Hell Mary

Chapter Twenty-three

Thelma returned minutes later and handed the book to the detective, watching as she compared each page with the half cut paper that bore Mary's supposed suicide note.

"The note doesn't look like Mary's handwriting from what I can see." She flipped a page. Then speaking in a low voice she added, "It certainly looks like yours. Did you forge the letter? Did you kill Mary?"

Thelma felt queasiness spiralling across her numb body and how her guts wrenched mockingly. It was finally over for her. She sat down and screeched the rough ends of the plastic chair against the cold ground until she was sure her hands could touch the detective's.

"Ma, the truth is-" she started. Her head throbbed but she locked the pain inwardly and kept her eyes shut to prevent the burn from the hot tears. She breathed heavily and would bite her lower lip, revealing a newer pinker lower lip. The detective furrowed her brows and listened. It was evident from Thelma's discomfort that she knew who the killer was. Silence eloped between them. The detective listened but Thelma had stopped talking, until a loud voice crept out through the detective's phone and the name Chudi danced on the screen.

"Hello," the detective spoke up. Thelma heard very little whispers through her speaker and watched as she nodded as though the Chudi saw her. "Alright, I'm on my way," she finally said and ended the call. She stood up hurriedly and busied her hands with aligning the crumpled pages of the papers. "I'm going to the station, I finally know who killed Mary. Thank you for your time."

Thelma refused to stand and watched as the swerving legs of the detective left the room and how her hands shut the door. She watched the once filled table clear up until her every word would linger in the air for longer in an echo. The coffee maker still stood, rippling with brown coffee. She wanted to pour herself some because the unfurling event seemed unbelievable. "Who was the person the detective referred to?" She wondered.

*****

Ashley was graced with her flowery gown and she clutched tightly her pillow, pressing the softness close to her chest and sniffing the baby oil that had seeped into the pillow between the tiny pores of the Mickey Mouse pillow case. For a brief moment, she imagined the pillow was Martins, a very unlikely probability, but she willed it to be him.

Stella climbed up the attached ladder and laid beside Ashley, watching her lips corner to a smile. The hostel was rowdy, filled with girls in small groups chatting and packing. In few hours everyone would be dragging their bags along the hot tarmac and forcing their ways through their parents' cars and for the many others without one, a hired cab or a tricycle. Whatever means to leave school.

The school was haunted and people feared nearing the incinerator or anywhere alone. Many others swore never to return and would hurriedly toss their items into their Echolac bags and discuss Mary. Stella had come over to discuss Mary as well with Ashley, who seemed to be having a great time swinging her legs along the silky material that wrapped her bed, creating sweet sparks of ecstasy and a sudden nostalgic feeling of recreating something similar with the sheets in her house.

"Finally everything is over! I can't wait to go home and rest," Ashley said.

Stella frowned. It was definitely not the dismissive response she wanted. "Is everything over though? Mary's body has not yet been found, Martins is still in jail and Thelma said the detective has someone else and not her. I have a very strong feeling about this. What if Mary is alive?" Stella asked, peering over the thick blanket that hid a portion of Ashley's eyes which were now locked shut. "Ashley," Stella called out, but Ashley was fast asleep and snored softly.

*****

Mary had been declared fit but not free enough for discharge. Beatrice sat beside the bed and shoved in mouthful of steaming jollof rice into Mary's mouth. Her back ached and so she placed her fingers on the throbbing part that had become stiff after so long of remaining in one tedious position, facing up and silently praying she won the endless war against death.