The birds chirped, cool winds blew across the slums of the Traces guest house, one of the few buildings built with bricks around the area.
Young girls got pregnant, they were victims of rape, just a few made it to school. For some, they cared less, carrying a baby was an absolute joy to their hearts, they knew their grandmothers were satisfied with the fact that their balls would eventually mature to bring forth the men of the city.
The story was different. Radio Lower, the only radio station in the slums had announced the third kidnap this week. The first girl was kidnapped last three weeks and her parents, old Francis and Miss Parolle were all disturbed heavily. Their eyes gazed to the heavens every evening, they wished their daughter world reappear, but news of her being found was far from their ears.
The slum, wild, joyous, promiscuous had gone sober. Three young beautiful girls, away from their eyes meant much to the guys. Not because they would be bright leaders, but for their selfish purpose of keeping them till the hard guy got them, they would not relent in their search.
The Monday after young Hariet’s death, the streets had run silent. Every parent kept their daughters safe, keeping them home after seven. Three bold young men had ransacked the home of Jo-Partoa, a young guy who had earned the name from his first degree stamina in inhaling the obvious. He was a prime suspect, but to their utter disbelief, he had hanged pictures of saints all over his room, his argument, they came to visit him.
Tracy’s father joined the search. Well respected gentleman, he owned the Trace guest house. His last operation was on a young woman who had developed a fibroid, she bled profusely, and his magical hands removed the fibroids and she was back to normal. He had married one of the young fine girls when he arrived, after building his guest house, his wife had to resettle, a reason no one knew about for years. His daughter had loved her mother, and the only explanation she received from her father was ‘Shhh, your mother remains a whore’.
Mojo the hero lived with his thirteen year old daughter in a house built in the community. His daughter was beautiful, and showed signs of interest in her father’s field. Major Decks, a foreigner, probably from the Asias was there to assist the healthcare in the community. Mojo the hero came along with his job, he was a hero they’d all come to relish.
He joined the three young men, through the streets of the slum, and gave his support to the distressed parents. He spoke with them and supplied them freely with medicine and massages.
Three weeks after the disappearance, things began to stabilise. The community had lost hope, the pain of the lost three girls had come to stay and they had to do away with their sorrows through a buzz party held by the youth of the community, heavily patronised by the older adults. It was a night of mixed feelings, sleepy dances and zigzag walks of shame.
That night, cold and calm, Mojo Decks had just completed consultation with Kuukle, one of the old women in the community. He was already exhausted from the constant talks he had with the patients all day. He snored in the plastic chair in his room, almost getting close to heaven’s door. Tracy could not sleep, she missed her mother, a world without her was only possible with sleepless nights.
She reached for a bunch of keys hanging in her father’s pockets and pulled them out meticulously. Carefully and gradually, she made her way into one of the little rooms of the house. Her hopes were to see her father’s tools and name them, she was too eager to start something on her own.
Tracy could still hear her father snore, her hands touched the little scissors on the table, pushing it to fall under one huge cupboard nearby. This cupboard was old and brown, beautifully designed, the handles of the cupboard were locked with a chain and two padlocks. Tracy couldn’t just control here eagerness to observe the contents of the cupboard.
Trying to bless her curiosity with satisfaction, she turned the key into the padlock and successfully opened both at the first attempt.
Little Hariet, Darling Mavis, Free Lara…
Tracy couldn’t breathe for a moment, her friends, the three lost girls had been hidden by Mojo Decks, a man who wouldn’t hurt a fly…
After the discovery
It was a few minutes after midnight, when Tracy had found her Dad’s little secret. He was a murderer, she wouldn’t even speak to him ever again, her hands shook, sweat began to fall from her face, her temperature rose and tears rolled out of her pretty eyes.
He barged into the room, he was furious and uncontrollable, he held her hair and hit her to the wall, she yelled, he hit her face.
‘Be quiet! Your mother did same, and you just did. I’ll make you join these three girls, you would’.
Tracy couldn’t understand, how and why her wonderful father could suddenly be the monster she had never dreamt of.
He took a table knife, he wasn’t going to allow his daughter escape alive with his secret. He kept her tied to a seat, and placed a short tape on her mouth. Ready to insert the syringe into her hands, Tracy struggled;
Mojo Decks broke down, his countenance changed, from aggressive to sober. He told Tracy a story,
‘Before you my dear Tracy join my dolls, I’ll tell you a story…
‘Im a doctor, a doctor, one hell of a medical doctor. Your mother wouldn’t make me happy, you get what I mean?
I need to carry expirementos, expirementos caravantavlo, he shook his head, showing signs of unstableness.
‘The three girls were my dolls, I still keep them, they satisfy my thirst, thirst for knowledge, and their parts feed my sick people outside, kidneys, liver, you know, I have to let my people live’.
Tracy’s eyes grew big, she had been fathered by a psychopath, a man blinded by selfishness and greed, living a life of deception, gaining the trust of women and men of the city, and stabbing them in their backs.
Tracy felt the tape behind her hands loosen, she still struggled, fear made her stronger, she moved her hands back and forth as she watched Mojo Decks fill the syringe with the chemical he was yet to inject her with.
He came close, Tracy’s hands were free again, free to move and grab the knife her eyes were looking at.
She ran, took the knife as quick as she could and Mojo Decks turned angrily, he burned with rage, he swiftly moved closer to the door Tracy had just exited.
‘Tracy, Tracy, my darling’, he called as he slowly moved through the house. Tracy had gotten to the main door now. Locked, she swiftly inserted the key into the door, her hands wouldn’t even allow her.
Mojo Decks calmly moved behind her,
‘Here she is’ he said as he approached the door, Tracy was successful, she ran quickly out of the house unto the calm, night-street of the slum.
‘Help, Help’ her freightened voice woke neighbours up, Mojo Decks chased after her. Women came out of their homes, men also followed. Froder, one of the strong young men in the slum stood in the middle of the street. Tracy’s hands and legs moved briskly, her speed ended her in Froder’s thick arms and broad chest.
‘A murderer, a murderer, he’s a murderer, that’s my father for you’ Tracy kept shouting.
Mojo Decks kept his cool, he folded his arms as he watched the poor girl shout and shout. No one moved a muscle.
‘She has a fever, a terrible one, Froder’, Mojo Decks said.
The women turned their backs, they knew it was something trivial, they all one after the other retreated to their beds.
‘Arrest that man, arrest him’, Kusu held Little Harriet’s body in his hands. He had entered the room when he saw them both leave the house.
Everyone watched in surprise and disappointment, Mojo Decks, their saviour was a killer, a murderer and a hypocrite.
It took young Tracy to discover Daddy’s Dolls.