Entwined (29 page)

Rakwena is waiting in the car. I slide into the passenger seat, still holding the file.

“I’m not sure you’ll have time to check your notes once we get into the action,” he says dryly.

“I know, but Wiki went to so much trouble.” I fasten my seatbelt.

We stop at the Main Mall to pick up Rose and Emily. Rakwena parks at a distance, behind the cathedral, and I walk round to the Mall. Rose is standing at the bus stop opposite the Mall. There’s no sign of Emily. As soon as Rose spots me she hurries towards me, head down, lips pursed.

“Hey, Rose. Is Emily running late?”

“Um, no.”

I’m picking up a wave of panic. “Did Amantle find out we were meeting?”

Rose shakes her head. “Emily’s not coming. She’s gone!”

“Gone?”

“Her parents sent her to her grandparents in Ramotswa. They think Amantle’s got us all on drugs or something, and sending Emily out of town for a while will keep her out of trouble.” Rose bites her lip nervously. “She was happy to go, anyway. She’s scared.”

“I don’t blame her.” I’m disappointed, but also relieved. Ramotswa is only a few kilometres away, but at least Emily is safely out of the Puppetmaster’s clutches. Then I remember her necklace. As long as she’s wearing it, she’s connected to the Puppetmaster. I mention this to Rose as we walk back to Rakwena’s car.

“Maybe the distance will make it more difficult for him to control her,” she suggests, but she sounds dubious.

Rakwena is just as sceptical. “Ramotswa isn’t far,” he says. “The Puppetmaster can find her.”

I ignore the uneasy feeling in my stomach. “Well, her grandparents are probably stricter than her parents – she won’t be allowed to go gallivanting at night.”

“We hope,” he mutters, and Rose’s eyes widen in dismay.

“Don’t worry.” I reach into the backseat to pat her knee. “Just stay in touch with her and keep us informed.”

She nods, and I face forward again. I don’t want her to know it, but I’m worried. It’s good that Emily has been separated from the other girls, but she’ll never really be safe with that noose still around her neck.

Monday is the first day of exams, and for the next two weeks I have no time to think about anything else. I hate exams. I get stressed and anxious and lose my appetite, and after all that trouble I don’t even have a string of distinctions to show for it. Wiki has all but disappeared from our lives, spending every free moment in the library.

I don’t see Rakwena much, either. For the first time I realise that he’s in Form Five, and his exams are more important than ours. He’s not doing Form Six, so he won’t be coming back to Syringa next year. The thought fills me with panic.

I have my last exam on a Thursday, so on Friday I get to sleep in. I’m curled up in bed, blissfully ignoring the rays of sunshine pouring into my room, when I hear a familiar noise outside. It’s Ntatemogolo’s old Toyota Venture. He must have bought it a century ago or something; it’s rusting in so many places. It’s a yellowed cream white colour, and it makes the most terrible crk-crk-crk sound when it moves.

I open my eyes and lie still, listening. The car rolls to a juddering stop in front of the house. I rub the sleep out of my eyes with a disappointed yawn. I was really hoping to stay in bed till noon today, just because I can, but I know Ntatemogolo didn’t come all this way for a casual visit.

I get out of bed and go to open the door in my pyjamas. Ntatemogolo comes up the walkway. “Morning, Ntatemogolo.”

“Morning, Connie.” He glances at the empty spot where Dad’s car is usually parked. “He’s at work?”

I nod. “Come in. Do you want some breakfast?”

“Breakfast?” he snorts as he walks past me into the house. “It’s ten o’clock, my girl – I’ve been awake for hours. Close that door, we have to talk.”

I close the door, stifle a yawn and follow him into the living room. “Is everything OK?”

He ignores me. “How were the exams?”

I frown. “Fine.” Surely he didn’t come here to ask me that.

“Did you study hard?”

“Yes, Ntatemogolo.”

“And you think you passed everything?”

“Yes, Ntatemogolo.”

“Good.” He seems relieved to have that out of the way. “Now, on to serious matters. You remember when we spoke, before all that business with the second necklace. We talked about the
GC Chronicle
.”

I perch on the armrest of one of the chairs. “I remember.”

“I found out a few things about Gabathuse, the young man who runs that paper,” he says. “He’s a rascal, that one. He’s the reason those young girls are in this mess.”

I slide off the armrest into the chair, now fully awake. “What do you mean? How is he involved in this?”

Ntatemogolo sighs and shakes his head. “Not long ago, he was in debt and the paper was struggling. Gabathuse started bribing people for information. Word got around among the shady characters in town that he was looking for hot stories, and a wealthy stranger got in touch with him. They struck a deal. The stringer would provide exclusive stories, and all Gabathuse had to do was find five smart youngsters who could assist his benefactor with a big project he was working on.

“Gabathuse was acquainted with Amantle’s father and knew about her group of friends. When the girl’s father invited him to a party at his home, Gabathuse asked if he could bring along a friend who was new in town and eager to make business contacts. This mysterious friend, of course, was the Puppetmaster.”

My heart leaps. “So you know who he is?”

Ntatemogolo shakes his head. “No, my girl. Gabathuse himself doesn’t know much about the man. He doesn’t even know his real name. He calls him John. Just John, no surname. He doesn’t know anything about him except that he’s rich.”

“But he knows what he looks like, at least.”

Ntatemogolo shrugs. “Tall. Thin. About forty, with glasses. A vague description that could fit many men. Gabathuse only met him in person at the party; before that they communicated by phone. He might recognise him if he saw him again, but I don’t think this John would be foolish enough to let that happen. He could have changed his appearance. He might even have been in disguise.”

I bite my lip to keep myself from swearing out loud. I can’t believe that we came so close, only to end up with nothing!

“Don’t be disappointed,” my grandfather says gently. “We’ve made progress. Now we know how the Puppetmaster found the girls.”

“You’re right.” I sigh, suddenly feeling exhausted again and eager to get back to bed. “At least we know something. But if Gabathuse can’t lead us to the Puppetmaster, then we’re back to where we started – relying on the girls.”

He nods. “They will lead us to him eventually. Now that he has lost Rose and Emily is out of his reach, he might panic.”

I look at him. “Ntatemogolo, how did you find out all this stuff about Gabathuse?”

“He told me, of course.” He pulls a packet of cigarettes from his jacket pocket.

“Dad doesn’t like people smoking in the house,” I remind him.

“He’s not here, is he?”

I shrug; I’m not getting into it. I’m much more interested in how he got his information. “Did you just call the guy and ask him questions? Does he know you?”

“A lot of people know me.” He lights the cigarette and inhales deeply. “I just asked for a moment of his time. He was happy to oblige. I convinced him to tell me things he wouldn’t normally have revealed.” He smiles around the cigarette.

“You didn’t… do something to him, did you? Something… you know… magical?”

He chuckles. “Don’t worry, my girl. The young man is fine. As far as he’s concerned, we had a long talk about the history of this country. I always tell these youngsters that they should spend time with their elders, get to know where they come from. Otherwise we end up with a generation like yours… can’t speak your own language properly, can’t use a single proverb…” He shakes his head, but his eyes are twinkling.

I refrain from rolling my eyes.

He gets to his feet, blowing smoke rings. “This Puppetmaster is powerful, but he’s human, and humans make mistakes.” He touches my shoulder gently. “Remember that.”

I walk him to the door and wave him off, feeling slightly more optimistic. He’s right. The Puppetmaster is flawed, like the rest of us. One of these days he’ll slip, and we’ll finally catch him. I just hope it happens before he finds Emily.

I’m standing in front of Rakwena’s house, watching the gate slide open. He’s waiting for me at the door in shorts and a T-shirt, shaking his head.

“Did you miss me already?” he asks with a grin.

“I just wanted to say hi,” I protest. I push past him into the house and he ruffles my hair as I pass.

“At seven in the morning?” he asks on his way to the kitchen.

“It’s nine-thirty,” I reply, following him. “Have you had breakfast?”

“Yes, mummy,” he says in a sing-song voice. “And I took a bath
and
brushed my teeth. All by myself, too!”

“Ha ha.” I open the fridge and help myself to a glass of orange juice. “I thought we could do some research together. I even brought Wiki’s file.”

He groans. “It’s the weekend! I was looking forward to watching movies on my computer all day.”

“Well, you’ll never get anywhere with that attitude,” I tell him brightly. “Come on. We might as well do some work, since I came all this way… and then I promise to leave you alone.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. Give me a minute.” He leaves the kitchen and heads down the corridor, disappearing into one of the rooms.

I finish my juice, wash the glass and turn back to the living room, but then I change my mind and decide that this might be my only chance to take a look around the house. I slip off my sneakers and tiptoe into the corridor in my socks. Rakwena went into the last room in the corridor, so I assume that’s his bedroom. I walk towards the first room. The door is closed. I reach for the handle and turn it very, very slowly, then peer inside.
Ag
, it’s only the bathroom.

I move on to the next room on the other side of the corridor. It’s locked, so I try the one next to it. The door opens with a creak. Afraid that Rakwena will hear me, I shut it quickly. The next door leads to the master bedroom, but there’s nothing in it besides the bed, which has been stripped of its linen. I close the door. The only room left is Rakwena’s.

As I look at it, I realise that the door is slightly ajar. I know it’s wrong. I know it’s weird and creepy to peek into people’s bedrooms but I can’t help myself. I’m curious. I move towards the door and peer into the crack. I can see Rakwena sitting on the edge of his bed. He’s fully dressed, thank goodness, and he’s reaching for some kind of black box. It’s flat and wide, like a small briefcase. He opens it, but I can’t see the contents. His arms are moving, getting something out of the case. I press myself against the door to get a closer look. He holds out his right arm, pumps his fist a few times, then runs his finger down his arm, the way the nurses do when searching for a vein. My gaze shifts and comes to rest on the syringe in his other hand. I gasp, putting more weight the door than I meant to. It swings open and Rakwena’s head snaps up. His eyes widen and his hands drop into his lap.

“What the –”

“I’m sorry,” I gulp. “I didn’t mean to… I was…” He’s a drug addict. That explains why his hands were shaking, and why… no, actually, it doesn’t explain very much.

His initial expression of shock and embarrassment fades and his calm mask slides back on. “You should really learn to knock, Connie.”

“I’m sorry.” I shake my head, confused. “What the hell are you doing?”

He sighs. “Taking my medicine.” He empties the syringe into his arm, then removes a surgical wipe from the packet in the case, cleans the syringe and puts it back.

“Your… medicine?” I stare at the case lying open on the bed. Besides a few more syringes and a packet of sterile needles, there’s also cotton wool, the wipes and several glass vials of clear liquid. Oh my God. He’s dying!

All sorts of horrible thoughts are going through my mind. I don’t know enough about these things to be able to guess what might be wrong with him. This can’t be happening. He’s Rakwena, he’s superhuman! I can’t lose him, not like this…

I rush to his side and then stop short. The medical paraphernalia is freaking me out. “Rakwena, you should have told me! How bad is it? What’s wrong?”

To my surprise, he laughs. He leans over to close the case. “I’m not dying, Connie. It’s nothing. I have a… chemical imbalance, so I have to take medicine to correct it. It’s like taking antihistamines for allergies. It’s nothing.”

“Oh!” I’m so relieved I have to stand still for a minute, letting my heart rate return to normal. The thudding in my head fades as I catch my breath. A chemical imbalance. I don’t know what that means, but it sounds a hell of a lot better than some syndrome named after a scientist. “Oh, right. That’s why you need to eat so much, and why you need so much sugar! I get it.” I roll my eyes heavenward, my panic replaced by annoyance. “Honestly, you idiot – you could have just told me.”

He shrugs. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, it’s a bit embarrassing, you know. A big, tough guy like me doesn’t want anyone to know his weakness.” He grins. “But you won’t tell, will you?”

“Of course not.” Thank God! Thank God he’s not a drug addict or terminally ill. I don’t know what I would have done. I perch cautiously on the edge of the bed, away from the medicine case. “So you have to take this stuff every day?”

“Yep. It’s not so bad. Like insulin for a diabetic, you know?” He gets up and takes my hand. “Shouldn’t we get to that research now?”

“Oh, sure.” I sneak a look at him, but he seems fine. I’m glad I peeked into his room. I’m glad I found out one more of his secrets. He’s not as strong as I thought, and although that frightens me, maybe it’s a good thing. Maybe it means he’s more human… and less dangerous.

We start off reading the file, then end up chatting. I suspect he might be trying to distract me from asking questions about his condition. It works. We’re in the middle of a debate about traditional versus Western medicine in the context of life-threatening disease when my phone rings. It’s an unfamiliar number, so I hesitate before answering.