Three Blocks From Home

Toyosi’s phone felt like a doorway to bad news, but she couldn’t stop scrolling. Her thumb kept moving up the screen, lighting up her face with another tragedy. It was always the same: another Twitter thread, another "Missing Person" flyer, another video of a mother crying on the floor, screaming a name that the internet would forget in two days.

In Lagos, fear was heavy in the air. You could feel it at the school gates and the bus stops.

The fear had been growing inside her for a week. It started with a headache, then a tight feeling in her chest. Finally, the front door of her parents’ house didn't look like a door anymore; it looked like a trap. She refused to go outside.

"Toyo, you’re going to miss swimming again?" her mother asked, standing at her bedroom door. Her mother looked confused and a little annoyed.

"I’m not feeling well, Mummy. My stomach," Toyosi lied, pulling her blanket up to her chin.

She had skipped her swimming lessons for two weeks straight. The water wasn't the problem; getting there was. Her parents tried to talk sense into her. They told her she was just being paranoid, that God was in control, that she was watching too much news. She wanted to believe them. She desperately wanted to be the carefree nineteen-year-old she used to be.

But every time she closed her eyes, the nightmare was waiting.

It was always the same dream. The smell of stale cigarette smoke and old car seats. The sound of an engine. The darkness of a car trunk. She would wake up gasping for air, her sheets wet with sweat, feeling like ropes were still tying her hands.

If she couldn't leave the house, she decided she would at least prepare for the danger she felt was coming.

Her laptop became her classroom. She spent hours on YouTube, skipping makeup tutorials to watch self-defense videos. She watched ex-soldiers explain how to break a wrist, how to poke an eye, how to use keys as a weapon.

Punch the throat. Stomp the foot. Elbow the nose.

She practiced in front of her mirror. She threw punches until her shoulders hurt. She planned everything in her head: If he grabs my right arm, I turn left. If he comes from behind, I drop my weight. She taught herself to watch everyone, to never let a stranger walk behind her.

By the third week, being stuck inside felt worse than the fear. She needed air. She needed to feel like a person again.

"I’m going for a walk," she told her mom one Tuesday evening. Her mother looked up from the TV, relieved.

"Just around the estate. Don't stay long."

Toyosi stepped out. The evening air was cool. She walked fast and carefully. She didn't wear headphones. She checked her watch constantly. 6:45 PM. She had fifteen minutes before it got dark. She promised herself she would not be out past 7 p.m.

Three weeks went by like this. She got bolder. The news had moved on to politics and celebrity gossip; the kidnapping stories had faded away. The knot in her stomach began to loosen. The city felt safe again.

On a warm Wednesday evening, she was walking back from the shop, just ten minutes from home. The street was quiet, except for the sound of a generator nearby.

Then she heard it. The slow sound of tires on the road behind her.

Her body went stiff. The videos she watched flashed in her mind. Be aware of your surroundings. She didn't run; that would make them chase her. She kept walking, her hand sliding into her bag, fingers grabbing the cold pepper spray she had bought online and never used.

The car moved closer. She could feel the heat from its engine.

She spun around, pulling the spray out, her thumb ready to press the button.

It was a Toyota Corolla. Inside, a terrified teenage boy was gripping the steering wheel tight, his eyes wide as he saw the girl on the road holding a weapon. A "LEARNER" sign was taped on the back of the car.

Toyosi let out a huge breath. Her knees felt weak. She lowered the spray and waved sorry to him. The boy drove past, moving very slowly.

"It’s nothing, Toyo," she whispered to herself, laughing a little. “You sef calm down."

The relief made her drop her guard. She relaxed her shoulders. She looked up at the clouds. She was safe. She was three blocks away. She could see the roof of her neighbor's house.

She didn't hear the second car until it was right beside her.

It was a dark car with windows so tinted you couldn't see inside. It stopped, blocking her path. Toyosi kept walking, telling herself a lie to stay calm: It’s nothing. Just guys chilling. Maybe they’re lost.

A man stepped out. He was tall, wearing an old football jersey. He stood in her way, a nasty smile on his face.

"How are you?" he asked. The question felt wrong. The wind blew his smell to her—a mix of cheap alcohol and weed.

Toyosi moved to step around him, her heart beating fast against her ribs.

Run, her brain said.

Fight, her training screamed.

But before she could lift a hand, a heavy arm grabbed her neck from behind. A rough hand slammed over her mouth, tasting of dirt.

She knew the moves. She knew exactly what to do. Bite the hand. Stomp the foot. Elbow back. She had practiced this moment a thousand times in her bedroom.

But in real life, Toyosi did the one thing the YouTube videos hadn't prepared her for.

She froze.

Her body just shut down. The blood left her face, leaving her arms heavy and useless. She couldn't move. She felt herself being lifted, her feet dragging on the ground, as she was thrown into the backseat of the stuffy car.

The smell hit her instantly—old seats and sweat. It was the nightmare. It was the exact smell from her dreams.

The car doors slammed shut. The engine roared, and the car sped away, leaving her shoes on the road.

I am being kidnapped.

The thought was clear and cold.

She sat between two men who held her tight. She opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out. Her bag, with the pepper spray, was stuck under her leg, useless.

The car hit a bump, shaking her, and the tears finally came. Silent, hot tears.

She didn't think about the knife she should have carried or the moves she didn't use. She thought about her mother.

She imagined the scene in her living room tonight. The food getting cold on the table. Her mother calling her phone, once, twice, ten times. Her mother’s worry turning into a scream when she realized something was wrong.

She thought of her father, standing helpless in a police station, begging an officer to do something.

She thought of her brother in the U.K., waking up to a terrible text message. Her older sister, trying to be strong for everyone else. And her little sister—God, her little sister. She would be so scared. She would never want to leave the house again.

She imagined a picture on Instagram.

MISSING: Toyosi A.

Last seen wearing a denim skirt and white top.

Height: 5’6.

Please Repost.

She would trend. For maybe three days. Influencers would post broken-heart emojis. People would tweet about how unsafe the country is. And then, next week, a politician would say something stupid, or a celebrity would have a scandal, and everyone would scroll past her.

Her family would be left alone, searching for a ghost.

The car sped up, getting onto the expressway, taking her further into the dark. Toyosi closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the seat.

This is the end of me, she thought.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

I wrote this story to look at the "freeze" response. We like to think we'll be heroes when bad things happen, but fear doesn't follow a script.

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