Chapter 1
Chapter one
She stood still, frozen, yet trembling in a way only she could feel. Her hands, bound by the cold, metallic handcuffs, rested limply in front of her. Her knees threatened to buckle but she stood firm, her mind replaying the scene over and over. This is what hell must feel like, she thought.
The air was thick with tension, a cocktail of disbelief and muffled chatter. The sun was setting, casting long shadows over the dusty grounds of the old compound in Naivasha.
It wasn’t one of posh establishments, the kind with manicured lawns and polite bellhops. No, this was one of those mid-tier, functional places: a whitewashed building with peeling paint, cheap potted palms flanking the main entrance and old “Sunbeam Suites” Neon sign on the building’s front. The kind of place where the scent of frying chips, Nyama choma, and spilt beer lingered in the air, mixing now with something more sinister and hurried.
The crowd outside the lobby swelled, pressing against the yellow police tape like restless waves. Blue flashing lights from the police van painted everything in a surreal, almost theatrical hue. A Land cruiser was also packed just behind it. Several officers alighted and after a man-presumably their sergeant- barked a few orders, they got busy.
A guard futilely waved a rungu, pleading with the growing throng. “Songeni nyuma! Move back!” But the people didn’t listen. They never did. Instead, they edged closer, craning necks and squinting eyes, eager to catch a glimpse of the unfolding drama.
“Ehe! Nini inaendelea hapa?” A woman holding her child on her hip asked, still in her nightgown, a stocking barely clinging to her head. The toddler tugged at it until it came off, hair neatly braided into neat cornrows. She didn’t even notice as she was busy on her tiptoes, struggling to peek past the hotel’s gate.
“Ule dame pale ndo suspect. Angalia vile amefungwa,” another lady whispered, pointing not-so-discreetly with her mouth.
Reporters and cameramen hovered just beyond the tape, lenses zooming in on anything that hinted at a scoop. A tall man in a bright red jacket waved a microphone in front of the police sergeant.
“Afande, is that woman in cuffs the suspect? Was this a domestic case?”
The officer waved him off. “We’ll issue a statement later. Tafadhali, stay back.”
Behind him, another “journalist” Tiktok appointed, live-streamed the scene. “Hey guys, For those just joining, this is the Sunbeam Suites in Naivasha. Details are still emerging, but a dead body was found here tonight. Stay tuned for more updates and dont forget to tap on the screen people”
Karendi's stomach churned as she caught sight of the camera pointed her way. She turned her face instinctively, but it didn’t matter. They’d already seen her. An officer nudged her forward roughly, and she stumbled, the sharpness of reality cutting through her foggy thoughts. One step, then another, heart pounding harder with every move toward the waiting vehicle.
Somewhere in the crowd, partially hidden, he watched her. His face calm, eyes unreadable, cold even. He chewed the inside of his cheek, skin taut, as he observed her being led to the police car. A pang of something, Regret? Anger? or Fear sliced through him briefly, then disappeared. His gaze flickered to the body being lifted onto the stretcher. Karendi hadn’t thought it would come to this.
“Who’s the victim?” an onlooker asked “No idea.” Another retorted
“These cheap hotels… always full of drama. Si you see the kind of people who stay here? Nothing good ever comes out of it.”
Victim. Karendi wanted to scream, to shout that she wasn’t the monster they would paint her to be. But her voice lodged somewhere in her throat.
Her gaze drifted to the window, and the memory hit her. The bed in that dim hotel room. He had pinned her down, chest pressing hers, arms trapping hers at her sides. She had smelled the alcohol on him, his unsteady, drunken sway giving her tiny windows of movement. Her silky knee length wrap dress had shifted slightly as she twisted beneath him.
Then she saw the scissors on the nightstand, glinting faintly. He had been too drunk to notice her fingers brushing the cold metal. One swift motion, aimed at the side of his neck… and then a shriek.
Blood had spurted faster than the movies depicted in scenes, warm and sticky, soaking the sheets and dripping onto her hands. The metallic stench hit her and nausea twisted her stomach. Confusion clouded her mind; she pressed her palm against the wound, trembling, wishing she could take it all back. The room spun around her and for a moment she had wanted to vanish, to undo everything.
Back to the present, the officer nudged her forward. “Harakisha,” he muttered, irritated, flat. She forced her legs to move.
She ducked her head and climbed into the caged back of the land cruiser. The slam of its door sealing her in.
The crowd outside grew even louder, a cacophony of voices, rumors already forming. You could see the boda boda riders and mama mboga’s rehashing to each other versions of what they thought had happened, while they leaned against their motorbikes as though the scene were part of some matinee.
As the vehicles pulled away from the chaotic scene, Karendi leaned her head back against the cold interior, mind racing through the whirlwind that had brought her here. It was all her fault. Maybe this was karma.
Judge all you may, but first let me take you back to when it all fell apart
They say when the devil can’t reach you, he sends a man.
Maybe the devil does bargain.
Karendi didn’t know if the truth would save her or ruin her. In this country, truth rarely mattered. What she needed was a miracle since she had no tall relative in the government.
And so, in the early hours of that cold December morning, the girl who had lost her faith long ago whispered a prayer. Small, trembling, desperate, hoping someone, anyone superior was listening.
