Nene didn't return to the clinic for days. She faked a fever, stayed indoors, locked her doors at night. Her mind was filled with images she couldn't erase.
What kind of doctor drinks blood? What were those jars? Who else knew?
She considered going to the police, but she knew how these things worked. In rural areas, power protected evil. Dogo had too much influence. She needed undeniable proof.
That's when she thought of Musa.
Musa was a local hunter and a close friend. Years ago, she had saved his daughter's life during childbirth. He owed her, and more importantly, he believed her.
One night, under the cover of darkness, they broke into the clinic.
They crept through the wards, avoiding the security man who often slept on duty. Musa had a flashlight. They reached the forbidden room. It was locked, but Musa had come prepared. Within minutes, the door creaked open.
The room was worse than Nene remembered.
There were shelves filled with preserved organs - hearts, livers, eyes. Blood-filled bottles lined the tables. A goat skull sat on a small stool, with strange carvings around it. On the wall was a large parchment covered in symbols, names, and what looked like dates of death.
At the center was a table, and on it lay Dr. Dogo's journal.
Nene opened it. The pages were filled with rituals, chants, and sacrifices. The doctor had written about how he made a pact with a spirit of the river - a spirit that required human blood in exchange for wealth, power, and respect.
The list of names matched the dead patients. Each death was planned.
Musa took pictures. They packed the journal and left before sunrise.
They had all they needed.