

Copyright © 2015 N.X. Roberts

The right of N.X. Roberts to be identified as the authors of the Work has been asserted her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

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DEDICATION

God over everything. This one is for you mom...

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Author's note

The Rejected: Episode 1of 9

About the Author

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THE REJECTED

EPISODE 1 OF 9

By N.X. Roberts

Kuzimu, where the mungu population is closely monitored and disturbances of the peace are by no means tolerated.

Keep calm...

Keep the peace...

Listen to authority...

Or you'll find yourself doing so, whether you want to or not...

Surrounded by mystery, Sapphire Adams, is an inquisitive young programmer who suffers from social anxiety disorder. Thrust into a world where she is compelled to face her fears, she must adjust her long held beliefs and do things she never thought possible. Although forced to keep family secrets that she doesn't understand, her family past is shrouded by an obscurity she yearns to decipher but....

The truth has a price... Can she pay it...?

This is the first installment of the nine (9) episode series, The Rejected of novella length, (approx. 20,000 words each 92 print pages). Each episode will be published biweekly.

I hope you enjoy!

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Note from the Author

Embark on this journey with me where there is page turning drama, mystery, science fiction, suspense, urban fantasy and loads of action.

The Chrysalids meet the Divergent....This book has something for everyone.

It was an amazing experience writing this book – I hope you have an amazing experience reading it as well.

N.X. Roberts

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# Prologue

Every time mungu people got together there had to be dissension...Every time! Was it some defect in our DNA that predisposed us to hating each other and having silly arguments? Darius realized that these thoughts about his people were negative and he didn't want to think that way. Especially as he was one of the few people who knew the real truth. He instead decided to focus on the enchanting youngster, who now impatiently wrestled for his attention.

"Why is it blue daddy?" Sapphire was referring to the azure sky.

She pulled on his T-shirt, with her little stumpy fingers, and a perplexed expression.

He saw that look many times before. At four years old, he didn't think she could wrap her mind around the complicated concept of why the sky appears blue. He would have to tell her about the mixture of gas molecules and other materials surrounding the earth. Then, he would have to explain how these molecules scatter the blue light rays of the sun, making the sky appear blue. So instead Darius tried to conjure up a simpler explanation, but eventually gave up and resolved to take the easy route.

" 'Cause God made it that way, princess."

He felt a bit guilty about his response. Didn't he inwardly condemn those Sumu preachers for using that statement?

"Why are the mungus the most incarcerated, disease affected and scorned people on the planet?" one might ask.

"'Cause God in his infinite wisdom, made it that way!" They would respond.

His reply seemed to be enough for Sapphire though, at least for now. He was content just to look at her, watching her have experiences for the first time.

It was both a blessing and a curse to have a daughter as intelligent as this one. Her intellect and curiosity would get her in trouble one day. He knew it. She was bound to find out the truth eventually. He could tell by her inquisitive nature that she would. She was too young for the truth now and he had to protect his family for as long as he could. He needed to preserve her innocence for a little while longer. But the more he analyzed the situation he was in, the more he settled on the conviction that perhaps it was this very truth that could protect her, save her in years to come. It was then that Darius decided he had no choice but to tell her. As soon as she could understand and bear the burden of this truth, he would tell her everything. For now, he would enjoy this time with his family. Or at least he would try to.

Darius really didn't attend much of the cook-outs in the neighborhood anymore because fights would always break out among members of the community. He also didn't want his daughter exposed to some of things that took place, like heavy drinking and vulgar dancing. But on this occasion, Sarah insisted, putting forth the convincing argument that she never went anywhere, ever since she gave birth to his child. She could be very persuasive when she had to be. Darius eventually caved and agreed because he felt responsible for the situation. After all it was he that insisted she stay at home after she became pregnant.

The cook-outs usually took place in someone's front lawn with people bringing their own lawn chairs and lounging around, typically in shorts, vests and sunglasses. This time it's Mr. Joseph who holds the gathering but everyone knew him as old man Jo. He was at the grill boasting to some of his neighbors about his cooking skills. He wore a cream colored apron. Whether cream was the actual color or it was white and turned dingy, no one could tell.

"Let the grill man work in peace, this ain't no restaurant." He said as he sipped his beer.

He placed a burger patte on a woman's plate and stared at her behind as she walked off.

"No no no, you can't take away a plate for him, he should have come." A woman said.

Onlookers laughed at her outburst. There were always people who wanted to eat too much or take away a plate before everyone was served.

Attendees were expected to bring something. Sarah made the potato salad and some of her friends brought mac and cheese. There was loud music playing and a group of people break dancing as others looked on. A few old men were drinking alcohol under the shade of a tree.

The smell of smoky meat and meat products on the grill gave Darius a mixture of nausea and nostalgia. There was a time in his life when feasting on these cook-out menus was the highlight of the entire occasion. He used to love the smell of pig-feet. Now it just burned his nose causing him to fight the impulse to gag. There were other attractions of front-yard cook-outs of course. Women frequented these events, but more importantly, scantily clad women, frequented these events. The men went there on the hunt. And the women went there with the expectation of being hunted, though they would never admit it if asked. But these days, Darius only had eyes for one woman, his wife and mother of his daughter. Right now she was on the receiving end of a heated piece of gossip. Darius studied her while she laughed, and her friends relayed a story. Sarah never looked more appealing than when she was in the middle of a chuckle. She held her stomach as she threw back her head, thoroughly enjoying the conversation. His daughter was now hula-hooping with a few of the other children, having the time of her life. And then he saw it...The incident he was praying would not happen.

"Hey you better watch it man, that's my girl you talkin' bout." Brick stared directly at Mano with tight fists, clenched at his sides, pushing his face impossibly closer to the older man.

Mano was unfazed by Bricks fury. The slur in his words and the bottle he clutched were reason enough.

"Man err-body know that girl a hoe." He was about to take a swig at the bottle covered in a brown paper bag. Brick slapped it out of his hand and that sure enough got Mano's attention. "What the hell is wrong with you Brick, I damn near raised you, ask yo' momma!" he slurred trying to keep his eyes open.

All reason seemed to have left Brick. The first punch he threw, collided with Mano's jaw, causing him to cough uncontrollably. This wasn't enough for Brick though. Mano's nose was the next casualty. It spewed blood as he collapsed on the front lawn. Brick's bloodshot eyes and heavy breathing illustrated his ever-growing discontent. He was ready to hit Mano some more.

"Get up and fight, old fool!"

He was about to start kicking the wailing man, when a few of the other men at the gathering stepped in. They pulled Brick away as he shoved them off violently, trying his best to land a few kicks at Mano. It took four men to restrain him.

Mano went home to lick his wounds, but not before he picked up his half broken bottle of alcohol. Everyone stood around to witness the melee and give their two cents.

As soon as Darius realized what was happening he tried to gather his family so that they could leave quickly. He grabbed his daughter as she was stuffing her little mouth with a handful of that orange colored, processed corn snack garbage, they loved to give children. He wanted Sarah to stop feeding these foods to his daughter. He knew the damaging effects it could have on her. Sarah was saying her goodbyes. This could take a while. As he waited, he saw people pulling out their take away bowls and aluminum foil for extra food.

When his wife had her fill of the "I'll see you later girl" goodbyes, they headed to the car. Darius hardly had time to check his mirrors and put his seat beat on when Sapphire spoke up.

"Mommy I have to go potty". She crossed her legs together and the discomfort on her face was unmistakable. They didn't need to ask if it was urgent.

"Let me take her, we'll be quick, I promise." Sarah said.

Darius waited in the car for them.

As fate would have it, the sector guards showed up right after they went inside. They came rushing out of their vehicles like their lives depended on it.

"Get on the ground!...Don't move!...Stop right there!" sector guards barked these commands to the males at the gathering.

The women looked on with trepidation as their men were stomped on, slapped and shoved for no other reason than being mungu.

Old man Jo now had a nasty gash over his left eye. He looked to be in need of serious medical attention.

One woman wasn't too keen on the idea of her thirteen year old son being mishandled, so she tried to protect him. She was slapped and kicked soundly for intervening on his behalf.

Darius had no idea that he was holding his breath the whole time these things were taking place. He breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his wife and daughter headed towards him. That was until he unlocked the doors to let them inside, and the sound attracted attention.

"Over there, one of them is getting away!" an officer pointed his index finger in their direction. One millisecond later, all of their guns were aimed at Darius and his family. He knew better than to try to make a run for it. The sector guards were the law in Kuzimu. His life and that of his family were meaningless to any them. He slowly stepped out of his car with his hands up and started toward the gathering. One of the guards grabbed him by the collar and pushed him toward the other mungu men they just victimized.

"Alright, line these monkeys along the wall," lieutenant Cave said with authority. He was apparently leader of this exercise. He continued. "My name is lieutenant Randy Cave; we have reason to believe that some of you have not been obeying the laws of this fine, peaceful, land of Kuzimu. We've received reports of erratic behavior and for your own safety we are here to provide our assistance. This is a routine exercise. Just cooperate and no harm will come to you." He managed to keep a straight face while he made his speech.

Was this beast serious? These people ransacked the house, toppled the grills, beat up every male mungu present along with some of the females, insulted and humiliated everyone, yet he had the audacity to say that no one will be harmed. The look Darius gave the officer must have mirrored his thoughts.

"You there, do you have something to say? Are you eying me boy?" Cave said.

The two men weren't the same age, but it wasn't uncommon for the shetani to refer to mungu people with demeaning names such as boy, wench or monkey. In fact everyone seemed to be used to it.

"No," he looked Cave in the eye. "I was not." Darius answered meekly, but the contrast of his facial expression, one of pure hot hatred, was unsettling to Cave.

Lieutenant Cave believed mungus like this needed to be taught a lesson.

"Get up and empty your pockets boy." Cave yelled.

Darius obeyed giving no other response.

"Take your shirt off and kneel down!" Cave's ever-growing fury showed in his tone.

As soon as Darius complied, one of the guards pushed him to the ground and the side of his face was pressed against the grass.

Darius maintained a defiant stance despite his humiliating circumstance. He was determined to die like a man in front of his family and these onlookers, not a coward. In his mind he decided that he would not let them break him. They could kill him if they wanted to, but they would never break him. If anything could break him, it would be the anguished way Sarah looked at him and her tear-filled face. Or it would be his daughter's expression.

Sapphire seemed to be in a daze. She repeatedly gasped for air but other than that, she didn't move an inch. She just stared at her father with her mouth open, balling her tiny hands together. Darius was sure that her tormented face would haunt him until his dying day.

Officer Cave walked over, placed his knee on Darius' back and pulled out his gun.

"You ugly little monkey, aren't you afraid of what I could do to you boy?" He cocked the gun and pressed it to Darius' cheek. Darius made peace with the situation. He thought at least these savages would see that the mungus weren't all fearful push-overs. At least these people could see a glimpse of what a fearless mungu man looked like.

"What the hell are you waiting for? Do it!" He breathed, then closed his eyes.

"Oh, we have a feisty one! No that's too easy a death for you little fella." Officer cave removes his gun "Stick around we'll have some fun, me and you." Cave drawled. "Get this one in the truck guys! We found what we came for."

The crowd dispersed.

Darius had a million thoughts as he marched slowly toward the waiting sector guard truck. He thought about how in one single act he had changed the course of his entire life. He thought about how he finally stood up to these devils. He thought about the plans Lieutenant Cave had for him. He thought about everything except a crying Sapphire. He could never think about how she now shrieked and struggled in her mother's arms, in pain calling out to him. He wouldn't allow himself to think about how his family would survive without him. He would not think about the pivotal truth he had yet to tell his daughter. His precious Sapphire...

# Chapter 1

I can do this! People do it all the time. I simply have to go up there and give a detailed presentation on this software I wrote, to about two hundred people. People like all my co-workers, my company's clients, the chief of staff and the freaking mayor! No big deal. No pressure at all. Why did I choose to be a computer programmer again? Oh yes, because it allows me long hours of deep uninterrupted work with my computer. That's how I like it, just me and my computer. Someone should have warned me that if my work exceeded expectations, I could have some public speaking to do. Of all the people, why me? Why Sapphire Adams? Someone shoot me please. Or better yet give me one of those PIT (Peace Initiation Treatment) injections; I hear it makes you calm. A little uncoordinated, slow and zombie-like, but at least you're calm.

"Hey relax, you'll be fine," Natasha gives me an optimistic smile, but it fails to reach her eyes, "just focus on the subject matter, pretend you're explaining it to me. OK?"

My throat is too dry to say anything. I just give her a weak smile and take a sip of the bottled water they provided. She is such a loyal friend, but she has no idea how I feel inside. For everyone else, public speaking is just an uncomfortable situation that they push through with a smile and a few butterflies in the stomach. For me it's as if the masked murderer who just slaughtered my entire family, including my dog, is chasing me down the street after I just fell three times and broke my leg. It's more than discomfort. It's terror!

"Just think girl, you could get a promotion after this!" She had the nerve to sound excited.

"Yea, just what I need, an opportunity to do more public speaking;" I sulk.

I'm usually not this sour and pessimistic but social situations always bring out the worst in me. They call it social anxiety disorder; an excessive and unreasonable fear of social situations. My therapist said that my fear is irrational and I need to deal with it by changing my thought patterns. It's so easy for everyone to say, but have they ever had a panic attack over the mere notion of attending a high-school dance? My method is simple; stay away from unfamiliar people and situations. A few friends, family and my regular routine, that's all I need. It worked out perfectly, until now.

"So girl," it's really nice of Natasha to try to interrupt my thoughts, I guess she could see that I'm spiraling, "imagine they picked you out of everyone else. How cool is that. You must be really good." She nudges me.

"I guess so." I say with a shrug.

I won't let myself celebrate until this presentation mess is over with. Still, it's an honor to be chosen to share a stage with some of the leading minds in security technology. The company I work for, MUST Inc., organized this conference to showcase the headway we've made in security software but that is not all we do. MUST Inc. stands for Multi Utility Software Technologies. We provide software mostly to utility companies and we offer a wide range of products and services. Our customers usually come from the energy and environmental departments, but we also handle waste management, infrastructural and telecommunication service companies.

My job mainly involves the security services we provide to these companies, which is why I was chosen to present today. A while back I worked on a solo project developing a piece of software that could protect our clients from cyber attacks. My team leader thought it would be a fitting reward to have me give a presentation of my work to all these people. I would have preferred a raise.

"Oh I bet Rafferty is the happiest man alive since your recent success," she chuckles. This is the only enjoyment I've had since I received the formal letter that I was selected to be a guest speaker at this conference.

The look on Rafferty's face when he found out I was chosen. Priceless! I never had the chance to observe a shetani turn red up close before. He was of course furious that he didn't get the recognition himself, being my supervisor. He even complained to our team lead about it.

Here he is now, a few tables down, throwing daggers in my direction with his eyes. Natasha and I laugh. It helps to calm me a little. I glance at the programme booklet for the event and every ounce of tranquility leaves my body. After only two more speakers I would be next. I feel sick.

"Hey, you're shaking, are you OK? Have some water." She holds my hand.

"Bathroom." It's all I could muster. My knees are wobbly and my heart is racing. She must have noticed my clumsy attempt at standing and decided to accompany me. It's a good thing she is so observant, because she also notices the expression on my face that says I need to throw up.

"Sorry but this is an emergency!" She announces, pushing a middle aged woman out of the bathroom stall she was about to enter. She guides me in so I could spew this morning's breakfast and yesterday's dinner into the toilet bowl.

"Safi, you need to get a hold of yourself. Do you want me to tell them you're unable to present because you're sick?"

"No!" I respond between coughs and vomit sessions.

"The only thing worse than giving the presentation, is not giving the presentation. How would people look at me after all the hype surrounding the software I created? Don't forget about Rafferty, I can't give him the satisfaction of watching me fail."

"OK, just relax and pretend I am the audience. Explain your software to me. It will be fine."

"Piece of cake!" At least I still had my sarcasm.

I really need to get it together. Maybe I would try it. Pretend Natasha is the audience. I know the speech I prepared by heart anyway. I just have to breathe and relax. I will just go up there, rattle off my presentation and scurry off the stage. The only way out of this is accepting the inevitable.

I get up from the filthy bathroom floor and stare at my reflection. I am a mess. I wash the vomit off my face, gargle some water and tidy up my unruly thick, black, hair. Natasha helps me clean drops of vomit off my shirt with a paper towel. I reapply some lip gloss, pop an extra anxiety pill and set off to accept my fate. It could be worse after all. They could have asked for a question and answer session. I am so lucky, they didn't. I head outside feeling a bit relieved.

"Miss Adams, great news, the question and answer session afterward, is not included in your forty-five minutes. You have all that time to give your presentation. We just need you backstage to provide your power point. Everyone is so excit-" I cut him off.

"What! No one said anything about a Q&A, where did this come from?" He is a bit confused.

He wore black pants, an immaculate white shirt and a charming smile. Someone calls him so he scampers away on some other pressing matter. I am beyond panicked. If my skin tone wasn't so dark I would be green by now. Once again it is Natasha who saves me.

"Hey, listen, listen. Just breathe! In and out, that's right. You can do this!" she smiles at me.

"I can do this!" I repeat, trying to convince myself.

I gather my notes and the flash-drive containing my power point and head backstage. "I can do this!" I repeat again.

I don't hear much of the host's introduction of me. My mind keeps envisioning all the scenarios of me making a total fool of myself. From mispronouncing my words to visibly sweaty armpits, I think I cover them all. The sound my name jerks me out of my pessimism.

"...our bright young star, Sapphire Adams!" The audience applauds as tremulous legs take me up the steps toward the stage. The host greets me warmly and shakes my hands. I take my position behind the podium and manage a convincing grin while quivering, moist hands organize my speaking notes. I planned a thought provoking introductory statement to gain their attention.

"What is a hacker?" My voice cracks and no one seems to hear me so I begin again. "What is a hacker? In the security world, a hacker means multiple things. What comes to your mind? Computer criminal? A wayward deadbeat with a dash of brilliance?" The audience laughs; there is hope for me yet. "To me it simply means someone who understands computer systems and can defeat their security controls. The only way to get around the problems of the hackers is to think like them. Hackers are creative geniuses so we must be creative in the design of our security systems as well. The recent breaches in our security system software prove that we are lagging behind in terms of innovative ideas. What does the software I developed do? Basically it thinks just like hackers trying to penetrate the system, and mimics the way they attempt to manipulate the code. In short I use their own methods against them. So how exactly do I do this? Now this is where I get technical..."

I can't believe it. My presentation actually isn't half bad. There are times during the speech where I totally forget about my anxiety. The audience looks engaged and some are even nodding. I look at Natasha who is beaming with pride; she confirms my assumption. My presentation is a success. I go on to talk about how I could even capture the hackers with the same software I developed. Now it's time for questions.

"Does anyone have any questions?" The audience doesn't respond. My guardian angel definitely has my back today. I exhale with a smile. "Well then, thank you very mu-"

"I have a question! How does the firm propose to deal with the legal issue of taking credit for computer coding information from these hackers? If they are creative geniuses as you claim, do they get acknowledgment for their work?"

The room goes deathly still and silent. Oh where did this unbearable man come from?

"Umm... well the hackers have no right breaking the la-"

"But just because a practice is legal, does not give surety that it is right. Up to a few years ago, slavery was legal in Kuzimu, was it right?"

Someone shut him up please, he is ruining everything. The task seems to be left to me.

"Downloading computer code doesn't constitute stealing under the National Stolen Property Act." I shoot back. That should quiet the bald-headed reprobate.

"It does if you assume physical control over the source code and deprive the developer of its use." His voice is distinct and sharp, his demeanor calm and confident. "What are the ethical implications of using another person's coding as a part of your own?"

"I think the end in this case, would justify the means. This is a matter of our security!" I am vehement at this point.

"Exactly whose security? The people of Kuzimu or the people you work for?" He says.

Why the hell haven't they apprehended this misfit? I have never heard a shetani speak like this before. Or was he? It's hard to tell the texture of someone's hair if they're bald. He could easily be a very light-skinned mungu, since we come in every shade. His skin has a shiny glow to it. It seems like he's defending these hackers. Whose side is he on?

"Thank you very much for your questions sir," I am out of rebuttals. He knows it. Everyone knows it. The miserable wretch curves his lips into a smile.

"My name is Adrian." He stares directly at me with his impossibly piercing eyes.

Who cares what the miscreant's name is. I certainly don't. I just want him to shut up. The fact that no one has done so already means that he is someone important. He's probably one of our clients. I decide not to press him. I don't want to lose my job along with my pride.

I actually never thought there would be consequences to using a hackers' software against them. As obnoxious as he is, this Adrian fella has a point. I'm stumped.

There is an awkward silence on the room as everyone waits for my response. I can't focus on what to say next because my eyes search the crowd for people's reaction. Some of my co-workers look at me with an uneasy expression; Natasha looks at me and nods her head as if to provide encouragement and Rafferty looks like he's is having the time of his life. I can't meet his gaze or anyone else's.

I dart off the stage without another word. It is the only thing I could do. I thought of so many scenarios where I made a fool of myself, but that one was unfathomable. Everyone must think me to be a despicable coward who goes around stealing software. I need to escape this nightmare. I search for the exit and find one not too far away. Through my blurry, tear filled eyes, I recognize someone standing in front of the exit. Rafferty.

This is just what I need. Of course he would come to gloat.

"Hey what's wrong? Are you crying? You poor thing." He can't keep up his pretense of caring about me any longer. Rafferty breaks out in a fit of howling laughter. "I knew you would fumble eventually. You almost had me there. What a wonderful presentation, Sapphire. This should be a lesson to you mungus who like to put yourself in places where you have no business." He continues laughing.

He was always a cruel bastard but now he is being condescending and racist. I can't take it anymore.

"Get out of my way Rafferty!" My tone is laced with anger but he can't be bothered; I have never seen him this happy. It's as if he just won the lottery. He moves aside lazily, still chuckling like he is at a comedy festival. This is the worst day of my life.

I was so foolish to think I could do this!

# Chapter 2

Sleep did not come. I was up all night rehashing my presentation in my mind, crying and feeling sorry for myself. My life is officially over. How did I get here? I used to revel in my peaceful existence. One presentation later and my world is spinning off its axis. There is no way I could show up for work today. The last person I would like to speak to is that creep who calls himself Rafferty.

My room contains a small lilac-sheeted bed, closely jammed to the wall. Purple flowered drapes black out my tempered glass window, which are perfect for the rare occasions Nanny allows me to sleep in. My computer is situated on the opposite side of my spacious room, along with other computer geek paraphernalia. All of my programmer apparatus stand in total contrast to the cream colored walls and fluffy carpet. A picture of my smiling father stares at me from the wall close to my bed. I intend to spend the rest of my day in this cosy room. I reluctantly grab my cell-phone to make the call.

"Hello? Natasha?" I rasp.

"Oh Safi, where on earth did you disappear to yesterday? I looked all over the place and your phone went to voice-mail. Are you OK?" she is genuinely concerned.

"I'm fine." It isn't a total lie.

"Well everything was perfect until the Q&A. Your presentation was very enjoyable, especially the part abou-"

"Listen Tasha, I won't be in today, could you tell Rafferty?" talking about yesterday would only make me cry again. I just want to forget and move past this.

"No problem sweetie, I'd be surprised if you showed up here, after that ordeal, I'll let the devil know."

"Thanks girl...I mean for everything." I'm emotional.

She is too good to me.

"We're friends for life. This is just a bump in the road. Things will get better soon." She says.

Natasha is annoyingly confident and optimistic. I think I admire that most about her.

I don't want to replay yesterday's events any longer but I can't seem to control my thoughts. Just thinking about it makes me even more dejected. I keep seeing that man's face in my head. He had the look of an aristocrat, but also a bit militant with high cheekbones and hazel eyes that cut right through me when he stared. He said his name is Adrian but who on earth is he? And why does he hate me so much?

My little radio on my bedside table broadcasts a breaking news report about the Amani, a known rebel group who always cause trouble in Kuzimu. They broke into a hospital and set free patients awaiting PIT injections, bombing the compound as they left. It's hard to believe that my father had anything to do with them. Before he died, he was accused of participating in rebel activities. I look at his picture now. He face is peaceful and he smiles. Darius Adams looked like a principled man. He would never associate with rebels. He had to be wrongfully accused; it's the only plausible explanation.

Nanny would always listen closely to broadcasts about the rebels. I guess she is just as concerned as I am, to know that her son-in-law was accused of associating with them.

I expect the disorientation I feel when I unwillingly get out of bed. Lack of sleep could do that to a person. The racket my mother made last night didn't help matters either. It seems like she is more drunk than sober these days. No doubt she would be passed out at some unaccommodating part of the house. The bottom of the steps seems to be her favorite of late. That's exactly where I see her now. Sarah is sprawled out with her legs open and a bottle of rum not too far away.

Nanny would just ignore her whenever she got like this. I don't blame her because it is how she copes with the sorrow of watching her only child wither away. Instead she seems to place all her energy into making her grandchild successful. I owe it to her to at least to try, after all she has done for me. She cleared out her meager bank account and took a loan just to send me to college.

I wake up my stale drunk mother, remove her muddy shoes and escort her upstairs. She is always a happy drunk and most people liked her better that way. Without her alcohol, she looks to be in a constant state of pain. She would always suffer terrible nightmares when she is sober. I would hear her wake up at night making bold confusing claims like, "I know what they do. I saw it! I know what they do."

It would take a lot for us to placate at times like those. It's clear that Nanny inwardly fears what I fear. That she would be given a PIT injection. Anyone who causes a disturbance is carted off to be treated. The populace doesn't know exactly what the injection contains but anyone who is given the treatment, never comes home the same. It made a sharp minded person docile and dimwitted. We both made a non-verbal agreement that at least if she is drunk, she could stay calm and she wouldn't be taken away from us.

My mother became a shell of her former self since my father's incarceration and subsequent death. She never speaks his name while she is sober and she destroyed all of his pictures except for the one I managed to save.

"He made his choice, we don't need him" she would say followed by some expletive.

I had to gather what information I could about him, from inebriated conversations with her.

I know that my father was arrested for causing a disturbance many years ago. I don't remember the incident although they let it slip that I was there. He committed suicide in sector guard custody and it seemed like my mother died as well, because she has never been the same. After his death, the news reported that he was a known rebel member and they had been looking for him for a while. I found out from my mother, in her drunken state, that he was innocent and they lied to cover up his death. She pretended she didn't know what I was talking about when she sobered up and I tried to learn more.

She blinked and then looked at me wide-eyed. "You pretty. I was pretty too. You got it from me. All the mens was after me." My mother mumbled. "I had my pick of all the men in town, and I chose the brave one. He was honest and brave. Never choose the brave one; they always always leave you alone with a baby, ha ha!" She laughs in my face and her breath reeks of rum. I remove her clothes and deposit her into bed. "Listen to me." She is serious when she says this even though her words are slurred. "Choose the smart one, never the brave one." I close the door and go back downstairs to see what Nanny is up to.

Nanny is singing Sumu hymns in the kitchen as she usually does while she tends to her herbs. She loves her little hoop-house garden and I would sometimes help her with her herbs. She consumes them regularly and would encourage me to do the same, but we had to keep it a secret, even from the neighbors. Hoop houses are illegal in most of the sectors of Kuzimu, because the health department found that most herbs and spices to be dangerous to health. I grew accustomed to our clandestine operation from an early age and I made a good look-out. Nanny would keep the front and back doors locked at all times but she still had a room with a secret door under our staircase where she kept her herbs. She would bring them out for sunlight every day. Trust me, it's a tedious affair. I'm very familiar with the herbs and their uses and Nanny wouldn't have it any other way.

The Kuzimu government recommends their own special line of food for optimum health and well-being. It's always cheaper than the other food items and the mungus are the largest consumers. I think the health department is correct on this count because Father Lamont consumed my Nanny's herbs, and ended up seeing strange visions, much like my mother without her alcohol. We had to house him for two days while he recovered in order to protect our secret.

She would usually give her herbs to Brick, our neighbor but he never seemed to be affected. In fact it actually improved his condition after he was given the PIT injection. Brick has just a dash of grey-white hair edging his balding, scalp. He has a mean face but the scar on his left cheek made matters worse. For a middle aged man he has a sizable muscle mass and a fit appearance. On the rare occasions that he would speak, it was brief and curt, bordering on rude.

He never associated much with other people in our neighborhood but he got along very well with my grandmother. I overheard stories about him from people in our area. He had a reputation for fighting and losing his temper until a brawl in a bar resulted in his arrest. I guess they didn't much like his temper, so they gave him the PIT injection.

He used to walk around in a daze until Nanny offered him a job, cleaning our yard and fixing things around the house. He would have dinner with us sometimes, never saying a word beside 'more please' pointing to his plate. Brick loves Nanny's home-cooked meals and her herbs.

I smell oatmeal cookies which only means one thing. Father Lamont is coming for a visit. They are his favorite. Since I grew up with no male figure, I guess my Nanny felt I needed a male presence, so she would invite Father Lamont to lunch with us ever so often. He also loved Nanny's cooking and would comment on how women seldom cooked anymore. "Learn how to cook like Nanny." He would tell me.

Father Lamont is tall slender man with a heavily lined, narrow face. His pearly white teeth seemed to be always exposed because he smiles all the time. His immaculately tailored suits never had a wrinkle. He is almost as old as my grandmother and they have an obscure history that I could never wrap my head around. Though his hair is grey, he is not balding, a fact he always bragged about before saying 'praise the Lord.' He is a pillar of the Morton community and he founded the sumudral that we go to.

He lives walking distance from us and it isn't uncommon to have him drop off for impromptu visits. He and Nanny would sometimes discuss matters that I could tell were heated but I could never get close enough to eavesdrop. Nanny would always send me off to do some chore to distract me.

Even after forty years in Kuzimu, my grandmother still had her accent from Kisawa but she hid it well, especially around company. Kisawa is the one of the islands of south Kuzimu, where a larger majority of mungus live. She never talks about why she came to Kuzimu or the relatives she left behind. Her mood would always change when I brought them up. My grandmother and my mother have this trait in common. They are both extremely reticent about past affairs. I really need to solve this puzzle.

"Why you not at work Safi, you sick?" She stops tending her herbs to feel my forehead.

"No Nanny I'm good, I just wasn't up to it." She eyes me suspiciously.

"I hope you didn't go an' catch belly and bring here you know..."

Nanny thinks I'm pregnant. I can't help but laugh. Nothing is further from the truth. My Nanny had a flair for the dramatic. "You take your med-cine chile?" She is referring to my anxiety medication.

It is only then that I remember my error. I left it at work in my desk drawer.

"Yes Nanny." I lied. There was no need to worry her pointlessly. My therapist prescribed them a while back and I take them religiously, although I don't see the reason. I still have the same fears I always did.

"At what age did you get pregnant Nanny?" It is a clever way to change the subject.

"I was a young girl, younger than you." She speaks slowly, measuring every word before she says them. "I was about nineteen."

"So that means you were still in Kisawa?" Nanny is all of a sudden busy looking for imaginary weeds between her herbs.

"It was a long time ago chile." She dismissed. "You don't expect an old woman like me to remember all 'dese things." I couldn't let it rest; not this time.

I need to find out what is so horrible about my family history. Also it's totally lost on me why Nanny would take such a risk with our lives. The fine for keeping a hoop-house is one hundred thousand dollars or jail time of five years.

"Nanny," I tried to speak slowly so that I wouldn't come off as disrespectful, "why do we gamble with our lives by growing herbs and spices?"

"You'll understand everything in due time. We've gotten this far, haven't we?"

So basically I'm supposed to keep a secret I'm yet to fully understand. I'm losing my patience.

"Why do you and mom always avoid my questions about the past?" I'm sure she heard the frustration in my voice.

"It's for your own good Sapphire," She is almost pleading. "Trust me..."

I decide not to press Nanny any further. But I must learn the truth, one way or another.

# Chapter 3

Here we go.

Part of being an adult is confronting situations we would much rather avoid. If I want to keep my job, I would inevitably have to face my co-workers. I could have put it off for another day but I have one of those dreaded weekly team meetings today. I also have to see my therapist. I didn't take any of them yesterday but I am a lot more composed than I was at the conference. I'm still a bit nervous to return to work though. Of course the supervisor from hell would be here, and everyone else who witnessed me make a fool of myself. I fled the stage, like a mouse, in the face of a few questions. Who would take me seriously now?

Sapphire, stop it! It's exactly that thought pattern that's the cause of your phobia in the first place. Remember the note reminder at your desk? "Think positive thoughts for a positive life."

OK. On the positive side, at least the entire presentation wasn't a total disaster and it was an honor to even speak at the conference at my age. I am only twenty- three after all, while the other speakers were thirty years or older. I should be patting myself on the back for my erudition.

Yes, but true intelligence is the ability to adapt to varied situations. You can hardly speak to a stranger and look them in the eye at the same time.

The elevator ride upstairs to my department floor is filled with more back and forth optimistic-pessimistic conversations with myself. I say a prayer and enter the office.

"Look who's here!" Rafferty is deliberately loud. "Our resident star. We are so honored to be in your presence. Round of applause everyone."

My co-workers look briefly in my direction and then pretend to be busy at work. Supervisor or not, Rafferty is really starting to piss me off. I realized his endgame a long time ago. He is trying to provoke me into an altercation with him so that he could report me as just another angry, violent mungu, thereby placing my job in jeopardy and possibly getting me in trouble with authority. Then the PIT serum would be coursing through my veins before I could say MUST Inc. He is threatened by my ability and this is his way of fighting back.

"Thanks so much Rafferty," I say in my most tranquil voice. "You're too kind." I added my sweetest smile.

The pupils of his blue eyes become dilated and that silly smirk on his lips is now a straight line. He brushes his blond hair back with his hands and stalks away after he scowls at me. I grin at him. He expected that orchestrated scene, to ruffle my feathers. I love pissing him off.

"Who are you and what did you do with my best friend?" Natasha says, having witnessed the whole exchange.

"That swine is trying to get me fired girl." I say "I won't go without a fight though." It is true. I love my job.

"Pffft! Girl they will be crazy to fire you. You're one of our best and he knows that. He's just insecure, that's all." Natasha is my biggest cheerleader.

"Understatement of the century. Insecure doesn't begin to cover it." I smile genuinely this time.

It wasn't easy finding my place at this company. I started as an administrative assistant and remained in that position for a full year, even with my college degree, my perfect GPA and special awards. I took a chance one day and pitched a programming idea to Claudette, my then project leader. She loved the idea as it led to her promotion and she returned the favor by suggesting I get one as well. We've had a great relationship ever since. She would always say tell me to speak up more.

She is the first female mungu team lead MUST Inc has had. I guess slowly but surely, things are changing. All the other high level positions are filled by shetani men so Claudette has made history.

The CEO of company boasts of a zero tolerance policy on racial discrimination, yet it took so long to give Claudette this promotion. She practically ran the company, helping all her superiors with their duties while completing her own. She the most qualified and it's glaring. I admire her and would aspire to be in her position one day except for the fact that she doesn't seem very happy. She is the first to arrive and last to leave every day, with little time for family or leisure. She seemed to age ten years, and gain twenty pounds after her promotion. I don't think I want that type of life.

It's actually very nice to be back in familiar surroundings. The welcoming white walls and spacious environment always has a calming effect on me. A soft grey checkered carpet runs along the wide expanse of MUST Inc. and glass cubicles divide sections for employees. They spared no expense in the design of this building. The black and silver furniture matched well with the decor but the comfortable chairs are an appreciable perk for me because I spend most of the day at my desk.

I head to my cubicle, located in the left corner. Natasha begins to inform me of the events I missed yesterday. She tells me that Adrian, my annoying questioner from the conference, came by the office to see me. He wanted more information on my software.

"Didn't he ask enough questions at the conference?" I fume.

"Apparently not, he spoke to Claudette for a long while." She sounded concerned. "Do you know him?"

"That's the thing, I've never even heard of the brute. I have no clue why he assaulted me like that."

She eyes me.

"Assaulted?" She giggled a bit. "Did you take your anxiety pills?" She laughs loudly.

Natasha has the most infectious giggle.

"Verbal assault is still assault." I argue.

She is making me laugh too.

"I feel like such a fool for fleeing the stage like that." I cover my face with my hand.

"It wasn't that bad. Cut yourself some slack." She says. "We can't be good at everything."

"We're not all Natasha." I joke.

"But why does he care about your software so much?"

"I don't know. I'm more interested in why he went at me like that. It's almost like he knew I would break." I say thoughtfully.

"So you think he knew about your phobia." She places her hand on my shoulder.

"I don't know. It just seems like he knew exactly which buttons to push." I say.

"You shouldn't make too much of that."

"Maybe I shouldn't."

It is nice to have someone to converse freely with about my phobia. Natasha is the only one at work who knows about it and she would never betray my trust. Though she doesn't fully grasp the way I feel, she provides a buffer between me and all of my co-workers at social gatherings. Everyone just sees me as Natasha's shy friend. It's easy to mask social anxiety as merely being shy. I just focus on my job and keep my nose down. It was a good strategy until I performed too well and got chosen to do that dreaded presentation. This phobia is a major hindrance to my success.

Rafferty walks up to my cubicle.

"Is the company paying you girls to gossip and grin?" He paused glaring at us "Team meeting in ten."

"Sir yes sir!" Natasha stands up straight and gives him a salute. "Forward march!" She strides to her seat in a measured manner, like a soldier would, and then snickers at him.

She always stood up to Rafferty and he seldom bothered her. I wonder if my performance is the only reason he hates me. Maybe he feels that I'm an easy target. He loves exercising his authority and giving me unnecessary work to do whenever he had the opportunity. He loathed my relationship with Claudette because she wouldn't allow him to take advantage of his position.

He stalks off again but I could tell he isn't finished with me yet. This demon would never stop until I was jobless or dead, preferably both. I prepare for the team meeting I am to attend. It's one of the low points of my job as it would sometimes require speaking in front of my co-workers about my progress on an assignment. This could mean more public speaking, I'm doing inward cartwheels.

# Chapter 4

Our team of programmers conducts weekly meetings. They are mostly boring but I don't particularly mind, as long as I'm clear about my duties and I'm not called upon to speak too often. We assemble in the conference room and there is always free food provided. Claudette would usually go around the room and list the status of various tasks we are working on and discuss tasks for the next week. She also provides an overview of upcoming projects and priorities for the coming months. The objective of these meetings is team building and distributing the work. We decide on who is going to do certain parts, and then each of us would code the sections that we agreed to.

"...so is everyone clear?" Claudette is hardly audible with the pizza she just stuffed in her mouth. She didn't wait for much of a reply. "Great. Next week same time and place." She gives a thumbs-up and devours the rest of her pizza.

As I leave the room Claudette calls out to me then motions for me to have a seat. This is not the first time she's done this. We have frequent chats about work related projects. I wait patiently until she is finished with her pizza. She moans at every bite. I have a feeling that eating is her stress reliever. This job is taking its toll. She wipes her mouth with a napkin and eyes me before she begins our chat.

"That damn Q&A. You almost had it." She surveys my reaction.

I cringe as she continues.

"It's nothing to be embarrassed about." She shrugs. "Not everyone has the public speaking gene."

"Well my presentation certainly proved that theory." I pout.

"I just wanted to let you know that the man who asked all those questions is a representative of one of our clients from the telecommunication sector. He had concerns about a possible blow back if we were ever accused of software theft. He meant no harm." She explained.

"Meant no harm?"

I didn't mean to erupt like that but it slipped out before I could stop myself. I can't believe she is taking the side of that cad.

"He was doing his job Sapphire. Take it from someone who has been there. You need to develop a thick skin in order to make it in this world. Stand up for yourself don't expect anyone to take it easy on you. No one respects a pushover." She lectured.

She makes good points but she has no idea about what my problem really is. She doesn't understand the crippling fear leading to the inability to form one coherent thought. Talk less of standing up to a bully like Adrian. I want to tell her. To explain myself so that she won't give me that disappointed look. I wish I could tell her about Rafferty's racist comment but what good would it do for either of us. Instead I stare at my hands and listen to her rebuke.

People never understood. They only judged.

"I'm sorry I let you down. I never meant to make you look bad."

"No, no, it's not that. The last part was painful to watch but I actually enjoyed your presentation. I want you to be successful here and I don't think it will happen with your current attitude."

I nod. I know she's right.

"I also wanted to tell you personally about a meeting we plan to have with a representative from an anti-piracy organization. It's just to cover all our bases and to ensure that were in the clear with the software moving forward."

I'm still processing what she said.

"So are you up to it?"

"Sure, no problem." I reply.

She's asking if this meeting with a maximum of four people will be a problem for me; after I made an entire fool of myself at the conference in front of two hundred people. Thanks Claudette.

"Great!" She says, grabbing another slice of pizza.

"Wait a minute. Will Adrian be there?"

I need to ask.

"And what if he is?" She retorts.

"I'll stand up for myself?" I question.

"That's my girl!" She beams.

As I leave, I hear her moaning and chewing more junk food.

I end up working with Natasha again, but on a project that's really not as challenging as the last one. Rafferty would always whine when he realized that we were teaming up for projects. The idea of two of us sitting together and enjoying our work is upsetting to him. In the meeting he tried to persuade Claudette to have me work with him instead. Thankfully she brushed him off because Natasha and I produce work of a high quality. He is getting desperate in his attempts to sabotage me. Imagine working on a project with the devil himself.

In my desk drawer I see my anxiety pills and I decide not to take any. I've done pretty well on my own so far. I wonder how long I can make it without my pills before I have a panic attack. Do I need these pills at all? I feel fine. I check my watch, it's already eleven o'clock. As is my custom, I head to the kitchen for a cup of joe. I prefer to get my coffee now because it's less crowded in the kitchen. I don't do well with crowds.

I just put the kettle on when the slime-ball Rafferty walks in.

What is he is up to now?

He meanders around the kitchen with his hands in his pockets, heading nowhere in particular. He looks in the direction of the ceiling.

What on earth is he doing?

The administrative assistant gets up to leave after she finishes her donut and orange juice. When we are alone, he approaches me.

"Listen, I think you and I got off to a bad start. We should patch things up and start anew." He has been mean to me for the past three years. What on earth is he talking about? His words were gentle and conciliatory. What is his angle here?

"OK then..." I don't know what else to say. Rafferty is offering peace. He must have a fever or something.

"Would you like to go to lunch with me sometime?" I am visibly appalled.

Does he think I forgot what he said to me about mungus staying in their place. I'd quicker remove my eyeballs with a spoon than go on a date with Rafferty the racist. Thinking about it made my blood crawl.

"I don't think that would be a good idea Rafferty." I try to hide my disgust.

In one swift movement Rafferty grabs both my wrists and pins them to my sides. He glares at me and his voice is cold and menacing.

"Listen to me you ugly monkey bitch! You should jump at an opportunity to please me. Don't you know we own you?"

He is surprisingly strong and he is able to transfer both my wrists into one of his hands. He starts touching my face with the back of his free hand, while he pushes up against me. I almost gag. "I could do whatever I want with you right now and no one would care. You would probably get fired. It would be my word against yours." He smirks. This type of thing was not unheard of. I then understand why he looked up at the ceiling. The repulsive man was checking for cameras. The one camera in the kitchen is conveniently pointed away from us.

This was all planned.

"Get the hell away from me! I am warning you Rafferty!" I am in total shock. I am not sure how to respond. Everyone knew the shetani had special privilege in the society but it was always under the surface. Even though mungus are discriminated against I have never seen racism so blatantly up close. His hand moves lower to my neck.

"Stop touching me. I'll scream. Leave me alone Rafferty!" I try to sound forceful as bile rises in my throat.

"Give me a break; we both know you will never scream with your little phobia. Yes, I read your file. Will you have a panic attack right now?" He laughs.

I feel hot tears rolling down my face and realize they are mine. He knows all my fears and how to push my buttons. I have to put up with his ridicule as well as his violation. How much can I take?

He moves his hand slowly to my jugular notch.

I've had my limit. I knee Rafferty in the groin with every fiber of strength I have. He releases my wrists as he winces in pain and I use this opportunity to slap him in the face.

"Are you crazy? Don't you ever come near me! Disgusting swine!" I am shouting and breathing hard.

He still invades my personal space when he recovers and tries to reach for me another time. I slap him again.

Wait a minute; he doesn't seem to be putting up much of a fight. Rafferty smiles and I realize that this is exactly what he wants. He provoked me because he intends to report the wounds I inflict on him. He grins knowing that he has all he needs to be rid of me for good.

I watch him head for the door holding his face and I know that I am no longer an employee of MUST Inc.

A familiar face is in Rafferty's path.

Adrian appears in the kitchen doorway and his eyes go from me to Rafferty, to me again. This is exactly what I need; two men who are out to get me.

"Is there a problem here?" I'm too emotional and embarrassed to speak. I stare blankly at the floor breathing loudly.

Adrian sums up the situation. "Did you cause this?" He is staring squarely at Rafferty.

"The bitch attacked me." Rafferty begins his elaborate lie. "She's crazy. Out of the blu-"

Adrian didn't let him finish. Strong hands hold Rafferty by the scruff of his neck. He looks like a rag-doll or a defenseless puppy. He presses Rafferty against the wall and speaks in his ear.

"So you like to molest women, huh?" Adrian speaks in a menacing whisper but I can still hear him from where I stand. Rafferty shakes his head in reply, unable to speak. I recognize his fear all too well.

"Let me go man!" He tried to escape.

"I could bet a punk like you never stood up to a man before." Adrian glowered at him "Do you know what I do to cowards like you? Cowards who harass women?" Rafferty blinks. His face is red.

"Say a word to anyone about this incident and you'll find out."

Rafferty's undignified circumstance did not help to ease my pain in the least. I wanted to tie him up, torture him and laugh while he cried out in excruciating pain. This is nowhere close to what he deserves.

Adrian releases him. It's time for lunch and employees will start to fill the kitchen soon. Adrian gently takes my shaking hand and escorts me to the entrance of the ladies washroom before people start to notice what transpired.

"Thank you." I croak through my sobs.

"Are you OK? Do you need anything?"

I nod in reply.

"I could get you some water if you'd like." He sounds as if he genuinely cares.

Does he really? Is this the same person who tormented me a day ago?

He disappears into the kitchen for a while to retrieve the hair clips that fell from me during the altercation. My hair is undoubtedly a mess. I try to brush it back with my hands and compose myself so that no one would notice and ask any questions.

"Look at your umm..." He points to the buttons of my blouse. They are undone, exposing my bra. He looks away as I button them as quickly as my shivering hands can manage. I'm mortified.

I didn't get the chance to see him up close before. I use the opportunity while he's looking away. He has a fine manly bone structure and considerable muscle mass around his chest and upper arms. His designer suit fits him perfectly yet he seems a bit out of place in it. I could easily picture him in jeans and a T-shirt. Maybe it's because of the way he just aggressively defended me. I notice gentleness in his eyes when he returns his gaze.

Am I checking out a guy after what just happened? What's wrong with me?

"Listen, you need to let someone know if he harasses you again." He studies me.

I quickly look away. I see a peep of the fury leveled at Rafferty. He is still upset. He hates Rafferty almost as much as I do.

"Tell who? What will people think of me?" I say.

I can't believe I am being this vulnerable with a stranger, worst of all Adrian. He ponders my question for a moment as if trying to come up with the best answer.

"You can tell me." He says finally.

The disbelief is displayed on my face before I can hide it. He sees it. He seems to see everything.

"I'm serious. I know how to take care of guys like him." He says.

"OK." I think of what Rafferty just put me through and my mood becomes bitter gain.

"Do you know of that famous mungu rebel? Sapphire the healer." He asks.

Clearly he is attempting to take my mind off things so that I can cope with what just happened.

I heard of her before in college when I did that mandatory criminology course. They call her Sapphire the witch. She was a famous rebel who led mungu riots but was never captured. It is rumored that she killed a few sector guards before fleeing the country. The textbooks are not at all kind to her. Every time she was spoken of in class, the students would look at me like I somehow perpetrated those crimes.

"Yes, I've heard of her." I say. "And I'm nothing like her. I have no idea why my father choose that name-."

"She was a special woman." He said. "She did a lot for the mungu community. Your father was an intelligent man to name you after her."

His statement just confirmed that he is definitely not shetani. In that case it's a great achievement for Adrian to hold his position. Most of the mungu men his age were in prison or dead.

"What do you mean was? How do you know my father passed away?" I ask.

"Because I just told you to tell someone if you are attacked again and your mind didn't automatically think of your father."

"Thanks for all your help."

I enter the restroom to get myself together. Yet again he's right.

This man sees everything.

# Chapter 5

Esther is sharp. I have to be careful in my response to her questions. She has an uncanny talent for reading people and I can't let her read me. Not today.

There is hardly a clear space on the wall with all her degrees displayed in the fields of psychology and psychiatry. She is also a general practitioner with a specialty in neurology. Yet she works for MUST Inc. as their in house therapist. I wonder what the story there is.

I'm used to her spacious office but I never understood the reasoning behind the lavish décor. It's exquisite. All the walls are pickle green in color, except for three hollow interior doors decorated with a wallpaper mural of brown trees, roots and branches. It matched well with the brown furniture and beige couch. She had ornaments of the same tree branch theme as the wallpaper. The entire office has the feel of a peaceful forest. I guess that's what they were aiming for.

There are no cameras leading to her office. It's a part of the MUST Inc. privacy policy. They want to encourage employees to have therapy as a way of improving their quality of life. It's mandatory for all employees at some point in a three month cycle. Obviously I had a bit more problems than the average. I came weekly of my own volition but I am not sure if I could negotiate stopping my therapy, based on what I have revealed so far to Esther. MUST Inc. is big on safety and having a panic attack on the job is a serious matter. She would be obligated to make a report, if she didn't think I was capable of functioning effectively at the workplace or if I was a danger to myself or others.

I've benefited greatly from the behavioral and thinking exercises. I am nowhere close to where I need to be but I have seen some progress. For example, team meetings would scare the living daylights out of me, now it's just an uncomfortable situation. Changing my thought processes and repeated exposure to the fearful task and situations have yielded results over time. Of course the anxiety pills had a part to play as well because they prevent my panic attacks. But I haven't taken any since the conference and I feel fine.

I don't have to wait for her long after I was told to come in by the lone receptionist in the lobby. I'm a bit nervous about our discussion today but they structure of the meeting mostly stays the same. She would start by asking me questions about recent events in my life and the way I am coping with them. Then she would ask deeper questions about my childhood and past relationships. Rafferty is always a topic of discussion at our meetings. She instructed me to report him if his annoyances got out of hand so I don't want it to slip that he assaulted me. I need to avoid the topic of Rafferty as much as possible. She is also obligated to report instances of harassment. I don't want that.

I'd like to tell her to secure her recordings of our sessions but I can't because then I would have to explain the altercation with Rafferty. No doubt he hacked her computer and retrieved them after he realized that I come for weekly visits. My entire bodily chemistry changes at the thought of him touching me.

I hear the familiar sound of her high heels. She enters the room and I stand up to shake her hand in greeting.

Esther is tall and slender with grey-black hair swept neatly in a bun behind her head. She has a pointy nose and she surveys me with little beady eyes as we both take our seats. She adjusts her knee length black pencil skirt and fixes her light blue business blouse before taking out her recorder and notepad to begin our session.

"How have you been?" She begins.

"I'm OK... For the most part." .

"Would you like to tell me about the part that wasn't OK?" She sits up slightly.

"Don't you remember? I had that presentation I told you about." I'm a bit surprised she didn't bring it up to me first.

I've been stressing about it for the past month in our sessions. I practiced a few of the exercises she gave me for when I was on stage. They helped a great deal.

"Ah yes. Your big presentation. How'd it go?" She leans forward a little as she listens for my answer.

I think about how best to phrase my response so that I wouldn't give too much away.

"Well I was really nervous but it didn't come off too bad...especially in the beginning. The audience understood my content and they weren't bored. So that should count for something right?"

"It should." She nods her head. "And what happened at the ending?"

"There was a Q and A session." I confess.

"Ouch."

We both laughed a bit at her outburst. I think she is the only one who truly understands what I face daily. How difficult it is to carry this weight around and the things I do to simply function in society.

"I ran off the stage in tears."

She nods her head as she listens to me.

"And the Rafferty appeared out of nowhere to rub it in my face by laughing." I left out his racist banter because I didn't want trouble.

"And how did you respond to that?"

"I yelled at him...at least I think I did. I wasn't paying much attention to my tone at the time."

She seems surprised.

"That's new. Why did you yell at him this time?"

"I just told you, he came to gloat after the conference."

"But Rafferty has always been...a difficult person, what changed?

I could tell she wanted to say 'a jerk' instead of 'a difficult person' but she needed to be politically correct and maintain her professionalism.

"Well I guess he caught me at a bad time. I had no time to filter myself in that emotional state. I was angry and in tears."

She pauses to make a note in her notepad.

"And who were you angry with?"

"Everyone! Claudette for making me do the presentation in the first place, Adrian for asking those annoying questions and Rafferty for taunting me on top of everything else."

"Who's Adrian?" I almost slip and tell her about how he just protected me.

A vision of him flashes across my mind and blush.

"He is the one who asked all the questions at the Q and A to break me; making me run off the stage."

She makes another note in her notepad.

"I thought you and Claudette got along?"

"We do, I just hate being put in that position. I guess I'm not really mad at her...or Adrian?"

"Oh... who are you mad at?"

I pause for a while. I already know the answer. In a way I've always known. Esther knows it too. It's her job to have patience while I figure it out.

Tears brim in my eyes.

"Myself." I croak. "Why do I have to be such a coward all the time?"

I break down.

She offers me a napkin and waits for me to compose myself while she writes in her notepad again.

It takes me a while with all my nose blowing, eye rubbing and face wiping but I eventually come around.

Her tone is soft and soothing when she speaks again.

"We still have some time left, would you like to continue or would you like to stop here for today?"

"I'm good to go on" I sniffed.

"I think we've made some headway here."

I take a mental note. Crying equals headway to shrinks.

"Why, because I cried?" I ask sourly.

I hate being vulnerable. Even with her.

"No, because you finally stood up for yourself. Yelling at Rafferty is probably not the best way but at least you did something. Think of your mental state when that occurred. Try to remember what you were thinking about."

She thinks yelling at Rafferty is standing up for myself. If she found out I just kicked him in the groin and slapped him in the face. She'd probably say I am cured.

"I was thinking my life is over and I don't need Rafferty to be anywhere close to me."

That seemed to interest her she writes in her notepad.

"So you would stand up to Rafferty, only if you are about to die?"

"There's a lot I would do if I knew I were about to die."

"None of us will live forever Sapphire. I have an exercise for you to practice. Next time you're in a fearful situation, I want you to think about your life and your mortality. Think about your mental state when you're most brave and you may find patterns in your behavior and thinking." She checks her watch. "OK. That's our time for today although we didn't get a chance to talk about Nanny and Sarah. Were they forthcoming with any information on their past."

"Not in the least. They are a closed vault."

"Well just be patient. I'm sure they will tell you soon enough."

Esther always seems to be interested in my family history. Probably more than I am.

# Chapter 6

"Stop right there!" He's chasing me. I run as fast as my legs can carry me down the street. Its dark outside but I can still recognize that he wears a sector guard uniform. I can only see the lips and nose of my pursuer because he's wearing a hat that makes a dark shadow over his eyes. His baton is in one hand and he clutches a grenade in the other. They do nothing to slow him down though. The officer is clearly shetani and he is enjoying himself as I flee in fright. I pause to catch my breath and he smiles because he is gaining on me.

"Please, I'm innocent." I plead. I try to explain, hoping for mercy but he swings his baton in my direction. I increase my speed. There is no reasoning with this one. Why doesn't he throw the grenade at me?

I can't keep running indefinitely, I need somewhere to hide. I approach the sumudral and breathe a sigh of relief. No one would dare to violate a sumudral. At least I am safe here. I started in its direction.

My last hope.

I hear a shuffling sound and turn around to see the officer pulling the pin of the grenade.

"No wait!" I yell.

He moves quickly hurling the grenade to exactly where I was headed. A few seconds later, a deafening "boom" invades my ears and a burst of bright color capture my eyes. I am jerked backward by the powerful blast of the explosion. The sumudral is engulfed in furious flames.

I wake up grabbing my sheets and shielding myself. This is strange. I hardly ever remember my dreams. They are becoming more and more vivid with the progression of time. This one is particularly jarring. I remember my therapist saying that my anxiety affects my thoughts and therefore my dreams. So they may be due to these recent emotional disturbances in my life.

It has been a week and I still can't shake the Rafferty incident.

Nanny didn't ask any questions when I came home early that day. She just came up to my room with a cup of chamomile tea. There is no way she could have known what I went through but she still comforted me as if she was aware of my problem. Grandmother's intuition I guess.

Natasha wanted to wring his neck when I told her what happened. I had no doubt that she would, if I hadn't talked her out of it. I didn't need any more trouble. Fortunately the psycho took some time off because I wasn't sure I could face him without an emotional outburst. I guess he is still embarrassed because of how Adrian roughed him up and foiled his plans to get me fired.

Adrian, my very own bipolar super-hero. When he's not badgering me at conferences, he's protecting me from Rafferty and treating me graciously. I never saw him again after that day. Did he just suddenly lose interest in my software because of what happened? Why did he believe me and then decide to stand up for me? Natasha is so much better at this stuff than I am. I get a lot of information about the opposite sex from her as I've never been in a relationship myself.

Sure men would holler at me from time to time, but none of them ever caught my attention. Probably for the best, I doubt I'd be able to look them in the eye and talk to them without stuttering like an idiot in any case. It wasn't that way with Adrian though. When I spoke to him the last time it felt as if he knew more about me than I did myself. Like I didn't have a lot of explaining to do. He sees and understands.

I cringe thinking about how he saw me with my shirt unbuttoned. I am scheduled to have a meeting with him soon. I don't want to be that fragile, timid girl anymore. I need to show Claudette and everyone else that I am capable. And I will.

I will practice more of the exercises, Esther outlined. I've also been researching my condition and some of the ways they are treated. Cognitive behavioral therapy seemed like the most logical one. I could recognize a few traits of its model in Esther exercises. Basically I need to challenge my beliefs about myself and others. As well as gradually give myself exposure to the situations that cause my fear.

I'm tired of living like this, I have to try something.

Today members of the Sumu faith fellowship at sumudrals all over our country. It's the most popular religion of Kuzimu. The Amani religion was outlawed about a decade ago when the rebel attacks started. Loving everyone, including our enemies, as well as always being meek and obeying authority are some of the main tenets of the sumu faith.

My grandmother attends services three times per week. I only make an appearance on Sunday. I think the service today will do me good, based on the recent upsetting events in my life. I enjoy speaking to Father Lamont because he is full of wisdom and I value his advice. The music of the choir would always make me feel better. I usually take a few pills before attending sumudral to calm my nerves and socialize better but I decide against it. So far I have been doing fine without the pills. In fact I find myself assessing situations more clearly. I'm able to focus more.

I get up, and make up my bed. I select my favorite sapphire blue dress with the capped sleep, V-neckline and a ruched waist. My sliver accessories would go nicely with it.

I take a bath, get dressed and head downstairs. Nanny must be still in her room; this is a first. Usually my grandmother is up before the first thread of sunlight. I check her room and she is not there but there is a note on the mirror with my name as the heading.

Sapphire

I left for the sumudral early today. No need to come this Sunday. Get some rest.

Nanny

Since when is Nanny encouraging me to rest. She's usually bickering about my lack of enthusiasm as a housekeeper. I would much rather do coding and surf the Internet than bake pies and scrub floors.

'How you expect to get husband if you can't keep house? This generation of women today!' She would say in rebuke. She would give me a long list of weekend chores including polishing her wooden furniture and dusting her wide selection of cat ornaments. Protesting was entirely out of the question so I made my peace with it years ago. I actually came to enjoy these tasks and did them without her having to ask most of the time. Nanny never believed in those frozen dinners everyone else ate so she would not let me rest until she was sure I learnt how to cook.

A shout interrupts my thoughts. I grew accustomed to these particular cries. I could recognize my mother's crazed and tortured screams anywhere. She came in drunk last night according to her normal routine. Thankfully she managed to reach the bed on her own. Maybe she isn't as drunk as she usually is.

"Oh Lord no!" she groaned. "Why you chasing me?" It seems this dream of being chased is more popular than I thought.

"No wait!" She shrieks.

"Wait no, it's a sumudral. No!" This got my attention, I run to my mother's bedroom.

"Fire... Fire!"

I shake her. "Ma? Ma? Wake up, you were having a nightmare."

It was eight thirty so more like a day-mare but who's counting. I shake her some more. She opens her eyes but it takes her a while to identify where she is and who I am. She looks around the messy bedroom. She's disoriented and tired but she lifts her hands and points to her bottle of rum. It hurt me to see my mother so troubled. I know she wants the dreams to stop. I think maybe I should tell her about my dreams. Perhaps it could help her and she wouldn't be so troubled by them.

"What was your dream about?" She is immediately distant. I could never get answers from her when she is this sober. "What do I have to do to get some answers around here?" I am really tired of the secrets.

"I knew we should never have named you Sapphire," she is staring blankly at the window. She turns away to hold my gaze. "You're more of a rebel than she is."

"You're not making sense mo-"

"Give it time. You'll see."

# Chapter 7

Am I going crazy? I go back room I sit on the bed trying to make sense of the situation I find myself in. I give up prodding my mother for answers. It never worked anyway. Did my mother and Nanny make some secret pact to keep me in the dark? It's a little strange that we had similar dreams though. I didn't want to upset her any further so I didn't bring it up. I would find other means of getting information about my family past. The temple is just the place. Father Lamont knew my grandmother since she came to Kuzimu all those years ago. He also knew both my parents and performed their wedding ceremony. I am tired of being in the dark. Today I will ask him everything I need to know. I grab my purse and head out.

***

I'm late. I hate being late. It means I have to walk in and take a seat after everyone is inside. I always feel so self conscious. I edge in and creep in the back and I can smell the fresh flowers brought by the women's group Nanny is a part of. Worship has already started and it takes a while for my ears to adjust to the music blaring in the sumudral. The drums and lively music made me feel like dancing. If only I had the nerve. Everyone is standing up, singing, clapping and dancing.

Sister Joan's eyes are closed screaming the hymn into the microphone as the worshipers sing along. The Morton sumudral is made of primarily mungu, with a few native Kuzimu worshipers. Father Lamont would often comment on the lack of males that make up the congregation.

O Rock divine, O Refuge dear,

A Shelter in the time of storm;

Be Thou our helper ever near,

A Shelter in the time of storm.

Sister Joan isn't much of a singer but she had no idea because no one had the heart to tell her to her face. She is having such a great time singing that she ignores the subtle cues they give, that her time is up. Worship runs an extra fifteen minutes and the head deacon has to physically take the microphone away from her before she starts another song.

I look around to seek out Natasha's expression. We would always give each other the eye and then fight to control our laughter, at moments like these. She is nowhere in sight. I would have to call her when I get home.

They do scripture reading, testimonies and collection before the Father Lamont is introduced. We stand for him. He begins his spirited sermon.

"Brother and sisters please be seated." The congregation sits down. "You all look so beautiful today. Praise the Lord. My topic today is on 'The narrow path of righteousness'. Now we all know the path to righteousness is narrow. Can I get a amen? God will lead us to this narrow path if we simply follow his commandments. In his infinite mercy he sends a leader, a Sheppard, with the light of understanding to lead us in the path. Why do we need a Sheppard today? Well the people are like sheep. The people have no sense of direction; they don't know where to go. If the sheep are not surefooted then they just might end up in a ditch, or the hellfire. Family that's the wrong path. How do we end up on the wrong path? Don't act like you don't know, c'mon. We've all been there. We ignore God's word, violate our conscience and disobey God's commandments. Brothers and sisters, this is the path to hell. We need to guard ourselves and our families from the fire. You are in the temple today so I know that's what you're trying to do. The fire is real. We must run to the Lord, in order to escape the fire! It's coming. Very soon, the fire is coming..."

He goes on for another two hours, talking about ways to avoid the fire. Is this a coincidence? I have a dream about a fire, my mother has a similar dream about fire, and now the preacher is screaming fire. What on earth is happening to me? Is God trying to tell me something? Or maybe I should have taken my pills. Yes that's it. I'm going crazy without my pills. I think I've learnt my lesson.

The congregation shouts "amen" in response to something the preacher says, interrupting my thoughts.

"Yes my beloved family, if anyone else would like to partake in this prayer and fast, you would need to stay back after the service to submit your consent form. Fasting helps to strengthen and purify both the body and spirit. Some of the members who participated said they actually talked with God. They say they actually felt God guiding them. I myself am better able to commune with the Lord. We should use it as a tool to resist temptation of the devil. We all need to avoid the fire..."

Before the preacher could properly finish his benediction, Sister Joan was on the pulpit getting ready to lead the congregation in the closing hymns.

Oh fire of God, come cleanse us pure

Make our faith more ever sure

Guide us with you Sheppard's light

In this dark and dreadful night

Here we go with this talk of fire again. I decide not to make a big deal of this. There had to be a perfectly plausible and scientific explanation for all of this. In college I learnt about selective attention and the recency effect. I probably wouldn't make a big deal out of this if I had that dream a few months ago. I would skip right over it. And it's only because I had a scary dream about fire that I'm noticing it everywhere. It's just like learning a new word and then seeing it pop up everywhere after that. This isn't the first coincidence I have encountered in my life so there is nothing to gain from worry. I should instead, enjoy this time with God and focus on the message our preacher gave.

This hymn is one of my favorites. I love the melody and I was enjoying it almost as much as Sister Joan.

I feel a tap on my shoulder. It's Nanny. She looks to be in one of her no nonsense moods.

"I thought I told you to stay at home?!" Nanny is furious.

I had no response. I don't understand why she is upset. I never thought I would see the day when she would scold me for attending a sumu gathering. If she would simply tell me the truth then I would have no need to be here today.

"You stubborn girl. The truth comes with a price. I hope you can pay it!" She shakes her head at me before stalking off.

Wait a minute; I didn't say that out loud. It's either I am going crazy or Nanny just read my mind. I think I'm going crazy.

# Chapter 8

It's time for answers. I'm not leaving here today until I speak to Father Lamont. I have to wait until the he is finished greeting a few elderly women. Most of the worshipers head toward the prayer and fast registration table. The secretary takes the list of names and collects consent forms, so that they can arrange to pray together and encourage each other for the fast. A sumudral had to seek special permission from the sector mayor's office in order to conduct a prayer and fast for its members. It took three months for the request to be approved. Only a few of the members leave early. Most of them seem enthusiastic about it.

Our sumudral can house two hundred persons but it's seldom full to capacity. The old building is still beautiful with antique stone wooden trims and stained glass arched windows. The walls are light yellow with a dark and light brown encaustic tiled floor. There's a fund raising drive to replace the dilapidated furniture. Most of the wooden benches are shaky and rotting. Nanny and others baked pies and cakes to help out.

Members of the congregation greet each other after the service. Children run after each other to their mother's irritation and the joy of the childless widows. Women form cliques together to share gossip while some of the members have group meetings like choir and prayer group. Choir members bustle about in their ecclesiastical garb. I always felt so painfully alone at times like these. A room full of people but I am unable to really connect with any of them because of my phobia. I would always stumble over my words when meeting someone new, or I would say nothing at all. People found me to be weird; most thought I was pompous or both. If Natasha was here, she would occupy my time with talk of coding or some interesting event in her love life. I live vicariously through my friend and I miss her now more than ever.

Nanny is uncharacteristically distant today. She is usually with the prayer group discussing some poor soul that needed prayer or counseling. Instead she is off by herself close to the door, looking outside. Father Lamont walks over to her and rests his hand on her shoulder as if to reassure her about something. She looks at him and they start arguing quietly. Whatever it is, it seems important because other members of the sumudral notice. He leaves her standing by the door. This is my chance to talk to him.

I head toward Father Lamont and I accidentally bump into an usher in my haste to have a few minutes with him.

"Sister Sapphire, how are you!?" He bellowed the greeting.

He is always cheerful but his face lights up when he sees me coming. I never quite knew how to respond to greetings like this without feeling a bit awkward, even though I am more comfortable with Father Lamont that most.

I am very happy to see him. In many ways he is like a father to me. I just don't know how to communicate those feelings to him.

"I'm fine father. How are you? I say smiling.

"Oh the Lord is good my child." He laughs. "God is good all the time!"

"All the time God is good." I finished the phrase. "I need to ask you something." I am a bit apprehensive.

He motions for me to sit down on the wooden bench as he takes a seat next to me.

"What's on your mind?" His posture is one of attentiveness. I begin.

"You've known my grandmother since she migrated here right?" I pause to study his reaction. "And my parents, since they were very young?" If Father Lamont had any problems with my questions, his face didn't show it.

"Oh yes, I knew your mother as a little girl. I wasn't a preacher then. I also remember when you were born. I performed your christening ceremony. You laughed the whole time, even while we prayed. Back then your mother would bring you to the sumudral. You were such a tiny delightful thing, escaping your mother and running all over this very sumudral between the pews." He looks happy and nostalgic as he speaks of me.

If his intention is to soften my mood and steer me away from my questions, it works. But not for long.

Nanny is in my periphery but I do my best to ignore her until my questions are answered. I steal a glance in her direction but she is not focused on me. I expected her to be a hindrance to my truth-seeking mission. Instead she is staring intently outside the sumudral window; her gaze alternating up and down the street. I have no idea who she is looking for but I have never seen her get this anxious.

"Do you know why my grandmother left Kisawa?" I blurt out. I am tired of everyone dancing around issues of the past.

"She never told me the reason she came to Kisawa and I respect her privacy. I never pry." He said the last sentence slowly as if to say that I shouldn't pry either. His forehead creases as if he is troubled.

"She never told you, but you know, don't you?" I shock myself. I usually never speak like this to anyone outside of those very close to me. Talk less of someone of importance like my preacher. But I need to know what they are hiding. How could keeping me in the dark ever be a good idea?

"Sapphire, we all love you dearly and we want what's best for yo-."

"I want to know what happened to my father. At least I deserve to know that much. I hardly remember him but I know he loved me. He would never want me to be surrounded by all this secrecy." I am bordering on disrespectful with my forceful rant.

"Your father was a brave man, and he did love you very much, so he would have wanted us to protect you." His response was calm in the face of my emotion.

"Protect me from what?"

Did Father Lamont let this information slip intentionally to scare me? In any case I need to know what he's talking about. I was about to press further when a loud voice interrupts me.

"Everyone outside! Now!" Nanny barks the instruction in a shrill tone, across the room of the sumudral.

We all stop talking and look at her confused.

Next I hear the sound of broken glass and then a soft thump as something hits the ground. There's a short pause then a deafening 'boom' obtrudes my thoughts. My ears ring. Scorching flames erupt from the source of the noise creating an acrid smell.

I can't hear myself think as panicked people scatter in all directions of the sumudral. The two side doors are locked but horrified men and women still hammer against it, sending large judders all through the entire building. Father Lamont attempts to take charge of the situation.

"Please remain calm everyone. Let's use the front exit." He could not hide the panic in his own voice.

I see him leading a few children through the door before he abruptly pelts across the room in my direction. This explosion causes a ferocious inferno right at the exit as if by design. The blaze eats away at the wooden doorway and the furniture in the vicinity. I shut my eyelids in futile attempts to escape the heat. Noxious smoke showers down on my hair and clothes.

I squint my eyes to look for Father Lamont. He is lying on his back, raising his hands. He appears unable to move anything else. His eyes are wide with disbelief as he tries to stand. His attempts prove futile. I sprint forward and kneel at his side.

"They have spies everywhere. Don't trust anyone." He gasps for air but inhales smoke instead. "Get your grandmother out of here." It is all he could manage. He is in immeasurable pain. "Run child." His body shakes a bit then goes still and he stares blankly at me. Father Lamont is gone.

A burst of broken glass rains all over me as the third grenade sails through the window and lands a few inches from my feet. I freeze.

Nanny appears out of nowhere. She is gracefully nimble as she maneuvers the grenade right back in the direction it came. She reminds me of a cricket bowler, the way she hurls it through the window. A loud explosion is heard just as it passes through the broken glass. A few seconds later, there are screams of agony, this time from a male voice outside the temple; most likely from the person who threw the grenade.

Nanny smiles.

Injured people are moaning in pain and asking for help all around me and I don't react. The fire is spreading feverishly and I am fixed in my position despite the oppressive heat. The smell of burnt wood pervades my nostrils.

I watch as Nanny grabs the wooden podium and flings it forcefully through one of the sumudral's stained glass windows.

"This way." She motioned to everyone. With hands and clothing clamped to their mouths and noses, the riotous crowd clambers through the open window gasping the fresh air that awaits them. We all run to safety outside while ferocious fire threatens to engulf us in its fury.

Nanny is one of the last persons to leave the building. She is gasping for air like everyone else but she seems to be struggling and wheezing a little more than most of us. She grips her chest as if trying to manufacture the air she needs to breathe. It's only now I remember that my Nanny is an old woman. She is always so capable and self-sufficient. Nanny is my rock and now she is threatening to leave me.

I am frantic and helpless while she struggles to breathe and I see my teardrops rain on her beautiful wrinkled face. Nanny can't breathe.

The weight of the world is resting on my shoulders and there is nothing I can do. There's a numbness in my brain, and salty tears flow unbridled from my eyes. A deep nothingness takes hold of me threatening to utterly overwhelm me. My legs buckle and my knees sink into the ground as I watch Nanny slip away.

"Nanny! Nanny! Breathe Nanny. You alright? Answer me please!" I shook her shoulders.

"No hospital." She gasps before she loses consciousness.

# Chapter 9

I do not hear the ambulance coming because all I can distinguish is a constant ringing in my ears. I manage to make out its silhouette through my scarlet colored, swollen eyes. I'm afraid to take my gaze away from Nanny again, who lay lifeless on the grass. She is pale and limp. Two pairs of powerful hands pull me away from her so that they can examine and resuscitate her. I can't move from where I stand. I watch as her body is hauled onto the stretcher of the ambulance. There is nothing I can do to help my grandmother. Everyone looks on with a sense of foreboding for my Nanny as well as the other injured.

Sister Margret is inconsolable. She is lying on the front lawn, yelling her daughters' name and slapping her belly. Onlookers tried to soothe her and cover her thighs which are now exposed from the tortured jerking movements she makes. Tears streak down her dirty face, her lips trembling in agony. Two of her daughters died from the same bomb that killed our preacher.

My mind goes to Father Lamont and the look in his eyes as he died. I glance through the large hole at the front of our temple and see his charred remains. Father Lamont was a pillar of this community. Who would want to harm him? There is no sign of anyone who could have done this. The person, who was injured from the grenade Nanny returned outside, was nowhere to be found.

The temple compound is crawling with the media, sector guards, crime scene investigators, medical examiners, forensic scientists and fire-fighters. The fire men were able to get a hold of the raging blaze before long. It seemed like the entire sumudral would be lost because the structure fast became ash. The wind carries the thick black smoke to neighboring buildings and everyone came outside to view the spectacle. The media got most of the action on camera and did a few interviews with sumudral members.

"Who do you think could have done this to your sumudral?" A young reporter asked the a deacon.

"The Lord will reveal everything in due time. Just wait on the Lord. You will find the peace that passeth all understanding" Brother Mark seems to have been waiting for this moment for a long time. He squints his eyes and made wild hand movements as he shouted into the reporter's recording device.

"So you're saying the Lord will reveal to you, the person who fire bombed the sumudral?"

"We forgive whoever did this because the meek shall inherit the earth and no one is beyond forgiveness of the Lord. The good book says-"

"Sir, do you think the Amani rebels are responsible for this attack?"

He was preaching while she was asking the question. He has no idea how to answer her.

"Let us pray. Oh Lord-"

"I think we have all we need for now." She rolls her eyes at him.

Clearly out of patience with his inability to give a direct answer, and goes to one of the forensic fire experts to ask about the incendiary devices used in the attack.

I already know it was a grenade. I saw it in my dream. It's amazing to think that my dreams foretold these events but I know it sounds crazy. I would need to discuss it with my therapist.

The press apparently had a theory about who did this but the Amani rebels were known for bombing clinics that administered PIT injections. This is the first I have heard of a sumudral bombing. It seems like the rebels were involved in all types of crime these days.

An EMT taps me on the shoulder.

"Would you like to ride with your grandmother to the hospital?"

He is visibly tired and I suspect that this is not his first shift of work. I nod and he leads me to the ambulance, where Nanny is waiting in a stretcher. She is still unconscious with breathing equipment covering her nose and mouth. The van had the smell of sulfur and other strong chemicals. It stifles me, as I sit on the side bench. I focus on Nanny. She looks peaceful. She is a stark contrast to the woman who effortlessly threw around podiums and flung grenades at her enemy.

The hospital ride is petrifying and can only be topped by the firebombing that just took place. My apprehension goes up a notch with every jolt that the moving vehicle makes. It's hard seeing Nanny like this, strapped in to the stretcher. The other victims of the bombing said I needed to be strong for her. It's true. I need to step up. Nanny was always the strong one. Taking charge of the situation and in some cases predicting it. Everyone in the sumudral owed Nanny their life. How did all of her courage get lost on me? In times of danger I shut down and retreated to my shell like a scared turtle. I wonder if I am capable of Nanny's strength.

My gaze never leaves her as I imagine a life without her.

# Chapter 10

The driver is a maniac. I'm not complaining though. Not today. I'm thankful for this ambulance driver who drives like an escaped convict being chased by sector guards. The faster he drives, the better Nanny's chances are. The only thing that worries me is her wellbeing. I thought her stretcher would break free from its mounts a few times with the rapid jolts of the moving van. I'm jerked back and forth, and I notice my hands trembling as I put on the seatbelt to steady myself. The ambulance is wired with high-tech radios, dashboard computers and navigation systems, most of which the EMT fiddles as we weave in and out of traffic at top speed.

Deafening sirens and flashing red lights part crowds of cars on the highway as we race to our destination. Screeching tires wildly barrel through the streets with the aim of saving Nanny's life. The squealing ambulance echoes throughout the roadway.

We approach the large compound I recognize as Delmore County hospital. I visited Natasha here once when she broke her arm. The paramedics quickly stop the truck close to the emergency entrance and take her out. We rush through the automatic glass doors that lead to the hospital corridor. The wheels of the stretcher and my pounding heartbeat are the only things audible to me.

"Ma'am, you can't accompany them inside." One of the heavyset nurses stops me in a soft but commanding tone. My heart is in my throat as the stretcher vanishes from my sight, through the left hall.

"She's my grandmother." I choke out in tears. My mind floods with a sequence of unfavorable results, each one with Nanny missing from my life. I never realized how much I love her until now.

"Come this way." she says in a more soothing voice while I follow her. It seems that my anguish placated her enough to be empathetic.

She directs me to reception to provide the necessary information so that they can treat Nanny. Honestly I don't know very much except that Nanny's real name is Ruby Hartland. She is seventy - three years old although there is a lot of mystery surrounding her actual birth-paper. Come to think of it, all her personal documents for that matter.

"Does your grandmother have health insurance?" I'm dazed but I produce my health insurance card from my wallet. It's one of the perks of working for my company. There's an amazing group health plan.

She motioned for me to have a seat in the waiting room.

With my hands on my tear-filled face I sit on one of the hard metal chairs. There are a few other people there. I didn't recognize any of them. Usually I would be too self-conscious to show emotion in public but today I don't mind in the least. I feel a tightness in my chest my jaw is locked. All I taste is a mixture of bitterness and my own salty tears. Grief courses through me with every breath I take, reaching to even greater heights with my long intakes of air. All pretense of quiet coping is lost and I sink back on the chair not caring about the state of my untidy clothes and hair.

I see a few of the other members of the temple being escorted into the waiting room with distressed faces. It's then I try to get a hold of myself. I'm supposed to be strong. I wipe my tears and sit up.

The hospital waiting room is stuffy and the air has an undertone of bleach. Most likely from a mess that was just made and had to be cleaned. I twist uncomfortably in my chair and look around. The light orange walls are scraped and covered with graffiti. One of them said 'God help us all'. It just about sums up the way I feel. There is a television set in the top left corner, inside of metal bars, along with heavy dust and tangled cobweb. There are more paramedics wheeling in patients on stretchers and I notice a child in a neck brace, screaming in the corridors as the doctors come running. Its official, I hate hospitals.

I don't remember Nanny ever being sick in the twenty-three years I have known her. She never went for as much as a check-up.

"Modern medicine is poison," she would say.

She always relied on her herbs.

I disagree with her a bit on that. How could modern medicine be a poison with all its sophistication? By obtaining a single blood sample, a health-care professional could find out the medical history of a patient as well as their allergies and overall level of health. I know that Nanny is in good hands. If there is any place that could save her, it would be this one. I just have to give them time to do their job.

Members of my sumudral have been through a lot today and it shows. The usually prim and proper women in their freshly pressed Sunday bests, now stand together looking sullen and disheveled.

They push in Sister Margret in a wheel chair. She is not making a scene like before. Now she cries softly as a group of older women do their best to console her. One of her three daughters survived the attack but is in critical condition. A group of women are in an argument with the receptionist about payment that should be made for Margret's daughter before performing the surgery she desperately needs to survive.

It's difficult for a mungu to be involved in an argument without being seen as aggressive and carted off for a PIT injection. This group of women who obviously have concerns about the child are not doing a very good job. Shouting would only get them in trouble.

"You people are evil! How could you do this?" Sister Beth is furious.

Her beautiful green dress is decorated with black soot from the fire.

"Ma'am I need you to calm down." The receptionist looks tired and irritated.

"A God damn child is about to die! Are you really telling me to calm down right now?"

"I didn't draft the company policy, I only-"

"Follow this hospital's draconian laws? Don't you have a heart?"

"Now I've told you to calm down. Don't make me do this." The receptionist picks up the receiver on a large black switchboard phone."

"Wait, wait wait..." I say. "Can my insurance cover close relatives?"

"I'm not sure; let me see your card again?"

I pass the card as she hangs up the phone. She types my card number on the keyboard to pull up the information.

"Says here any family member including disabled relatives."

"Well that four year old is my third cousin. You can proceed with the surgery." It wasn't a total lie. I had a few relatives in Margret's family from my father's side. If there's a chance that she could be covered I have to take it.

Technically the receptionist is still breaking protocol because she is supposed to verify the actual names of patients.

The women looked on hopefully as the receptionist gives confirmation for the surgery. I would never understand how a group of health-care professionals could sit by and watch another person die on account of company policy. I think of how fortunate I am to have health insurance. There are many people who are unable to afford it and end up in Margret's position. In fact if it weren't for my job at MUST Inc., I would be in that very same position. We live in a cruel world.

Margret is no longer in a daze. She no doubt witnessed the scenario that just took place concerning her daughter's surgery, because she is staring straight at me. Our eyes connect and she signals for me to come to her.

I obey stooping slightly so I can hear what she has to say.

"I saw it you know. I thought it was a dream but I saw it. And I know you saw it too."

# Chapter 11

"I never thought I'd say this but, the media is nothing but propaganda! They have a clear agenda to blame the Amani rebels for this attack. I know how crazy it sounds, trust me. But what other explanation could there be for what is happening?" A man in the waiting room said.

"What could they gain from laying the blame on the rebels wrongfully? I think they did it. You know these rebels be crazy." A woman said.

"The reports they've shown so far is nothing but misdirection and fear tactics." The man protested.

The room is silent again as everyone pays attention to the television.

"...And we interrupt your regularly scheduled program for a breaking news report. Amani rebels are alleged to have firebombed a Sumudral in the Morton community. The rebels have been reported to use the same type of grenades used in their last attack, leaving six dead, three of whom are children. Ten other people are also said to have been injured in the attack. We'll now hear from Amber Grant, reporting from the ground earlier today. Amber?"

"Thank you Tonya, as you can see behind me there's a lot of smoke from the fire here today. I had a chance to speak to the forensic fire expert about the type of incendiary devices used in this attack."

The man speaks while chewing gum. "Well we need to run more tests but the preliminary results show that the grenades used in this firebombing is identical to the ones used at the research facility outside of Delmore."

The screen goes to Linda again.

"And there you have it folks. The Amani rebels are the lead suspects in this bombing that have taken the lives of innocent children and peaceful worshipers. This is Linda Cleaver, with a special KNN broadcast."

The waiting room erupts again, debating the credibility of the media.

"The relative of Ruby Hartland?" the short overweight doctor called when he entered the room.

"That's me." I say shouting over the noise of the crowd. I need to hear that Nanny is alive. "My name is Sapphire Adams. How is she?"

"She is stable now that we gave her some oxygen. We need to keep her overnight for observation."

I don't respond. I am crying again. Why can't I hold it together? I should have known a warrior like Nanny is too strong to die from something like smoke inhalation. That sort of death is not fitting.

"I've ordered another chest X-ray and blood test just to be certain but your grandmother is very strong. She regained consciousness and put up a fight with some of our staff even after she understood where she was. "

I laugh through my tears imagining the scenario. That's my Nanny.

Tough as nails.

"Thank you so much. May I see her?"

"For a short while, it's better if she rests. You will receive a prescription for some medication for her."

He escorts me to her room.

"Take care Ms. Adams." He says bustling away, probably to another patient.

Nanny is in the process of removing her oxygen when I enter the room. She looks tired and annoyed.

"Nanny! Thank God. I thought I lost you-" I am about to embrace her.

"Child you don't listen?" she barks.

"What?" I'm confused. This is not how I imagined our reunion would be.

"I said no hospital!" She fumes. She gets up and steals a glance outside the window then she quickly closes the blinds.

"Why?"

"They'll never catch me alive. We leave now!"

About the Author

N.X. Roberts was born and raised in the beautiful twin island of Trinidad and Tobago. She is the holder of a Bachelor of Science degree in psychology and has been writing all her life.

She enjoys writing mysteries, thrillers, and suspense novels, as well as poetry, designed to bring awareness to some human or societal truth. Her favorite types of books are those which educate the reader without their awareness, changing their lives with the power of words.

Her books are a mixture of science fiction, suspense, drama, action and humor, and are ideal for anyone who enjoys fast paced plots with numerous of twists and turns.

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