ABIGAIL.

I took what I thought was my last breath. Unfortunately, it was not. There were to be more excruciating, laborious attempts to draw in air into my fatigued frame. As I hung naked on the cross, the pains in my arms and feet overtook every ounce of shame. The people jeered and booed. Those closest threw spittle. The Chief Priests ranted, shaking their fists angrily at the person who appeared the sole subject of today's execution. A rabbi named Jesus. I was nailed to his right. On his left hung Timaeus, my best friend.

"Zadok."

The distinct, sonorous voice floated to my ears amidst the noisy crowd. On seeing her, I felt my heart tear into a million shreds.

"Abigail!" I screamed. "I did this for you."

I could see the sorrow in her face. She nodded in assent, all the while placing her right hand on her stomach. My face furrowed in confusion until suddenly, it hit me. She was pregnant! My eyes widened in surprise and I knew I had my answer when she smiled. I was not dying in vain after all.

I met Abigail through an act of fate, a brush with death. The last son of the High Priest, I had grown up to subtly rebel against my father and my priestly brothers. Lacking any form of maternal love, I had charted a new path for myself, to their chagrin and proceeded to become one of the finest cloth merchants in Jerusalem. Timaeus, my childhood friend was my business companion. Together, we journeyed the winding road connecting Jerusalem to Jericho, an opulent town on the plains of the Jordan river. Jericho was well known for its aristocratic taste and I purchased the finest silk and linen there. Done with business, we make our way back to Jerusalem and sell for a huge profit. The road was dangerous and stories of bandits abound but somehow, we never encountered them.

One day, I made the journey alone because Timaeus was sick. I had passed the Judean desert and neared a sharp bend when some men appeared, armed with clubs. I made to turn the donkey but more men came out from the shadows. Dragging me down from my donkey, the stripped me of my clothes and money and battered me with clubs. I was left for dead in a pool of my own blood. A priest came along, full-bearded, cone-shaped turban and all, peered down at me and quietly walked away. A Levite soon appeared, dressed in his white twined tunic and also walked away. I had given up hope when I heard a donkey bray in the distance. A man in velvet robes approached and touched me. Discovering I was alive, he brought wine and bandages and dressed my wounds. He mounted me on his donkey and took me to an inn.

"My name is Ashur. I am from Samaria," the man in velvet robes said, after the inn-keeper had  given me a place to rest.

"Zadok," I said with difficulty. "Thank you. May Yahweh...bless you."

He smiled. "You will stay here till you make full recovery. I gave the inn-keeper some money. I will give him the balance when I return from my journey."

I was awoken the next morning by a lovely voice, singing the praises of Yahweh.

"You are awake," she said, looking at me.

I nodded, still stunned by her beauty and serenaded by her voice.

"I am Abigail, Ashur's sister. He sent me to check up on you. I brought you breakfast."

She sang while I ate. We talked till late in the afternoon, when she begged to take her leave.

She was back the next day. And the day after. We discussed everything from the strained Judeo-Samaritan relationship to the right place of worship.

"It is on Mount Gerizim," she said, in mock defiance.

"Of course, you know it is in the Temple in Jerusalem," I insisted, laughing.

"Or in your hearts," Ashur said. He had returned from his journey. "Yahweh lives in our hearts. Jews and Samaritans alike."

I admired the way he reasoned. His travels had definitely made him wiser.

I left the inn and went back to Jerusalem. Everyone had been searching for me and were happy at my return. I narrated my ordeal to them. When I reached the part of being rescued by a Samaritan, my father entered his room. It was signal that he had heard enough. Timeaus, on the other hand, had not. So, I gave him every detail about Abigail and how enamored I have become of her. He patted me on the back.

"I hear Samaritan women are the kindest and sweetest of them all," he said, grinning.

I nodded. I had experienced it first-hand.

I continued to visit Abigail, often in the company of Timaeus. Her father was furious when he found out and forbade me from ever setting foot in his house. We subsequently met at her brother's place. Ashur was in support but incapacitated.

"I am getting married soon," I announced to my family one evening, after dinner.

My father looked up from his seat and smiled. "This is the only reasonable thing you have said in a long while. Who is the girl?"

I took a long pause and looked round the table. My four brothers had stopped eating and were waiting with bated breath.

"Abigail...She is from...um...Samaria." The words were coming out as if glued to my tongue.

My father banged his fist on the table. "Never!" he bellowed.

He rose and entered his room. My brothers followed suit.

I sat alone, stunned by the venom in my father's voice and the coldness of my brothers.

"Zadok, this is becoming hard. This morning, my father threatened to disown me," Abigail said, amidst sobs.

I wiped the tears from her eyes. "They cannot stop us. If Yahweh is for us, who can be against us?"

She brightened up. "No one." 

We sang together thereafter.

I knew I needed a plan. Timeaus came up with a seemingly brilliant idea. The only solution would be to run away with Abigail. To a far away land, beyond the Euphrates.

"We will need money. Plenty of it," I said, lost in thought. "And I lost all my savings to those brigands."

"Ask Ashur," he said.

I shook my head. "You think he would finance the abduction of his sister? I don't want to stretch his kindness."

"We will find a way,"he said.

Two days later, as I rose from evening prayers with my brothers, Timaeus called me aside. He was sounding excited.

"We will take some of the temple ornaments. They are made of pure gold and will fetch a huge amount of money to finance your journey," he said.

I dragged him into my room and shut the door. "Have you gone mad? You want us to steal from the temple? To steal from God?"

"It is not necessarily stealing. It is financing a just cause. A labour of love. If Jews were allowed to marry Samaritans this would have been unnecessary. Just think about it."

I spent the whole night thinking about what Timaeus said. I felt betrayed by my family, especially my father. This may be the only way to get at him.

The next morning, we planned our move. That night, disguised as Levites, we entered the temple through its main gate, near the western wall. The golden eagle hanging on the gate was a symbol of Roman protection. We entered the outer area and quickly ascended the stairs into the main temple, my legs softening like jelly with each step. My heart raced, occasionally calmed by the beatific vision of Abigail's face. The pillars were imposing. The roof was adorned with cedar, curiously graven. The entire temple was vacated. We approached the embroidered curtain separating the 'Holy of Holies'. I darted my eyes across the entire breath of the temple. Not a soul. Timaeus parted the curtain and entered. My heart skipped several beats. We have crossed the red line. I joined him. Unfurling a bag, we packed as many golden ornaments as we could find. 

We made to leave when the unthinkable happened. A golden lampstand fell and clattered on the ground. Timaeus and I froze, our pupils dilated in horror. Just then, we heard a voice. "Who, in the Lord's name, is in there?"

My face went pale. It was my father. We heard a door close and footsteps approach. In that instant, we bolted, leaving the bag behind. I collided into a figure as I lifted the curtain and we both fell. I made to stand but he was holding me tightly.

"Zadok!" Timaeus called out, looking behind. I cursed under my breath.

"Zadok?" my captor echoed. "My Zadok?"

I knew it was all over and stopped kicking. Moments later, some guards came in with Timaeus.

"We saw this man running away."

"Bind them," Father said. "Assemble the Sanhendrin."

The trial was swift and the penalty, simple. Death. It had been clear to me as soon as we crossed that curtain. Inwardly, I cursed the day I was born. I cursed Timaeus. I cursed my Father and my wimpy brothers. But news of what we did had been overshadowed by another news. Jesus the Nazarene, the famous Rabbi, had been arrested. I have heard Father voice his resentment of the man. I have overheard him plot with other priests and scribes on how to lay traps for him. They wanted him dead and did not pretend about it. We were told he was dragged to Pilate, then to Herod and back to Pilate. That was before we were made to carry our crosses up to Golgotha.

"Zadok! You caused all this!" Timaeus shouted, his voice laden with anguish. "You should have left that Samaritan girl alone."

I felt very sorry for him. He had been a trusted friend. I should not have dragged him into my affair.

"I heard you saved others," Timaeus said to the Rabbi. "Save yourself and save us! Fake king."

"Have you entirely lost respect for God, Timaeus? Can't you see that this man did not deserve  this punishment, quite unlike us?"

Timaeus sneered.

I turned to the Rabbi. "Lord, remember me when you get to your kingdom."

He turned to look at me. Love effused from his eyes. "Truly I tell you, today you shall be with me in paradise."

In that instant, I felt peace. I took one last look at the crowd. Father was at the foot of the cross, complete with his ephod and flat-topped turban, shouting obscenities. My brothers stood behind him, shaking their heads. She stood a bit far removed, her purple scarf blowing in the wind. I look at her face again and with every strength in me, tried to return her smile. As I made my voyage to the distant lands, only one memory accompanied me. 

Abigail.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015. Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

TRAPPED...Part 23.

"Ten million naira! Where on earth will I get that amount of money?" Old Major said, hands on his head. "Chai! I am finished."

For one moment, I wished it were one huge prank. That Dan was alive and well, safe, and acting his own part of a script. But Dan does not play pranks. And the cold, deep baritone on the other end of the line, certainly was not joking. He sounded very polished, but his meanness can be felt miles away amidst his good English. This was really happening.

He had given three clear, concise instructions. Get ten million naira before forty-eight hours. Send Bola to bring it to a later-to-be-disclosed location. Never involve the Police. We had looked on dazed. At the background, we could hear Dan screaming.

"What are you doing to my son?" Old Major had asked.

"Nothing serious. Just some morning exercise."

What we  heard sounded like someone was punching Dan. There was intermittent laughter. He repeated his instructions and the line went dead.

"I have only two shops in Alaba. Even if I sell the shops with their contents and this house, I am not even sure of raising five million naira. And that will take at least a week!" Old Major said, shaking his head.

"Papa, we will find a way," I said, holding his shoulders.

Bola sat quietly in a corner, brooding. Chiemeka and Añuli were seated on the sofa, staring into space.

"Let's call the Police...that detective," Bola said.

I shot her a glance, then looked at Old Major.

"What other options do we have? Eh?"she continued, looking around the room."How can we raise ten million in forty-eight hours?"

The room was silent. After a while, I spoke up.

"But you heard the man clearly. Never involve the Police..."

"He was just bluffing. Which kidnapper will tell you to involve the police? Eh? Don't the Police catch some of them and rescue their victims?"

I looked at Old Major again, wanting him to say something.

"I will call Sergeant Okoli," he said, picking up his phone from the centre table. I gave an exasperated sigh.

"Hello, Officer...Good morning. It was a kidnap...No, they contacted us...ten million in forty-eight hours...Ok. Come quick, quick."

The Sergeant listened with rapt attention as Old Major narrated what transpired, stopping occasionally to make some notes in a small, black notebook.

"What are we going to do?"Old Major asked him.

"We are going to play along," he said, looking around the room. "It is important we realize how crucial this is. If they get any whiff that you have involved the Police, then I am afraid for your son. There has been some recent kidnap cases and they sound like the same group."

"What about the money?" Old Major asked.

"Don't worry. I will take care of everything from here," Sergeant Okoli said. He turned to Bola. "I will be back with a team of officers in the evening to prepare you...walk you through the entire process."

Bola nodded, visibly terrified.

"We have barely twenty-four hours left. You have to try your best to stay calm," Sergeant Okoli said to Bola, as I entered the living room. I had gone home the previous evening to freshen up and drop instructions with my student tailors. I had not been to my shop in over a week. The living room was filled with persons, some plain-clothed policemen, Chiemeka, Añuli, Mike and Old Major.

"I can't do this," Bola blurted out, sobbing.

"You can," Sergeant Okoli said, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Don't you want to see your hubby again? Uh?"

She nodded, amidst sobs. 

"Good. Let's go over the routine again." He motioned to another officer who adjusted some wires on Bola's body.

"Remember, we will be hearing everything. And we will sweep in and remove you from the place at the slightest signal of danger. But you have to remain calm, ok?"

Bola nodded, still shaking like a leaf.

They spent the whole evening rehearsing the routine till Bola mastered it.

"I think we are done for the day," the Sergeant said, glancing at the clock. It was 9.45pm. "We will be back very early in the morning."

"Thanks very much, Officer," Old Major said, escorting them to the door.

I turned to Mike. "Pastor, is it morally right to pay ransom to kidnappers?" He looked up, scratched his head and closed the bible he was reading.

"Well, let's see. In the scripture, Christ was given as a ransom...for all of us..."

"You are missing the point," Bola interjected.

"No, wait. Remember where the scripture said to give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar and to God what belongs to God? If the kidnappers are demanding a ransom..."

"Stella, if anyone is holding your loved one, you should give anything to have them back," Chiemeka said, stamping her foot. I nodded in agreement.

By 8.00am, the Sergeant and his team arrived, armed to the teeth. Bola was dressed up, the wires strategically placed, hidden from plain sight. They went through the routine again.

"I am not entering there empty-handed, am I?  These guys are expecting money," Bola said. There was panic in her voice.

"Don't worry," Sergeant Okoli said. "We have two bags in the van, containing some counterfeit money to the tune of that amount. There is no way they would know the difference at sight."

Bola nodded and they went over the routine again.

At exactly 9.00am, Old Major's phone rang. The Sergeant motioned him to pick it and put it on loud speaker.

"Hello, Sir...Good morning, Sir...I have your money..."Old Major began, his voice shaking.

The voice we heard next was stern. "Mr. Fabian Olisa, what was the third instruction I gave you?"

A gasp escaped Old Major's lips. "You said...never to involve the Police...Sir."

"And what have you done?" He gave a mirthless laugh. "Major, I have my eyes on you. An hour ago, three police vans entered your compound. You just killed your son. His blood is on your hands."

"No, please Sir, let me explain..." 

The line went dead.

Old Major sank into a sofa, shaking in grief. Bola tore out all the wires and gave a large howl. Sergeant Okoli stood transfixed. I had my hands on my head, totally confused.

"I knew this was a bad idea," Bola said, sobbing.

"Sharrap!" I bellowed, fuming. "You were the one that suggested we involve the police. Now, see."

The Sergeant glared at me and went outside to discuss with the other policemen.

"Daniel nwanne m o!" Añuli screamed, amidst tears. I moved over to console her.

"We are going back to re-strategize," Sergeant Okoli said, as he returned. "I believe we will come up with a way to rescue your son."

An hour after the policemen left, Abdul entered the living room, carrying a small box wrapped in brown paper.

"Oga, someone leave this for gate. The pesin knock, as I come outside, I no see anybody. Na only this thing I see. And e carry your name."

Old Major collected the box from him and set it on the centre table. The surface had 'To Mr. Fabian Olisa' handwritten on it. He looked around, our faces betraying our curiosity. He proceeded to tear off the brown paper covering.

Underneath was a small box, the kind that contain wrist watches. He opened it.

"Jesus Christ!" he shouted, squirming in disgust. We all drew back, our emotions caving in at once. Lying at the centre of the box was a human finger, the bloodied end representing where it was severed from the hand.

"Dan's ring finger!" Bola screamed, slumping to the ground. "They've cut Dan's ring finger!"

I took one last look at the bloody, severed digit and felt hot tears coursing down my cheeks. Evil has climbed new heights.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015. Follow on Twitter @dr_alams.

TRAPPED...Part 22.

"No, no, that is not him."

I tried hard to suppress the flood of nausea rising in me. Something about the sick, pungent smell of the embalming fluid, made me feel woozy. My eyes stung, the formed tears blurring my vision. I wiped them with the back of my hand.

The mortician, a bald, short, good-natured man, noticing my discomfort, headed for the door.

"I am sorry, that is all we've got."

I nodded and took one last sweeping look at the room. It was more spacious than the others but also poorly lit and crammed full of dead bodies. The fortunate ones lay naked on the slabs. The rest lay on the floor. The smell of the embalming fluid hung in the air like a thick curtain. The dead silence in the room was punctured by our departing footsteps.

A gust of fresh air hit my nostrils as we emerged outside. I took a lungful and tried to dispel the images of the countless, naked male bodies I just saw.

"Any luck?" Sergeant Okoli asked. He was seated on the wooden bench in front of the morgue, the third one we had visited that day.

I shook my head.

The mortician cleared his throat. I fetched my purse and handed him a crisp five hundred naira note. "Thank you very much."

He beamed. "No problem, Mah. I pray that you find him alive."

I nodded in agreement, trying to force a smile. Sergeant Okoli rose.

My phone rang. It was Old Major.

"Good evening, Papa. Any news?"

"Stella nwa m. We have searched all the hospitals in Amuwo-Odofin and Festac area. Nothing. Including the morgues." His voice was laddened with grief.

"We will keep looking, Papa. Just stay strong. We will find him. How is Bola holding up?"

"Ahhh! She has been crying all day. The wedding is supposed to hold tomorrow, you know. We are driving back to the house. I think I have seen enough hospitals and dead bodies for one day."

"Okay. I will come over to the house."

I entered the front seat of the Police van. The Sergeant was at the wheels.

"Thanks a lot for today," I said.

He shrugged. "I was just doing my duty."

We approached the hospital gate. He fumbled his breast pocket and fetched a tally which he returned to the grinning security man. The car turned onto the road and soon joined the long line of other cars moving very slowly.

"Kai! Traffic o! Where are you headed?" he asked.

"I am going to Amuwo-Odofin but I will make a stop at Oshodi to check on my daughter. This traffic is gradually building up o!"

"Yeah. It is almost five o'clock. Many people are leaving their offices for their homes. And thanks to the traffic, some will not get home till 10pm."

I chuckled. "That's Lagos for you. Which side do you stay?"

"Festac. 5th Avenue. How old is your daughter?"

"Five."

"How are you related to the missing person, Dan?"

I scratched my head. "Well...we used to date."

"Oh. I see."

We drove in silence for some time. I dialled Dan's number one more time. It was still switched off.

"His wedding is tomorrow, right?"

"Yes."

He chuckled. "It seems someone does not want this wedding to hold."

It struck me immediately what he might be thinking.

"No, Officer. He has been a great friend and I would never wish him harm."

"Who said anything about harm?" He shot me a strange look and pulled the car over.

"Let me make something clear to you, Stella. I have watched you closely since this investigation. The fact that you are highly motivated to find Dan could mean one of two things. You may genuinely want him back. Or you may be covering your tracks. I would love to believe the former. But make no mistakes, until we get any important lead in this case, you are still a key suspect."

I felt my leg buckle under me. His last statement broke my heart.

"Just take me home."

I looked out of the window as he drove, a deep pain gnawing at my heart. We soon entered my street. The van stopped in front of my house. I came down, slamming the door behind me.

"Should I wait for you?" he asked.

"Don't!" I hurried into compound and ran up the stairs.

"Mummy!"

Victory welcomed me with a warm embrace as soon as Nkechi opened the door.

I hugged her little frame and carried her up in the air. She yelled in excitement. "I missed you, Vicky darling. Have you eaten?"

She nodded, smiling.

"Any progress? Is he back?" Nkechi asked.

I shook my head. "Tomorrow is the wedding."

"There will be no wedding. Except a miracle happens."

"I will be going over to Old Major's place. Just came to check on you and Vicky. Thanks for everything."

"Oya, go and change those clothes. And eat something."

I set Vicky down on the bed and went to the bathroom. It felt good to be home again.

The look on Abdul's face told me nothing has changed. I noticed the police van parked beside the red Volvo. The living room was full. Sergeant Okoli was seated with Old Major on one sofa. Dan's two sisters, Chiemeka and Añuli were in the room. Añuli held Bola who was whimpering in a corner. Chiemeka was discussing with her husband, Mike, a pastor. I greeted them as I entered, dropped my phone on the centre table and sat quietly in a corner.

The Sergeant rose to leave. "Like I said earlier, keep all lines open and notify me if you get any calls." Old Major saw him off to the door.

We sat quietly, all eyes fixed on the centre table. Six phones laid close to each other. None rang. 

"Chai! I am finished!" Bola exclaimed, ushering a fresh round of tears.

I went to console her. "Babe, he will return. I nugo?"

"When?" she asked, looking at me. I swallowed hard. "How do I tell all the invited guests that there will be no wedding?"

"Of course, there will be a wedding," Mike said, rising to his feet. "God is about to do a big miracle." He lifted his bible and broke into worship song. We all joined in.

We prayed all night. As the cock crows signalled the dawn of a new day, our weary eyelids were heavy with sleep. Our sore voices chorused the last rounds of the 'Amen'. I sank into the sofa, exhausted and slept off. I had a dream of Dan, in a well-tailored black suit, rousing me from sleep. I opened my eyes. It was Chiemeka, offering me a steaming plate of rice. My face fell flat.

"What is the time?" I asked, setting the plate down on a stool.

"8.30 am," she said.

I looked around. Bola and Añuli were up, staring disinterestedly at their plates of food. Old Major was still sleeping. Pastor Mike was gone.

The aroma from the jollof rice wafted into my nostrils triggering more rumblings in my stomach. We did not eat dinner the previous night and spent a great deal of energy disturbing heaven. I took two spoonfuls. It tasted good.

Old Major roused from his sleep, opened his eyes, looked at the clock and shook his head.

"Good morning, Papa," we chorused.

He merely nodded and entered his room.

We ate in silence, occasionally stealing glances at the wall clock and staring at the phones on the centre table.

As soon as the clock struck 9.00am, Bola gave a loud cry.

"There goes my wedding!"

I rushed to her side. Just then, we heard a phone ring. Old Major's phone. For an instant, we stood transfixed, eyes on the centre table, wondering if we heard right. It continued ringing. Old Major ran into the living room and picked it.

"Hello...Oh, Dan." His face brightened up. "My son where have you been? We have been looking for you..."

Bola snatched the phone from his ears. "Daniel!" she screamed. "Why did you do this to me?" Suddenly, her countenance changed. She punched some buttons and dropped the phone on the centre table.

"Mr. Fabian Olisa, I have your son, Daniel." 

The voice was deep and cold. "Now, that you have confirmed that he is alive, listen very carefully and do exactly as I say. Otherwise, we will send him to you in pieces."

A cold shiver ran down my spine. We listened as he spoke, our face contorted in worry. When he was done, the line went dead. I looked at Bola, the fresh tears on her face betraying the horror of the moment. Hugging Old Major tightly, my dam of emotions blew open. I cried.

©Kelvin Alaneme, 2015. Follow me on Twitter @dr_alams.