DANCE WITH THE ENEMY

CHAPTER ONE

ZARIYAH

Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
I groaned in pain, clutching my head with my left hand, grateful it wasn't tethered to a string. Ignoring the ache radiating through my body, I pushed myself into a sitting position, fixated on the TV screen mounted on the wall.

_Tragic Family Incident Claims Four Lives_
"A devastating familial homicide-suicide has shaken the nation, leaving three family members dead and one injured and recuperating in the hospital," news anchor Jenny Okoro reported live from Lagos studio. "Police responded to a call at approximately 1:45 a.m. this morning, arriving at the residence of Chief Judge Clifford Jacob to discover the bodies of the judge, his wife Cecilia, their 10-year-old son Dylan, and daughter Zariyah Amelia, who miraculously had a pulse but remained unconscious."

As I watched, my vision blurred, and my head spun. I crashed to the ground with a thud, letting out a gut-wrenching scream. The sounds of shuffling surrounded me, but my mind was consumed by the lifeless eyes of my family members staring back at me, their pitiful cries for help echoing in my mind.

In an instant, I was out, thrown back into that dark, silent place. The only sound piercing the tranquility was the beeping beside me. My brain pounded, and my body felt numb. I yearned to stretch my hands and legs.

Just as I struggled to speak, the door creaked open, and a man in his forties entered, wearing a lab coat and stethoscope. "You're awake," he said with a kind smile. "Y-ye..." I croaked, unable to finish.

"It's alright," he reassured. "I'll check your vitals, and the nurse will bring medication, food, and water. That should help you feel better." His sympathetic gaze made me wonder what was wrong, but speaking seemed too difficult.

He worked in silence, checking my vitals. "Any severe pains?" he asked, and I winced, touching my head, then my right hand, fixed to an IV and wrapped in a bandage.

"Yea," I managed. "We'll ease that with painkillers. The nurse will be here shortly." I nodded slightly, and he smiled before exiting.

Before I could gather my thoughts, a nurse entered, laying her tray beside my bed. "How do you feel?" she asked. I nodded slightly in response.

"Let me help you up," she said, wrapping her arms around my back, guiding me into a sitting position. "Have some water," she encouraged, lifting the glass to my lips. "Gently, little sips."

I sipped slowly, feeling a sense of relief wash over me.

"My family... Can I see my family?" I whispered, my emotions in a jumble, my brain reeling with denial.

"You should eat this, so you can have your medication," she said, pushing a bowl of porridge into my hands.

I quietly sipped the porridge, wanting to comply. After finishing, I asked again, "Please, can you tell me where my family is? And why they're not here with me?" My eyes gleamed with tears.

"You'll need water to swallow those pills," she said, evading my question.

"I'll have the police come in, so they can speak to you," she added, gathering her things and rushing out.

"My name is Inspector James, and my colleague is Sergeant Bukky," a corporate-looking man said, staring down at me. "How do you feel, Miss Zariyah?"

"I want to see my family," I whispered, ignoring his question.

"We're taking this one step at a time, Miss Zariyah, but I promise we'll get to that," he assured, his words gentle but stern.

Suddenly feeling frustrated, I reached for the string connected to my right arm, yanking it out. The officers caught me before I could make it to the door.

"Leave me alone!" I screamed at the top of my voice, fat tears streaming down my face. "Let me go, please..." I cried, exhausted from everyone treating me like a dimwit. If no one would tell me what I wanted to know, they might as well let me find out myself.

They pulled me back and tried to pin my body to the bed, but I wouldn't stop thrashing, despite every muscle screaming in pain. More shuffling footsteps approached, and doctors and nurses took over, restraining me.

"Please tell me..." I wailed, shaking uncontrollably. "Please, Miss Zariyah, you're only hurting yourself," a female doctor implored, her face etched with concern.

"Please..." I begged, undeterred in my quest for answers. The sympathetic looks on their faces only made me feel more helpless, restless, and scared.

"Will you relax if I tell you what happened to your family, dear?" the male doctor from earlier asked, his calm voice soothing.

I nodded vigorously.

"I doubt that's a good idea, Doc," the female doctor interrupted. "Prepare a dose; we'll sedate her if she gets out of control."

The nurses scrambled to follow his instructions.

"Dear, do you remember what happened? The incident at your house? Your family? The bullet to their heads?" he asked gently. "I'm so sorry we couldn't save them; you were the only one we could."

The nightmare was real. I'd lived through it—watched that man fire guns at my baby brother, then my mom and dad, after making them watch me being raped.

My head spun, and my heart rate slowed. My mind reeled like a circus. Then, the universe showed me mercy, engulfing me in darkness that promised relief, though temporary.