Authors: Angela Meadon
“Dinner’s ready.” I put my wine glass down and went to the kitchenette. I slipped oven gloves onto my hands and pulled the door open, ducking out of the way of the wave of scalding hot air.
The small house filled with the aroma of roast chicken, potatoes, and rosemary.
A month in the new house, and I finally had the family around for dinner. We had a lot to celebrate, not just the little two-bedroom flat Lindsey and I now shared, but the completion of Lindsey’s physical therapy too.
Her scars were fading, she’d learned how to feed, bathe and dress herself. My little girl was getting better. Her smile grew wider every day, her eyes brighter.
It was hard to believe that she’d come through a nightmare, stronger and more luminous than ever before.
“That smells wonderful, Ma.” Lindsey said from the dining table.
“My mouth is watering already,” my Mom said.
“There’s plenty to go around.” I set the oven dish on the counter and reached for the knife handle in the butcher block. My heart pounded as I wrapped my fingers around the cool plastic handle. If I lifted the knife out, would it frighten Lindsey? She’d been wary in the kitchen since we brought her home from the hospital. This was the first time I needed anything sharper than a butter knife.
Besta caught my eye. She looked concerned, but she put a hand on Lindsey’s arm and nodded at me.
We weren’t alone. My mother was here to help me protect my daughter. I sighed, letting the tension out of my muscles, and drew the carving knife.
Lindsey kept chatting with Busi, she didn’t look in my direction, and my mom slowly released her arm.
We would be okay.
The doorbell rang as I finished carving the chicken. I put the roast meat and vegetables on the serving tray and took it to the dining table.
“Are you expecting someone else?” Busi asked.
“No,” I said. “It was just meant to be us. I’ll go see who it is. You guys get started so long. Don’t wait for me.”
The doorbell rang again as I pulled it open.
Detective Brits greeted me with a smile that actually reached his eyes. He was wearing the usual faded jeans, but his threadbare jacket was replaced by a new black coat.
“Erin, hi.”
“Detective, what can I do for you?”
I hadn’t seen him since the night we rescued Lindsey, almost six months ago.
“I wanted to show you something, is this a bad time?” he asked.
“I was about to have dinner, actually.”
“I could come back another time…”
“No, no. I’m glad you’re here. Come inside. What did you want to show me?”
I led the detective to the lounge at the far end of the open-plan living room. He smiled and greeted everyone around the table.
“Lindsey looks well,” Brits said as he sat down.
“She’s coming along nicely. We have a long way to go still. She misses playing netball, but she’s on the athletics team now.”
“That’s great.” Brits’s smile turned down a little at the corners, he swallowed hard. Was he holding back tears?
“I wanted to show you this.” He pulled a stack of photos out of his jacket pocket. “We took these photos at Zulu’s house, while we were searching through the estate.”
He handed the stack over to me. The top one was of an ornate wooden table, probably antique. The top drawer was open, a large cigar case taking up all the space inside.
The next photo showed the cigar case resting on the table top. It had a golden clasp and intricate carving around the sides.
Another photo showed the case open. Inside were hundreds of papers, all neatly filed like the cards in a library catalog.
The last photo showed a handful of photos laid out next to the case.
My mouth went dry and my hands started to shake.
“What is it?” I asked.
“It’s his trophy case,” Brits’s voice was a low whisper. “Each photo in there is a person he kidnapped. We found five more cases just like that. Over a thousand cases closed.”
“So many…”
“It’s more than we ever thought. You did this. You put a stop to him and brought closure to a thousand families.”
Brits took one last photo from his jacket and put it face up on the coffee table in front of me. It was a little boy, brown hair and green eyes. The spitting image of his father.
“That’s your son?”
Brits nodded.
“I’m so sorry.” I reached out and put my hand on his shoulder.
“No, don’t be. We lost him a long time ago. You brought us closure. Thank you.”
The truth is I hadn’t considered the other people Bongani Zulu hurt during his career. Everything I’d done was for Lindsey.
“Don’t let me keep you from your dinner,” Brits stood up and started towards the door.
“Wait,” I held out a hand, almost pulling Brits back towards me. “Do you want to join us? For dinner? There’s more than enough.”
“I shouldn’t interrupt your family meal.” He shook his head, but his shoulders squared and I could see the look of hope in his eyes.
“Come on, it’s the least I could do to thank you.”
Brits smiled, a huge grin that crinkled the skin around his eyes and lifted his whole face.
“I’d love that,” he said.
Busi and Besta scooted around the table and set another place while I fetched the stool from my dressing table.
Lindsey put her arms around Brits’s neck and whispered something in his ear that made him smile even wider.
Life was almost normal again.
Almost.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Angela started writing stories when she was 8 years old. Her first story was about Indiana Jones and she wrote it on pages she tore out of her school books. She has come a long way since those early days. She invents her own heroes now, but she tries to keep the sense of passion and wonder that infused her early forays into the craft.
When she’s not herding her three children through the garden of their Johannesburg home, Angela surrounds herself with words in all their glorious forms. She is the lead technical writer for a fast-growing software company, a dedicated author, and a voracious reader.
She tends to write darker stories, and enjoys experimenting with genre. Horror and fantasy will always be her first loves (yes, she can have two), but she also enjoys science fiction and thrillers.
Her short stories can be found in numerous anthologies and self-published on Amazon.com.
Visit her website:
www.meadon.co.za
Find Angela on Facebook and Twitter at Angela Meadon.