Tick-tock. Tick-tock. The wall clock echoed faintly in the still night, marking the time—1:30 a.m. The Samsung Galaxy phone resting on the bedside drawer suddenly began to ring loudly, shattering the silence. The man, deep in sleep, didn’t stir at first. The call came three times and stopped. Then, on the fourth attempt, the shrill sound pierced his ears. He jerked awake, gasping and muttering God’s name under his breath.
Wearing only a white singlet and shorts, his forty-year-old frame glistened slightly with sweat. His skin was the color of sun-tanned bronze. He blinked several times before focusing his half-open eyes on the grand wall clock. Slowly, he rubbed his face and whispered softly, “Angel…”
Before he could lower his hand, the phone rang again. Alarmed by such a late call, he snatched it up quickly, wondering who could possibly be calling at this hour. “Is everything alright?” he thought. When he glanced at the screen, the name Aminina appeared. He sighed in relief, then pressed the answer button and held the phone to his ear—only to hear the terrifying sound of gunshots.
“Aminina!” he shouted in panic.
But before he could say more, his friend’s frantic voice came through:
“Na bani na lalace, it’s over for me!”
He froze, heart racing. “Calm down, Aminina! What’s going on? Talk to me!”
“They caught me spying on them,” Aminina’s trembling voice said. “They’re chasing me now. I know they’ll kill me, and they won’t spare you either. Don’t let my mistake destroy you too. Please, run! Take Angel and go! The secret files—they’re all in my memory card. That’s the only evidence that can expose them. Don’t let—”
The line suddenly went dead.
In shock, he redialed again and again, unaware he was shouting his friend’s name into a disconnected line. When the call finally went through, instead of Aminina’s voice, a horrifying scream filled his ear. Then, a cold, rough voice said,
“If you want to know what’s happening, look at your screen.”
With trembling hands, he raised the phone just as the call switched to video.
What he saw made his heart stop.
Aminina’s car was engulfed in flames. He could see his friend’s burning hand pressed against the car window, his flesh melting under the fire as men poured more fuel onto the car.
“No… no, no!” he cried out, jumping out of bed in terror, eyes bulging. His entire body shook as he rejected the call, but it was too late—the image was already burned into his mind.
Pain shot through his head. He fell to the floor beside his bed, clutching his temples as tears ran freely down his face. He could still hear Aminina’s final words echoing: “Run, take Angel, don’t let my sin touch you…”
Then it hit him.
They would come for him next.
And if they did, they would kill not only him but also Angel—his only daughter, his entire world.
He leapt up, panic overtaking reason. Still in his underwear, he grabbed his car keys and ran for the door. In his haste, he slammed his head against the wardrobe before realizing it wasn’t the exit, then rushed toward the real door and burst into the hallway.
He sprinted through the sitting room and raced up the stairs two steps at a time, his feet pounding heavily against the staircase. Reaching his daughter’s room, he flung the door open. The room was dark, but when he flicked the light switch, brightness flooded the space, revealing Angel sleeping peacefully under her soft blanket.
He rushed to her, kneeling on the bed. “Angel! Angel, my daughter! Azeezaty!” he called desperately. She didn’t move. Panic seized him—he lifted her in his arms and threw her gently over his shoulder.
Running downstairs, he burst out of the house, opened the back door of his white Range Rover, laid Angel gently inside, then jumped into the driver’s seat. His hands trembled as he started the car. At the gate, he stopped just long enough to throw it open, then hit the accelerator.
The car roared into the dark street.
But as soon as he turned onto the main road, six black SUVs appeared behind him, speeding toward his direction with blinding headlights. He checked his mirror—and his blood ran cold.
“They’ve found me,” he whispered.
Fear overtook him as he pushed harder on the pedal. The SUVs followed closely, their engines howling like beasts of death. His lips moved constantly, whispering prayers—
“La ilaha illa anta, subhanaka inni kuntu minazzalimin…”
He didn’t even know where he was going—just driving blindly into the night.
A faint sob broke through the sound of the rushing wind.
“Daddy… what’s happening? Where are we going in this dark night?”
Angel had woken up, her voice trembling. She was barely eleven years old, and even in fear, her innocence was heartbreaking. Blood dripped from her nose where she had hit the car’s interior during the wild ride.
Tears filled his eyes. “Angel, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. I ruined everything. I thought I was doing the right thing. Now I’ve brought death to our door.”
She pressed her tiny hand to her bleeding nose. “Dad… I’m bleeding… am I going to die?” she asked weakly, tears mixing with blood.
He couldn’t answer. He could only cry.
Then the sound of gunfire erupted again—bullets hitting the back of the car. He swerved sharply and turned off the road, driving into a dark forest. Tall trees loomed over him, their branches brushing the windshield. He could barely see, but he didn’t stop.
Finally, he parked and jumped out, ran to the back seat, and lifted Angel again. Her hair fell across her face; she was shaking. Holding her tightly, he sprinted into the woods.
But fate was cruel.
His foot landed on a rusted iron rod buried in the ground. The sharp metal pierced clean through his foot and came out the other side. He screamed in agony and collapsed, blood gushing down his leg.
“Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un…” he gasped, trembling.
Angel’s soft, terrified voice broke the silence. “Daddy, let’s go home… there are wild animals here. Is this a dream, Daddy?”
He swallowed painfully, forcing a weak smile. “Yes, Angel… it’s just a dream. Don’t be afraid.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Then let’s wake up, Daddy. Angel doesn’t like bad dreams.”
He almost broke down.
Dragging himself painfully, he limped toward a deep pit where water flowed beneath. His mind screamed one thing—save her from torture.
He could hear the engines approaching. They were near.
Tears blurred his vision. With a shaking hand, he lifted his daughter high above his head. “Forgive me, my child…” he whispered, before hurling her into the dark water below. Her scream pierced his soul as she vanished.
He fell to his knees, his body convulsing with sobs. His hands trembled violently as he muttered, “Angel… my life… my everything…”
Moments later, the SUVs screeched to a stop around him. Armed men—dark-skinned, heavily built, dressed in black—stepped out, guns glinting under the moonlight. They opened the doors for two elderly men in fine Hausa attire—expensive shadda, glittering with embroidery.
The elders walked forward calmly, eyes fixed on the broken man before them.
One hissed. “The Angel has beaten us to it. He took his own life before we could.”
The other frowned. “I wanted him alive—to taste fear before death. But no matter. We’ll finish it here. No trace.”
He waved his hand. “Bring the petrol.”
A guard rushed to a car and returned with a gallon of fuel.
“The cure for loose tongues,” the elder muttered coldly. “They should have known better than to trespass on our field.”
He unscrewed the cap and poured petrol over the lifeless man’s body. The sharp scent filled the air.
“Burn him,” he ordered.
Flames rose into the night, devouring the last evidence of Taj—a man destroyed by truth, love, and the power of men who feared both.
Description
A Call in the Dead of Night
Tick-tock. Tick-tock. The wall clock echoed faintly in the still night, marking the time—1:30 a.m. The Samsung Galaxy phone resting on the bedside drawer suddenly began to ring loudly, shattering the silence. The man, deep in sleep, didn’t stir at first. The call came three times and stopped. Then, on the fourth attempt, the shrill sound pierced his ears. He jerked awake, gasping and muttering God’s name under his breath.
Wearing only a white singlet and shorts, his forty-year-old frame glistened slightly with sweat. His skin was the color of sun-tanned bronze. He blinked several times before focusing his half-open eyes on the grand wall clock. Slowly, he rubbed his face and whispered softly, “Angel…”
Before he could lower his hand, the phone rang again. Alarmed by such a late call, he snatched it up quickly, wondering who could possibly be calling at this hour. “Is everything alright?” he thought. When he glanced at the screen, the name Aminina appeared. He sighed in relief, then pressed the answer button and held the phone to his ear—only to hear the terrifying sound of gunshots.
“Aminina!” he shouted in panic.
But before he could say more, his friend’s frantic voice came through:
“Na bani na lalace, it’s over for me!”
He froze, heart racing. “Calm down, Aminina! What’s going on? Talk to me!”
“They caught me spying on them,” Aminina’s trembling voice said. “They’re chasing me now. I know they’ll kill me, and they won’t spare you either. Don’t let my mistake destroy you too. Please, run! Take Angel and go! The secret files—they’re all in my memory card. That’s the only evidence that can expose them. Don’t let—”
The line suddenly went dead.
In shock, he redialed again and again, unaware he was shouting his friend’s name into a disconnected line. When the call finally went through, instead of Aminina’s voice, a horrifying scream filled his ear. Then, a cold, rough voice said,
“If you want to know what’s happening, look at your screen.”
With trembling hands, he raised the phone just as the call switched to video.
What he saw made his heart stop.
Aminina’s car was engulfed in flames. He could see his friend’s burning hand pressed against the car window, his flesh melting under the fire as men poured more fuel onto the car.
“No… no, no!” he cried out, jumping out of bed in terror, eyes bulging. His entire body shook as he rejected the call, but it was too late—the image was already burned into his mind.
Pain shot through his head. He fell to the floor beside his bed, clutching his temples as tears ran freely down his face. He could still hear Aminina’s final words echoing: “Run, take Angel, don’t let my sin touch you…”
Then it hit him.
They would come for him next.
And if they did, they would kill not only him but also Angel—his only daughter, his entire world.
He leapt up, panic overtaking reason. Still in his underwear, he grabbed his car keys and ran for the door. In his haste, he slammed his head against the wardrobe before realizing it wasn’t the exit, then rushed toward the real door and burst into the hallway.
He sprinted through the sitting room and raced up the stairs two steps at a time, his feet pounding heavily against the staircase. Reaching his daughter’s room, he flung the door open. The room was dark, but when he flicked the light switch, brightness flooded the space, revealing Angel sleeping peacefully under her soft blanket.
He rushed to her, kneeling on the bed. “Angel! Angel, my daughter! Azeezaty!” he called desperately. She didn’t move. Panic seized him—he lifted her in his arms and threw her gently over his shoulder.
Running downstairs, he burst out of the house, opened the back door of his white Range Rover, laid Angel gently inside, then jumped into the driver’s seat. His hands trembled as he started the car. At the gate, he stopped just long enough to throw it open, then hit the accelerator.
The car roared into the dark street.
But as soon as he turned onto the main road, six black SUVs appeared behind him, speeding toward his direction with blinding headlights. He checked his mirror—and his blood ran cold.
“They’ve found me,” he whispered.
Fear overtook him as he pushed harder on the pedal. The SUVs followed closely, their engines howling like beasts of death. His lips moved constantly, whispering prayers—
“La ilaha illa anta, subhanaka inni kuntu minazzalimin…”
He didn’t even know where he was going—just driving blindly into the night.
A faint sob broke through the sound of the rushing wind.
“Daddy… what’s happening? Where are we going in this dark night?”
Angel had woken up, her voice trembling. She was barely eleven years old, and even in fear, her innocence was heartbreaking. Blood dripped from her nose where she had hit the car’s interior during the wild ride.
Tears filled his eyes. “Angel, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. I ruined everything. I thought I was doing the right thing. Now I’ve brought death to our door.”
She pressed her tiny hand to her bleeding nose. “Dad… I’m bleeding… am I going to die?” she asked weakly, tears mixing with blood.
He couldn’t answer. He could only cry.
Then the sound of gunfire erupted again—bullets hitting the back of the car. He swerved sharply and turned off the road, driving into a dark forest. Tall trees loomed over him, their branches brushing the windshield. He could barely see, but he didn’t stop.
Finally, he parked and jumped out, ran to the back seat, and lifted Angel again. Her hair fell across her face; she was shaking. Holding her tightly, he sprinted into the woods.
But fate was cruel.
His foot landed on a rusted iron rod buried in the ground. The sharp metal pierced clean through his foot and came out the other side. He screamed in agony and collapsed, blood gushing down his leg.
“Innalillahi wa inna ilaihi raji’un…” he gasped, trembling.
Angel’s soft, terrified voice broke the silence. “Daddy, let’s go home… there are wild animals here. Is this a dream, Daddy?”
He swallowed painfully, forcing a weak smile. “Yes, Angel… it’s just a dream. Don’t be afraid.”
She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek. “Then let’s wake up, Daddy. Angel doesn’t like bad dreams.”
He almost broke down.
Dragging himself painfully, he limped toward a deep pit where water flowed beneath. His mind screamed one thing—save her from torture.
He could hear the engines approaching. They were near.
Tears blurred his vision. With a shaking hand, he lifted his daughter high above his head. “Forgive me, my child…” he whispered, before hurling her into the dark water below. Her scream pierced his soul as she vanished.
He fell to his knees, his body convulsing with sobs. His hands trembled violently as he muttered, “Angel… my life… my everything…”
Moments later, the SUVs screeched to a stop around him. Armed men—dark-skinned, heavily built, dressed in black—stepped out, guns glinting under the moonlight. They opened the doors for two elderly men in fine Hausa attire—expensive shadda, glittering with embroidery.
The elders walked forward calmly, eyes fixed on the broken man before them.
One hissed. “The Angel has beaten us to it. He took his own life before we could.”
The other frowned. “I wanted him alive—to taste fear before death. But no matter. We’ll finish it here. No trace.”
He waved his hand. “Bring the petrol.”
A guard rushed to a car and returned with a gallon of fuel.
“The cure for loose tongues,” the elder muttered coldly. “They should have known better than to trespass on our field.”
He unscrewed the cap and poured petrol over the lifeless man’s body. The sharp scent filled the air.
“Burn him,” he ordered.
Flames rose into the night, devouring the last evidence of Taj—a man destroyed by truth, love, and the power of men who feared both.