THE RISE OF TUMELO
CHAPTER 02
“SUNDAY MORNING.”
Boipelo is pacing around the lounge like a caged animal, her eyes darting towards the door every few seconds, as if expecting Itu to walk in any moment.
Nthabiseng, on the other hand, seems eerily calm, seated on the couch with a glass of wine in her hand, her gaze fixed on the TV screen that’s been off the entire morning.
Nthabi opens her phone and attempts to call Itu, but the phone goes straight to voicemail. She tries again, and again, each failed attempt ratcheting up the tension in the room.
Her phone’s still off.
“Where is she?” Boi is still pacing around.
Nthabi takes a leisurely sip of her wine, her expression unruffled, but her eyes betraying a flicker of nervousness.
“How am I supposed to know where she is? Sit down, Boi, you’re causing me a headache.” She pats the space beside her on the couch, her voice firm but with a hint of unease.
Boi stops pacing and turns to face her, her eyes wide with worry. “What if she got kidnapped? She’s not familiar with Nelspruit, and her mom knows she’s here with us. If she calls, we’re in trouble.” She resumes her pacing, her hands running through her hair, her voice rising in panic. “Her mother’s going to kill us! You know how she is, Nthabi – she’ll have our heads on a platter!” Boi adds unable to shake off the feeling that Itu might be in danger.
Nthabi rolls her eyes, Boi is starting to annoy her. She’s also stressed out but not screaming about it.
“If her mother doesn’t call, we keep quiet as well. Isn’t that she decided to leave us yesterday as if she knows this place.”
Boi glares at her, her frustration boiling over. “You’re not taking this seriously, Nthabi! We have to do something!” She sits down next to her, her eyes pleading.
“I doubt she’s still alive,” Nthabi says, her words dripping with a nonchalance that makes Boi’s blood run cold.
Boi’s face consorts in horror. “No, Nthabi… Why… Why would you think of such?” Her voice is barely above a whisper, her eyes searching Nthabi for reassurance.
Nthabi shrugs, her expression unyielding, but her eyes darting away from Boi’s gaze. “Just saying, Boi. Let’s be real, we’re the first suspects if anything happened to her.”
“Then we have to report this to the police before her mother finds out.” Boi says, her voice laced with determination.
Nthabi takes another sip of her wine, her eyes fixed on the TV screen, her expression calm and detached. “No, we can’t do that. We’ll just keep quiet like nothing happened.” Her voice is steady, but Boi detects a hint of desperation beneath the surface.
Boi’s jaw drops, her voice rising in incredulity. “Have you lost your mind, Nthabi? We can’t just sit here and do nothing! Itu is our friend!” Her eyes well up with tears, her voice cracking with emotion.
Nthabi leans back on the couch, her eyes flashing with frustration. “What other choice do we have? It’s not our fault she left us yesterday at the lodge. She knows she’s not familiar with this place, but she walked out anyway. Akgah! Marn, stop making noise, Boi.” Her voice is firm, but Boi can sense the fear and uncertainty lurking beneath the surface.
—
ITUMELENG
I bolt upright, the cold concrete slamming against my skin like a slap from the night itself. The air in this basement is thick with damp rot, and the faint hum of distant traffic is the only thing that tells me I’m still in Nelspruit.
My wrists are locked in unforgiving handcuffs, the metal biting into my flesh, while rope—tight, fisted—snakes around my ankles, binding me to the floor. The panic hits me like a freight train; my heart is a jackhammer, thudding so hard I can feel it reverberate in my throat.
“Help!” I scream, the word tearing through the stale darkness, echoing off the cracked walls.
“Help!” I gulp for air, the taste of iron on my tongue. My mind flashes back—just hours ago I was laughing with Boipelo and Nthabiseng at Coyotes Lodge, the neon lights flickering over cheap drinks, the bass thumping like a heartbeat.
We promised each other a night of pure fun, but the night twisted. Their smiles hid a darker agenda: they wanted to hand me over to a man old enough to be my father, a man I could never love. I refused, walked out, and the night swallowed me whole.
I remember the silhouette of a stranger on the street, his coat flapping like a crow’s wings, and then—nothing. Blackness. Waking up here, in this tomb, with my clothes still clinging to my body, is a cruel mercy. I’m terrified, but the terror is laced with a fierce, animalistic will to survive.
The heavy metal door groans open, a sliver of light spilling onto the floor. A man steps in, his shoulders brushing the low frame, his back slightly hunched as if the weight of his own darkness is too much to bear.
He’s massive, towering over me, and in his hand glints the blade of a butcher’s knife—cold, unforgiving steel that catches the dim light and throws it back like a warning. My skin crawls; the hairs on my arms stand like tiny soldiers.
“I… I’m sorry…” My voice cracks, a whisper that trembles like a leaf in a storm. I don’t even know what I’m apologizing for—for daring to walk out, for being here, for the choices that led me to this moment.
The man’s shadow stretches, swallowing the little light left, and the handcuffs feel like they’re tightening, as if the metal itself is feeding on my fear.
I stare up at him, eyes wide, heart racing, and the world narrows to the point of that blade. Every breath I draw is a battle, every beat of my heart a drum of defiance. I’m not just a victim; I’m a survivor, and somewhere deep inside, a spark of rage ignites—ready to fight, ready to scream, ready to claw my way out of this nightmare.
—
Tumelo stands tall in the dimly lit basement, his gaze piercing into Itu’s pleading eyes as she lies on the cold ground, her wrists raw and bruised from the handcuffs. The air is thick with tension, heavy with unspoken emotions.
He recalls the pain he felt when he was wrongly imprisoned, the anger and helplessness that consumed him. It’s a feeling he’s determined to share with those who’ve wronged him, especially females.
He slowly pulls out a chair, the scraping sound echoing through the space, and sits down, his eyes never leaving Itu’s. His face is a mask, a mixture of emotions swirling beneath the surface.
He wants to take away the pain, to release her from the shackles that bind her, but a part of him demands she pay for the injustices he’s suffered.
Itu’s voice trembles as she begs, “Please, please, please set me free. I promise you I won’t tell anyone.” Her words fall on deaf ears as Tumelo remains stoic, his silence more unnerving than any words could ever be.
Her pleas escalate, her voice growing more desperate, until he finally moves, reaching for the butcher knife. Itu’s eyes widen, but instead of striking, he cuts the rope binding her legs. She looks at him in shock, confusion etched on her face.
“You’re … You’re really letting me go?” she stammers, her voice barely above a whisper.
Tumelo’s expression remains unchanged, but a hint of emotion flickers in his eyes. He’s not the monster she thinks he is, not yet, at least. He continues to uncuff her wrists, the metal claps echoing through the space as he releases her.
As she flexes her wrists, he stands tall, his towering frame casting a shadow over her. “You can scream as much as you want, but no one will hear you,” he says, his voice low and menacing, before turning to walk away.
He leaves the basement, the sound of his footsteps echoing through the space, leaving Itu to wonder if she’s truly free or just being tested. The cameras hidden in the corners of the room watching her every move, a constant reminder that she’s not alone.
Itu bangs the door, screaming her lungs out, but it’s hopeless – her cries are swallowed by the thick walls. Like he said, no one can hear her. She collapses against the door, her head buried between her knees, her body shaking with desperation.
Her phone’s probably blowing up with missed calls from her mother, and what about her friends? Are they really that useless, or have they called the police yet? The thought sends a fresh wave of panic through her, and she breaks down on the cold floor, tears streaming down her face. She shouldn’t have come here. Who knows what that scary man is capable of?
“Set me free!!!” she screams into the floor, her voice raw, her body helpless. But the only response is the echo of her own desperation. Minutes tick by, and the tears finally dry up, leaving her with ragged breathing and a hollow ache in her chest. The silence is oppressive, punctuated only by her hiccuping sobs.
The basement door creaks open, and Tumelo steps in, a paper bag from KFC clanging softly in his hand. He approaches her, his expression unreadable, and holds out the bag. Itu’s eyes flicker to the food, her stomach growling traitorously, but she doesn’t dare reach for it.
Tumelo’s lips curl into a cold, mirthless smile as he pulls up a chair and sits down, the chair scraping against the concrete floor. He’s towering over her, his eyes glinting with a detached intensity.
“I’m not your brother, nor your father,” he says, his voice low and even, “so it’s either you eat this damn food, or I kill you.” There’s no anger, no passion – just a flat, matter-of-fact statement that sends a chill down her spine. He’s not playing, and Itu knows it.
Itu’s eyes narrow with suspicion as she asks, “What if you poisoned it?” She’s shaking with fear, her body trembling like a leaf. God knows how hungry she is, but the man in front of her is the last person she can trust.
Tumelo’s expression doesn’t change, but a flicker of something – amusement, perhaps – dances in his eyes. “And what makes you think I can poison you, instead of giving you a slow, painful death?” He’s not joking, and Itu knows it. He’s thirsty for her, his desire simmering just below the surface, but something holds him back. Maybe there’s a good reason behind it, or maybe he’s just toying with her.
With shaking hands, Itu takes the paper bag. She’s slender, with brown skin and a petite frame, her small breasts and rounded butt often drawing unwanted attention. She’s been bullied for her small breasts, but her face is another story altogether – delicate features and big eyes that make her look like a doll. A tear rolls down her cheek as she opens the KFC paper bag, revealing a steaming hot plate of pap and two pieces of meat.
“I’m giving you 10 minutes to finish eating that,” Tumelo says, leaning back in the chair, his eyes fixed on her with an unnerving intensity. Why is he watching her? The weight of his gaze makes her skin crawl, but Itu knows better than to disobey. She digs in, the food hot and flavourful, and tries to eat as slowly as possible, her mind racing with escape plans and desperate prayers for rescue.
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