husband was going to use her daughter for some money rituals.
And then there was a babble of voices. She was dimly aware that her husband was talking, and that her companions were also all talking. Then she heard the sniffles that were coming from her husband, but she was lost, as she folded up like a deflated balloon and crumpled to the ground in a faint.
When she came to, she was aware of voices talking, of someone gently applying pressure on her forehead. She knew that she was in a car, and that the car was in swift motion, purring silently along the roads. Soon, they were on the grounds of the church, and she was being assisted down from the car. They were all heading into the church, and she was still crying, with the wife of the doctor holding her and talking soothingly to her. She could not even see her husband, but she was aware now of her daughter holding her by the side and looking bewildered at what was going on.
They entered, and to Fidelia’s shock, the church was full to bursting point, with the entire pews occupied. There were many people standing, some squeezed into tight corners, all eyes turned to the doors of the huge church. When they entered, screams arose, and the people were all getting to their feet, clapping and screaming and calling out names of praises to God for what He had done. It was then that she noticed her husband walking behind her, looking stunned and docile, as if something had sapped all his energy and left him empty and without life.
It was only later that she would learn that from the moment the Prayer Warriors had surrounded him, he had suddenly gone slack. He had been unable to utter a single syllable or to do anything, while they had led him like some zombie into Fidelia’s car. Throughout the drive to the church, he had sat there in the car with them like someone in a trance, unable to say anything.
When the people started to scream, Fidelia held her daughter tighter to her side, her eyes lifting to the huge mounted clock. It was 10 P.M, and then she knew that these people had all assembled here tonight because of her.
‘Here they come,’ the Reverend Ebube Chukwu said through the microphone, and the people screamed harder. ‘I told you that God has His plans, that this little girl here will return and you will witness it.’
Fidelia and all those with her had all gotten to the altar, and she looked at the Father and the man smiled at her. She felt some knowledge infuse into her: this man had known from the very moment she had seen her daughter there with her father, right before she swooned into a dead faint. That was why the man had insisted that the nurse and her doctor husband accompany them on their bizarre errand.
‘Welcome, my daughter,’ he told her in an undertone, and then he smiled and held out his hand to Bianca.
At the very moment the girl’s fingers connected with his, Nick was jarred back into the present. The look of torpor fled from his face so fast, there was no expression left to cover up the ensuing utter blankness that suffused his face. He looked around, seeking his bearings, and then he caught sight of the crowd, along with the Reverend and his wife. His countenance changed, moving from the point of bewilderment, to sheer, clear comprehension of the soup he was in, to utter and total terror at the prospect of having to face his wife and the entire assemblage down.
‘No!’ he shrieked, shrinking back from the other powerful man. He looked mad, his eyes bulging from his face, sweat trickling down his forehead.
‘Yes, my son; it is over for you,’ Reverend Ebube said, speaking loudly into the mic for the sake of the congregation. ‘Tell us_ the people of God_ what you wanted to do. Do not try to lie to us, for they all already know the story, and the angels of heaven are waiting for you to lie or make a wrong move so they can strike you down.’
Bested at his own game, shamed and terrified, Nick broke into tears. Loud, heart-wrenching sobs rose from him, and he even covered his face with the back of his left hand so the people there wouldn’t look at his face and see the disgrace he was facing. A microphone was thrust into his hand.
‘I command you to tell us everything!’ the Reverend ordered, his voice like a crack of thunder through a dark night.
‘I was a poor young man, trying to be the best I could be,’ the broken man began through his sobs, though he was able to maintain coherence. ‘My friends were all richer than I was, and I wanted to be like them; to drive the flashy cars they drove and eat the best foods and have sex with the most beautiful women around. That was why I told my friend Stephen to help me become rich. I had wanted to be like him, so that was how I joined their club. I never knew that I would use my own father for rituals so I could be rich.’
Fidelia felt an icy chill descend into the pit of her stomach. So, all the money she had been spending over the years was blood money, gotten because her husband’s ‘club’ had used the man for rituals so he could become one of the happening men in the town. And it was obvious too now that her husband had been going to use their daughter for rituals too.
‘They had told me that they would take him, but I had said no,’ Nick continued, his voice teary. ‘Then they had told me that the very moment I had stepped into their sanctuary, there was no going back. The choice had been stripped from me and should I refuse to use my father, then they would still get to him and also kill me afterwards. You see, they are a very powerful occult group.’
Cries and shouts of incredulity rose from the crowd, but the Reverend raised his hand for silence and the din subsided.
‘I became rich overnight,’ Nick continued. ‘After that fateful night, I received a call from home, with my kid brother telling me that our father had died, that he had been bleeding heavily through his mouth. I had killed my father without meaning to do so. That very night, as I lay on my bed crying, there appeared before me a huge coffin that was open, and there was money in it, money that was so big and in so many different currencies, more money than I had ever seen in my whole life before. I am a rich man, but it came at a great price. When I got married, my wife had her first miscarriage.
‘Even I thought that there was nothing to it except the issue of her genetics, but our Dibia appeared to me the evening of my wife’s miscarriage while I was in my home office and told me that he had been responsible for it, that the goddess we worshipped was in need of my offerings. He told me that I would have to be making offerings to them every year. I would go, sleep with the runs-girls from LASU and UNILAG, and then pay them huge amounts of money. What they never knew was that I had sacrificed their first two children to the goddess; they would have two miscarriages whenever they got pregnant. Then I also started to sleep with guys, penetrating them and paying them huge sums of cash, while at the same time, taking away their future wealth.’
The assemblage was now screaming, some of them calling on the blood of Jesus, some shaking their heads. Some young women were even crying and holding on to each other as they listened to the horror story that was unfolding before them. The Reverend was nodding, displaying no emotion, his face calm and serene.
‘I was rich, but I had no peace,’ Nick continued, and this time, he was now crying. ‘Then the goddess became more demanding, asking for more sacrifices. I had to go to my fellow brothers for help, but they each had their own stories. Tobenna had sacrificed his first son, his mother, his first wife and her children_ all to the goddess. Each of my brothers had something to give, and if you refuse to give, then the goddess would take it by force and then tax you double for it. If you don’t obey, you die, along with the entire members of your family. Then your wealth will revert back to the goddess. ’
‘Ewoooooo!’ one plump woman whose arms were a quivering mass of flesh screeched out from the front pew.
‘The goddess asked for my wife. I sent several accidents her way when she was out driving or travelling, but they all failed to get her. Once, when she was heading down to Onitsha to see her parents, she went by commercial transport. I fired off our mkponani_ our spiritual bomb_ to the car. There was a severe head-on collision between her bus and a trailer along the Delta-Benin road. Everybody in the two cars died but my wife survived
without a scratch on her body. She came back to Lagos looking as if she had visited a health spa, looking better than when she had left for her home.
‘The goddess was very happy for the blood that had been spilled from the accident, but she was furious that the ultimate sacrifice to her had returned unharmed. She had to have Fidelia, there was no two ways about it. But then, everything I tried to do to her either went to someone else or bounced off her as if it was nothing. Once, I had a meeting with the Brotherhood about her, about how to tackle her, and, to say the truth, we were all scared of her. Our best shots at her meant nothing to her, and she was never even aware of what was going on spiritually around her.’
‘And that is the awesome power of the Almighty God we serve,’ the Reverend broke in, eliciting bouts of applause from the congregation. ‘She serves the Living God and not anything else.’
‘We had to leave her alone, for she was proving to be too strong for us,’ Nick said, and this time, he gave his wife a terrified glance, as if she was his nemesis come to life. ‘I had to continue with the blood sacrifices, and each time, I waited for the goddess to tell me to try again on my wife. It never happened. When Fidelia gave birth to our