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~ MR. KOLA ~
She was awake again, and I still hadn't found my way to the location. The bushy areas always seemed the same to me, and it wasn't the first time I got lost. When I brought the first boy, I got lost numerous times. The boy was one of those street kids who begged for twenty-twenty naira, and I promised him enough money if he followed me and assisted me with something. He is still at the location.
11:15 pm. I was losing time. And losing time meant losing my soul, something I wasn't willing to do. I would go to any length to save my soul. Anybody would. But the question is how far you are ready to go to save your soul. I had gone to great lengths and would go much more to save mine.
“Erm, Joy, I have some biscuits in my glove compartment. Do you want some?” I asked the young lady.
“It’s Judith, sir. And no, sir. Thank you very much for offering.” she said.
“Oh, Judith. Apologies. Joy just comes to my mouth most times. It was the name of my deceased daughter.” I spoke.
I did, in fact, lose a daughter, but her name was not Joy. Folakemi was her name. She was a priceless gift from God to me and Toyin. She was gorgeous and intelligent, respectful and magnificent, and all you could desire in a child.
I still saw her in my dreams every night, but I wished I didn't; she'd tie her white wrapping, which had blood virtually everywhere on the front. She'd hold up a dagger, pout like a starving tiger, and sprint after me like she was going to murder me. I understood she simply tormented me in my dreams because of how her death occurred. She should never have died so early; she was far too valuable.
But, as I have stated, I would go to great lengths to rescue my soul. Toyin and everyone else in the neighbourhood, except me, were perplexed by her death. Only I knew the facts of her death, how she rescued my soul while still keeping her decent father alive in this cruel world.
“Oh. I’m so sorry, sir. So sorry for your loss,” said Judith.
“No, it’s no problem. Nothing to be sorry for. She is gone and we know she is in a better place. We know she is doing fine with God,” I said to her.
When I realized I was approaching the location, I pulled over at the first bushy junction. Her gaze slowly shifted towards the driver's seat, towards me, perplexed as to why I had parked the vehicle.
“I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s suddenly wrong with my stomach, it’s rumbling. I think it was the beans I ate from before.” I lied.
“Oh, no problem, sir,” she said.
“Let me just enter the bush and ease myself. I’ll be right back.”
The location is a large, rusty brown container surrounded by dense bushes. Secured by a single door and no windows. I opened the padlock and returned to everything as I left it. The bodies are still stacked on top of one another on the container's floor. I hadn't decided what to do with them yet. Bury them in the bushes right away? Why not drown them in a neighbouring river? Butcher them into pieces and dispose of them?
Six calabashes were put in a circle in the centre of the container. Each of them held the hearts of the six bodies piled in the container's corner. I needed one more heart and that would be the young lady in my car. After I extracted her heart from her chest, it would be placed in the last calabash, and my soul would be redeemed.
My riches had always been linked to the number of years I had to live; this was a decision I made when I was still very young. Growing up was difficult, as you might expect, with parents who could barely feed themselves, let alone fifteen children. How they managed to bring children into their pitiful existence remained a mystery. It was a heinous crime that should never be overlooked. And when death failed to come early as the least punishment for them, I resolved they would pay the price for the horrible life they had given me.
I believe that being poor naturally attracts dark powers, which is what happened to me. I met a lot of wealth creation ritualists, and every one of them demanded that I sacrifice my parents. I initially dismissed the idea. My parents were always my parents, no matter what. At the same time, they were the only ones I could think of as the source of my misery, which could be why the oracle asked for them.
I gave them up and became wealthy with a condition: every ten years, I would require seven hearts to lengthen my life. And as my years grew longer, so did my fortune. Why not, then? So long as I remained a wealthy and influential member of society. Given how much I had suffered as a result of my poverty, I didn't believe it was too high a price to pay.
I returned to my car after preparing the seventh calabash with palm oil, and sprinkled water that the baba had given me.
