Something was wrong.

She had known it the moment she’d called his mobile and heard that female automated voice: “The number you have dialed is currently unavailable”.

His phone was always on – unless he was sleeping. And he never went to sleep without calling her first.

Making a split second decision, she picked up her purse and keys and dashed out of the house. The journey to his house was short, thanks to light late night traffic. She let herself in through the gate and walked briskly to his door, all the while trying to calm her racing heart.

The door swung open at her touch.
‘Calm down,’ she said to herself. ‘Don’t get carried away before you’ve even seen anything.’

She walked slowly into the kitchen, barely breathing, afraid to make a sound. Suddenly the ground lurched towards her as she tripped over something. With nothing nearby to break her fall, she landed heavily on her knees and gasped at the pain. Liquid seeped beneath her fingers. She figured that was what had made her loose her footing. At least that was until she saw the body at her feet.

Scrambling frantically away from the body, she let out a strangled cry.
‘No, no, no, no,’ she said in a gasp.

Things with James had been rocky these past few weeks. This could not be his body on the ground. There was no way life was that cruel.

Try as she might, she could not fool herself into not knowing what the liquid was. She had just got him back and now he was lying beside her in a pool of his own blood.

‘James,’ she whispered, inching closer to the body.

She didn’t know why she was calling his name. There was a lot of blood on the floor. Yet she called his name out loud again, now leaning over his body. Tears began to blur her vision as she confirmed to herself the inevitable. It was her James’ face she was looking down at. It was his long lashes that framed the shut eyes. His nose that was caked in blood. His mouth that she had always made fun of, saying he could not smile straight.

‘James,’ she tried once more, her voice now choked in a sob.

No response. Not even a twitch.

Sweeping her eyes over his body, she tried to tell where most of the blood was coming from but the lighting was too dim. Instinct warned her to not get up and turn on the light. The door had been ajar when she had arrived a few minutes ago. There was no telling what she had walked into.

“Oh my God,” she gasped. The realisation that had been gradually dawning on her came in all at once, hitting her like a cement truck. “Oh my God, he’s de – Oh my God.”

Falling back on her haunches, she sobbed out loud, no longer caring for her own safety. ‘James! Jaaaaayyy –’

‘This must be,’ said a new voice from somewhere inside the house, ‘the beautiful Malaika.’

Startled, Malaika stopped mid-cry and looked up. The newcomer was a tall, slim-built man dressed in an ill-fitting shirt and black trousers. He stepped into the kitchen, smirking.

‘So sorry you had to see this,’ he said, speaking slowly. ‘If you had come… mmm… let’s say about an hour from now, you would spared yourself this awful, terrible sight.’

She watched the man fiddle with his watch as he spoke. There was no point asking who he was. He was the reason she and James had been having problems; the reason they had even split up for a while. They had had so many arguments about him that she had nicknamed him, “Mr Anderson”.

‘I assume you know who I am,’ continued Mr Anderson, ‘seeing as you haven’t said anything.’ He took a few more steps into the kitchen. ‘You can see, obviously, that I know exactly who you are.’

An involuntary shudder ran down her spine at his words. James had always promised her that she was safe. He had sworn that his “other business ventures” would never put her at risk.

‘Well, that was when he was alive,’ she thought morbidly.

‘Ah, good. You say nothing, which means you do know,’ said Mr Anderson. ‘Good, that helps things along.’

Malaika realised she was trembling, quite visibly at that. She willed her body to stay still but it simply would not. The blood from James’ body was beginning to seep into her jeans.

‘You know, for someone who’s just discovered her boyfriend’s dead body, you’re handling this quite well.’ She detected grudging admiration in his tone as she watched him begin to slowly circle her. ‘But that does not matter. You were not supposed to be here.’

Malaika bit back a plea for her life. Instead, she said, ‘If you’re going to kill me, please do it quickly.’

He swivelled around to face her. Then he laughed. And laughed again. Malaika noted that he appeared to be genuinely amused.

‘Kill you? My dear Malaika, weh! James was right, you are much tougher than you look.’

Those few words thrust her into a wave of memories…

‘My little Conjestina,’ said James, gently squeezing Malaika’s forearm like it was a squeaky toy.

‘Ach!’ She swatted his arm away. ‘I told you to stop doing that!’

James was laughing even before she finished speaking. He reached for her arm again, a cheeky grin on his face.

‘Jay,’ she said, warningly.

‘Okay, sawa, I’ve stopped,’ he said, laughing, as he withdrew his arm quickly. ‘But you know, seriously, people should know you’re a ka-tough one. Size isn’t everything.’

‘Clearly it wasn’t enough to keep you from chasing me down.’ Her tone was now amused. ‘I used my best “don’t-mess” face on you and still you wouldn’t leave me alone.’

‘Sorry doll, that only made me want you more.’ His arms encircled her waist. Drawing her close, he nuzzled her neck. ‘And this way, I know you can take care of yourself.’

Just as quickly as the memories had flooded in, they lifted off and Malaika found herself back in the present. Back in the moonlit kitchen, kneeling in the blood of her dead lover, watched by his would-be killer.

Her brain seemed to have slowed down considerably. It only occurred to her then, that she would never again hear James calling her “his Conjestina”. A jarring cry escaped her lips, shocking both her and Mr Anderson.

‘Why! Why did you have to kill him?’ She was screaming at him, channelling all her feelings, known and unknown at the man standing calmly before her. ‘Why, why, why! He was through, he had finished with you! He didn’t owe you anything anymore! Why couldn’t you have just left us alone, eh? Why?’

Mr Anderson watched her scream and pull at her t-shirt. He waited until her gasping sobs subsided before he spoke.
‘My dear,’ he began, ‘who says I’m the one who killed him?’

Malaika eyed him warily.

He closed the distance between them and crouched down on the other side of James’ body. Even then, an unspeakable power oozed from him. He looked down at James for a long moment. She was surprised when she spotted a look of pain flash across the other man’s face.
‘James was loyal. I had no issues with him. I had no reason to kill him.’
Abruptly, he stood up.

‘I don’t care whether you believe me. What I do care about is finding out who did this to James. And when I do find them, I swear …’
He caught himself. Without another word, Mr Anderson strode towards the front door. He stopped right at the threshold and spoke, his back still facing her.

‘You can report this to the police if you want. But be careful. And don’t trust anybody.’

He made to leave but was stopped by a frantic ‘Wait!’

‘When you find out, I want to know. I want you to tell me.’ Malaika’s voice was shaky but it rang with confidence. ‘I want to know.’

This time he turned around to look at her. And this time, the tone of admiration in his voice was evident.

‘James was a lucky man,’ he said. Then he blended into the night.