Novels by Ifemide

Maya kept walking. The sidewalk stretched ahead of her in uneven slabs of concrete, some cracked, some stained with old gum and oil. Her shoes were already rubbing at the back of one heel, but she did not slow down. Tears still ran down her face in a steady, quiet stream. She had stopped trying to wipe them away blocks ago. People moved past her in both directions, office workers with bags over their shoulders, a couple sharing an earbud, a man talking loudly into his phone. A few glanced at her face and then looked elsewhere. Most did not look at all. The club was far behind her now. The bass that had followed her out the door had faded into the ordinary noise of engines and distant horns. She did not have a destination. The idea of going back to the house made her stomach turn. The suitcases were still standing against the wall in the bedroom. The offer letter and the photograph were still on the coffee table. Walking into that space again felt impossible, so she simply kept moving

The private room at the back of the club was dim and loud at the same time. Heavy bass from the main floor leaked through the walls in a constant low thump. The lighting was low on purpose, warm bulbs set into the ceiling, a couple of neon strips along the bar in the corner. Leather couches lined three sides of the space. Empty bottles and half full glasses crowded the low table in the middle. Daniel sat in the middle of the largest couch. Claire was pressed against his right side, one leg tucked under her, her hand resting high on his thigh. She kept shifting closer, rubbing her shoulder against his arm, laughing at things that were not particularly funny. Three of Daniel’s friends occupied the other seats. They had been drinking since early afternoon. Their voices were loose and careless. One of them, a tall guy in a dark shirt, leaned forward with a grin. “I’m telling you, she still thinks you’re in love with her. Five years and she hasn’t figured it out. That’s some next lev

Maya sat on the couch with the package on the coffee table in front of her. For a minute she simply looked at it. The brown paper was plain, the tape neat, no return address that meant anything to her. She had not ordered anything. She had not been expecting anything. After everything that had already happened that morning, the ordinary weight of the box felt strangely out of place. She pulled the tape free and opened the flaps. Inside were two separate envelopes, both thick, both unmarked except for her name written in clean black ink on the front. She took the first one out and slid her thumb under the seal. The letter inside was printed on heavy paper with a company letterhead she recognized immediately. The logo alone made her sit up straighter. It was the largest firm in the country, tech, media, and investment arms that seemed to touch everything. The owner was a young man whose face appeared in business magazines and gossip columns with equal frequency. People called him th

Maya’s eyes opened to the soft, steady click of the ceiling fan. Morning light came through the half closed blinds in thin stripes across the bed and the wall. For several seconds she simply lay still, waiting for the burn in her lungs to return, for the thick smoke to fill her throat the way it had in those final moments. Her body stayed braced for heat that never came. Nothing happened. She sat up too quickly. The room remained steady. The sheets under her hands were cool and completely dry. She looked down at her wrists and turned them slowly in the light. Smooth skin. No rope marks. No burns. No redness. She pressed her palms hard against her face, then lowered them and stared at the familiar bedroom as if it might disappear if she blinked too long. The last clear memory she had was the kitchen chair tipping sideways and the fire reaching her bare feet. The orange light. The way her lungs had stopped working. Then nothing. Now she was here again, in their bedroom, on a morning

Maya’s wrists burned where the rope cut into them. The kitchen chair was hard under her, the legs scraped against the tiled floor every time she shifted. Two men she had never seen before stood near the doorway. One kept looking at his phone. The other leaned against the counter like he was waiting for a bus. Claire stood in front of her, calm, almost gentle. She had taken off her shoes so her feet wouldn’t make noise on the floor. Maya had always hated that about her, how quiet she could be when she wanted. “You understand why this has to happen, right?” Claire said. Her voice was soft, the same tone she used when she asked Daniel if he wanted more tea. Maya didn’t answer. The cloth they had shoved in her mouth tasted like detergent. She tried to push it out with her tongue. It didn’t move. Claire sighed and pulled the cloth free. Maya coughed once, hard. “Talk,” Claire said. “No one is coming yet. We have time.” “Daniel will….” “Daniel will do what he always does.” Claire cro