3 Part Two (1/2)

University of Nigeria, Nsukka

September, 2000

Jide Offor woke with a start, his body tense like coiled wire and slick with sweat. His heart was hammering unusually fast against his ribcage and goose pimples had broken out over his forearms. He sat up straight in bed, trying to rationalize why he had woken up so suddenly.

He glanced to his side at the sleeping figure that lay half covered by the bed spread. Helen still lay deep in slumber; her shapely figure beneath the bed covers expanding and contracting in rhythm with her gentle snores. Nothing had disturbed her. Then what had disturbed him?

His ears strained against the darkness. He could hear nothing. He glanced at his watch and the luminous hands showed him it was eighteen minutes to three- an unholy hour of the morning. One part of his mind told him to go back to sleep but he refused to listen to it. The reason that he had stayed alive till date was his unflinching trust in his instincts.

Quietly he slipped out of bed and silently went over to the closet. He felt around at the back of some clothes and pulled out a double-barreled shotgun. It was regularly oiled and cleaned in case of an emergency. Patrick wasn't sure whether this was an emergency but he was taking no chances.

He quickly pulled on a pair of jeans, a sweats.h.i.+rt and a pair of sneakers. This he did with the minimum amount of noise. He tossed some more clothes in a hold-all and prepared to leave the boy's quarters.

He glanced at the sleeping form of his girlfriend and considered her briefly. They had had some good times, he thought, most of them hot and l.u.s.tful. He had some affection for her but it was strictly physical. He could not afford to wake her.

Waking her would pose him with problems he couldn't handle. She would become hysterical and const.i.tute a major nuisance. His instincts were screaming at him to leave now and alone.

He unlocked the door and opened it a crack. Tentatively he peeped out at the nightscape. Nothing moved. That worried him. The night was always busy; crickets chirping, night birds screeching, rodents scurrying about and maybe even a cat or two. But tonight was deathly still. The way a forest is silent when a ma.s.sive predator is on loose.

He opened the door gently and slipped out quietly, hoping the sudden draft would not wake Helen. He shut it behind him and headed for a clump of bushes nearby. He crouched down to wait, the shotgun cold against his grasp. He was ready.

He didn't have to wait long. He ears perked up like a dog's as the unmistakable sound of a snapping twig distinctly came to them. Later he could almost certainly make out stealthy footfalls. He grinned. They were coming for him. A delicious rush of fear and antic.i.p.ation pumped through his veins.

He lay in wait as his unwelcome visitors closed in on the Boys Quarters. There were about six shadowy figures and they had materialized from the trees that grew close by. It looked like they held guns. They took up positions outside and one of them kicked in the door. They moved in en ma.s.se.

A high-pitched scream tore through the shroud of silence that had enveloped the night. Helen had at last woken up. Jedi grimaced and patiently waited for thirty more seconds. With every pa.s.sing minute her screams got louder. Not that it mattered anyway. There wasn't any other living soul residing within a square mile of the place. Finally he arose from his hiding place and moved swiftly and silently to the boy's quarters.

The a.s.sailants were raping her. Their whole attention was focused on the macabre activity. That proved to be their undoing. He pointed the shotgun at the party.

They suddenly sensed the figure that filled the doorway and turned, raising their weapons in offence. It was far too late. He squeezed the trigger and relished the roar that shook the building to its foundation.

He fired again and again and again. Smoke billowed out of the room masking the remnants of the destruction he had evoked without a shred of pity. His mind working like a well–oiled clock, he surveyed the damage and verified it was total. He turned on his heel and strolled over to the garden shed while keeping his eyes peeled for any stray would be a.s.sailant that had missed his surgical onslaught.

Yanking open the door he peered inside and spotted the 25 litres can of fuel that had been there for ages. He retrieved it and made his way back to the Boy's Quarters. For the next five minutes he meticulously bathed the interior with the fuel. He struck a match, tossed it inside and turned and walked away.

As he strolled leisurely up the pathway that led to the highway, he barely acknowledged the towering inferno that lit the silent night with a fiery crackle, the blue-black smoke rising in a huge dark cloud to the jet black sky above totally obscuring dozens of twinkling stars.

***

The young man stumbled through the front door and ran out into the night. He stumbled and fell, got up, stumbled and fell again. He struggled to his feet again, looking confused and alarmed and broke into a haphazard run again. As he fled he held his head with his two hands as if it was about to explode.

His brain was expanding and contracting like a hyperactive lung, the small, thin thread that held his sanity was stretched beyond its limit. His mind was like a T.V screen filled with static.

My G.o.d, I'm going crazy, he thought in panic. At last the only thing he feared in the world was finally happening. For most of his life he had walked on the edge of the abyss of insanity. At last he had keeled over.

He was entirely soaked with blood, his black T-s.h.i.+rt, jeans and even his boots slickly wet and smelling like copper. He was like a madman escaping from an abattoir.

Suddenly, he was awash in white, blazing light.

'FREEZE” roared a harsh voice.

The metallic sound of guns c.o.c.king was unmistakable in the chill of the night.

He held his hands high, swaying like a drunkard. He heard car doors slamming. Saw dark figures moving toward him. The moonlight glinted off their weapons. He had been well and truly caught this time. No escape.

The security men edged nearer. The security jeep's lights burned mercilessly into his eyes. He could only see their black outlines.

”There's blood all over him” the man closest to him said.

”Cuff him” said another.

Rough hands seized him and before he could blink, his arms were twisted behind his back and he felt the cool clasp of metal on his wrists.

”Where was he coming from?” asked someone.

”It seems he just left that guesthouse,” replied another.

”Let's check it out.”

While the fugitive was hauled into the jeep, the security operatives went to the guesthouse, which was submerged in darkness.

The Ekene Dili Chukwu guesthouse was a large bungalow with about six bedrooms but one living room. All the rooms were vacant except one. What the operatives found there shocked them to the bone.

The body of a young lady lay on the large bed that had its white sheets stained crimson with blood. She lay outstretched like a star; cords held her wrists and ankles to the bedposts. She had been stabbed so many times that single wounds could not be identified except for the gaping red hole in her chest. Her eyes stared at the ceiling, her mouth agape as if her screams had been cut short. An ugly red lump lay at the foot of the bed and it didn't take long to figure out it was her heart.

”Call the chief,” whispered one, ”Tell him there's been a murder on campus and we have the killer in custody”.

The sun was low in the horizon when the bus stopped at Ogbete Park. Jide took a taxi to independence Layout. It had been a year since he had last seen his Aunt and he was really looking forward to seeing her. She was one of the few close relatives that he had that would shelter him without asking questions.

Umoji Close was still as he had last seen it: a quiet middle-cla.s.s area that he had become so accustomed to. Aunt Helen's neighbours still kept their hedges in tip- top condition.

He felt elated as he walked up to the door of No. 6 Umoji Close. He pushed the doorbell and waited for an answer. After what seemed like ages he heard footsteps approaching the door. He braced himself and tried to keep his face expressionless as he heard the bolts slide open. The door opened. His prepared blank gaze turned to one of confusion.

She was a small lady, which made her look younger than she probably was. Her skin was olive-coloured and as smooth as a newborn's. Her long, jet–back hair actually reached her hips. Her face was sweet and childlike, and her enormous black eyes gazed at him with intense curiosity.

”Can I help you?” she asked politely. She had on a cream–coloured slip dress that showed off an excellent compact body. Patrick was rather impressed by her muscular arms and broad shoulders. Her pert b.r.e.a.s.t.s jutted aggressively out at him and it was apparent to his trained eye that they had no bra support.

”My name is Patrick. I am Helen Okuoma's nephew. Is she around?”

A look of bewilderment appeared on the girls face but she recovered quickly.

”My mom's not in” she replied a bit too quickly.

”Oh…” Jide's disappointment was evident in his voice.

She suddenly spied the bag he was carrying and decided to be more hospitable.

”Why don't you come in?” she asked, smiling.

”Thanks.”

He came inside and Janice locked up behind him.

”I don't think we've met…,” he began as she faced him.

”You're Janice, right?'

”Yes, how did you know?”

”I've heard a lot about you.”

”Aah! You must have a biased view of me then.”

”Not really. I've been looking forward to meeting you.”

”And what do you think?'

”I like what I see so far.”

She smiled pleasantly at his comment. Jide was fascinated by her eyes. They were disturbing. They were so much like her mother's but had a darker quality. If not for her eyes she would look like an infant.

He entered the house and looked around him. Everything was just as it was except he knew that it wasn't. The atmosphere was different, very different. The air was still and tense like the way it is before a violent storm. Something was not right; he could feel it in his bones. He turned back to Janice. She was watching him with interest.

”Where did you say your mother was?” he asked.

”I didn't say she was anywhere. I only told you she wasn't in.”

”Then where is she? And what of her baby son?”

”You have a lot of questions, don't you? Why don't you settle down first? Then I'll answer your questions. I think we have a lot to talk about.”

”Yes, we certainly do.”

***

The shrill ring of the telephone on the bedside table woke Bartholomew Daniel, the Chief of Security for the University of Nigeria, Nsukka from slumber. He grudgingly disengaged himself from his wife's ample backside and s.n.a.t.c.hed up the receiver.

”Yes?” he asked.

”Chief, there's been a murder.”

He quickly got up, ignoring his wife's sleepy protests. He glanced at the clock on the wall. 01:00.

”Where?”

”The Ekene Dili Chukwu Quest House”.

”My goodness. Who's the victim?”

”I don't know, Sir. A young lady, possibly a student. We caught the murderer.”

”You did?” the chief sat up straight, ”Who is it?”

”A young male, possibly a student. We suspect he's a secret cult member.”

”I'll be right over. Is someone at the crime scene?”

”Yes, Sir.”

”I'll go there first and check it out. No one touches the suspect till I get there. Understand?”

”Yes, Sir.”

The Chief dropped the receiver and stared off into s.p.a.ce. Something to do at last.

The next day he got to the Security Department and found the suspect in the holding cell. He was a formidable fellow with fierce eyes.

”Who are you?” demanded the Chief angrily. What he had seen at the guesthouse had ruined his mood.

”I don't know,” replied the suspect after what seemed a long time.

Chief Daniel raised an eyebrow.

”Having a bout of amnesia, are you? Let's go see if we can refresh your memory.”

He snapped his fingers at the other security operatives.

”Take him into the interrogation Room.”

The Security Department of the University of Nigeria, Nsukka is not much to look at. During the Nigeria Civil War it was bombed and quite a bit of it reduced to rubble. Until it's restoration in the late 1990s it remained a relic of the war. However inside the building the chief had spent a lot of time renovating a particular room. He called it the interrogation room but to everyone else it was notoriously known as the Torture Room.

There were chains to hang prisoners from the ceiling, a long table with cuffs for wrists and ankles and other macabre appliances. The Chief hated cultists and was waging a war against them. He had a strong belief in torture as a way of extracting information and he used it freely. There were even times he supervised and even carried out extrjudicial executions. He was nicknamed the Butcher and cultists feared him.

The suspect was dragged struggling and kicking into the torture room. He had his wrists chained from the ceiling so that his legs were left to dangle a good three feet from the floor. He had been stripped bare, leaving only his sweaty underpants. He was powerfully built and well muscled.

”The interrogation room is soundproof,” the Chief told the suspect. ”No one will hear you scream.”

Someone handed the Chief his favourite whip- a long rawhide affair that he had bought in the Northern town of Gumel, near the Nigerian–Niger border. He grasped the handle firmly and flicked it with the easy skill of a Fulani Cattle herdman. There was a whistle as the whip sliced through the air and cracked across the suspect's upper body. The Chief enjoyed the scream he heard.

Jide had always slept in the guest room and that was where he put his bags. Apart from a musty smell of disuse it was still exactly as he had left it. He sat down on the bed and felt momentarily confused, like he didn't know where he was. He didn't know why he was feeling this way. All he knew was that he was feeling some strange sadness in his heart. Maybe it was the barbaric events of the last 48 hours that were getting to him.

Janice. He never thought he would actually meet her in the flesh. Had she finally made up with her mother? He knew Aunt Helen barely mentioned her and when she did it was with an undercurrent of malice. But where actually was Aunt Helen? At the market?

His thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knock on the door. Janice popped her head in.

”Would you like something to eat?”

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”Yes, please. I'll come down after a quick shower.”

”Take your time.”

She gave him a long unsettling stare then her head disappeared. Patrick sat and thought about her. For some reason, she spooked him. He wondered why.

Over dinner they talked. He was least prepared for the news she was about to deliver to him.

”Mother went to Dubai”.

”Dubai? What for?”

”I don't really know… something to do with her business. She took Bobby with her. Bobby is the child.”

”When did she say she was coming back?”

”She's only staying a few days. It's a trade fair or something. You'll wait until she comes back, wont you?”

”Well … I guess so.”

There was a moment of silence while Jide digested this piece of information. Something seemed amiss. Her story sounded okay but it didn't feel right. His instincts were usually correct but he couldn't understand what could be wrong.

”Do you have her number?” Janice asked as she watched him with her huge eyes. He knew she was reading his thoughts.

”Yes, I do. I tried calling her before but the phone was switched off.”

”Then maybe you can call her later?”

”That sounds like a good idea. I'll do that before I go to bed.”

”Fine. Do you need any more helpings?

”No, I'm full, thanks”.

She leaned back against the back of her chair and stretched. Jide watched her with interest.

”Let's go watch TV,” She suggested.

”No thank you,” Patrick said. ”I need to rest. I've had a long day.”

Jide left her to clear up and headed to his room. He sat down on the bed again and he felt the dread return. Something was coming for him, he thought, and this time he might not escape.

I stood on a ledge, beyond the ledge there was nothing, only a blackness that seemed to never end. Beyond the ledge I could see them flying. The Angels. They soared and swooped like distant birds.

One of the angels drew close and I saw that it had bat like wings that jutted rudely out of its naked body. It fluttered close. Its face kept drawing nearer and nearer until I recognized it. I knew that face. It was mine.

But I knew it wasn't me. It was the face of the Other. The ent.i.ty that knew no feeling, no compa.s.sion, no mercy. The Other was taunting me, daring me to fly.

”You have wings too,” he cried gleefully, ”Wings like mine, spread them and fly!”

I did not believe I had wings but I was afraid to look and see. Did I want to be an Angel? Did I want to be like the other? No! I still wanted to be human. I still wanted to be saved. I did not want to go to h.e.l.l.

The other suddenly came at me with incredible speed and with large, powerful talons, seized my shoulders and carried me off the ledge. I struggled in vain, screaming for the creature to put me down.

I was carried to a beautiful garden, filled with lush fruits and beautiful flowers. They were so real. I could touch and hold them. Where was this? The Garden of Eden?

I was naked and standing in the midst of splendour while the other flew to the branch of an olive tree and turned to a crow. It watched my every move with its beady, black eyes.

Suddenly naked women began to emerge from the thick bushes, women of such haunting beauty I was sure they were spirits. They were flawless in structure; their painfully voluptuous bodies a feat of creation. They circled me slowly; their huge unblinking eyes locked with mine. They closed in on me, warm, delicate hands roaming my body, arousing intense pleasure that stretched beyond human endurance.

”Arise, Jide, kill and eat,” said the crow. ”What you see here now you cannot get in the world of the living.”

What was he talking about? Was I already dead? If I was, then was I in Heaven or h.e.l.l? Was it already too late for redemption?

One of the beauties took my face in her hands and kissed me on the lips. She tasted like nectar; it made me dizzy. They all dragged me down into the soft gra.s.s. Swarming over me like fire ants. They took me again and again and again…

All the time I could hear the crow cackling maniacally. Pleasure mixed with pain till it was a potent mix, I drank the juice until I thought I was going to burst. Then suddenly I realized that h.e.l.l did not have to be a boiling lake of sulfur and fire. h.e.l.l was the beauty that I could not comprehend, the pleasure that I could not endure, the desire that threatened to drive him mad…

A long, hideous scream of terror could not be heard through the wriggling ma.s.s of silky bodies.

The scream was mine.

”Okay, okay! I'll talk!”

The cultist hung helplessly, blood running in rivulets down his sweat-slicked body from the dozens of cuts and abrasions on his skin.

”Talk? About what?” asked the Chief in a bored tone. He had stripped down to just his trousers exposing a magnificently built upper body. His powerful arm flexed the whip he held.

”I will tell you the cult I belong. I will tell you how they choose their members, their organizational structure, modus operandi… Everything!”

”I want names.”