The Devil Wears Okirika Episode 31 – 35 by Kingsley Olanrewaju Efughi

The Devil Wears Okirika by Kingsley Olanrewaju Efughi

Episode 31

It must be a dream. It had to be a nightmare. Amara panted as she ran as fast as her legs could carry her. She was quite fast and had been one of the fastest girls in the village in her school athletic days but now she was almost paralyzed by fear but she maintained her pace, one leg in front of the other, then another and another.
The problem was Batholomew had known what he was doing. He had gotten her really deep into the woods and when she had taken off, she ran the other way which was deeper still into the woods.
Unless she would double back past him and head towards the market square where there was bound to be some sort of human life, she was stuck in this big forest with the devil.
It occurred to her there was another route that led to the stream from this other end. But the problem was no one really used that path again and the thick bush made it almost impossible to get through as it was hardly used and she doubted she could locate it in the dark.
The trees offered some kind of blanket and partially blocked the little light emitted by the quarter moon.
“I’m going to harm you. I’m going to make you wish you were never born. You shouldn’t have done that.” Batholomew sounded so close she almost looked back in fright.
However she knew a worse fate than what befell the wife of Lot awaited her if she looked back and was caught so she increased her speed, although she was on her highest gear.
She had only a split second to make a decision when she approached a clearing. Two paths, she had to follow one.
One would definitely lead to the stream which could mean safety although she remembered the path was sloped and full of rocks.
The second path would lead to nowhere in particular, just deeper into the woods meaning she would be caging herself further.
There was no time to think. Batholomew was behind her and he sounded too close. She chose the right path and she prayed it was really the right path.
She continued running through the woods in the dark with Batholomew getting closer with each second and shouting obscene words after her.
It took less than a minute for her to realize that she had taken the wrong path.
But one thing, her mother’s grave site was somewhere along this way.
She needed her mother’s protection, even if she was late and if Bartholomew caught up to her.

Dé Nwachukwu and the two girls ran after Osi. It suddenly occurred to Dé Nwachukwu that they shouldn’t be here. It was wrong on so many levels. They were after a killer, someone who raped and killed young girls like them, they shouldn’t be here. And if anything happened to his Amara, they must never see her in any bad state.
He shook his head. No, nothing was going to happen.
He stopped both girls. “Joy, Oluchi, go back to the village before we get deeper into the woods.”
“But papa,”
“But sir,”
“Go now. Go and wake up the whole village. Tell them pastor Batholomew has gone mad.” He cut short their protest and the urgency in his voice got to them.
They turned on their heels and took off running in the other direction.
“Papa be careful.”
“Go, go.”
He was an old man and he could not keep up with Osi, he could hardly see the man. Dé Nwachukwu could only see momentary glimpses of his form. The pastor seemed to know where he was heading and Dé Nwachukwu followed.
The worry was eating him alive.
He couldn’t help himself anymore, he began to shout, “Amara.
Amara.”

Contrary to what Dé Nwachukwu thought, Osi didn’t really have any idea the direction he was going. He freed his mind and tried to listen to any direction from his spirit but either he was too distracted or his spirit was crippled with fear because he got nothing. Still he ran.
When Dé Nwachukwu shouted her name from behind, he joined him shouting at the top of his voice, “Amara. Amara.”

The devil couldn’t believe it. At first he thought it was a trick of the wind. He didn’t just hear someone shout Amara’s name. But few seconds later he heard it again.
He could swear that was pastor Osi’s voice. He should have killed the obstacle when they were under the same roof.
The voice was enough to inject fresh action in his legs and he tripled his speed and when he was few steps away, he took a giant leap.
He caught her and knocked her down.
She let out a blood curling scream.

Osi heard the scream and his heart rate doubled. As a matter of fact his breathing seized.
He couldn’t be too late. No way. He ran like a mad man heading towards the direction the scream had come from. It didn’t sound too far.

Amara had entered the clearing and could see her mother’s grave site just ahead.
When Batholomew leaped on her, she screamed at the top of her voice. She had heard the voice call her name and she dared to hope.
Bartholomew had long lost any sense of restraint. In short, he seemed to have lost all manner of reasoning.
He sat on her, gave her a stinging slap and spat venomous words in her face, “Shut up. You always thought you were too good for everybody didn’t you? Now you’re going to pay.”
He lifted up her gown, tearing it roughly with superhuman strength.
The pain was blinding as he drove his fingers roughly into her.

Osi knew he was too late when he heard Amara scream once more. This time it wasn’t a frightened scream but rather it sounded full of pain.
Finally he bursted into the clearing: The grave site and a part of his brain realized he had been here before.
Now Amara was on the floor and Pastor Bartholomew was on top of her. He had parted her thighs and was currently taking off his boxers.
When Amara screamed he gave her a backhand slap. The sound was deafening and Osi went mad with rage.
He rushed at Batholomew. The pastor was so lost in what he was doing that he didn’t notice Osi at first. When he finally noticed him, Osi was already few steps away. He leapt on Batholomew, sending the man on the ground. Both men rolled in the dark but Osi came out on top. He had never fought in his life. Even in his school days, before he became born again he knew himself, he wasn’t a fighter so he always made a conscious effort to stay out of trouble. But right this moment he did not care, he had his fist and he was going to use it.
The first punch he landed caught the pastor on the mouth. He felt the teeth pierce his knuckles and Peel the skin but he didn’t feel any pain. He hit him again, and again, and again, yelling furiously as he did so.
“What did you do to her? You hurt her? I’m going to kill you?”
Pastor Bartholomew was on the floor with Osi on him, straddling him and raining blow after blow on him. After the first few punches he almost lost consciousness, he was angry. He was filled with rage, but the rage from the other pastor surpassed his own. The fist landed on his right eye, blinding him for a few seconds. He could only see darkness and heard only a faint ringing sound.
The devil knew he needed to kill this bastard obstacle.
With a surprising show of strength he lifted his lower body, from his waist down. Rising slowly and lifting Osi in the process. He managed to free his right hand and grabbed Osi by the collar. He pulled and heaved and used his legs to add force. He succeeded in tumbling the pastor over his head.
Osi didn’t know how it happened. One moment he was on top, the next moment he was on his back staring at the sky.
Then Pastor Batholomew sat astride him and Osi saw the blade, but his mind didn’t really process it, so many thoughts were running round his head. It felt like a dream. The whole night felt unreal. But then the knife landed on his chest and the pain was very real.
Bartholomew had meant to go for the heart but in his haste he struck Osi from his own left meaning he got the pastor on the right.
He removed the knife with the intention to bury it in his heart again.
“You should have left when you had the chance, now its goodbye, you won’t be an obstacle anymore.”

It took some seconds before Amara noticed that Batholomew was no longer on top of her. She had shut herself up, going deep inside her mind to a kind of safe room where she wouldn’t feel any pain even if her body was abused, she was not going to be in tune with it. She was going to be detached from the pain. And she was not going to beg.
When she noticed the absence of Batholomew’s weight, she opened her eyes and turned as she hurried to her feet. She experienced a pain in between her thighs as she stood up.
She gave a sigh of relief when she saw Osi shouting and hitting Batholomew.
He had come for her. He came to rescue her. Her heart swelled and she suddenly felt like bursting into tears. But suddenly the tables were turned and somehow Batholomew was on top. She saw Batholomew raise his hand over his head and she caught the glint of the metal and she panicked. She looked around frantically and hurried to a broken branch on the floor. A part of her brain registered the branch as the very same one Osi had been holding the very first time they met in this spot almost two weeks ago.
As she picked it up she saw Batholomew bring the blade down and she screamed. Time seemed to stand still. But then she saw him lift the blade a second time and she attacked him, screaming in rage that her own voice was foreign to her ears. She reached him before he could stab Osi again and with all her might she struck him on the back of his head with the branch.

Osi waited for death. A strange feeling it was as he stared at the stars and waited for the second impact of the blade. But instead Bartholomew fell on his side and the blade fell beside him. Osi was aware of a kind of pressure on his chest. It left him with a kind of feeling and he knew it was as a result of the blood that was gushing out of his chest.
Then Amara was kneeling over him and weeping, “Oh, Osi, Osi, look at me. Don’t close your eyes.”
But his eyes were heavy. He tried to tell her he was fine. He wanted to ask after her if she was hurt. He desperately hoped she hadn’t been hurt. But when he tried to speak, the pain was unbearable and he shut his eyes.
He heard Dé Nwachukwu’s voice as the old man finally caught up.
“Are you okay. Amara baby. My God, what happened?”

Episode 31

Dé Nwachukwu shot the powerful beam from the torchlight on his daughter. She looked frightened and her eyes were red and puffy. There was a clear bruise on her cheek from where Batholomew had struck her.
Dé Nwachukwu gritted his teeth in anger. But then he pointed the beam on the body she was kneeling over. He recognised him as Pastor Osi immediately. He also saw that he was bleeding profusely.
“Don’t worry, he’s not going to die.” He assured his daughter although it looked like he was dead already. “We need to get him to the clinic fast.”
He leaned over Osi. His eyes were closed and out of fear of what he might discover De’ Nwachukwu didn’t check his breathing. But he noticed the wound to the chest was deep and he was losing blood fast.
Dé Nwachukwu had been wearing his normal indoor wear, of a singlet and wrapper, when he hurried out of the house. Now he didn’t think twice before he removed his singlet and pressed it to Osi’s chest to try and stop the bleeding. The cloth became soaked immediately.
“We need to lift him. He can’t walk. Amara get a grip, he’s not going to die,” He cautioned his daughter as fresh wave of tears fell down her cheeks and she sobbed uncontrollably.
Together they lifted Osi. Actually Dé Nwachukwu had more of the weight as they wrapped Osi’s hands round their shoulder. His feet dangled lifelessly dragging on the floor and Dé Nwachukwu feared the worst.
He looked over his shoulder at the second body on the floor.
He could recognize Pastor Batholomew also. He also thought he was dead but he didn’t ask. For one, his daughter was not going to hear. She was talking to Osi, telling him all sort of things and begging him not to die.
Secondly, 80% of the pastor’s body mass was entirely on him. He was tasked with carrying Osi through the woods and he couldn’t waste his little energy by talking, the good thing was the village clinic wasn’t far away. He desperately hoped they would be able to treat Osi and not refer them to the hospital outside Amaife.

They hadn’t carried Osi for five minutes when they came across Joy and Oluchi. The two girls were accompanied by Benedict the butcher and about a dozen youths.
They all had weapons.
They were all angry.
“Where is he? Where is Bartholomew?” Benedict demanded.
“He’s back there, please help me with this man. He’s dying. He saved my daughter.”
Osi was balanced horizontally on the shoulders of four young men.
They hurried towards the village clinic with Dé Nwachukwu and the girls in tow, urging them on and saying, “Time is of the essence.”
“Precious time has been wasted.”
“Please hurry.”

Benedict burst into the clearing with his machete in his hand and so much rage in his heart.
He couldn’t believe his beloved Chinaza had been raped and killed by their pastor. He had one motive and that was to severe Bartholomew’s head from his neck the minute he saw him.
His machete was good atdoing just that to goats and cows.
The men held wooden torches, sticks with the end dowsed in kerosene and set on fire and the flame burned brightly.
They pointed the torches in every direction, the men spread round the clearing, kicking every suspicious looking bush, striking the ground with their sticks and machetes. But there was no sign of Batholomew.
“Spread out. Spread out. He’s somewhere here; we must find him and kill him tonight.” Benedict shouted.

The devil could not run, walking took all of his energy, he had been struck into unconsciousness when Amara had hit him with the branch and the youths would have met him in his unconscious state.
But his brother had come to his rescue and he helped him, instructing him to place one foot in front of the other and he obeyed, although it felt like his head would fall off.
Presently he could hear the sound of water flowing and he deduced correctly that they were at the stream.
“Where, where are we….” His voice trailed off.
“Shhh, You’re safe. I’m taking you to daddy, he would protect you.” Sofiri assured him as he tightened his hold around his shoulder. They waded through the shallow part of the stream and crossed to the other end.

The only medical center in Amaife, popularly called The Clinic was a small bungalow building that was inadequately staffed with just a qualified doctor and two nurses which didn’t really matter because until recently majority of the cases they should have received went to the dibia.
Their luck was in and when Amara entered the clinic ahead of her father and her sister, she was glad to see Dr. Ambrose talking frantically to one of the nurses.
She couldn’t hold herself, “Doctor, doctor, please do something. The man that was brought in just now, please attend to him, please do something.”
Dr. Ambrose looked at her. He recognised her immediately,
“Amara, you mean you know the man that was stabbed?”
“Yes he’s, he’s my friend.”
“I’m sorry, so sorry, he lost too much blood. He was DOA.”
“DOA? What’s that?” She held her breath. If she didn’t know what it meant, his expression explained it clearly. “It means he was dead on arrival.”
Her whole world turned upside down.

“Father, we really must send him away from here, we only managed to escape, the youths are really searching for him. We should sneak him out now that we have the chance,” Sofiri told his father as they sat on low stools and watched Bartholomew stretched out on the mat on the floor.
“No. That is too risky, its better he stays with me for some weeks. Till people think he is no longer in the village then one quiet night, when things have calmed a bit we’ll take him out and he’d go to Lagos or maybe to the north.”
“You’re indeed wise, father.”
His father poured a fresh glass of whiskey in his mug. He had been woken from his sleep by a frightened Sofiri and he needed the hot liquid to calm his nerves.
There was silence that seemed to stretch for hours as both men were lost in their thoughts. The only sound was the swallowing noise as the alcohol was consumed rapidly.
After a while Sofiri asked, “How long have you known?”
His father sighed, “I always knew. I know I played my part in turning him into the beast he is today.”
Another silence stretched between them again, longer than the last.
Finally the glass was emptied and his father stood. “You should go home. Go to your wife, put your home in order. Everyone is going to be looking at you closely as the only family he has,” he jerked his head to where Bartholomew lay sleeping when he said, he.
Sofiri agreed and stood up.
He didn’t want to tell his father he thought it was his wife’s fault by inviting the stranger to his house earlier. That would be a mistake, if the devil was bad then the devil’s father was much worse.

“I knew I couldn’t protect you much longer,” his father said to him.
The devil struggled to sit up. His head still ached but the throbbing had reduced significantly.
“Papa.” His throat was dry, “you…Okudili…?”
His father nodded, “Yes, .I was at the vigil and went to relieve myself when I ran into him. He was glad to see me and said he knew who was behind the killings. According to him he had seen you in a compromised position more than once with Ozioma but he only just put it together earlier that night. He believed I could help him and keep him safe from the youths and expose you. I agreed and I took him deeper into the shadows and it was good he was very drun, the rest was easy. The dibia on the other hand was too risky. He knew you were my son, that was a loose end I couldn’t allow.”
Batholomew was silent. He knew what was coming next.
“You’ve been very sloppy, boy, very careless.“
“I’m sorry. I couldn’t hold myself, the lust was driving me crazy, it was killing me inside papa.”
“Nonsense. Control is power and power is control. Every member of the Kenneth lineage always lives to a ripe old age .I’m a living proof of that.”

Episode 32

Doctor Ambrose patted Amara on the back as she sunk to the ground.
“I’m very sorry, he just lost too much blood and the Knife wound was just too deep and he got here too late, if only…”
His voice faded to the background and Amara lost track of what he was saying. She drew her knees to her chest and sobbed softly. She could see Osi clearly in her mind’s eye. His smile, his dimples, his bulging Adam’s apple, his reassuring attitude. She could see him clearly, how he had stared at her the first time she had seen him at the bus park, how he had startled her later and raised his hands awkwardly and from there how they had started talking and become close. She remembered his embarrassed look when she had kissed him at the hospital and then she remembered what felt like hours ago, how he had come to her rescue and fought the devil and now he was dead.
She suddenly stopped crying and got to her feet.
Dr Ambrose was talking to her father, probably telling him the details of Osi’s demise judging by the way her father kept shaking his head in dismay. She walked away from them wiping her tears with the back of her hands as both men’s voices became faint and inaudible.
She saw the nurse writing what looked like a death certificate in one of the rooms.
She knew the nurse quite well. Nkiru had been one of her close neighbours before she went to school in the city and even though she was few years older than Amara, both girls got along fine. Now Nkiru was married and lived in the nearby village with her husband but she came to work everyday.
She looked up when Amara entered the room
“Amara.”
“Please, Nkiru you have to do something. Osi can not die.”
“Osi?” She dropped the pen and stood up. Her friend didn’t look alright.
“Osi, the tall pastor that was brought in few minutes ago. Knife wound to the chest.”
“I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you knew him.”
“What do you mean you’re sorry, you should be treating him.”
Nkiru sighed. “Its very unfortunate but we don’t have the equipment to JumpStart his heart and get him breathing again and he was brought too late. The loss of blood was just too much.”
“Nkiru,” Amara’s voice was calm. Too calm. “I don’t think you understand, if you don’t treat my friend I’m going to tear this clinic apart.”

Amara struggled for control as she saw Osi. He was on the table and he was steady. She felt a new wave of tears build up inside her but she forced it down. Now more than ever she needed to be strong. Osi was not dead and no, she wasn’t in denial.
Nkiru peeled Osi’s shirt which was already red with his blood. She looked at Amara and her eyes didn’t hold much hope.”I need you to give him mouth to mouth resuscitation. I need to find out if he has an open pneumothorax.”
Amara didn’t have any idea what the complicated word meant but she knew it was important. She placed both hands on either side of Osi’s face and covered his lips with hers. She blew air into his mouth.
Nkiru studied his chest intently while Amara did that.
“Just as I thought, it’s an open pneumothorax,” she looked at Amara and when she caught her blank look she explained. “That means it’s a sucking chest wound, what we need to do is ensure he has a patent airway. So maybe by some miracle he can brethe normally.” She looked down at Osi again and frowned. “I need to cover this wound if not more air would move into his chest through the cavity. That would be grave.”
“Please do it. We need to hurry,” Amara urged her. She lowered her head again to blow more air into his mouth. She was worried. Osi hadn’t responded in anyway to the CPR but she refused to believe the worst. Instead she increased the pressure and blew as much air as possible into his mouth.
She felt a sudden movement and she jerked up.
“Nkiru. Nurse.”
Nkiru was busy standing on a stool and getting gauze and bandages to block the chest wound and she almost fell when Amara shouted her name suddenly.
“He…I think he breathed. I felt a movement just now. It was very low.”
Nkiru hurried to her side and watched intently. “Perform the CPR again.” After some seconds she said, “You’re right. Life hasn’t left him completely but we’re in a race against time. He doesn’t have a pulse and I fear either his lungs or diaphragm has been damaged.”
“So what do we do?”
“Our best hope would have been a defibrulator but we don’t have any.”
“What’s a defribu…whatever?”
Nkiru didn’t answer, she was lost in thought. She looked at the chest wound with such intensity it was a miracle fire didn’t shoot out of her eyeballs. Finally she snapped her fingers. “I think I know what we can do. He was exposed for too long and too much air entered his thoracic cavity without escape and now the pressure from the trapped air is greater than the pressure in the lungs, any second from now and the lungs could collapse.”
“Lung? Collapse? Jesus Christ. What can we do?”
“He needs immediate needle decompression,” as she spoke she hurried to the cabinet and rummaged around for something. She returned with a very large metal needle and Amara held her breath. Nkiru shook her head. She seemed nervous. “I’ve never done this before,” she looked at Amara and Amara could see the doubt and fear in her friend’s eyes.
“Nkiru, his life is in your hands. You can do it.”
Nkiru took a lot of time -in Amara’s opinion- staring intently at Osi’s chest and tracing her fingers, searching for an entry point.
Finally Nkiru inserted the needle gently and by pulling the plunger extracted the trapped air from Osi’s chest. It made a sucking sound as the air filled the plunger.
His Adam’s apple bobbled and he made a deep sound in his throat.
“Oh my God.” Amara gasped.
Nkiru was equally shocked. She looked at Amara with wide eyes. “Okay, this just might work.”

Sofiri got home some minutes before midnight and a frantic Mabel opened the door for him. She was clearly worried. “What happened? Why did you spend so long? Where were you all along?” She leaned in to sniff his clothes gently so he wouldn’t notice. Lately she had been suspecting his movements and she half expected to get a whiff of a female perfume. But she didn’t perceive anything of the sort.
Instead her husband looked much stressed and crossed.
“What’s wrong? Are you okay?” She asked again, rubbing his shoulders gently.
He shrugged her hands away roughly. “Look just serve me my dinner. I need to go to sleep and next time, don’t ever invite anybody for dinner without discussing it with me first.”
Her mouth opened in shock. She was about to say something when a violent knock rattled the front door.
Sofiri flinched involuntarily and looked at his wife. She looked back. He looked at the door and swallowed. The door was pounded again and he finally found his voice, “Who, who’s there?”
“Janjakere, kere o, kere oo, janjankere…” The song was unmistakable. It was soe sort of war cry in Amaife.
“Don’t worry, don’t be scared, nothing would happen,” Sofiri assured his wife. Although he didn’t sound as assuring as he had intended.
Benedict’s voice thundered from outside, “If you know you’re hiding your brother you better bring him out now. If we find him inside we will kill you both.”

Dé Nwachukwu was still talking to the doctor when a nurse hurried towards them and called for the doctor. He recognised the young nurse as a little girl that used to live in the compound next to his.
“Dé, good night, sir,” he looked at his watch, “or should I say good morning,” he walked briskly to the nurse and she told him something. He looked back at Dé Nwachukwu and hurried off with the young lady.
Dé Nwachukwu sat on the bench beside his daughter. Joy was already dozing; she rested her head on Oluchi’s shoulder. The drugs she had taken earlier had finally knocked her out.
“Where’s Amara?” De’ Nwachukwu asked Oluchi.
“I don’t know, I thought she went to the toilet.”
He looked around but saw no sign of her. He was suddenly tired. He was hungry and cold. He hadn’t even gone halfway with his meal before the interruption and his wrapper couldn’t really cover up his chest entirely. He yawned tiredly.
“My friend.”
He looked towards the entrance, at where the voice had come from. It was Pa Kenneth.
“Elder.”
“Dé,”
Both men shook hands and Dé Nwachukwu got to his feet and moved away with pa Kenneth.
When they were out of earshot, Pa Kenneth said, “I heard what happened.”
“Yes, I still find it hard to believe, Batholomew. Most times he always addressed the people right after you, we held him in such high regard…” His voice trailed of and he shook his head.
“It’s very bad and unbelievable. But we have a role to play to ensure that no other innocent person suffers again. So many have suffered already.”
Dé Nwachukwu nodded, “I don’t quite get you.”
“I mean the Pastor’s brother. I learnt the youths are marching to his house. They are agitated and could do anything to him. It’s up to us to prevent them from harming an innocent person.” Dé Nwachukwu nodded.
Someone else entered the hospital and he saw it was Stevenson.
“I have to stay here with my daughters, Pa. I can’t leave them
like this.”
Pa Kenneth nodded. “I understand. I’m heading there now.
Should Dé John come, you direct him to where I am.” Dé Nwachukwu nodded.
He returned to his seat thinking Pa Kenneth was indeed a true leader. A man of the people.

Episode 33

Sofiri was scared. He fumbled and began stammering as the youths marched round his house, ripping the place inside out.
Benedict glared at him and from the way he held his machete sofiri was scared the butcher was going to use it on him.
“Where is your brother?” Benedict barked.
“I, I don’t know. I s…s…swear.”
“But you knew of his evil deeds, didn’t you? And you protected him?”
“I never knew. I don’t even know what you’re talking about?”
“Sofiri what’s happening? What did Batholomew do?” Mabel asked. She sounded confused and scared.
“Honey, its nothing, you go and rest. It’s late,” Sofiri told his wife.
One of the young men reentered the parlour.
“He’s not here, we searched everywhere.”
Benedict grabbed Sofiri by the collar. He shoved him roughly on the wall and with amazing strength lifted him till Sofiri’s feet dangled in the air.
“Where is he? Tell me the truth. Where would we find him?
Answer me.”
Sofiri made a choking sound in his.
“Pleeease. I don’t know.”
Mabel held Benedict’s hand and tried to remove it from Sofiri’s throat.
“Benedict what are you doing? Butcher, you want to kill my husband?”
Two youths held her back. But Mabel was a very roust woman and she struggled out of their grip a little too easily.
She was immediately held back by about half a dozen young men.
Sofiri struggled to speak and Benedict reduced his grip a little.
“He would be in his home,” he gasped, “he has his own house.
I don’t know where he is but he would have gone home.”
“Don’t mess with me, Sofiri.”
Benedict released him finally and he fell to his knees.
“Ben, why don’t we teach him a lesson first,” one of the young men suggested.
“Yes, make hand touch am small,” another youth said.
Benedict nodded. He really needed to vent some of the rage that had built up in him.
By now Mabel was sobbing uncontrollably. She had stopped struggling and she pleaded with the youths as she cried. “Please, don’t hurt my husband. Sofiri is innocent. “
Benedict spared her a glance, “Your husband is an accomplice, he has to pay.”
“I swear I’m not an accomplice. I never knew Batholomew was behind…”
One of the men interruptied him with a backhand slap. “My friend would you shut up.”
“Hey. What’s going on here? Let him be. Release him at once.” Pa Kenneth barged into the parlour just as one of the young men gave Sofiri a kick to the groin.
“Pa Kenneth, elder. This man has been protecting his brother all along,” Benedict explained as Pa Kenneth strode over to his side. He looked angry.
“And what evidence do you have of that?” He thundered unable to keep the anger out of his voice.
“But elder, they are brothers, there’s no way…”
“Look at his wife, you see how you’ve hurt her. What is the difference between you and the killer right now?”
The youths fell silent and the ones who had Mabel pinned to the wall released her.
“Pa Kenneth, we believe he assisted his brother all this while and in fact he knows where he is right now.”
“Nonsense. Utter rubbish. There’s no room for jungle justice in Amaife anymore, except for maybe Batholomew. But not for an innocent person.”

Dé Nwachukwu sighed as he leaned into his chair. He searched for his daughter, looking round the hospital and not seeing any sign of her.
Joy was still fast asleep resting her head on Oluchi’s shoulder.
“I think you girls should go home,” he nudged Oluchi gently. She was also dozing off. She nodded and sat up. “Dé, where, where’s Amara?”
As if in reply, Amara burst into the waiting room. She had a spring in her step and her eyes were very bright.
Dé Nwachukwu got to his feet, he suddenly felt very hopeful.
“Amara, what happened?”
“He’s alive. He survived,” she hugged her father.

The pain in his chest was very severe. He lay still on the bed with his eyes closed. An oxygen mask was strapped to his face.
The fight with Batholomew flashed behind his eyelids. He couldn’t believe Batholomew was responsible for all the murders. Batholomew? Pastor Batholomew? The very same man who had hosted them? The man who had prayed for the families after the attacks…after his attacks.
But something didn’t add up in Osi’s tired mind. How was he able to get away with it for so long? He tried to grasp it but maybe he really needed rest. Fatigue had really drained him and he had almost died just minutes ago. Heck, he must have died for some minutes.

Dé John arrived at the clinic shortly after, sweating profusely. He wiped sweat from his brow with a handkerchief as he studied his friend, “Dé Nwachukwu, I heard what happened, how is the pastor?”
“He’s recovering. It’s a miracle.”
“Pastor Batholomew? Unbelievable.”
“I know. I’m still in shock,” Dé Nwachukwu replied watching Stevenson walk in their direction. He noticed his movement was quite uncertain.
“What of Pà Kenneth? He has he been here yet?”
“Yes. You’re to join him at Sofiri’s house, the youths marched there earlier and in their rage they may actually harm him and his wife.”
“I’d be going then, but if you ask me the man may not be innocent, he deserves whatever is coming for him,” he turned to leave and his eyes passed over Amara and the two girls who were both sleeping.
“Why don’t you take them home?”
“Yes, sir. I’d do that,” Amara replied, but she did not have any intention of leaving the clinic. Not yet.
Dé John shook hands with Steve who was standing awkwardly and left.
Stevenson greeted Dé Nwachukwu and Amara, “I’m sorry for what happened, hope you’re not hurt?” He asked Amara.
“I’m okay. I hope you’re not going to include this in the book you’re writing? It doesn’t portray our culture in any good sense.” “No, not at all, this is a very sad event.”
Dé Nwachukwu excused himself. “I need to talk to the doctor. How can he just declare someone dead without even making an attempt to save him? He deserves a serious tongue lashing.”
When he was gone, Stevenson sat down in the vacated seat beside Amara. “Do you want to talk about it?”
She shook her head. She could still remember the sharp pain she had felt in between her legs.
“No. It’s something I’d like to forget.”
He nodded and Amara studied him, she had something else she wanted to talk about with Steve. She remembered the newspaper clippings she had found in his case. The case he had held on to so protectively. She had really thought he was the devil after learning what he had done to his wife and now she needed clarity.
“Steve,” she began, “I saw the newspaper clips in your briefcase the other day.”
She saw his face become pale immediately, “How is that possible?”
“Steve, please explain to me what happened. Did you kill your wife?”
She watched him intently and noticed different emotions flicker on his face. Shock, surprise, anger, embarrassment and finally resignation.
He put his face in his hands and sighed.
“I knew it was going to catch up with me sooner or later,” he was silent for some minutes as he left his face buried in his hands and when he looked up finally, there was pain. Raw pain on his face. “I didn’t kill my wife. I loved her dearly. She meant the world to me. No, Amara, I didn’t kill her.”

PORT-HARCOURT
Reverend Benji Okorie paced round his bedroom worriedly. He had woken up about an hour ago with Osi’s name sounding over and over in his heart. He felt the message clearly. “Pray for Osi,” and immediately he had gotten on his knees and began to pray for his youth pastor. Now the feeling had passed but he was still very much worried.
He watched his wife sleeping soundly on the other side of the bed. She was a very deep sleeper. She could sleep through an Earthquake. He watched her for some seconds although his mind was far away. Finally he reached a decision. He brought out his phone and dialled a number.
Gregory picked up on the fourth ring. He sounded sleepy. “Hel, hello,” he said groggily.
“Greg, get read. Get Samuel to get the bus ready, tomorrow you and I are going to Amaife.”

Episode 34

To everything there is a season.
A time for every purpose under heaven.
A time to be born.
And a time to die.
A time to plant.
And a time to harvest.
A time to kill. .
And a time to heal.
A time to weep.
And a time to laugh.
A time to gain.
And a time to lose.
A time for silence.
And a time to speak.
A time to love.
And a time to hate.
A time of war.
And a time of peace.
-Ecclesiastes 3

It was a beautiful day, the sun rose steadily signifying the official break of dawn. It reflected in the stream as it rose over the gulls at the foot of the woods. It was a beautiful sight, a breathtaking sight. But there was no one to appreciate it. The people of Amaife were in a state of shock. The hunt for their beloved pastor was still underway and nobody could believe pastor Batholomew had carried out the terrible attacks.
The people could be seen in their twos and threes as they mumbled among themselves, walking to their farms, the market or the stream. The youths were still carrying out the hunt for their pastor. They could be seen combing every inch of the village, checking every bush, every stall, even dustbins.
A young boy of about thirteen wandered aimlessly among the villagers. He seemed lost and at first no one paid him any attention but on a second glance, the people hastily left his path and stared at him like he was struck with some kind of disease that could spread if they got too close to him. His name was Jelemba. He had been handpicked by the gods as their messanger, the special one to succeed the dibia. But now the dibia was dead and Jelemba was no longer a medium for communication with the gods of the land. And what’s more, he had agreed to let go of his diabolical ways and with the help of the tall pastor he had become a Christian. Still the villagers didn’t trust him. He was probably still filled with the spirits the dibia invocated with, both the evil ones and the good ones, so they kept their distance.
Now his white satin wrapper was replaced with three quarter shorts bought for him by Pastor Osi, his usually bare chest was covered with a T-shirt, the chalk markings on his face and chest were gone and his feet were in leather sandals. He held a bible in his hands courtesy of Osi and one of the reasons he was searching for the pastor was because he had come across a couple of things he did not understand while reading. He needed his new friend to explain it to him. But that wasn’t the main reason he searched for Osi that morning.
You see, a week earlier when his master the dibia was still alive, something had happened. Jelemba had observed something take place in the shrine and at the time he didn’t pay attention to it. As a matter of fact he had forgotten about it totally but last night while reading his new bible he had come across the story of the betrayal of Jesus. How Judas had secretly met with the high priest and betrayed Jesus. Jelemba had paused his reading and stared into space as he recalled a similar scenario.
It had happened after his master had been summoned to commune with the gods and reveal the killer terrorising the maidens, the dibia had requested for specific items to perform a sacrifice.
That night, one of the elders had paid the dibia a visit and
Jelemba in the process of polishing one of the mini statues had overhead the elder strike a deal similar to what he just read in the Bible. The elder had wanted the dibia to announce someone else as the killer. A man named Okudili and Jelemba had listened, amused as they haggled on a price before settling on 30 satchels of tobacco.
Last night the Bible story had brought the memory and ever since, young Jelemba knew he had to discuss the incident with Pastor Osi. The problem was he didn’t know where the pastor was. The house he had taught and preached to him and where they had met subsequently was locked up. He had spent minutes knocking without any reply.
He walked towards the market square searching the faces and desperately hoping to see the tall pastor.

Pa Kenneth and Dé John escorted Benedict the butcher and the last of the youths to the market square. Pa Kenneth had insisted they walk with Benedict as the butcher refused to open his abattoir until Batholomew was, in his own words, impaled with my machete.
Dé John knew Pa Kenneth probably worried that the youths were going to return to Sofiri’s house and torture the poor man, so he agreed and supported his elder. A part of him wondered why Pa Kenneth was so worried and bothered about Sofiri so much but he decided that was what made Pa Kenneth a special man and a great leader. He loved his people and he would go to great lengths to protect them.
Pa Kenneth held Benedict’s shoulder, stopping the brisk movement of the young man.
“Benedict, you know a lot of people look up to you. You’re a leader in your own might.”
Benedict nodded stiffly. He was still very much bitter, he needed someone to vent his anger on very soon or else he lose his sanity. In this case the someone had to be Batholomew. He agreed with the elder and turned away slowly. His right hand man Phillip saluted Dé John and followed him loyally.
“That man has a lot of power and control,” Dé John commented as they watched the backs of the young men. “Pa
Kenneth, elder, re you listening to me?”
But Pà Kenneth wasn’t listening; his eyes had a distant look. He was studying the young boy walking solemnly past the market stalls.
Could it be?
No it wasn’t possible.
This young lad looked much more civilized.
Or were his eyes finally giving up on him?
He shook the thought from his mind but he couldn’t help wondering that the young lad looked so much like the deceased dibia’s aide.

Back in the hospital, Amara’s father very firmly insisted that they all go home and catch some sleep. She had argued that it was already almost daybreak but her father had gotten angry and Amara had cut short her discussion with Steve and gone home with her sister and Oluchi. Quite early, she was already out of the house. Oluchi, Joy and her father were all sleeping soundly in the house and she sneaked out and headed to the hospital with one thought on her mind, she had to check up on Osi.
She thought about what Steve had told her earlier in the hospital. He had been framed. His wife had been raped and killed by his elder brother and he had become a fugitive overnight.
When she had inquired what had caused his to brother commit such a terrible crime he had become reserved and seemed unwilling to answer the question. At which point her father had returned from tongue lashing Doctor Ambrose and demanded they go home.
She didn’t really care about Stevenson, her mind only had room for one person and that was Osi and she couldn’t wait to see him. She hoped he was talking already, she would love to hear his voice.
She almost bumped into the young boy in her haste.
She almost snapped at first, but then she realized she was at fault. So she apologised instead. “Sorry, but watch where you’re going next time. Wait, I know you.”
He looked different but she was sure he was the one.
She had been with Osi when he had first approached the boy and as a matter of fact she had selected the sandals on his feet herself when they went shopping for new clothes for him. “Jelemba? How are you? Where are you off to so early?” The boy looked scared and studied his feet solemnly.
“Jelemba, talk to me. What’s wrong? Where are you going?”
Jelemba seemed to have trouble remembering her at first. He squinted at her with a frown and frightened look but then he smiled shyly.
“Aunty, I’m looking for pastor. Pastor Osi.”
Amara smiled, “I’m heading there myself, let’s go together,” she took his hand in hers, “so you heard about what happened then?”
He looked at her with a blank expression, “What happened, aunty?”
Now it was Amara’s turn to frown. She noticed the bible Jelemba gripped tightly but she didn’t think the young boy only wanted to discuss scriptures. He seemed apprehensive.
“Jelemba, why do you want to see pastor Osi?”
He opened his mouth to say something but he was interrupted.
“Amara,” Pa Kenneth thundered from across the market square. He walked briskly to where they stood.
“Pa Kenneth, otu’tu oma.”
“Morning, dear. Where’s your father?” Pa Kenneth asked, but his eyes were on little Jelemba who Amara noticed had begun to squirm.
“Dé Nwachukwu is at home resting, he caught a little cold last night, he wasn’t dressed properly.”
“I’d pay him a visit later,” Pa Kenneth replied as Dé John approached them.
“Who is this young boy?” Pa Kenneth asked Amara.
“Oh, he’s Jelemba, the medium, no I mean the former medium and aid to the dibia but he’s a new person now.”
“No wonder he looks so familiar,” Pa Kenneth squatted down until he was eye level with Jelemba and Amara couldn’t help but marvel at Pa Kenneth’s fitness.
“How are you boy? Do you need anything?”
Jelemba shook his head. He seemed to have suddenly lost his voice.
Dé John cleared his throat. “Pa Ken, I’ve informed the town crier that there would be a meeting at the market square by noon today.”
Pa Kenneth straightened up. He looked at the young boy a second too long before glancing at Amara who seemed oblivious of the tension that hung in the air.
“Amara, inform your father about the meeting by noon, but tell him he shouldn’t bother if he doesn’t feel too strong.”
“Yes, sir.”
He looked at Jelemba again. “Dé John I’d like us to plan something for this young lad, his eduaction and his welfare. Amara,bring him over later today”
“Yes, sir.”

For the first time in a long time the Clinic was full of activity. People crowded the waiting room, walked down the narrow passages and even hung outside in the tiny compound.
They were there for the pastor. They saw him as their hero.
Amara searched for her friend, Nkiru as they entered the hospital.
“I don’t want to go to the elder,” Jelemba said suddenly.
“What?” Amara blinked at him, “Pa Kenneth? He’s going to take care of you. He’s a good leader.”
“I don’t want to go,” the boy said firmly with his voice rising.
“Okay okay. We’d talk about it later,” Amara said as she saw her friend and signaled her. “Nkiru, how is he?”
The nurse smiled, “He was awake few hours ago. He’s still resting.”
“Can I see him?”
“Yes of course, come with me.”

Episode 35

“He’s recovering very swiftly, indeed he’s a strong man,” Nkiru observed as she parted the curtain and ushered Amara and Jelemba inside.
“It’s not by his might, he serves a merciful and powerful God,” Amara muttered in an almost inaudible voice. Osi was fast asleep. He wore the hospital gown and Amara could see his chest was bandaged. She was also very grateful to see the steady rise and fall of his chest. She and young Jelemba stood watching him in silence and Nkiru studied the both of them. She could see love, respect and dedication on both faces and she thought to herself that the tall man on the bed must be a special person indeed.
“Please do not wake him, he needs to rest. I have to go and attend to someone else.”
Amara didn’t reply she was busy staring at Osi.
“Amara,” Nkiru finally drew her attention. “Normally I’m not supposed to leave you with him but because its you, so please try not to disturb him.”
“I wan’t, don’t worry. Seeing him is enough.”
“You must really love him,” Nkiru commented as she headed for the door.
Amara at first wanted to offer a protest but she let it go. Deep in her heart she knew her friend was right.
Jelemba took a step closer to the bed and she was reminded of the little boy’s presence. She sat on a little bed adjacent Osi’s and patted the space next to her inviting him to sit.
“Jelemba, what is it you wanted to see pastor Osi for?”
The boy looked at Osi, not indicating he had heard her but finally after some seconds he moved slowly to the bed and settled beside her.
She waited for him to speak but when he remained mute she prodded him, “Jelemba, talk to me. I’m your friend, something is bothering you. What is it?”
The boy took a deep breath. “When I was working with the dibia, we were called to consult the gods and expose the killer behind the crimes.”
“Yes. The dibia said it was Okudili.”
“But aunty, the thing was planned. It was supposed to make every one think Okudili was the killer.”
Amara frowned, “I don’t understand, what do you mean by it was planned?”
Before Jelemba could reply, the curtain was parted open again and nurse Nkiru came in but this time she was followed by two men.
She recognised the first man immediately, Gregory, Osi’s friend and assistant youth pastor. The second man however was an elderly man with patches of grey hair, but he had a very powerful aura about him and his movements were very sharp and sure. At once she knew he had to be Osi’s pastor. He was very fond of the man and had told her a lot about him.
Instinctively she got to her feet and greeted them, “Good morning, sir, morning pastor Greg. It’s so nice to see you again.”
“Likewise,” Gregory replied with a smile looking at her first then Jelemba but his smile disappeared when he caught sight of Osi on the bed.
The elderly man didn’t smile. He nodded absentmindedly in her direction as his eyes were immediately fastened on Osi.
He hurried to his youth pastor in short but powerful strides and stared at Osi’s chest intently. When he was satisfied that Osi was indeed breathing he looked up at the nurse with concern written all over his face. “You say he was stabbed.”
“Yes, last night, but he’s recovering swiftly. It’s a miracle,” Nkiru replied.
“Who stabbed him?” The reverend asked with a hard edge in his voice.
Nkiru hesitated and Amara replied him, “It was Bartholomew, sir. Pastor Batholomew.”
No word could describe the expression on Reverend Okorie and Gregory’s faces the minute the words left her mouth. The Reverend was the first to speak. He blinked several times in disbelief. “Pastor Bartholomew? The very same pastor who reached out to me when I requested that he hosts us for the crusade?” “Where is he now?” Gregory finally found his voice. Amara hesitated for a second, “He’s still at large.” “Jesus Christ,” the Reverend muttered to himself.
“Reverend, how did you meet this pastor?” Gregory asked him.
The reverend thought back. He needed to sit down but he remained standing. “I met him two years ago at a minister’s workshop service in Lagos. He was my partner most of the time and very friendly. I took a liking to him immediately and we kept in touch. I can’t believe he’s a serial rapist and serial killer.”

He was just thirteen years old when he stumbled on his father with a woman. His mother had been late three years earlier, a day after his 10th birthday and his father never remarried.
That fateful day he had gone to the farm to harvest the cassava which was due. He quickly decided he would need a larger basket or at most another one. So he hurried home unaware that his life was about to be changed forever.
He tiptoed round the house not willing to wake his father whom he thought was still sleeping. For some unknown reason, he found himself opening the curtain to his father’s room. He wasn’t prepared for what he saw. His father was butt nakèd with his trouser around his ankles. He was on top of a woman.
The woman looked familiar to he couldn’t place her face. He stood still watching for some seconds and he saw the woman’s hands were tied to the bed post and her legs were spread apart and tied to the foot of the bed. Her eyes were swollen and red from crying and her fair skin showed signs of bruises most likely as a result of slaps.
Maybe he gasped out in suprise or maybe his father felt his presence because his father turned and saw him.
“Are you not going to the farm again?”
“Yes…yes…yes, sir…papa what’s happening?”
“Come here, boy,” his father ordered him and he approached with uncertain movements. His father got down and pointed to the woman.
“Barth, climb this woman now,” his father ordered him harshly. He obeyed and hurriedly took of his clothes. He looked at the woman and was shocked to see he was immediately hard.
“Take of your shirt, boy. She’s all yours, we’ll dispose her later today.” his father encouraged him.
Bartholomew had never seen a woman’s naked body talk less of touching one and this fair woman was very beautiful. He hurriedly took off his shirt.
His father smiled, “You are indeed the bone of my bone. Remember this is our secret.”
Bartholomew nodded, the cassava and basket were forgotten and the devil was born.

The devil took a trip down memory lane as he moved round the house idly. He recalled all the girls he and his father had raped in the house. His father had been a master planner and selected the victims with precision, from far and near and they were never linked to the others or to them. Most of them were never even found. However as he grew older he had began to get addicted and one day he grabbed the neighbour’s daughter and rough handled her. The girl had screamed and brought the attention of her parents. His father had blamed it on pre-teen hormones and had made a show of disciplining him publicly. After which he forbade him from going after anyone saying he was, too sloppy and lacked control. His father became paranoid and worried that someone would remember or figure out something they had missed and put two and two together. On his fifteenth birthday, his father sent him and his 10 year old brother to the north. His inability to control himself had drawn a lot of attention to their home and they were moving, so his father was moving to another state, to another village to start afresh and his two young boys would go and stay with their late mother’s brother who sold clothes in the North.
Years went by and he managed to bury the urge and smother the lust. He tried so hard to forget the past, to forget the countless women he and his father had done horrible things to, to try and be a normal boy. And it worked, he seemed like a normal teenager to the naked eye but on the inside he was fighting his demons . Still he appeared normal. When his aunty and her husband were killed in an accident, he dropped out of the university and took over the clothing business fully. After two years, he and his younger brother moved to Amaife where their father had become a legend, a leader and nobody knew their history and they preferred it that way. At times the past felt like just a dream to him, something he had imagined and he had finally given up and forgotten it. And for a brief moment, he was genuinely interested in the church he started and excited with the gradual growth. But then Ozioma and Amara came to the service one Sunday and he had never been the same.
The day he had lost control in the farm and violated her body, he had felt a thrill unlike any other, a sweet and sinister pleasure that all he could think about was experiencing it again. That had been the beginning of the end. Or maybe the end of the beginning.
The worst part was that he still needed a girl, any girl. He hadn’t been successful with Amara the previous night and he really needed to release the built up pressure and bathe in the ecstasy of the evil pleasure which only the distraught and painful cries of his victims could give him but he couldn’t risk stepping outside. He would definitely be lynched on sight. His father had told him that the youths were seriously searching for him. They had even spread to the nearby village in case he had run away from Amaife. So he kept on pacing, feeling uneasy and plotting his revenge on Amaife…and Osi.

Meanwhile In the market square, the oldest man in Amaife thought hard for a plan. He cursed the day he had killed the dibia. He had been in haste to plant theclothe that would implicate Okudili and takeoff and when he didn’t see the young boy he had shrugged it aside as inconsequential. The boy didn’t converse with anybody afterall. His very existence was a taboo to the people. But somehow the boy had undergone some kind of transformation and now he needed to silence him fast.

Meanwhile in The Clinic, Amara and even Jelemba seemed to have forgotten the discussion they were having before the Reverend and Gregory’s arrival.
They all held hands and prayed, offering thanks to God for saving their friend’s life.
But it wasn’t over, not yet. Safety was far from sure.

The Devil Wears Okirika
#OpraDre

To Be Continued…

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