The Journey – A Short Crime Story

I must have fallen asleep scared because I had a dream. In my dream, I was in a very scary place surrounded by people. People who had been killed by blades. I screamed in the dream.

That scream woke me up. I was breathing heavily and still, I felt scared. The room around me was dark and felt like a deep hole. I couldn’t move because I was stuck in chains like a prisoner.

The chains hurt my skin and made me scared. I tried to understand where I was, but it was difficult.

The room was dimly lit by a candle on the wall, which made weird shapes that tricked my eyes.

Spider webs hanging from the ceiling looked strange as if they were moving. That was not all.

The walls felt old and sad. There was a smell so pungent it made me nauseous

I was lost at sea as to what was going on my heart beat so fast, causing me to break out in sweats

Feeling so powerless, I began to cry. I shouted for help, but my voice bounced off the cold wall, merely echoing back to me.

I wanted to get free, so I tugged and tugged on the chains. The chains made a loud noise, imitating metal against metal, and it hurt my skin.

A Gush of blood followed. I saw a flicker of light from a candle illuminating the shadows.

The light revealed pictures on the wall. The pictures were of people who had disappeared mysteriously.

The red handwriting on the photos said so. One of the pictures showed Pastor Oge, a local preacher. His eyes glared at me.

The writing on his frame indicated that he disappeared twenty years ago. On yet another picture frame was the name, Stephen.

A man whom I was convinced had a sad story because the “X” sign on his photo meant that he was far gone.

These thoughts further me nauseous and scared. I realized that the picture frames were of people who had been taken and murdered.

I kept wondering how I ended up there, suddenly, I remembered, I had left my home in Enugu, for Ikeja to meet my family.

My big sister, Jane, was getting married traditionally, the next day. My family members traveled three days ago to Lagos.

I was alone and needed to hurry. I arrived at Ikeja Park, But no vehicles were in sight.

The Ikeja drivers were protesting the hike in the price of fuel.

In frustration, I left to find another place. I found a bike rider and asked if he knew where I could get a bus to Ikeja.

“Yeah, I know,” he responded. There’s a new park I’ll take you to. The fares are cheaper and you can save 1500 instead of paying 5000,” he added.

“How much will it cost you to take me there?” I asked. “It’s N150,” he said. “That’s a good price,” I responded.

We arrived at the place and after paying him, he left, only after doing something weird. He signaled to a stranger who in return, signaled back.

The park I arrived at was deserted. The lack of bustling activity added to the prevailing tension.

Only a few buses stood, their drivers trying to entice the scarce passengers to board. A chilling sense of unease hung in the air.

Deciding to go on with my travel choice felt like a gamble with fate. The passengers seemed wary, exchanging glances as if sizing each other up for survival.

I chose a bus, one of the few that were available. The ticket man, a dark man with darting eyes, took my fare and leaned in close.

“Turn off your phone during the journey,” he whispered, his voice carrying a hint of urgency.

I regarded him with suspicion, but his instruction seemed more strange than terrifying.

With a nod, I settled into the vehicle, trying to shake off the anxiety that had settled over me.

As the last passenger to board, I observed the scene unfold with growing concern.

The driver’s entrance was a sight to behold. It was a sight fit for a crime movie. His attire was an odd mixture of flashy and worn-out, a cigar hanging from his lips added to the aura of threat.

He surveyed the passengers with a discerning eye, ensuring the count matched his expectations.

After that, he approached the ticket man and gave him what I thought was his fee for his services.

Their expression sealed a pattern only they understood. Finally, the driver took his place at the wheel, and with a triumphant grin, he greeted us all and we responded.

The engine roared to life, and we pulled away from the park, embarking on a journey that would forever alter my sense of reality.

As the vehicle gained speed, I struck up a conversation with a fellow passenger sitting beside me, a middle-aged man with a worn face that spoke of life’s hardships.

“Did you notice how the driver and the ticket man exchanged money?”

That’s a bit odd, isn’t it?”

I whispered, to avoid attracting attention.

The man shot me a curious look, his eyebrows knitting together in contemplation.

“Yeah, I saw that too.

Maybe they have some arrangement going on.”

As we delved into the conversation, the vehicle pulled into a fuel station, “At least we’re stopping for fuel,” I murmured,

Recalling the old superstition that stopping for fuel on a journey meant the safety of the passengers.

However, my relief was short-lived.

Instead of filling the tank, the driver retrieved a substantial amount of cash from his bag.

My eyes widened as I watched him transfer the money into a black waterproof nylon bag, which he then hid under a large rock near the station.

The sight was complicated, and my mind raced to make sense of what I had just witnessed.

His actions screamed for secrecy and concealed motives. A phone call followed, and his words were wrapped in urgency.

And I wish I could pick his words. The tension in the vehicle heightened, and the other passengers grew restless as the driver continued his conversation as if they weren’t present.

Their frustration was evident, their protests ignored as the driver seemed preoccupied with his secretive dealings.

After what seemed like 10 minutes, the driver got back into the bus and the journey resumed, the atmosphere thick with discomfort.

The radio blared news reports of the city’s ongoing kidnappings over the past months…

The driver’s irritation was evident as he hissed at the radio, and swiftly turned it off. His actions drew the attention of other passengers.

“Change it back!

We deserve to know what’s happening in our city,”

A passenger demanded, voicing the sentiments of many. The driver’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white.

“You all don’t know a thing about kidnappings in this city.

If you did, you’d regret ever asking for those news reports,” he spat, His words carrying a venomous warning.

Amid the rising tension, we approached a police checkpoint and instead of hitting the brakes, he accelerated, bypassing the checkpoint altogether.

The police reacted slowly to his actions, a bit too late to understand his swift calculated moves.

Now listen to this: Drivers and people who owned vehicles used to regularly stop at police checkpoints, so that the police could search their vehicles and make sure there were no illegal goods like drugs in the vehicle.

They also searched for driver’s licenses and seat belts. The search usually took a long time because it was thorough, thereby frustrating drivers and passengers.

His decision to evade the checkpoint was met with applause and cheers from the passengers in the vehicle celebrating their escape from a potentially lengthy police search.

“But why? They’d only have searched and let us go,”

I muttered, a sense of discomfort settling in the pit of my stomach.

I observed the driver’s triumphant expression, the gleam in his eyes, and realization dawned on me:

He wasn’t simply avoiding the inconvenience of a police stop, there was something more to it.

His tactics only further aroused my suspicions, raising the question of why he was so confident.

Seated in silence, I watched him retrieve his phone and dial a number while driving.

He relayed his message.

Although his voice was hushed, I could pick up his words because I was sitting right behind him.

“The goods are safe and I managed to get past the police without any problems”

He dropped his call. My gaze darted to the rear of the vehicle, and my heart sank realizing there were no goods there.

I leaned forward, my voice trembling as I mustered the courage to address the driver.

“Excuse me, sir, I couldn’t help but notice there are no goods in the back of the vehicle.”

The screech of brakes filled the air as the driver slammed them on, the sudden stop causing a commotion among the passengers.

The passengers shouted, asking him to take it easy. I turned to see two women praying and folded in fear.

His glare fixed on me through the rearview mirror, his expression a mask of fury.

He didn’t care about the cautions, but rather questioned me with his thick husky voice….

“What did you say?” he growled, His voice was laced with a threatening edge.

“I noticed there are no goods in the back,” I repeated, my voice shaking but determined.

The entire vehicle seemed to hold its breath as the tension between us escalated.

“Stay out of my business!” the driver spat, his rage obvious. I felt the driver’s gaze bore into me, a warning that sent shivers down my spine.

With a jerking motion, the vehicle lurched forward, and the journey continued, but the atmosphere had grown heavier.

The driver’s aura seemed to intensify, his presence now more unsettling than ever.

A few hours later, rain poured down relentlessly as the driver cautiously parked the bus in front of a dimly lit bar.

He fumbled for his phone and dialed a number, his voice projected urgency as he spoke to the person on the other end of the phone.

“We have arrived at the bar,” he said. Excuse me, “WE” not “I have arrived…” This scared me more but I listened to him again.

“Reserve a space for me and my passengers along with ready drinks” He put his phone away. With his instructions delivered, he motioned for us to leave the bus and seek shelter in the bar.

Stepping out into the rain, we followed the driver’s lead, our clothes quickly drenched by the relentless downpour.

Some of the passengers started complaining about the rain and how it would disrupt their journey. Others said it was the season so they were not surprised. Others said more rain meant more food.

The driver led us to a table that bore a reserved sign. The bar attendant lady greeted him and I couldn’t help but notice the driver and the attendant engaged in animated conversation, clearly familiar with each other.

A knowing smile was exchanged between them. While other passengers reveled in laughter and drinks served by the lady, my thoughts lingered on the driver.

A hint of caution led me to pay for a drink from a different attendant. I went to a guy with dark skin whose build showed that he had never missed a day in the gym. I wondered why he chose to be a bartender, a bouncer could have been the best for him.

“Hey, can you get me vodka?” I asked. He got a cup and poured my drink, but before he gave it to me, he said, “Here you go, it’s 300 naira.”

I paid and took a sip, but my face looked serious. “Hey, this is hot. ”Are not supposed to taste like milk,” he said. We both laughed.

I left him for another seat. Sipping my drink, I observed the driver and the bar attendant closely.

Their familiarity seemed to extend beyond the surface, their bond was more profound than that of a mere customer and attendant.

The pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place, forming a chilling picture of what might be happening. Maybe they were dating, drivers are not some set of faithful men. That was what I concluded.

A few seconds later, the bar attendant lady approached me with a warm smile. Her tone was friendly and inviting. She was holding a medium plastic drink, the color was orange.

“You know,” she began in a cheerful tone, “you could’ve saved some cash. It’s my birthday today, and I’m treating loyal customers, as well as their friends and family.”

Her statement confirmed my suspicions. And a surge of curiosity mixed with skepticism compelled me to ask, “Does that mean the driver is a regular here?”

She laughed gently, her eyes holding a knowing glint. “Oh yes, he’s been coming here for quite a while now.

He’s practically family.”  “Because you both are lovers,” I said to myself. And I couldn’t help but let out a nervous chuckle.

Her smile widened, and she leaned in slightly, her voice dropped to a conspiratorial tone.

“You’re not the first one to be cautious. “But let me tell you a secret. While other bartenders serve a rather hot brew, mine is the mildest and sweetest you’ll find”

My interest was piqued, and I took the plastic drink, got it opened and I drank a little from it. The flavor was indeed richer, a delightful twist on the ordinary vodka I had

As if reading my thoughts, she added, “See? Told you it’s special.” Unable to resist, I drank a larger quantity, the taste lingering on my tongue. With that, I emptied the entire medium plastic at a go. After our conversation, I left her to meet other passengers since the rain was over.

However, an unsettling sight awaited me. Every one of them was asleep, and a group of rough-looking men was busy tying them up, following the driver’s lead. The dark huge bartender who served me the drink was among them.

The rest of the bartenders I had seen earlier joined him too. My suspicions solidified into a chilling reality. The driver was a kidnapper. Panic surged through me, compelling me to flee before it was too late.

But my limbs felt like lead, my energy drained as if sapped by an invisible force. With each step, the world spun, and my vision blurred, the darkness encroaching from the edges until everything faded to black.

I had been drugged by the lady attendant. As I woke up slowly,  My head hurt a lot and the room felt too warm.

I felt confused. I didn’t know what time or day it was. The thought of my family not knowing my whereabouts made my heart sink. I couldn’t tell for how long I had been kidnapped…

All I knew was the story I just recounted. I was not sure what exactly went on, but I knew for sure that those bad people had tied me up and put me in this dark room.

I looked around to figure out if I was still in the bar or somewhere else in the city and shouted for help. Then I understood that shouting for help wouldn’t help me. It would just make things feel even worse.

Suddenly, a scream broke the silence, a scream that made me feel really scared.

It was her voice – the lady who had cautioned the driver who was speeding dangerously.

“Please, I don’t want to die. I have to take care of my kids,” she begged. The room was filled with cries. I could hear the sound of knives cutting through something.

It felt so real and too close. The walls seemed to be filled with the fear that was happening.

After some time, the noise stopped, and it got really quiet. I could hear words in the silence. The driver was telling the others what to do.

“Collect the body parts, and put them in the container. ”Get rid of the rest of the bodies as usual. ”Go to the next room,” he ordered.

His cold voice gave me chills. I felt bad because if I had listened to my instincts, I would have left the bus when I had the chance.

The driver’s behavior had been a warning, but I didn’t pay attention. I started thinking about my family. How would they be able to find me? When I didn’t even know what planet I was.

How could they know that I have been kidnapped and come to my rescue? These were all I could think about as hot tears dripped from my eyes.

I could picture the worry and the termination of my big sis’s wedding. All because I was missing with the worst part being that my disappearance would surely put my family through untold trauma. “Mom will surely die because of her HBP.

If only I knew that this would happen, I would’ve spent more time with her before I died.” I thought sadly to myself. I felt so trapped, tears came to my eyes and I remembered the good times I had with my family and friends.

I wanted to think about the good things instead of feeling like there was no hope. The chains hurt me, and I felt weak.

I knew I could die soon and everything was so scary. Then, I heard the sound of metal, like something was opening.

The gate to the room was being unlocked, and I got really scared. I couldn’t breathe properly, and I could hear someone coming close.

I was so afraid and my whole body was shaking. I bit my lips to stop myself from crying out loud.

I felt cold even though I was scared and hot inside. It was strange that a living person could feel as cold as someone dead.

But in those moments, that’s how it felt. I watched as a group of about ten people walked in.

They looked dirty and had blood on their clothes. The darkness hid their faces, and I could only see their shapes.

The smell of smoke made me sneeze, but I was glad because it was something to feel other than fear.

I wished I could die from my allergies to smoke rather than be slaughtered alive. These kidnappers believed that the chains and the locked gate were enough to keep me from escaping.

Even though I was not blindfolded, they were sure I couldn’t get away. The men split into two groups and stood facing each other.

I could tell that some were more important than others, like a hierarchy. The driver and some other person walked in.

The way they walked showed they were the leaders. The driver, who used to just drive the car, looked like he was in charge now.

He was standing next to the lady from the bar, who looked different. She used to be nice, but now she looked dangerous.

The other men bowed their heads like they were showing respect.

“All hail the young Don Blue,” they chorused, “When I serve the young Don, more blessings from the great Master Joe.” Their loyalty was undeniable.

In the middle of all this strange stuff, the driver’s(now Don Blue) phone rang loudly. He answered the call and spoke respectfully into the phone. His phone was on loudspeaker so we could hear his conversation. “Almost done delivering the last body part, just one left,”

He said scarily. “Okay,” the person on the other end said and hung up. Don Blue looked at me and smiled. He said

“It’s quite unfortunate that we have to get to this stage, my friend, you were inquisitive, that’s why I scheduled your slaughtering for the last. He grinned in a mean manner. The lady nodded in agreement. It hurt that I had trusted her earlier. I wanted to cry, but I had no tears left.

I was just watching, feeling like there was nothing I could do. Don Blue’s voice broke through the tension, asking, “Anything else?” He looked at one of the goons in a dark hoodie. The goon had a creepy smile and said, “Hey, Don. It’s been a while since I had some fun.

Can I enjoy myself before we finish him? Don Blue quickly agreed with a nod. My heart raced as the dirty goon moved closer, looking excited in a bad way. I felt really scared like something heavy was on top of me.

He didn’t waste time and quickly took off his clothes like he was in a hurry. I realized he was gay. He pulled off my jeans easily because I was tied up. I felt embarrassed by my nakedness but I care less because I knew I had a bigger problem ahead.

His hands were dirty, and he rubbed my chest. I wanted to scream, but I couldn’t. Whenever I tried to fight, he struck me in the face.

It hurt a lot, and I felt humiliated. He moved his hands down, and I realized what was happening. I couldn’t do anything; I was stuck with this awful person. It was a terrible situation. The other goons watched and cheered him on. They were mean and enjoying it, which showed how cruel they could be.

Finally, the thing I was most afraid of happened. He took off my underwear, and I felt completely exposed. It was a horrible feeling like he was taking away everything from me. He turned my back to him with his eyes on my anus.

As he was about to begin his exercise, my phone rang loudly. The noise made everything stop, and when I opened my eyes, I was in a different place. It was all a dream; a nightmare.

From going to the park to the driver, getting tickets, facing a kidnapping, and even the near-death situation had all been a dream.

I had slept off after my workout. My room was back to normal, and I wasn’t tied up. I was sweaty and my bed was all over the place, as if I had been struggling in my dream.

The dream was so real that the bad feeling stayed with me. This was a common reoccurrence for me as I have always had scary dreams since I was a child.

My phone rang.  I picked it up with shaky hands. My elder sister was on the other end.,

“Come to Ikeja for my wedding before it’s too late.” Hearing her, a mix of fear and nervousness filled me. “I will get there in time,” I assured her, I felt scared again like something really bad was going to happen. It was like the dream was still there, but in real life.

Once again, my instincts kicked in, alerting me to potential danger. The familiarity of this feeling with a past dream intrigued me.

I couldn’t help but notice that I was dressed exactly as I had been in that dream. Given my strong belief in superstitions, I pondered whether the dream held a warning or some significance.

The question of whether I should place my trust in my instincts lingered in my mind, prompting me to reflect on it.

As I grappled with these thoughts, one thing was certain: The line between reality and nightmare was far thinner than I had ever imagined.

Story by the author: The Shadowed Alliance

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