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Right in front of her that minute came a fat old woman whose eyes dimmed, not for anything alone but the fact that she had just woken from sleep. Agnes looked at her wristwatch to see it was just 7:25 am; a bit too early she realized, discovering she had only succeeded in waking a fat old woman from her sleep.
“Good morning” Agnes greeted, “Does an Alexander Nickel live here? He asked me to come here,” she said using an American accent. She was sure to pass off as American, and to go by the books, she was American; partially though.

The old lady stared at her for minutes, like she hadn’t heard Agnes’ words. Agnes had to look around to be sure the woman saw her if at all she hadn’t heard anything she said. To add to the irritation, the old lady blurted something out in Dutch complicating the whole thing. Shocked and embarrassed to the core, Agnes opened her eyes and mouth wide, first to say something but deciding against it. This was going to be a tough game, and language was going to be the opponent that stood between her and Nickel.
Frustrated, Agnes looked around once again for an alternative but swung her hands in defeat. “Tu parle François?” she turned to say in French, but as expected, the woman said nothing other than the stare she gave. This was a real boner; Agnes admitted tapping her foot. The old lady willing to give it a chance raised her hand up like a grade one pupil then left the door mid way open. Agnes couldn’t tell if it was an invitation or not, and to that respect, she felt it was best staying outside. Minutes after, a black guy showed up with the woman. “My grandmother says you are some stranger lost…can I help you?” the guy said with a British accent.

Finally, Agnes thought as she sighed. “Uh, am looking for some Alexander Nickel. He…uh, asked me to meet him…here…Vondelstraat street, number 52” Agnes stuttered trying to keep her American accent. She saw what happened earlier when she disclosed to the cab man her true nationality. She looked at the door post to be sure it was Number 52.
“Nickel?” the guy asked much to his grandma’s confusion as she looked at him and Agnes. “There is no Nickel around this neighborhood, not even here” he disclosed, “This home’s been my grandmother’s for 23 years. There is no way a Nickel could claim to live on our property. We even got government clearance…” he went on to argue, moving closer to Agnes.
Agnes swung by the confusion in the air, took some steps backward. She’d hoped for some explanation to the shit she just heard, but the only thing that came to her, was that she had been conned. Nickel had conned her. Her personal phone was missing along with all her contacts, and she had come to the Netherlands all for a mistake that could turn out ugly. Stepping off the stairs quietly, Agnes refused to say a word back to the guy. She had never being so embarrassed the way she had just been.

Agnes decided to walk a few paces from the guy before picking the phone from her purse to lash out at Nickel and demand some explanation than the fact that he had obviously conned her into putting herself in some embarrassing situation. She couldn’t imagine Chuks’ smile now at the thought of being right all along.
With no second to waste, she dialed the last number that had called her, but after seconds of beeping, the phone went blank and dead. In the next second, it exploded, sending chills through her palm and spine. Agnes’ line of thought that minute didn’t go to her injured hand, but the idea that someone had seen what happened.
She turned around immediately, with a sudden fear that someone somewhere was watching her and might shout ‘terrorist’ to raise an alarm. Agnes hurried off instantly when she saw no one. She waved at the first sight of a taxi.
“Crowne plaza hotel please” she said panting when she got into the taxi. She could care less if the driver spoke English or not at that moment. “32 Euros ma’am” the driver replied, luckily speaking the language she understood. This one had a Michigan accent; something that gave her a sense of relief when she saw the man’s skin color; black.

Whoa, she sighed looking back at the house she had ran from, and glad that the first voice she heard had that familiarity with home even if it was miles distant. She rubbed her right hand, feeling the pain that minute. How could she have made such a stupid mistake? She thought, still looking at the house while the driver drove.
All efforts the driver made towards initiating a conversation, was ignored as Agnes was rather too lost in her thoughts and what could have been.
Her face alone was more frightening than the city itself as he stared at her through the driver mirror. Whatever trouble was she in, that morning? He thought to himself as he resolved to let it be and rather communicate with her through the rear mirror.
Under a 20-minute drive, Agnes was back in her hotel room; a place she now saw more as boredom than the royalty it was made to be. The only thing that reminded her of the royalty it tried to portray were the chandeliers as she lied on the mattress gazing at them. They reminded her of those in the General’s house, due to how perfect they were. The General even claimed to have given the contract of his house to Julius Berger from a design of New York’s famous mansion. No one knew how true it was but one thing was sure, the fact that he adored artistry and perfection.

She felt safe under the General’s chandeliers. She hoped she would be safe under this one. More and more, Agnes was reminded of home; of Nigeria, from the little things she saw and the things she never expected would ever remind her or make her miss Nigeria. It was a testimony to frustration.
As she lay upon the mattress, she felt the size enlarging her muscles, that she found no other option but to shut her eyes. She wished she would remain that way the entirety of the day.

In AMSTERDAM—NOW WHAT
Agnes pulled into the bathroom immediately to get freshened up, and once she was done, she met the hotel attendant bringing her dinner. He spoke some Dutch before leaving which Agnes had nothing else to do but nod to.
It took her about 15 minutes to get clear on the whole ordeal, and when she was, she found she was rather too tired to sit by the laptop and Google. She was in a foreign country, though not for the first time, but a first time in the Netherlands and so, she guessed she needed a foreign start.
Agnes didn’t know when it came but when it did, it took her far to deep ends before she could realize it. She opened her eyes to the sight of her stalker at the airport, standing at the bedpost staring heads down at her. Her first wave of thought was to scream, but before she could, the man had already anticipated it. The stalker pinned her to the bed covering her mouth. Agnes’ eyes darting around amidst trying to make sense of what was happening caught sight of the ghost woman again. That moment, she knew she was doomed.

Panicky, Agnes felt it best to struggle a fight in her no matter how feeble it was to avoid the ghost approaching. The ghost woman dragging her wet self on the tiles, pushed forward the water and the blood dripping off her along while pointing fingers at Agnes. It blamed her for her predicament.
When it couldn’t have gotten any worse than that, the stalker pulled his grip off her mouth, replacing it with a gun to her chest before she could think of screaming. In three counts, the stalker pulled the trigger.
Agnes’ eyes immediately flung open to the cold weather outside and the drawer opposite her. A phone was on it and it was ringing. Based on the climate readings, it was dawn but not clearly morning as the sun was not yet out. From the view of the window, it was still raining. Yawning, Agnes got up to the phone to pick it only then to notice, it was yet another phone. How did…? “Hello…?” she picked the call; this time speaking first.
“Morning Miss Amanfour” the caller greeted. For the first time Agnes noticed Nickel’s voice and accent, though it wasn’t what she had expected; the tone, but it was American.
“Is it Nickel?” she thought to confirm,
“Can we meet?” the caller replied with a question.
“Isn’t it too early?” Agnes pushed in her’s while looking at the window.
“Time waits for no man, Miss Amanfour. Should you choose to come, Vondelstraat Street no 52?” the caller said. “Wait…what did you say it was?” Agnes interrupted before he could cut the call again. She didn’t get the name or its pronunciation. “I’ll text it” the caller replied, hanging up.

Seconds later, a ping came on the phone indicating the text message. Agnes looked at it and started to get dressed. Once she was done, she made sure to put the sent text in written form on a piece of paper.
There were so many questions and so many awes that Agnes didn’t know if she had all in her head. It was a little too early for an unscheduled interview but, what could she say? It was better early than never. She picked up the phone before heading out.
Outside the Crowne Plaza was an immaculate view that dawned Agnes’ eyes but then, the steaming rain from the skies held her admiration for a later moment. She instead focused her sensory on the weather. Agnes sighed seeing as the weather was less of an encouragement. She should have worn a better outfit, she thought looking at her gown and the V-neck design.
Running off in the rain, she ran into luck to see a taxi drive by. It wasn’t TX 112 though as Agnes made sure before hopping. “Vondelstraat number 52” she said to the cab driver showing him the piece of paper if by chance she had not gotten the pronunciation right. Admitting the fact, the bigheaded man nodded then mouthed something strange to her. “Uh…I-I don’t speak Dutch. Would you mind saying that in English?” she returned, only to be stroke by a blank stare from the driver. “Do you speak English?” she resolved to ask knowing she could have made a big mistake thinking he understood English.
“You American?” the taxi man turned to look at her immediately, in admiration and with his English falling flat. Less bothered with his English, Agnes politely shook her head, offending the man. “No” she said, “Am Nigerian” “Ah, Africa!” the man exclaimed, then frowned with his chin falling, “I hear about you people. Con artist” “Excuse me…?” Agnes picked offence instantly.

It was one thing insulting Nigerians for their criminal behaviors but it was another thing crucifying an innocent person for it just because they were born Nigerian.
“Your money is 40 Euros…,” the taxi man said, switching the subject and the car engine abruptly. He looked at Agnes to see if they were in business.
“40 Euros…?” she instead exclaimed, with mouth agape and eyes wide. She looked around to be sure she still knew the way back to her hotel on foot. A sudden flash of lightning from the sky dissuaded her from such thoughts as she went back to staring at the taxi driver. “Okay” she acquiesced, having no other alternative.
Hesitant, the taxi man looked at her for some seconds before turning forward to re-ignite the engine of the taxi. Agnes sighed shaking her head at how obscene the money was for a lift to what she assumed was few streets away.

A closer look at the building structures, the roads, the translucent glasses and window shielding covering every building; which alone was state of the art, she couldn’t blame him. The taxpayers have to meet up with the heavy artillery that was their state. Even the air that whistled around, the drops of rain that fell and even the cops that patrolled around looking not for criminals but street defaulters, attested to this. Everyone and everything was looking to meet up; high-end things in the air, who could blame them?
One thing Agnes noticed while the taxi drove around; that was very much a western culture, was that no matter the day or awkward the hour was, people were never shy of expressing their feelings in public. Something she captured when she sighted two couples kissing in the rain. Try this in Nigeria and get a thousand eyes staring at you and calling you a prostitute. Agnes should’ve been used to it by now if not comfortable with it though, considering she spent roughly 17 years in the U. S and even had a dual citizenship to account for it, but then she expected Amsterdam to be different. Was it? It shared a lot with New York City for her to think they would be any different. Atleast the air and the scent of coffee in it smelt different.
“Taxi stop here…” the taxi driver called out with a frown as he turned back to look at Agnes, jugging her off her solitude. Staring at the man for seconds, Agnes wondered if he had a beef with her that needed sorting. She couldn’t tell. Instead of waiting to have an answer, she checked into her purse immediately. She was glad she had converted some money before hand at Abuja else, the taxi man would’ve made a scene, now that she had told him she was Nigerian. She counted the cash then handed it to the man before stepping out of the vehicle.

Agnes arranged her hair and gown immediately, before heading for the house that stood in front of her. 52, she read from the number tag on it. She went for the doorbell afterwards.
Raising her fingers to strike at it, she recalled she wasn’t in Nigeria any more. Any slight error could have her jailed. No matter her skin color, she was still a black lady in a white country. She decided to press the bell gently, then a second time when no response came. She almost went for a third before the door flung open.

The very question she was now sure was most definitely of interest to her was—what had she done to warrant being followed right down from Abuja to a foreign country by some white man?
Just as her mind was starting to calm, she heard a noise coming from her bag. Bleep! She almost let her as she looked at her handbag to see the noise wasn’t from there. It was from her box. Was it her phone? She panted.

Pulling down the luggage, she noticed the zip was an inch open and far from how she had zipped it back at the Nnamdi Azikiwe airport. Could it be the Dutch guy? Agnes instantly unzipped her luggage to figure out if anything was missing.
The first thing she noticed was a strange phone inside, ringing; a phone much different from her’s. Where was her phone then? She wondered unpacking her clothes to search for it. The least of her concerns was the strange phone that kept ringing.
When it evidently became obvious her phone wasn’t there, Agnes picked the strange phone up before zipping the bag. She dropped her handbag down after sensing she might have dropped the phone inside. Then again, the phone wasn’t there. Had someone just robbed her? She looked around to see no one there. The phone in her hand was still ringing. Calming her nerves, she decided picking the call but letting the strange caller on the strange phone do the talking first. “It’s Nickel,” the caller answered, upon Agnes picking the call, “The plan’s changed. Take the taxi with plate number TX 112 few meters from where you are hiding to Crowne Plaza hotel Amsterdam and lodge there. Use the tickets. I had everything arranged. I’ll keep in touch,”
“Nickel…? Wait, where are you? What is happening? How…” Agnes had rushed up to ask after picturing the things to say on hearing the name ‘Nickel’ over the loud speaker. Instead of a straight up response, the call went dead after the sentence ‘take a leap of faith’.

Confused but wondering if it was some trick, Agnes managed a glare around while panting. This was a real life version of ‘Sheep in the big city’ she thought.
Standing from the spot, she picked up her handbag and luggage then paused. How did Nickel know she was hiding? She wondered, looking around. Was she under some sort of surveillance?
There was only Power around her; electricity as she glared for any security cam. Maybe they were miniaturized versions hidden inside the brightening bulbs. Where was the taxi TX 112 Nickel said? She moved further to locate, coming out of the secluded alley and back into the crowd.
Then after moments of searching around for TX 112, it dawned on her opposite where she stood, was the taxi with a mustached man glaring around.
Agnes hesitated, first to be sure it was the taxi and second to rethink on the whole thing again. What if the phone call wasn’t from Nickel? What if it was from her stalker or a-would be assassin? She looked around once more. After moments debating, she recalled Nickel’s last statement; take a leap of faith.
It was Nickel, She finalized before moving forward to the taxi. The mustached man upon seeing her; nodded his head before turning to open the door for her. He went back to his booth then opened it for her to dump her luggage inside.
“Crowne Plaza?” the man asked in English revealing an Indian accent. With a nod, Agnes motioned for him to start the engine. She looked back to see if her stalker was still on her tails. He wasn’t, she sighed. She had loosed him.

Breathing in one more time, Agnes reviewed her memories before unzipping her handbag. She picked up the enveloped parcel to look at it once more. She decided on pulling out the papers inside to review it again. It was then and only that moment in all of history that she had come up to the realization that the Crowne Plaza hotel didn’t have her name listed on its ticket, and instead it was ‘Sharon Williams’ on it. To think that Nickel had everything about her right, or was it part of the plan…?
Agnes looked up to see the cab driver had driven into the hotel. “This is your stop madam,” the Indian said. “How much is it?” Agnes asked. She noticed the rain was calming.
The Indian smiled then ended with a simple phrase, “Taxi was paid upfront” Confused yet eager to make her way into the hotel with enthusiasm, Agnes alighted from the vehicle. She walked up straight into the hotel to make her reservations or more less show them her ticket.
After checking in and having her name cleared, they called in the service guy to lead her to her room with her luggage; room 415 as the ticket had it listed.
With the quick elevator, she got to her room. One thing, she couldn’t wait to get her mind leveled off things, second, she wasn’t sure of this whole thing. But then again, the whole thing was free; and so was death.

AMSTREDAM AIRPORT
Agnes took to her heels immediately, upon stepping out of the plane knowing if by any chance, she failed or stopped for any reason, she could drop dead.
The only thought that came on her mind in those moments, was surviving the airport alive. If, and when she ever did, she was sure not to forget saying 2 decades of the rosary.
Agnes made for the terminal 2 hastily like Nickel had told her to in hopes that by doing so, she could meet Nickel’s contact and outwit the assailant on her tail. Agnes pushed her luggage once more hitting anything and anyone she came across amidst struggling to keep a head’s up. Time and luck was not on her side, she thought as she managed to take a brief glance behind. The assailant was still on to her, and this time, not hiding the fact.

Agnes hurried off again. What made her come to Amsterdam? She wondered, avoiding a man that came her way and struggling as she tried to catch her breath. Agnes inevitably stopped anyway as she came by a halt, or was forcibly halted.
“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” Agnes swung around as the voice came behind her, to catch sight of an old doddery lady holding on to her hand. What the heck? Who are you? Agnes stumbled backwards wondering as her luggage fell to the floor.
“Excuse me…?” she babbled awestruck and somewhat embarrassed at the prospect that someone would recognize her all the way to Amsterdam. Or was it part of the plan? She turned her eyes away briefly from the woman to look at her assailant. He had halted, and was making a call with eyes on her.
“Ruckus…” the old lady continued, pulling Agnes aside. “Are you not that lady who works as a front desk agent of the organization?” Agnes stared on noticing how remarkable the old lady’s accent was. She was British by the sound of it. “I-i-am sorry” Agnes stuttered amidst stealing a glance at her assailant and finding the perfect response for the woman, “…I don’t know what you are talking about” she stated, pulling away from the old lady immediately.

But the old lady still hesitant, moved along, “No…no, am sure I never forget a face” she insisted holding on to Agnes once more; her grip so tight Agnes had no choice but to halt. “You schooled at Princeton didn’t you?”
“What are you doing?” Agnes had to force herself to ask, confused at why some random old British lady would stop her by the airport to ask some stupid question.
She looked up ahead again to see the man was done with his call and was approaching. Christ! Agnes thought as she saw the old lady trying by every means to hold her in her tracks to get caught.
“Please…I-I have to go. I think am in trouble” Agnes quivered trying to loosen the grip the old lady had on her while dragging her luggage along.
“Sheila!” the old lady exclaimed afterwards, calling an unusual name amidst Agnes’ struggles. Agnes had to hold on for a second as she looked into the woman’s eyes upon hearing the name. The name seemed to jug memory, she thought rewinding to what the lady had said previously about Princeton.
It was then, amidst trying to recall events, she noticed the heavy downpour from the skies had increased. The volume from the speakers at the airport terminal increased also.

Agnes took some steps from the old lady as she kept her gaze on her and her assailant. The man had halted again; with eyes sharp on her. “What happened to her?” Agnes turned to the woman, asking hurriedly while still having the chance to. She remembered Princeton; she schooled there but then again, she wasn’t sure about the Ruckus thing.
“She’s been missing. For 3 years after a meeting you two had. We did everything we could to get in touch with you hoping you knew anything related to her disappearance or a faint idea where she could be, where she was…”
“Wait. Sheila is missing?” Agnes interrupted, before the old lady could finish; her lips parting once she had pronounced the name, like she knew ‘Sheila’.
She did. They were pals back at Princeton. She was even the one who got her started on the whole internet business thing. And now she is missing? Agnes found that hard to believe, and it was harder standing and hoping it would eventually sink in when there was an assailant after her.

He was making a call, Agnes noticed as she took a glare at him. His eyes were still on her though. Whatever she was doing, she had to be quick.
Then, how quick could she be seeing as it was Sheila they were talking about.
“How come…? When-I mean how?” she babbled.
“We were hoping you’d know. A lot of her friends we called were either dead or confirmed missing” the old lady said, not willing to let Agnes go till she got an answer. “Is she okay?” she added, with Agnes returning the look she gave her.
Agnes looked at the assailant then the entire terminal, hoping for a rescue.
“Why? What happened?” Agnes returned.
The Old lady struck with confusion and irritation, both with the question and the notion that the one person she hoped got the answers was the one asking her the questions, gave Agnes a long stare.
“I don’t know” she answered, “People said, few days to her friends going missing, they complained of not being safe. They said they were being followed…I want to know if Sheila felt same too”

Just then, it struck her. It was that moment she saw the pattern as she looked to see the man coming for her. “Are you in trouble?” the Old lady sensed.
“I think I am” Agnes mumbled, no longer hesitant on leaving the woman.
Before the Old lady could turn to see what the young lady could possibly be scared of, Agnes had disappeared into the crowd pushing along her luggage.
Agnes ran off following the terminal hallway, now caring less on locating Nickel’s travel agent and more on surviving the airport. Whatever made her decide on coming to the Netherlands? She thought, heading off to the transportation centre for a hideout.
Amidst scuffling within her thoughts and the crowd to staying calm and alive or end up like Sheila with no one knowing her whereabouts, Agnes ran straight into a lanky white guy in brown jacket that had, ‘SIRENE’ written on it and a black head-warmer.

It was upon sighting an alley that screamed ‘Hideout’, while making a move towards it that they bumped into each other. The white guy on his own end had a headset on that blocked his thoughts, and a cell phone in hand that took his attention, leading to the clash.
Agnes had to stumble backwards in that moment to regain balance. But instead of balance, the 1st thing that came to her was rage; silent rage.
The guy knelt instantly to pick Agnes’ luggage up after the clash, before mumbling some things in Dutch. “Am sorry” he said in English with his nose revealing the thick Dutch accent he had on him. He handed Agnes’ luggage over to her immediately.
Eyes more focused behind her and her assailant than the Dutch guy, Agnes grabbed her luggage from him without looking at him, before racing off. She had to forget her anger and put it behind her or risk her running with more load on her.

The thought of Sheila came into her as she rolled into the alley panting. What the hell was going on? She stopped to ask. Is she dead? What did she do that could warrant getting kidnapped or worse, killed? And most importantly, what did her friends whom were missing or dead do to warrant whatever state they were in? She asked herself, covering her mouth to control her breath.

It was one thing getting on a flight, and it was another boarding an economy class; Agnes thought as she stared at the window. They were well high above ground levels now, she reasoned seeing as everything she looked at from up there appeared as miniatures on a flat surface. Agnes looked away immediately. She hated the economy class, she reaffirmed as she turned to look at the passengers boarded to get a mental picture of who and what they were. There was nothing as boring as staring at their pitiable faces, Agnes sighed before turning to look at those seated behind. Maybe their faces could be cheerful, she thought. They weren’t, she sighed again met by another disappointment.

There was no worse disappointment than seeing a young white folk dosing off on another white dude’s shoulder. Agnes scowled, turning once more to catch sight of another passenger staring at her; a man, a white middle aged guy with red hair.
Wasn’t he the guy that had ran into her earlier? She thought as she stared back. It was, she affirmed as she sat back to get the full view of his face.
Like all white men, he had a strange nose but unlike any she had met, this one had a devious glare with a stone-cold face on hardened features. Agnes wondered why she never noticed them before. And why was he staring at her? She thought. Wasn’t it enough having ran into her and almost knocking her off?

She had almost missed her flight because of the guy. And where was the wife he was in a rush for? She thought staring at the blank seat next to him.
Agnes turned to the Latino guy seated next to her that was dosing off and stretching his neck towards her. ‘Great’ she quipped, before gently shifting his head to the other direction.
This was the right time to make her way for the rest room, she said to herself as she glared at the passengers. Half of them were asleep. Did the hostess put something in their drinks? She thought as she got up.
The American staring at Agnes, watched her walk away from her seat before rising up. Has she made him? He wondered, or was she going to make contact with Anderson? Another guy got up not long from his seat immediately Agnes stood up, the American noticed taking note of the guy. Was he Anderson?

Whichever way, he needed to find out, he thought, marching instantly to where ever he reasoned they were going. He got to the rest room in minutes while keeping a track of time. He was the only one there keeping track of time, calculating it was 2 hours since take off.
The American walked by each door he came across, hitting them before passing by to get a reaction from within. In his defense, he did so hoping to see if the lady was in any of them.
She was in neither, or most specifically, was in neither of the female rooms he passed, which meant only one thing; he turned to knock at the door standing on his left.
“…. coming” a response came off immediately. Why was she in a men’s room? The American thought, clawing his hand at his weapon’s holder immediately.
“This is men’s room” he said, dropping his hand off his gun immediately as the lady came out. It was only her. “You again…?”
“Excuse me?” the American muttered, faking a sheepish expression, “…have we met?” “You ran into me earlier remember?” Agnes answered, leaving a question for him at the end. The American staring pretended to be astonished, only for his expression to fall flat with him glaring around. He paused to fake oblivion afterwards. “I can’t re…”
“Why are you following me?” Agnes asked before he could finish his statement. The American startled by how straightforward the question came, reached for his weapon’s holder only to back down half way through. “You’ve been staring at me all day like I was some kind of a price or attraction. So what’s the play? You didn’t accidentally run into me at the airport did you?” Agnes continued, asking while putting 2 and 2 together.

Withdrawing his hand from his weapon, the American looked at Agnes. He struggled for what to say to avoid causing an international scene in the plane or getting made by the girl as she stared.
“…no idea what you are talking about, Ma’am” he said, turning to walk into the rest room immediately. Agnes sighed immediately the man left her. She just dodged a bullet, literally, she thought to herself as she stared at the door the man shut behind him. He can’t be up to no good, she thought as she realized the man had been holding a gun while talking to her.
But what was he after? Should she tell someone or just keep quiet? Were there others like him in the plane? What did he want? Why was he staring at her ever since?

That minute, it dawned on Agnes that he was there for her.
Agnes hurried to her seat immediately, for fear of being left for the news to carry as a dead body found on the plane bound for Amsterdam. Or worst, as a hostage.
The American soon returned to his seat, this time with eyes fully on Agnes. It dawned on her then he was by no means a stalker but an assailant bidding his time, or worse, an assassin.
Agnes tried every means to avoid his gaze, but each time she did, she couldn’t help the thought that there was someone there in the plane seated across trying to kill her. Why? She looked away again.

Staring into her refrigerator immediately she got home, Agnes wondered what beverage to select while holding the parcel in hand. Pepsi, she chose, grabbing the tin can without hesitation.
She looked at the parcel once more before popping open the canned drink. She sat on the chair nearest to her as she loosened the parcel. Agnes felt it was best doing so in the comfort of her home where no one would be watching or spying to look into whatever it was. She looked around once more to be sure of the fact before tearing the paper wrap.

Agnes pulled out its contents only for a paper to fall off to the table. She picked it up immediately to look at it. ‘Your plane leaves at 08:00pm GMT on Friday, should you decide to come to Amsterdam; Arik air, Abuja International Airport. Plane tickets are in the envelope. A travel agent meets you at the Amsterdam airport with your name on a placard. Safe travels, Miss Amanfour’ the writings on the paper stated.
Agnes paused to look at everything in her vicinity before letting out a deep breath. She brought out the other contents to see a bundle of foreign currency, tickets listed for places like the Civic Guards gallery, the Van Gogh museum and Crowne Plaza Amsterdam along with flight passports and visa for Amsterdam, Netherlands.
“Connections…?” Agnes voiced out, reminiscing on Chuks’ statement concerning Nickel having connections. Whatever it was, or whoever he was, Agnes knew right then he was genuine.

ROOM 306 AND BEYOND…
“This is the key to your room. Room 306” the receptionist finally said, handling a set of keys to Agnes after a lengthy interview. Agnes felt some temper in her before accepting the key though, but looking at her wristwatch, she felt there wasn’t the time for a debacle with the girl. It was Friday, the 27th, and as promised, she needed to be at her best before meeting Nickel.
She arranged her hair once more. First impressions mattered, she thought.
And speaking of first impressions, the room usher came to lead the way to room 306.
It was almost time; Agnes looked at her watch repeatedly. 8:46, it said. Looking around her Agnes surmised that no matter how quick they hurried for room 306, time still made it slow for her. Or perhaps it was the slow elevator. It took decades for its buttons to respond and the lift to get them to the desired floor. Agnes had to but wonder why Nickel would choose a floor such as Room 306. Was it the privacy? She thought, glaring around. Or perhaps it was the best room in the whole of the hotel. Surely not.
“This way, Miss,” the usher directed, leading the way out of the elevator.
‘Room 306’ Agnes read once she came by a door that bore the initials. She turned to the usher then nodded. “Thank you…” she muttered to the guy hopelessly waiting for a tip.

Waiting till the guy had left; Agnes settled to unlock the door but hesitated for a minute. This was it, she said to herself. Once through that door, there was no way out. For seconds, she stood by the door wondering what the plan was.
Is Nickel already inside? Or does he meet her once she is inside? That was the one part she should have asked but failed to during their chat on email. She couldn’t blame herself though. So many thoughts.
Summoning the courage and confidence, Agnes finally unlocked the door then walked inside. Indeed, it was as advertised, she affirmed once the beauty of the room struck her. How presidential? She thought, wondering why it only took the most damning of all situations to get her to visit Eko hotels.
A great deal of shame swept her momentarily as she stared at the blues and the greens, remembering Mike in the process. If things had gone well that night or gone any differently, this night wouldn’t have been her first there, and most satisfying, would have been in better circumstances.

Agnes looked at the time again then sighed. It was 3 minutes to 9. More time to whirl away, she thought dropping her handbag on the bed. Her thoughts that moment sailed to Chuks then Chimamanda.
What if she was taking all these, way beyond her limit? What if these things weren’t real or the way she thought? What if she was just going through a long hour of a nightmare? She closed her eyes then opened them before inhaling the gas the Air condition breathed on her. She took out her phone that minute to look at it. 7 missed calls from Lillian, 22 from Mike, she saw on the screen. Why the hell won’t these people leave her alone? She asked.
Just then, a knock came at the door. Right about time, Agnes guessed, jolting from her thoughts. “Who is it?” she feigned a British accent at the go. She could have used an American one, she thought. Still, the knock didn’t stop nor was it ready to. It was intent on someone opening the door for it before it would.

Annoyed, Agnes noted how unusual it was for a white man to behave. That alone, left some degree of disappointment in her. She moved closer to the door then pulled it open. The first sight that beheld her that minute was a black man instead of the white man she had expected. “Are you Miss Amanfor…of hysterical trends eh…dot com?” the man spoke first hence the question. Agnes felt she was in the better position to ask the questions.
On the other hand, the man’s American accent was the perfect distraction that she didn’t bother with the thoughts of the man faking it. Then she preferred it being a white man.
“Are you Nickel?” she returned, with disappointment hanging over her voice as both stared at each other. The man’s face brimmed of surprise and chagrin though. “…Alexander Nickel?” she repeated.
“Who is Alexander Nickel?” the man asked much to the two’s shock.

Stuttering, Agnes pondered what to say until the man held out a parcel to her. “Nickel is a blogger…” Agnes jabbered on sighting the parcel. What was it? Was it even for her?
“Am sorry, I know not of any Nickel” the man apologized, “But I was sent from Boston by Edward Gavins to give you this” he added, looking at Agnes who stared back feeling ill and dumbfounded. “I must say Miss, am really impressed by your country. It isn’t like it’s painted by the American media” the man stretched his right hand for a handshake once Agnes collected the parcel. Agnes returned the gesture and compliment.
“Thank you, but who is Edward Gavins?” she asked.
“My boss…” the man answered.
Oh, Agnes thought. An alias wasn’t far out of his alley. “Why give me this?”
“That’s left for you to figure out, Miss” the black man said with a smirk before turning to leave. Agnes staring at what was now a blank space in front of her while holding the parcel, wondered how and why. She looked back inside then at the parcel. She wasn’t ready to open it in the hotel; she declared shutting the door behind her and taking the keys.

Agnes had almost reached the elevator before realizing her handbag was still inside room 306 waiting to be grabbed. She went back for it immediately.
It was easier than she thought, Agnes felt as she stared at the room again before taking her exit.

Sitting at the dinning, Agnes’ eyes ran over the entire room as many thoughts set in for a night visit. A frustrating visit, she thought as she kept an open mind on the clock for when they would leave. But they didn’t.
They didn’t consider leaving an option. And in response to that, Agnes had to pull her eyes off the clock and back to what was in front of her; her laptop.
She went over the chats again and once she was through, read it all over again. Alex Nickel, she read out as she stared at the name on her screen.
“What do you want?” she asked aloud. Instead of a straight up response, she got the echo of the question back; an indirect acknowledgement that her question was rather rhetorical.

Agnes knew it though, but the thing was, it wasn’t the question she had voiced out that she saw as rhetorical but what she typed to Nickel. ‘I accept your offer to come to Amsterdam, if it means getting to the bottom of the truth and having it out to the public. Even if it means my death…so what comes next? What comes after Amsterdam? How do I get to Amsterdam? And who do I meet in Amsterdam?’ her text read. Agnes shook her head wondering if it was the best she could come up with. That was a rhetorical question of course as she got no response but space and void. She lowered her face to her palms in hopes of her worries running off and letting her be. They didn’t, it was only a sigh that came out.

What if this whole thing was a scam like Chuks said? The thought glued on her again. What was so unique about her that Nickel couldn’t find in another? Why a black woman or worst; a Nigerian? The questions raided her.
Speaking of the ridiculousness of Nickel’s statement of her being unique, the words of Chuks on him being a terrorist dawned on her. But his words didn’t sound as such; no Arabic contextual, no qur’anic quotations or references or even a sign of religious extremism in him. He didn’t sound like a terrorist, rather he sounded like a humanitarian.
But then again Chuks said ‘the real terrorists were men in suits, the kind you’d hardly suspect. Those in regalia were just errand boys; paid employees. What if she was about to turn herself over to these suit men to get employed as an errand girl?

Then again why would suit men think of the most absurd and ridiculous way of getting her to do that? What skill set does she possess that they could need? None, she thought, then why her?
What if Nickel was genuine? What if she was the only one that Nickel saw could help him? What if Nickel was telling the truth about innocent people suffering? Should she get herself involved or just leave things the way nature deemed them? What if Nickel was some kidnapper? ‘To know what comes after Amsterdam or who to meet in Amsterdam, why not get to Amsterdam first? Friday 27th,Eko hotel and suites, Victoria Island Lagos. Room 306 9:00 pm prompt to take the first leap’ the text popped up immediately. Agnes blinked her eyes multiple times to be sure she read what she saw. It was.
With a sigh and a deep breath, she looked at the wall clock; it was 8:30pm. She looked at the day’s current date on her laptop. It was Monday, the 23rd. She sighed again; she had 4 more days to think and make her final decisions; to meet someone she had never seen before. ‘Alex Nickel’ she typed. Web pages popped up afterwards, displaying stories and headlines the internet had on him. It was going to be a busy night, she thought. The first leap.

She closed her eyes a second time, but this time, not because of fear or anxiety but to calm the night against any interruption. It wasn’t going to be easy that way though, the night warned.
Agnes opened her eyes then turned to the laptop again, confused on where to start. The web pages weren’t making it easy for her to read. To clear her head, she closed her eyes again then let out a yawn. Her eyes opened to the sight of a blank screen on the laptop. Strange, she thought glaring across the dinning noticing the faint sounds coming few paces from where she was.
With shrills in her spine, she swallowed a lot of saliva before rising from the chair to go see things for herself. Like any horror movie, there came nothing. But there was something; Agnes felt.
She looked around a second time to catch sight of the plasma, the wall clock, the transparent and dazzling center table and curtains that all smelt of luxury.
It was the curtains, Agnes noticed as she stared at emerald silk blowing few paces from her. Something was wrong with the curtains, she mumbled as she watched them blow air across her face.

Curious to figure why the curtains would want to scare her, she added few paces to where they stood. And with a deep breath straight out of her lungs, she pulled at the curtains. Expecting to see nothing, a great deal of shock swept her immediately once she found an aged woman in front of her.
Agnes gasped, shivering back immediately. The woman was drenching of blood, and water running from her mouth to her body. “Stop this” Agnes bellowed, knowing she wasn’t prepared for what she saw. “You are not real” she shook her head before placing her hands gently on her head while moving back, “You are not real” she whispered, “You are just my imagination”
“Am your mother, Ify” the woman corrected, moving closer to Agnes even as she tried to avoid her. “You are not real,” Agnes maintained.
“We are the only ones that know the truth” the woman said ignoring whatever chants Agnes made concerning what was real or not. With pitiful and melancholic eyes, the ragged woman stood in her tracks looking at Agnes. Agnes shut her eyes to avoid her gaze. She couldn’t bear looking directly at what appeared to be a parallel reflection of her dead mother in such state.

With all she knew and was told of her mother, she couldn’t look straight at what she felt was a ghost, to even imagine for once it was Nana, her mother.
“No!” Agnes raised her index finger up wishing for a moment, she was a prophetess to command the sight away from her. “You are not real” she cried, begging as she opened her eyes to look at the woman. “Please…you are…you are not real” she sobbed, “You are not real!” she screamed atop her voice again once she saw the woman wasn’t ready to leave.
Agnes stared at her tiles to see blood and water from the woman drench the floor.
“Nothing good would ever come of this…they’ll kill you” the woman said, looking at Agnes with empathy. She was a phantom that could fathom the pain of the living, the woman drew tears from her eyes as she stared at Agnes.

Stretching her arms, she moved for a hug; as if what Agnes was going through wasn’t enough. “Get away from me!” Agnes sparked, this time higher than before, “Go away!” she yelled again, falling on her knees. Agnes felt the tiles grow cold beneath her knees as she closed her eyes. The woman stood watching. From behind the woman; where the curtains stood, they billowed high sending the calendars and wall arts waving franticly. “Get away from me…get away from me” Agnes kept mumbling in whispers; her eyes shut in prayers. She was so concentrated in her mumbles that she paid no attention to the wind. That was her first mistake.
From where she stood, the winds pushed off two framed photographs of hers off the wall and straight at her. It took a last minute intrusion of instinct for Agnes to hear the noise and shift from the path before the photographs could land on her. She wasn’t all too lucky though as even in her efforts, the last piece of shattered glass bruised her right foot.

Agnes struggled with the shock to see the clouds outside thundering and the atmosphere raging violently. It was then she realized there was no woman there and that the windows and the entrance to her balcony were flat out open, prompting the wind. Agnes didn’t bother searching for the woman; sure it was just the weather.