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The Inmate





Her eyes were open but she saw nothing. She was trapped in a cocoon of darkness. She preferred it like this, sight had brought her nothing but sorrow. It was a sense that had made her do and see such terrible things. “Mrs Adeoye please open your mouth”, a soft female voice uttered these words, startling her slightly. She unhinged her creaking jaw, made stiff by the rust of old age and felt a cold metal spoon briefly rest on her tongue before depositing a soft, jelly-like substance that marinated her taste buds with a bursting orange flavour. A smile crept onto her lips, dry and cracked like the desert floor. So delicious. Mrs Adeoye sighed and unhinged her jaw again preparing for another tsunami of flavour to rush into her mouth, instead, a fire was set, burning her tongue with its toxic flames. She screamed in anguish and disgust, digging into her purple, satin wrapper with overgrown and unpainted fingernails. “Mrs Adeoye please answer our questions, if you cooperate your sentence may be reduced significantly.” a booming male voice said. He was very close to her, she could smell his sweat lathered body. After writhing around for a bit longer she became still, her relaxed body making her appear like a cadaver, this was not least due to the glassy stare of her grey dilated eyes. The lady who had fed her the orange jelly now held a compressed bitter lemon in her right hand, and a long wooden stick in her left. Mrs Adeoye remained silent and opened her mouth once again expectantly, her white tongue extended. The lady once again squeezed the bitter lemon juice into her mouth and simultaneously struck her face with the wooden stick. Mrs Adeoye did not react to the assault on her taste buds nor the assault on her face, her mouth remained open, tongue extended. The sound of the spinning ceiling fan filled the room as a deathly silence came over the interrogators. They had been at this for four hours, using various methods of coercion that they felt befit the treatment of an elderly person to try and pry an answer out of her. Their cycle of failure continued as the clock ticked to four forty-two, this marked the end of their allotted interrogation time. Day two hundred of questioning, day two hundred of silence. The interrogators grimaced in unison as she was taken back to her cell, arm in arm with one security guard on either side. Her steps were slow and laboured, a consequence of her age more than her lack of sight.


Kirikiri women’s prison was a place of true reform, the warden seen as a motherly figure to the many young girls held in captivity. As a result, there was constant chatter, in the hallways, the bathroom, the cafeteria, everywhere. The communal nature of those in the bleak, unpainted building made it seem like it was being run at full capacity despite not even a quarter of the prison being filled. As Mrs Adeoye’s footsteps were heard with the accompaniment of the guards the vibrant hall fell silent. Many of the ladies who had been talking to those in the cells across them turned their backs, too scared to lay eyes on what they saw as the embodiment of true evil. Just as in the interrogation room, a deathly silence fell over the hall and the sound of a large overhead ceiling fan swarmed through every crevice of the establishment. The silence symbolised both respect and fear, her presence demanded one or the other, indifference was not an option. She was walked to the end of the hall, four empty cells separated her and her closest inmate, the threat level of this sightless woman was cataclysmic. Mrs Adeoye lay back in her spacious cell looking docile and exhausted, her daily trips to and from the interrogation room were her only source of exercise, she was kept confined to her cell outside of that. These were the warden’s orders, to her a devil such as this did not deserve to taste freedom for even a split second.


Mrs Adeoye leaned back in her cell and sighed, how long had it been now? Twenty years? Thirty years? Since her imprisonment, she had released herself from the bounds of time, the ticking of the clock, the passing of the days, they all meant nothing to her. When the words “Ninety years to life” were uttered by the judge she could not contain her excitement, the rest of her life had been determined for her, there was no chance of chaos any longer. She was glad to have escaped the death penalty, it had been abolished one year before she sat for trial. She had decided long ago that her death would either come by her own hands or nature’s, nobody else was worthy of claiming her life. She thought back to the interrogation, as per usual the plea for compliance came, it was like clockwork, always two minutes before the end. She was impressed that their desperation had not faded, these two were not jaded in the least. However, their hopes would never be attained she would make sure of that. I will never betray my love. The case that she had been pestered about by the two interrogators today and the ninety-seven interrogators before them was that of the serial killer, affectionately known to her as ‘Ogbeni Olukore’. This man’s tales were folklore amongst hardened criminals and embarrassments in the ranks of the Nigerian police. His identity was known no better now than at the point of her capture, a monstrous man of mystery remained hiding in plain sight.


Each day, after her interrogations, she reminisced about her days with him. She had met him at her lowest point, abandoned by her alcoholic mother, weeping profusely by the roadside. She was unwanted and unloved, lonely and empty. He had stopped by her and lent her a smile, then a hand, then gave her a home, then introduced her to love. He was the first person to ever show her care without hurting her in the aftermath, he simply showed her love and nothing else. She was infatuated, obsessed with this strange man with a broad smile and sinister eyes. This obsession led her down a long winding road, moving at breakneck speed and completely out of control. It had all started with one statement, “We don’t need these people”. It had come when they were watching the eleven o’clock news on NTA, a group of prostitutes had been found in the area of Mushi, controlled by the pimp they referred to as Mr Slick. As he watched them being grouped together and taken to their local prison he grated his teeth menacingly and his eyes grew wide. “How dare they sell God’s temple for money, a few wads of paper for the damnation of their souls!”. Ogbeni Olukore stared at the screen for a few more seconds and then sighed, “Yes Lord, I hear you, I know what I must do!”, he shouted to the cracking ceiling of their concrete, beige bungalow.


A month later, after the group had been released from captivity and had their fine paid for by Mr Slick, he woke her up from her deep sleep and said, “My dear, it is time for us to heed God’s call.”. Confused, she had rubbed her eyes and asked him what he meant, in response, he simply smiled and said, “ We must follow Saul, not Paul.”. He then tossed a bundle of materials into a bag; a bottle full of clear liquid, a thick hemp rope, four cutlasses and one automatic pistol. He looked back at her with joyful eyes as he packed up to go and at that moment her decision was made, her purpose was now to ensure that this joy never left his eyes, no matter the cost. That night they paid a visit to all eight prostitutes, slinking into their homes, binding and mutilating them. To complete their divine judgement they slit the throats of each girl then marked them with the symbol of the cross on their foreheads. The last house they visited was that of the infamous Mr Slick, in this case, there was no beating around the bush, the loaded automatic pistol was emptied, bullet holes making patterns on his body. Once again a cross was placed on the victim’s forehead. Upon completion of his tasks, Ogbeni Olukore got on his knees in the blood-soaked room of Mr Slick and prayed, “May they all face eternal damnation, by your grace in Jesus name, amen.”. This was the beginning of his life of crime, his eyes glistened with happiness. Mrs Adeoye had trembled at the sight of the dilapidated corpses, strung from ropes and murdered in cold blood but again she saw the look in his eyes and firmed her resolve. If this was what it took she would comply.


The murders were frequent and became more and more gruesome as years passed, the sight of this horrible torture was etched into her mind, the sight of her blood-soaked hands infiltrated her pleasant dreams, turning them into nightmares. On the night of her fortieth birthday, her breaking point was reached. Their victim was nailed to their wall, feet together, arms spread, reminiscent of Christ. As she looked upon this scene she began to hyperventilate, Ogbeni Olukore did not even look her way, he was too captivated by his masterpiece. She collapsed on the floor and fell unconscious, her mind not able to process the shock. She awoke laying on their bed in their home, a breakfast of Akara and Ogi was placed on the bedside table and she could hear Ogbeni Olukore watching the news in the parlour, awaiting the information on the next criminal to bring to justice. The image from the night before continued to play on her mind, making her rush to the toilet to vomit. After she had thrown up her eyes locked on the bleach on the floor next to the toilet bowl. Without a second thought, she had twisted off the cap and poured the contents into her eyes, first the right, then the left. She had screamed and rolled around in agony but she knew this pain was worth it, she would never lay eyes on such evil again, she would never be able to perpetrate such evil again. Her blindness was her blessing, she thanked God for this revelation.


Mrs Adeoye lay back in her cell and continued to reminisce, awaiting her next interrogation. I wonder what kind of food they will bring for me next time.



AAOOA


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