,” she whispered to herself, forced herself inside the shelf and started climbing down, slowly. She would listen intently before taking another step. She looked forward and was disappointed when she sighted the flat at the base firmly secured with an electronic door. Her chances of getting to the root of her exploration were zero with an electronic door staring at her face. She was about giving up when her eyes diverted to the last staircase of the basement. It was unbelievable what her eyes saw – a key card!

           What luck! The card must have fallen off from the last person who accessed the basement. Taking two steps at a time, she completed her downward movement and picked up the card.

           But chances are the key card you just picked up may belonged to another apartment.         

          “And how would I know unless I try,” she told herself.

           This could turn out to be a dangerous adventure for you.

“I already know that!”

Holding the keycard, she looked around the area and was glad she did because she saw a four light switches beside the door. One of the switches was a bit different from others but difficult to be spotted out. She recognized it because her brother who was a Security system installer had brought home a similar switch some time ago. She had casually taken up the switch when her brother prompted her to keep it, as, according to him, it was very costly.

           “Very costly, how could an ordinary switch be as costly as you claim?” she had asked him.

           “Because it is not actually light switch, it a secret alarm switch working with electronic doors, once it is switched on and the door is opened, it will activate an alarm system which is installed many kilometers away from the building, that way the burglar will be rounded up.”

           “What happens if the burglar locates it and switches it off,” she had asked.

           “It is difficult for burglars or intruders to recognize it by what it is. But if they do and switch it off, it will automatically switch on after three minutes thereby activating the alarm system wherever it is installed if the door is still unlocked.”

           “But what if the burglar enters and shuts the door before the switch automatically goes on?” she had asked.

           “Then the alarm will be let off when he opens the door to leave. He will only be safe if he finishes whatever his mission is in three minutes and closes back the door, which is unlikely. The alarm will still go off if the switch is put off again after automatically switching on itself. This system is strange to lots of home breakers and intruders.”

           “Three minutes to finish whatever you have to do there!” Jane told herself.

           Bringing out her phone, she accessed the stopwatch application and put it on. Then she quickly reached the switch and put it off. She slotted the keycard, her eyes glow when the door beeped and opened revealing a well furnished flat. The lights were fully on; she could see some part of the interior of the flat from where she was standing. By every indication, someone was living in that apartment. But who could it be? Why all these efforts to distract every attention to the building.

           Could this be kidnappers’ den? Is her boss a kidnapper?

           Terrified, she began to tiptoe backwards. She had to leave at once before they catch her.

           “Charles, is it not better you kill me than this torment?”

           She paused. It was a female voice.

           After some seconds the voice came again,

           “Go ahead and come in, Charles, I’m not a murderer like you if you are afraid I will kill you.”

Charles? The owner of the voice was certainly familiar with her boss. Using his first name, even among his senior friends, was something Mr. Carson would always frown at.    

           “This is not Charles,” Jane said amidst fears.

           She sensed the person inside the flat stiffened to alertness.

           “Who are you?”

           “I work for Mr. Carson as a …”

           “Has he sent you to kill me? He is a coward, why wouldn’t he do it himself.”

           What’s this killing all about? She wondered. And why was this woman referring to her boss as a killer, the almighty Carson, the people’s choice?

           “Listen to me, ma’am, I am not a killer, and Mr. Carson didn’t send me, I can help you if you would allow me,” Jane said.

The woman walked towards the section of Jane’s view. In a split second the woman sized her with her eyes, silently. And Jane did likewise.

           The woman looked frail and unkempt.

           “How did you get in here?” she asked Jane.          

“Emm … the blizzard … I mean I get stuck in here and I decided to see places we were not allowed access to, one way or the other I found myself here.”

           “That’s a stupid adventure you’d embarked on, you could be killed. Charles wouldn’t hesitate to pump some bullets into your skull if he finds out what you’ve done, and he should be on his way now.”

           Her words made Jane remembered the alarm system which she had forgotten while talking with the woman. She glanced at the stopwatch.

           00:02:49

           What! Eleven seconds to go! Without thinking, she reached the woman’s hand and pulled her with her entire strength. The frail woman was taken by surprise, though she attempted to resist. She flung her out of the flat and the woman went crashing on the flour beside the stairs. Ignoring her, she quickly slotted back the keycard into the lock and the door shut, and beeping again. In same second, the alarm switch went automatically on.

           She closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, thankfully. She then turned to face the woman who was looking curiously at her.

           “What do you think you are doing,” the woman asked making no attempt to get up from where Jane’s pull flung her to.

           “Trying to save you,” Jane said.

           Shaking her head pitifully, the woman said, “You have made the worst mistake of your life. The last person that attempted what you just did is either singing in heaven or crying in hell right now. I’m not afraid to die, but I simply pity you.”

           Truly, Jane was afraid to hear that but it was late to play safe.

           “Would you stop thinking about me and think about yourself. I can take care of myself.”

           The frail woman guffawed.

           “If you think you can outsmart my husband then you have a shocker coming your way.”

           “Your husband?” Jane thought aloud, “Mr Carson is your husband?”

           Her mouth curved into a smile, “Charles’ wife is suppose to be in Europe, right? Isn’t it funny that the same woman who everybody believes is in Europe is a prisoner in her husband’s building?”

           “Are you kidding, madam?”

           “And why will I?” She frowned, “Everybody believed Charles, and no one had ever taken time to verify his claims, perhaps, because they took him to be a nice man, a philanthropist, whatever … Unfortunately, my husband is the exact opposite of the person he presents to the public. Only handful of people knew his real self and they can’t talk else they will end up dead or become a prisoner in any of his numerous hideouts,”

           She paused, smiled mischievously and continued, “I learnt he is running for presidency?”

           “Yes,” Jane replied still battling to believe the revelation about his boss, “and election is few days ahead.”

           “And do you think he is going to win?”

           “By every indication, yes.”

           The woman shook her head, “I pity Americans if my husband wins. He is a beast, a vicious murderer. He killed our only daughter!”

           “What?”

           “Yes, he did,” she continued, “and killing you won’t take him anything.” She paused, thought for a second and said, “You said there’s blizzard out there? That’s exactly why you are still breathing now, but even at that your chances of surviving is as slim as a thread.”

           “Don’t worry, madam, no one knew I’m here. I altered his alarm system.” The woman’s face brightened up.

           “Now, tell me why Mr Carson … your husband, killed your daughter and how did you end up becoming his prisoner.”

           The woman’s eyes were filled with unshed tears, “Charles is sex manic. We knew about his sex problem all along but the height of it was when he raped our daughter, his very blood!” She paused and began to sob. Jane offered her an handkerchief, she wiped her tears and continued, “Roseline was traumatized beyond words and threatened to let the world know about it. It was not an empty threat as she picked up her phone and called a journalist working with CNNA, asking him to meet up with her in the mall close to our building. Immediately she ended the call, my husband shot her in the brain.”

           She began to sob again, “that Bastard shot our daughter right before my eyes, and took away her corpse.”

           “Unbelievable!” Jane exclaimed, “what happened to the journalist your daughter called?”

           “He died that same evening. They reported he died in a car accident but I can swear with my life that Charles killed him. When Charles saw that I was bent on getting justice for our daughter’s death, he turned me into a prisoner. He can’t kill me because he loves me with his life. On the contrary, I hate him passionately. There is nothing I want most than to see him rot in jail.”

           “And in jail, he will rot!” Jane swore, loud.

           She picked up her phone and dialed her fiancé’s number, when he answered she said.

           “Pat, how much do you need a promotion?”

           “Like life itself,” Pat said from the other end.

           “Then arrange for FBI to meet up with me in the office as soon as the Blizzard is over, there is a big fish to catch. His prosecution will give you the promotion you needed so much.”

           Two hours later, the almighty Mr. Carson, the predicted next president of America, was led away from his mansion, in cuffs. He paused when he saw his wife standing with Jane. His wife spitted at him.

           “I will be happier if they are taking you to gas chamber instead,” she said.

           “It’s still possible he will end up there,” Jane replied.     

THE END