Annah – Within the Walls
Lang'ata Women's Prison was quieter than she expected. No constant screaming. No fists against steel. Just a low, humming routine,mornings marked by roll call, evenings by silence, and time stretched long between them.
The psychiatrist assigned to her was kind, firm. No mind games. No planted thoughts. For the first time, Annah had the space to untangle what had been placed in her head and what had grown there on its own.
She kept a journal. Wrote letters she never sent. Drew the faces of those she'd lost and those she'd destroyed. Some days, her mind still flickered. Echoes of Dr. Kariuki's voice. Visions of Lucy laughing in the rain. Kevin's final expression. Pastor John's watch glinting in the light before he fell.
But something had shifted inside her.
She had agency now. A fragile but living sense of self.
One day, she stood at the prison's community garden, hands caked with soil, and whispered, "This is mine."
Not vengeance. Not pain. This.
The planting. The slow growing.
Life.
Stella – Holding the Line
Stella didn't quit. Though she thought about it.
She stayed on the force, moved into a senior internal affairs position, and began investigating misconduct and abuse cases from within. Each case felt personal. Every survivor reminded her of Annah.
She visited schools and universities, pushing for trauma-informed reporting systems. She met with lawmakers and demanded new protections. She made enemies , loud, powerful ones,but she didn't care.
At night, she sometimes dreamed of that final confrontation. Of Annah holding the knife, the rain falling, and the thin line between justice and annihilation.
Therapy helped. Writing helped more.
She kept Annah's letter in her drawer, unopened, until one late evening when a survivor came to her office and said, "You listened."
That night, Stella opened the letter.
And cried.
Dr. Kariuki – The God in the Cage
Prison changed nothing for him.
He remained cold, calculating, respected among some of the older guards who didn't know or didn't care about what he'd done. He spent his days reading Nietzsche and writing letters he wasn't allowed to send.
He called it research.
In his mind, Annah had fulfilled her purpose. The corruption was exposed. The system had cracked. He was the architect, the mind behind it all. Not a criminal. A martyr. A prophet of justice.
But there were cracks in the armor.
Late at night, he sometimes whispered Njoki's name and stared at the ceiling as if expecting her to answer. When his reflection grew too thin, too old, he'd reach for the photo they let him keep.
And wonder for just a breath ,if she would've been proud.
Nurse Lina – Reclaiming Breath
Lina survived.
She had spent weeks in recovery, months in therapy. The trauma didn't vanish, but she found a way to breathe again. She returned to medicine,not to the hospital, but to teaching. She trained young nurses now, placing emphasis on trauma care and ethics.
She also began writing...a memoir tentatively titled The Ones Who Lived.
She stayed in contact with Stella. Sent one letter to Annah. It simply said:
"We are not what they did to us. We are what we choose next."
She never expected a reply.
But she got one.
A small drawing. A flower.
Simple. Rooted. Alive.
Mama Mwende– Prayers and Ghosts
She still attended the small church down the hill, though Pastor John's absence haunted the place. She lit candles for Lucy and Annah each Sunday. Her faith had frayed but never broken. She believed in redemption,not in the courtroom, but in the soul.
She never visited Kariuki's trial. She didn't need to.
Her forgiveness was not for him.
She visited her daughter once.
They sat under a tree in the prison yard. Said little.
When Annah reached for her hand and whispered, "I didn't know how to come back," her mother simply squeezed her fingers and replied, "Then start from here."
They prayed together that day. Not to erase the past.
But to survive it.
Final Note – A Future Beyond Fire
The country moved forward, slowly. New policies. New questions. Fewer cover-ups. People began to speak louder, protest harder, name names.
No one forgot the blood. But no one forgot the courage either.
And though the confessions had ended, the ripple continued.
THE END