The hospital had a strange way of breathing at night. Unlike the day, when machines beeped, pages buzzed, and footsteps rushed down sterile halls, the nights whispered. And that night, Kamsi felt those whispers crawl under her skin.
She sat by her locker, staring at the envelope from the night before. Her fingers grazed the photo inside once more—blood, slipper, and now a name scrawled behind it: Nkiru. No last name. Just Nkiru. Another ghost from the east wing.
She flipped the photo back over. The image hadn't changed, but the weight of it had. It wasn't just evidence now. It was a warning.
Mfon appeared in the doorway, rubbing her arms from the chill. "You're still here?"
Kamsi nodded. "Couldn't sleep."
"Join the club. Something feels... wrong tonight."
Kamsi tucked the envelope back into her scrubs. "Everything's been wrong since I stepped into that room."
Earlier that day, she'd submitted a request to review old staff records. Officially, it was under the guise of assisting in updating the emergency contact database. Unofficially, she was looking for Nkiru. If the hospital tried to erase her, they hadn't done it completely.
The records office was a dim room tucked behind the admin block. Mr. Tobi, the clerk, wore thick glasses and smelled faintly of mothballs. He squinted when she explained her request.
"Emergency updates?" he repeated.
Kamsi nodded with a practiced smile. "Yes sir. I've been assigned to help HR verify entries."
He grunted. "Fine. Just don't rearrange anything."
He handed her a set of keys and pointed her to the filing shelves.
Two hours passed. Her fingers ached from flipping folders, her eyes blurry from tiny print. But then—there she was. Nkiru Umeadi. Hired 2018. Psychiatric nurse. Transferred 2021.
Transferred?
Kamsi scanned the rest of the file. No forwarding hospital. No resignation letter. Just a stamped page that read: Personnel Exit – Voluntary. But someone had scratched out the date.
She took a photo of the file and returned everything in order.
As she left, Mr. Tobi stopped her. "You didn't find anything strange, did you?"
Kamsi blinked. "Strange?"
"Never mind." He turned away.
But her heart raced. He knew.
At break time, Mfon brought two cups of steaming tea to the nurse's station.
Kamsi barely noticed.
"What's next?" Mfon asked.
"I want to see old surveillance footage from the east wing."
"You think they'll let you?"
"No. Which is why I'm not asking."
Accessing the security room required a swipe card—one she didn't have. But Mfon knew who did.
That night, while Nurse Victoria took her meal break, Mfon offered to watch the reception. She casually picked up the ID badge Victoria left behind and passed it to Kamsi.
"Fifteen minutes. No more."
Kamsi raced through the dark hallways toward the security room. The door beeped as she swiped the card.
Inside, the air was cold, sterile. Multiple screens flickered with real-time feeds. She ignored them, focusing instead on the hard drive logs. Her hands trembled as she plugged in a USB and began copying archived footage—timestamps matching the dates Ada had hinted at.
As she worked, one particular clip caught her eye. It was grainy, but clear enough. A nurse—possibly Nkiru—escorted a patient into the east wing storage room. Minutes later, only the nurse came out.
She replayed it three times.
Suddenly, a loud click echoed behind her.
The door.
Kamsi turned slowly.
Dr. Rume stood there, arms crossed, his face unreadable.
"You have an odd definition of break time," he said calmly.
Kamsi stepped back instinctively. "I was just—"
"Looking for ghosts?" he asked, stepping inside. The door shut with a loud thud.
She gripped the USB tighter behind her.
"You've been digging," he said. "And I've been watching."
"I'm trying to understand what happened to Nkiru."
He tilted his head. "Sometimes, understanding invites consequences."
"She disappeared."
He smiled faintly. "Some people vanish because they want to. Others vanish because they're told to."
"Which was she?"
Dr. Rume leaned closer, his voice low. "Are you willing to risk your license to find out?"
Kamsi stood still, her voice firm. "I'm willing to risk a lot more than that."
He looked at her for a long moment before stepping back. "Then I hope you're ready for what you find."
He opened the door and walked out.
Kamsi exhaled shakily, slipped the USB into her bra, and exited seconds later.
Back in the nurses' room, Mfon was waiting.
"Did you get it?"
Kamsi nodded, locking the door behind her. "And he knows."
"We need to go public. If something happens to us—"
Kamsi interrupted. "We need to be smarter. Not louder."
She placed the USB on the desk. "There's more on this than I expected. Nkiru might not have been the only one."
Mfon paled. "You think it's serial?"
"I think it's a cover-up. And it's deeper than just Dr. Rume."
The next day, Kamsi took a sick day. Officially. Unofficially, she was traveling to a town called Eket—a four-hour drive where she hoped to find Nkiru's family. The address had been smudged on the old records, but part of a local church bulletin had been stuck to the folder—enough of a lead.
She arrived dusty, tired, and unsure.
But she found the church.
And inside, she found a woman who gasped when Kamsi showed the photo.
"That's my daughter," she whispered. "She left for Lagos three years ago. We haven't heard from her since."
Tears welled in Kamsi's eyes.
"I work at the hospital where she was last seen."
The woman reached into a drawer and pulled out a letter. The envelope was unsealed. Inside, a torn piece of paper:
"They said I knew too much. If I disappear, tell someone."
Kamsi folded the letter gently and promised the woman she wouldn't let Nkiru's name be forgotten.
Back on the bus to Lagos, Kamsi stared out the window, heart thundering. The lies were deeper than she imagined. And now she had names, footage, and a letter.
But would that be enough to bring down the gods in white coats?
She doubted it.
But she would try.