DAVID'S POV
A few days later, we found ourselves deep in the forest, standing before Baba Onilu's shrine.
The air was thick with smoke and the stench of blood. Skulls lined the altar. Incantations filled the air like whispers of the dead.
Baba looked up with clouded eyes. "You want power. You want protection. You want to walk through fire and not be burnt?"
"Yes, Baba," we echoed.
He drew strange symbols in the sand, muttering. Then, he paused.
"You must bring a child… a girl. Six years old."
My heart sank.
Chuka's mouth twitched. Jay Jay nodded like it was normal.
But me… I was silent. The shrine grew colder.
As we walked out, Jay Jay glanced at me. "David, how far? This one wey you quiet."
I sighed, long and heavy. "Omo, I no fit kidnap o. This one risky abeg."
Jay Jay frowned. "David, we don come too far. You wan back out now?"
Fire jumped in. "Guy, if we fit do this sacrifice ehn, our level go change. We go dey smuggle internationally. No more local runs. We go dey touch all zones. Make we just do am."
I looked around. Everyone's eyes were on me. Hungry. Desperate. Demonic.
I hesitated.
Then, slowly, I nodded. "Okay. Let's do it."
Jay Jay grinned.
"Scorpion laughed and said … we move.
PAfter some months
The day came.
We drove slowly through a busy area, eyes scanning. Then we saw her small girl, maybe six, carrying pure water on her head. Alone. Or so we thought.
"That's the one," Fire whispered.
He waved her over. "Small girl, how much be your water?"
She walked closer, innocent eyes glowing with hope.
As she bent to take a sachet, Scorpion grabbed her, pressing a chloroform-soaked handkerchief to her face. She struggled a bit… then slumped.
We shoved her into the back seat.
But then—
"LEAVE MY SISTER!!! HELP O!!!" a voice screamed from behind.
I turned sharply. Another girl her elder sister—had seen everything.
"Wetin—?" Jay Jay muttered.
Suddenly, chaos.
People ran toward us, screaming. A mob formed like wildfire.
"They don carry person pikin!"
"Kidnappers!"
They surrounded the car before we could even start the engine. Rocks flew. Someone smashed the windshield. My ears rang as the windows shattered. We tried to pull our guns—
Too late.
They dragged us out, shouting, "Kidnappers! Burn them! Burn them!!"
A stick cracked my leg. Pain shot up my spine. I collapsed.
Jay Jay was screaming. They poured fuel on him WHOOSH! Flames burst. His body rolled on the ground like a burning log.
Scorpion next his screams turned into animal howls as fire swallowed him whole.
I crawled back, broken, bloodied. "Biko… biko… have mercy! Somebody help me!"
No one listened. They had fuel. I could smell death.
Someone raised a lighter just about to strike—
"DROP IT! DROP IT, MY FRIEND!!"
Police sirens.
Everyone scattered like leaves in the wind.
The officers rushed in, guns raised. They dragged me and Fire barely alive into the back of a police truck.
Jay Jay and Scorpion were already gone… reduced to ashes.
As the truck drove away, I looked back smoke rising, screams fading.
Tears fell. For the first time in years, I wept.
My sins had caught up with me.
We were charged to court. No long story.
Kidnapping of a minor. Attempted ritual. Attempted murder. The charges stacked like bricks.
The judge looked at us like filth. "Thirty-three years in prison."
That was it. Just like that, my life ended.
I've spent nine years now behind these walls. Cold. Grey. Forgotten.
Life inside? It's war.
Bullies everywhere. You either toughen up or get eaten alive.
One day, I snapped. One of the bigger guys beat me for "looking at him wrong." No food for two days. I knelt down in a corner and cried like a child.
"This is not life…"
The prison wardens noticed. They changed my cell, maybe for pity.
That's where I met him.
Quiet. Calm. Always holding his Bible like it was life itself. Praying in whispers, even when curses echoed off the walls.
One night, a hardened prisoner sneered at him. "Hey, pastor! This one wey you dey do Holy Holy, wetin carry you come here?"
He didn't say a word. Just kept praying.
I stayed away. But I kept watching.
Then one day…
Another beating. Another broken rib. I staggered outside during free time. No strength to fight back.
I knelt down again. Same corner. Same tears.
Then I felt someone sit beside me.
The "pastor."
He didn't say much at first. Just watched me cry.
Then he whispered, "You know it's not over, right? There is still life with Christ."
I looked at him. Hollow eyes. Bruised lips.
"I have wronged so many," I said quietly. "How will God accept that? This is my punishment…"
He opened his Bible slowly. His fingers trembled slightly as he read:
> "Come now, let us reason together, saith the Lord: though your sins be as scarlet, they shall be as white as snow."
— Isaiah 1:18
I froze.
Then he added softly, "God loves you. It's never too late, David."
The words hit deep. Like water on dry bones.
For the first time in years, I felt… something. Hope?
Before I could say more, the bell rang. Free time was over.
We stood up slowly and walked back inside.
I got in and laid on the bed. The fan hummed weakly above me, but my mind was loud with thoughts.
Could God really love someone like me?
I've done horrible things. Things even I don't want to remember. My hands are stained with blood, with sin. That man, the one with the Bible… his words haunted me.
"Though your sins be as scarlet…"
I turned on the hard mattress, staring at the ceiling until sleep finally took me.
I found myself kneeling.
The ground was soft beneath me. My head rested on my knees. I was weeping, trembling, broken.
Then I felt it—a Presence.
I looked up.
A man in white stood before me. His face… radiant. His eyes, so deep, they saw straight through me.
"David," He called, softly but firmly. "Come to me. I am for you."
I shook my head, ashamed. "No… I can't. Look at me." I looked down at myself. My clothes were black… soaked in mud, stained with blood and filth. I couldn't even raise my eyes to Him.
"I am too dirty…" I whispered.
But the man in white stepped closer.
He stretched His hand and said with so much love in His voice:
> "Though your sins be like scarlet, they shall be as white as snow;
though they are red like crimson, they shall become like wool."
— Isaiah 1:18
I broke down, sobbing.
Then He knelt beside me, took my hand… and slowly, my clothes began to shine. The dirt melted away. My body felt light. My heart—free.
I woke up gasping, sweating. But smiling.
Hope. For the first time in years… I felt hope.
I walked up to the pastor as soon as free time started. He was sitting in his usual spot by the cracked window, the light catching the edges of his worn-out Bible. He wore a plain brown shirt, sleeves rolled up, and looked peaceful, like nothing in the world could shake him.
I didn't know how to start. My words tumbled out, disjointed and messy. "I… I saw someone in my dream. I think it was Him. The man you talked about. I my clothes were dirty, but He said He'd make me clean."
The pastor didn't look surprised. He just smiled gently. "I told you… there is peace in Christ. He's been waiting for you."
Just then, the cell door slammed open. A tall, rough inmate known as Goro swaggered in with his crew. The whole prison feared him—the guards barely tried to control him anymore.
"Hey, why una dey make noise for here?" Goro barked, stepping into our space.
We went quiet instantly.
"I say I dey talk to una!" He moved closer to the pastor, sneering. "You… Pastor abi? I hear say na you kill your wife. Too bad." His gang burst into cruel laughter before shoving a chair and swaggering off.
I turned to the pastor. His face had gone blank, distant. He looked down at the Bible in his hand and sighed. "I didn't kill her," he said quietly. "I loved my wife with everything. I went to surprise her at work and… found her like that. Blood everywhere. I panicked. I touched the knife. That was my mistake."
He looked at me, eyes glossy with grief. "They said I did it. I've been praying ever since. My lawyers are still on the case."
I didn't know what to say. But I sat with him, listening. He didn't need pity he needed faith. And somehow, I understood that now.
After a moment, he looked at me again and said, "David… are you ready? Ready to give your life to Christ?"
I nodded. "Yes. I am."
"Then bring your hand."
I stretched out my hand, trembling but sure. He placed his palm over mine, bowed his head, and prayed.
"Heavenly Father,
Today, your son David has come back to you.
He is tired of running, tired of the pain, tired of the sin.
Right now, Lord, I ask that you accept him—
Wash him clean with the blood of Jesus,
Renew his heart, and fill him with your Spirit.
From today, he belongs to you.
David, repeat after me:
Lord Jesus, I come to you today,
I know I'm a sinner,
But I believe you died for me,
And on the third day, you rose again.
I accept you as my Lord and Savior.
Come into my heart.
Change me.
Make me yours.
From today, I am a new creature.
In Jesus' name… Amen."
Tears ran freely from my eyes.
Something lifted off my chest something heavy I didn't know I had carried all these years. I felt light. I felt new.
The pastor squeezed my hand. "Welcome home, David."