BENEATH THE SKIN
Series One: The Fence (Fences don’t just keep people out; they also keep secrets in.)
She was and still is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. It was my mother's birthday, and I only wanted to visit her grave. Grandma wouldn’t let me because the cemetery was “no place for me.” But I had heard the whispers in the servants’ quarters about the flowers that still grew fresh on her headstone, about the note someone always left there every year.
That day, I outran my bodyguards and jumped over our fence into the next compound, landing clumsily on a bed of hibiscus shrubs, crashing into Rose. She was furious, yelling, scratching my arms with her nails, her eyes flashing like storm clouds over the sea. At first, I was frozen, just staring at her face, which was… too perfect, like it didn’t belong in real life.
When she started screaming for my bodyguards, panic jolted me into action. I begged her to let me hide. I don’t know why she agreed. Maybe she pitied me, or liked the thrill of rebellion. Either way, she led me into her room, a room that smelled of jasmine and rainwater and that was the day everything changed.
We became inseparable. I never tried to run away again because I had my Rose just next door. She made me feel lucky, alive… seen. She is my first crush, first kiss, first everything.
And now, it’s time to make her my wife. She’s always insisted we keep our relationship secret for our good, but now I’m ready to show the world our love. Besides, her family is just as wealthy as ours. I place the ring back inside its box after staring at it and tuck it deep into my suitcase. I am coming to make you my wife, Rose.
The car glides through the gates of the next compound, the one I used to sneak into as a boy. It looks… different now, the walls freshly painted, the garden trimmed with surgical precision. But something about it feels colder, like the air itself is holding its breath.
I tell the driver to wait. My heart is hammering, not from nerves, but from anticipation. It’s been three years since I last saw Rose since her father died. I have been occupied with business trips, family obligations, and Grandma’s health, but today, none of that matters. I walk up the marble steps and press the bell.
When the door opens, it’s not Rose. It’s a tall man in a perfectly tailored suit, his face carved in stone. His eyes sweep over me like he’s memorising my entire existence.“Yes?” His voice is deep, “I’m here to see Rose,” I say with a smile that feels slightly too wide. His brows twitched. “Rose doesn’t take visitors.”
I chuckled, "Go tell her it’s me she’ll want to see.” He doesn’t move, doesn't blink. “She’s not here.” It’s a lie. I know it. In the same way, I know my heartbeat. “Look”, I start, but then I hear it.
Light footsteps, but familiar and then she appears.
Rose.
She’s wearing a pale silk dress, her hair loose like it always is when she’s at home. But there’s something in her eyes, a quick flicker of… fear? Regret?
“Rose,” I breathe. Her lips curve into a smile, but it’s the kind of smile people wear at funerals. “What are you doing here? I glance at the suited man, who hasn’t moved. “I came to see you. To… talk.”
Her gaze drops to my suitcase at my side, the one with the ring box inside. For a moment, I think she might run into my arms like she used to. But instead, she says softly, “You shouldn’t have come. It’s like ice water down my spine. “What do you mean?”
She steps closer, close enough for me to smell her perfume, jasmine and rainwater, the same. But her voice is a whisper. “Go home. Before it’s too late.” And then the suited man shuts the door in my face. I stand there for a long moment, staring at the wood grain, my knuckles itching to knock again.
But I couldn’t, I’m not sure if she’s protecting me… or herself. I went back home, but didn’t sleep all night. Rose’s voice keeps replaying in my head that trembling whisper: “Go home. Before it’s too late.” Too late for what?
I’ve known her for years. Rose doesn’t scare easily, but last night was different; she looked like someone who’d seen a ghost… and was still hearing it breathe. Finally, it’s morning, and I’ve made up my mind. I’m not going home until I know the truth. Is she married? Or is that why she hasn’t returned any of my letters in 3 years?
I started with a walk around the neighbourhood, lingering near the next compound like I’m just taking in the fresh air. But my eyes are on the house. From this angle, I notice something I never saw before: small security cameras. Not unusual for a wealthy family, except… There are too many.
One for the gate, another for the garden, two more near the windows. Paranoia-level coverage. I’m about to keep walking when I hear a voice behind me. “You looking for trouble, boy?” I turned immediately. It's old Nana Kweku, the gardener who’s worked for our family since before I was born. He’s standing there with his watering can, eyes darting towards the next compound like it’s cursed ground.
“What do you mean?” I ask casually, and he shakes his head, lowers his voice. “That house… It’s not the same since her father died 3 years ago, but I was home for his funeral, and I didn’t notice any changes, I replied. Strange people are coming and going at night. No laughter anymore. The girl,” he pauses, glancing around before leaning in, “she’s not free.”
Something sharp twists in my chest. “Not free? How? Who is that man? ”He steps back quickly, like he’s already said too much. “Forget her, Kobby, some doors, once you open them, you can’t close.” Before I can ask more, he walks away, head down.
That night, I parked my car down the street, out of sight. If Rose won’t tell me what’s going on, I’ll find out for myself. Around midnight, the lights in the next compound start going out one by one, until the whole place is dark. Then, just as I’m about to give up, a black SUV pulls up to the gate. Two men in dark suits get out. One is the same stone-faced man from before. The other… carries a heavy, locked briefcase, and they’re let in without a word. I watch as they disappear into the house, and fifteen minutes later, they come out without the briefcase.
Something is happening inside that house. Something dangerous, and then I see her, from an upstairs window, Rose is standing there in the dark, looking straight at me. Her lips mutter three words. I can’t hear them, but I know what she said. “Please. Leave now.”
I wait until the neighbourhood is sleeping, even the crickets sound half-asleep tonight. The wall between our compound and Rose’s isn’t that high. I've jumped it before, but tonight, it feels taller, as if it knows I shouldn’t be crossing.
I land softly in her garden, crouching in the shadows, no lights, no sound except the faint rustle of leaves. I make my way to the side of the house, where I know her bedroom window should be. I’m just about to try it when I hear voices, not loud, just a low, sharp conversation from somewhere inside.
I follow it, careful not to break a twig. It’s coming from the far end of the house. The window there is slightly open. Two male voices, one is deep, controlled, and the other is rough, & impatient. “She hasn’t said a word,” the deep voice says. “But she knows, you can see it in her eyes, the rough one snorts. “Then maybe it’s time she understands what happens to people who know.”
My stomach turns cold, a chair scrapes against the floor, someone gets up and approaches closer, right toward the window. I duck behind a hedge, heart hammering. The curtains shift, and for a moment, I see him. The stone-faced man again. Only this time, his right hand is wrapped around a pistol. I force myself to stay still until he goes back inside. He said to the other It’s the breeze, no one is there.