child you have for him,’ the Father told her confidently, and he was smiling at her, willing her to answer him.
She nodded.
‘Let me tell you that your husband knows where your daughter is.’
There were gasps from the crowd, and someone in the Prayer Warriors’ tent even burst into prayers, speaking in tongues. When the din had subsided, the Father continued.
‘My daughter, you will find your little girl tonight. The Lord will lead you to her. I will not tell you exactly what has happened, or what is going to happen tonight, but the point is that it will happen tonight, and you shall be there to witness it with your two eyes. I will pray for you, and then, later on, some of my people will go with you to where you will find your daughter.’
Fidelia was swaying on her feet, and her tears were flowing anew with renewed strength. She felt her body going slack, and she struggled to gain control over herself, but it was proving to be too difficult a task for her. What was it the Reverend Father had said_ that her husband, her darling Nick, knew what had happened to her daughter? To their daughter? How could that be possible?
In a daze, she began to reach for her iPhone, her mind already calling up the key for his number which was on her speed-dial, but the voice of the Reverend halted her fingers.
‘You shall not call that man and let him know that the Lord has revealed his secrets, for there is nothing hidden under the sun. The Lord is ever-seeing, ever-present, and He shall show His magnificence to you today so you can believe in him.’
Fidelia was dazed and shocked, her fingers hovering indecisively over her waist, for her phone was tucked securely into the waistband of her gown. She still wanted to defy the man and call Nick, but somehow, something told her resolutely that her fingers were no longer under her control, that if she tried to call him, she couldn’t . . . that she would not even be able to lift her phone. Something_ a gentle but persistent pressure on her fingers_ was stopping her from reaching for that phone.
‘You cannot call him,’ the Reverend said, and he was looking at her steadily. She could feel this man in her mind, searching and probing. ‘I know you want to call him, but you cannot do that. The Lord of Hosts will not allow you to.’
And then Fidelia was crying openly now, her long nails raking through her hair, her anguish evident on her face. Some people_ men and women_ were even crying silent tears in the audience at the suffering they could see on her face. Some were singing praises, and others were praying, thanking God for His miracles.
‘There is a doctor here that just moved to Lekki from Abuja,’ the Reverend continued. ‘His wife is a nurse and she’s now assisting him in his new clinic here in Lagos. I want them to come out now.’
Within moments, a handsome couple was on the stage with the Reverend and Fidelia.
‘You two, along with two people from the congregation, and two members of the Prayer Warriors, shall be at the CMS bus stop at 8 P.M. tonight. There you shall see what the Lord will do. For the rest of the congregation, you shall all go home, sleep, eat, and do whatever it is you want to do. Return here by 10 P.M and you shall see for yourselves the handwork of the Lord.’
And then the Reverend was directing some members of his team to take Fidelia to the Fathers’ Quarters where she would stay until the appointed time for her to leave. She sat on a chair, her mind far away, her senses numbed by the horrors of what she was experiencing. Hours passed and she sat there, immobile like some statue cast in bronze, refusing both food and the drink that was offered her by the steward.
The time seemed to fly, and then she was being summoned by one of the members of the Prayer Warriors. It was then that she checked her watch; it was 8 P.M, so she grabbed her car keys and left the house, heading for her car. The Doctor and his wife were already waiting for her, and there was also another man and a woman there with them. They all got into the car, with Fidelia at the wheel_ she had rejected the entreaty of the handsome doctor that he take over the wheel_ and then she drove off, heading for CMS, the bus stop at the Lagos Island where the Reverend had told her to go.
Within twenty minutes they were there, thanks to the scanty road traffic. Fidelia found a spot and parked the car and they all piled out of it. The air was cold, the wind blowing in from the marine nearby, lifting Fidelia’s long gown. She shivered and hugged herself, her teeth chattering, her long hair blowing all around her face.
‘Can I give you a sweater?’ the nurse asked, concerned. You look like you’re about to fall to the ground.’
Through the lights of the street, Fidelia smiled at the woman, and her companions all shrugged. She said nothing, her eyes wandering around the vast street, seeking out_ what? What exactly was she looking for here? _ her daughter. She remembered what the Reverend had told her before she had driven off.
‘Trust in the Lord,’ he had told her in a whisper meant only for her. ‘He will lead you to Bianca.’
And she had stared at him in shock, for she knew with high clarity and certainty that she had not told this man the name of her daughter. So, she knew within her that she had to trust in what he had told her. She stood there leaning against her car while the others were looking at the screen of her iPhone, memorizing the face of the pretty primary school pupil that was smiling up at them from the bright screen of the phone.
Almost an hour passed with nothing happening, and then Fidelia began to feel a long wand of despair sweeping through her. A voice in her head was screaming at her that she would never see her only child again, while another one, smaller and soothing, told her not to worry, that everything would be all right.
‘It’s getting late,’ the doctor said, and his voice sounded shaky, for the air was getting chillier by the minute and they were not suitably dressed to brave the elements.
‘Be patient!’ Ademola, one of the Prayer Warriors, admonished the man in a calm, yet, firm voice.
Then Fidelia sensed something, her instincts screaming at her to move away from the car. She had always had very good instincts, and she had often trusted in the little voice at the back of her mind to ferry her away from many dangers. If her mind was telling her to get away, then she had to do it.
She turned away, her legs carrying her away from the car. They had parked at the CMS bus stop exactly, and she turned down the pedestrian walkway that had been constructed led towards the Balogun market, with the expressway spread out in the other direction for cars that were heading to Victoria Island and Ikoyi and those that were coming in to the Island and the Mainland.
‘Wait; don’t leave!’ the doctor said.
But Fidelia was moving as if she was hurrying away from the scene of a crime, her legs moving silently but speedily away from them. She could hear them talking excitedly behind her, could hear the thump of their feet hurrying after her, but she didn’t stop or had an inkling as to where she was headed to. She headed down the stairs, and then she was in the main street where the sellers usually displayed their wares along the way to Balogun.
What? What? What? What now?
The thoughts were coming at her in a rush, filling her mind. Tears had clouded her vision, and she swiped at them angrily, her hair falling into her face. Then she seemed to sense something; there was a change in the atmosphere, a subtle shift in the psychic balance of the place. It was something many people would never have noticed, but Fidelia had always had an extraordinary sense of awareness that made her aware of things that other people took for granted.
She looked around, her eyes seeking through the semi-darkness. And that was when she saw her; she saw her daughter coming towards her, though the girl had not seen her and probably would not see her because she had her attention focused on the ice cream cone she was licking merrily. The girl was wearing a loose red gown that hung down to the ground, and, beside her, walking slowly and holding her hand, was Nick. He looked preoccupied, not attentive to the girl beside him, as if his mind was furiously preoccupied with some very important decision that needed urgent attention. His lips wer
e compressed in a grim line, and he looked totally different from the man Fidelia knew and loved.
Fidelia was now crying, her palms covering her mouth. The other persons with her had come up behind her, and they all stood, watching the man and the girl that were wearing the exact same shade of blood red that reached down to the ground. They both looked like they were going to some blood sacrifice.
‘Bianca!’ Fidelia called.
Bianca stopped and looked, and then her eyes widened with recognition as she saw her mother. ‘Mother!’ she called, and then she let go of her father and rushed to her mother. She hugged Fidelia, her face pressed into the perfumed folds of her mother’s gown. ‘Daddy told me you had gone away, that we are going somewhere too.’
Fidelia turned wide eyes of shock to her husband, and there he stood, stupefied, as if petrified by some invisible force. His mouth hung open, for he had never expected to see his wife here. Not here. . . never here.
‘Fidelia . . .’
Fidelia stood there frozen with shock, unaware that her daughter was talking excitedly. The girl was saying that her daddy had told her to come out early after class and go and wait for him at the bus stop, that there was somewhere special they had to go, just the two of them.
Fidelia was no fool; she knew exactly where they were going. Her