“I didn’t do it,” he said out loud like the trees were police. “I didn’t.” The man’s chest moved barely. A tiny groan pushed out. He was alive. Kofi stared at him, crying now, helpless and angry at the same time. Why are you dressed like that? He snapped, voice cracking. Why are you here? You got money. You got a suit.
Why Why are you lying here like trash? The man made another sound, mouth dry, lips split. Kofi hugged his sack like a shield. Every muscle in him screamed, “Run!” If he ran, he stayed alive. If he stayed, he became the suspect. But the man’s breathing hitched, and Kofi saw the blindfold riding low, pressing near the nose.
If it slipped, the man could choke. Kofi crouched, staying a hands length away. “Sir,” he whispered, “Can you hear me?” No clear answer, only pain. Kofi wiped his face with the back of his hand smearing dirt across his cheek. “Listen,” he said fast. “If I touch you, they’ll say it was me. They always say it’s me.
They see my skin and they decide.” His voice dropped. But if I leave you, you die.” He leaned closer, trembling, and tugged the white cloth up just a little, just enough to free the nostrils. The man sucked in air like he’d been underwater. Kofi jerked back, hands up. I’m not hurting you. I’m helping. I swear. A horse whisper scraped out.
Water? Kofi’s throat tightened. I don’t have water, he said, frustration breaking through. You think I got water? I got sticks. That’s all I got. He looked around wildly. No phone, no adults, no signal, just trees and danger. Okay. Okay. He grabbed the cleaner corner of the burlap sack, ran to a small puddle, scooped muddy rainwater, and squeezed drops onto the man’s lips.
Not much, but the man swallowed. Kofi examined the ropes. Thick, real knots. Whoever did this knew what they were doing. The rope across the man’s chest was so tight the suit fabric creased and pulled. Kofi pressed two fingers under one loop and felt how little space there was. “You can’t breathe right,” he muttered, shaking. “You can’t.
” He tried the knot with his fingernails. It didn’t move, he tried again, tears falling onto the blue suit. “Please,” he whispered. Not to the man, to the rope. Please, just give me a little. The knot shifted a fraction. Kofi pulled carefully, loosening one loop just enough to slide two fingers under. The man’s chest rose a little freer.
Kofi exhaled hard, almost sobbing. That’s all, he said. That’s all I can do without a knife. He looked at the bruised face, the blood, the blindfold. Who did this to you? He demanded. Talk. Tell me so I can tell them. Tell me so they don’t point at me. The man’s mouth moved. A broken sound. They took took what? Kofi snapped.
Money? They took your money? You’re rich, right? People like you got money everywhere. Another groaned. No words. Kofi’s fear surged again, sharp as a blade. Listen to me, he said, leaning close. I’m going to run for help. I’m going to bring someone, but you have to do one thing, he swallowed. When they come, you tell the truth.
You hear me? You tell them I didn’t do this. You tell them I saved you. The man gave a faint sound. Maybe yes, maybe pain. Kofi slid his burlap sack under the man’s head to lift it off the ground. He did it gently like the man might shatter. Then he stood, legs trembling. He took one step away, then turned back, voice breaking. “Don’t die,” he whispered. “Please don’t die.
If you die, they’ll blame me. And even if they don’t, I’ll know I left you.” He wiped his eyes, forcing air into his lungs. “I’m going now. Stay alive.” Then Kofi ran. He ran through leaves, through thorns that tore his ankles, through fear that felt like hands around his throat. He didn’t look back.
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