The rain in my memories is always thicker than the rain in real life. When I close my eyes and let the darkness take over, I am back there. I am ten years old again. I am standing at the edge of the long, gray bridge that leads to my boarding school. My suitcase is at my feet, the handle cold against my palm. I remember the weight of my school blazer, the way the wool felt scratchy against my neck. I was so happy that day. It was mid-term break, and my parents were coming to get me.
My teacher, Mr. Okoro, stood beside me. He held a large black umbrella over both of us, but the wind was so strong that the mist still sprayed my face. My parents had called the school office an hour before. My father was excited. He told the headmaster he was finally about to sign the contract, the big one. The one that would change our lives. They told the school to have me wait at the very end of the bridge, right by the main road. They did not want to drive all the way into the school compound because they were in a hurry to get to the city for the signing. They just wanted to pull over, throw my bags in the trunk, and keep moving towards our future.
I remember squinting through the gray fog, looking for my father's silver sedan. I knew the sound of that engine. I knew the way the headlights looked like two golden eyes cutting through the storm. Mr. Okoro was checking his watch, complaining about the damp air, but I didn't care. I just wanted to see my mother's smile. I wanted to tell my father about my grades.
Then, I saw them.
The silver car appeared at the far end of the bridge. It was moving at a steady pace, careful on the slick, wet asphalt. My heart jumped. I started to wave my hand, even though they were too far to see me yet.
"They're here!" I shouted to Mr. Okoro.
He nodded, stepping closer to the curb to help me with my bags.
But behind my parents' car, a dark shape emerged. It was a heavy motorcycle, a dispatch rider. He was dressed in all black, blending into the shadows of the storm. At first, I thought he was just a man in a hurry, trying to overtake them in the rain. But he didn't move to the side. He stayed right on their bumper.
My breath hitched as I watched the bike accelerate. The rider didn't swerve. He slammed the front of his heavy bike into the back of my father's car. I heard the sound from across the bridge, a sharp, metallic clack that echoed over the rushing water below. I saw the silver sedan swerve, its brake lights flashing red, bright and desperate like a warning signal.
"What is he doing?" Mr. Okoro whispered, his voice shaking.
The car regained balance for a second, but the rider wasn't done. He pulled back and then hit them again. This time, it was harder. I could see the trunk of the car crumple under the force. My father was trying to stay on the road, but the bridge was narrow and the ground was like ice. The rider hit them a third time, then a fourth. It wasn't an accident. It was a hunt.
I started to run. I didn't think about the teacher or the umbrella. I just ran toward the middle of the bridge, my small shoes splashing in the deep puddles. My lungs burned with the cold air.
"Stop!" I screamed, but my voice was swallowed by the wind. I could see my mother's silhouette through the back window. She had turned around. She was looking back at the man who was killing them. I like to think she was looking for me, one last time.
The fifth hit was the one that did it. The rider slammed into the rear corner of the car, sending the back end spinning toward the low concrete railing of the bridge. Time seemed to slow down into a crawl. I saw the tires smoke as they slide sideways. I saw the headlights swing around, briefly shining right at me, blinding me for a split second. Then came the sound I will never forget, the sound of heavy metal snapping against concrete.
The car crashed through the railing. For a heartbeat, it hung there, balanced on the edge of the world. The back wheels were spinning in the empty air. Then, with a slow, sickening tilt, the silver sedan slipped backward.
I reached the spot just as the car disappeared. I threw myself against the broken railing, my chest heaving, my hands scraping against the jagged rocks. I looked down. I saw the car hit the dark, churning water of the lagoon. There was a huge white splash, a sound like a thunderclap, and then... nothing.
Just the bubbles rising to the surface. Just the swirling black water and the rain hitting the spot where they went down.
I looked up, my face wet with tears and rain. The dispatch rider was standing there, just a few feet away from me. He hadn't left. He sat on his idling bike, his visor down, staring at the spot where the car vanished. He didn't look at me. He didn't care that a ten-year-old boy had seen everything. He just checked on his watch, nodded to himself, and revved his engine.
That was Victor. That was the first name on my list. He turned his bike around and sped off into the fog, leaving me alone on the broken bridge.
Mr. Okoro caught up to me and grabbed my shoulders, trying to pull me away from the edge, but I was frozen. I stared at the water until my eyes hurt. I waited for them to swim up.