Chapter 10 I'm so sorry ma, our hands are tied

Bur!ed Alive.

(for miracle)

Episode 🔟

... We got to the police station, our hearts still racing from the King's palace, our minds reeling from the events that had unfolded. The pastor, his voice firm and resolute, demanded to see the DPO, the officer in charge, to whom we explained everything, leaving no detail untold. We told him everything, We poured out our hearts, our fears, our worries, our desperation. But, do you want to know what he told us? His response was a stark reminder of the harsh realities we faced, a cruel blow that left us reeling. His words were a slap in the face, a cold, hard truth that we had hoped to avoid. He told

"I'm so sorry, pastor, and Madam," the DPO said, his voice laced with a mixture of sympathy and helplessness. "Our hands are tied in this case, and besides, there's no evidence. How sure are we that your husband was buried alive by this said king?" He raised an eyebrow, his tone skeptical, as if questioning our sanity for even thinking such a thing. "The police don't work that way," he continued, his words a stark reminder of the harsh realities we faced. "If there was a piece of valid evidence to back this claim, we would have swung into action, but... " He shrugged, his shoulders heavy with the weight of his own limitations.

"And, let's be real, the King is one of those powerful and influential people around here who do not joke with the welfare of all the uniformed men in this town," he added, his voice barely above a whisper, as if fearful of being overheard. "We don't even have the guts to drive down to the palace to try to interrogate him, just because of what we heard," he admitted, his eyes cast downward, his expression a mix of shame and frustration. "I'm so sorry," he repeated, his words a hollow comfort, a reminder that justice was a luxury we could not afford.

The Pastor smiled, a gentle, sorrowful smile, and then bowed his head, as if in prayer. He exhaled a deep sigh, and then shook his head, his eyes filled with a mixture of sadness and frustration. "Sir, the grave is there, and you can go ahead and dig it if you need concrete evidence," he said, his voice laced with a hint of irony, as if the very idea of needing evidence was absurd. "So, what other evidence are we talking about?" he asked, his tone incredulous, his hands spread wide in a gesture of disbelief.

I raged, my anger and frustration boiling over, my words tumbling out in a torrent of emotion. "See, just take a look at my son," I exclaimed, my voice cracking with pain, as I gestured towards Sammy, who stood beside me, his eyes vacant, his body battered. "The King did this to him," I accused, my finger pointing towards the palace, my eyes blazing with fury. "So, what are you saying?" I demanded, my voice a challenge, a dare to the DPO to deny the truth that stared him in the face. "Are you saying that this isn't evidence enough? That my son's broken body isn't proof enough of the King's cruelty?" I raged on, my words a fierce indictment of the system that had failed us so utterly.

"I'm so sorry, ma, our hands are tied," the DPO replied again, his smile a thin, apologetic curve of his lips, his eyes avoiding ours, as if unable to meet our gaze. "I see," the pastor said, his voice dripping with skepticism, his eyes narrowing as he rubbed both palms together, the sound of his hands a soft, mocking echo of the DPO's words. "Your hands are tied, right?" he quizzed, his tone a gentle, sarcastic prod, as if goading the DPO to admit the truth.

The DPO shifted uncomfortably, his smile faltering, his eyes darting towards us, then away, as if seeking an escape from the pastor's piercing gaze. "I'm sorry, sir," he said, his voice barely above a whisper, his words a weak, inadequate response to the pastor's unspoken accusation. The silence that followed was heavy with tension, the air thick with the weight of unspoken truths, the DPO's apology a hollow echo that offered no comfort, no solace, no justice.

The Pastor stood up, his movements slow and deliberate, his eyes filled with a deep sadness and understanding. He then asked us to leave, his voice gentle, yet firm, and we departed, our footsteps heavy with despair, our hearts weighed down by the injustice we had faced. We walked towards his car, the silence between us a thick, heavy fog that seemed to suffocate us. As we settled into the vehicle, I couldn't hold back my emotions any longer. I wept like my husband had just died, my sobs racking my body, my tears streaming down my face like a river of pain. I couldn't believe the injustice being done by people who were meant to protect us, who were sworn to serve and defend. The betrayal was a bitter pill to swallow, and I felt like I was choking on it.

The Pastor's voice was a gentle balm, a soothing comfort in the midst of my anguish. "Let's return to my place," he said, his words a gentle command. "I know exactly what to do about this case." His confidence was a beacon of hope, a ray of light in the darkness that had engulfed us. I nodded, my sobs subsiding, my tears drying on my cheeks, as I clung to his words like a lifeline. We drove in silence, the only sound my occasional sniffles, my mind racing with thoughts of what the Pastor had in store, what plan he had to help us navigate this treacherous landscape of corruption and deceit.

"Sir, don't you think we should just go back to Akure and inform everyone about all that had happened?" I managed to say, my voice barely above a whisper, my words punctuated by sobs that shook my body. I was desperate for a solution, for a way out of this nightmare, and the thought of returning home and sharing our story with others seemed like a beacon of hope.

But the Pastor's response was firm and resolute. "No, it's not possible," he said, his voice a gentle but unyielding command. "Just let me handle this my own way, I know exactly what to do." His words were a mystery, a promise of a plan that only he could see, and I could only trust.

I sighed, my body sagging under the weight of my despair, my tears falling like rain onto my lap. "Ok, sir," I said, my voice a whisper of resignation, as I wiped my tears away with the back of my hand. I didn't know what the Pastor had in mind, but I knew I had to trust him, to believe that he would lead us out of this darkness and into the light. And so, I nodded, my eyes fixed on the road ahead, my heart fixed on the hope that the Pastor's words had kindled.

We arrived at the Pastor's place, a small, cozy house on the outskirts of town, its walls adorned with ivy and its garden bursting with vibrant flowers. As soon as he dropped us off, he drove off, leaving us standing in the driveway, his words trailing behind him like a promise. "I have some things to tidy up," he said, his voice a gentle dismissal, as he gestured to the house, inviting us to enter.

We watched as his car disappeared around the corner, the sound of its engine fading into the distance, leaving us alone and uncertain. I turned to Sammy, my eyes searching his face for answers, but his expression was a mask of confusion and fear. I took his hand, leading him towards the house, its door creaking open with a gentle push.

As we stepped inside, the silence was palpable, the air thick with the scent of old books and fresh coffee. The Pastor's study was a cozy room, its walls lined with shelves overflowing with tomes and papers, a large desk sitting like an island in the center of the room. I settled Sammy onto the couch, his eyes fixed on the door, waiting for the Pastor's return, as I wandered around the room, taking in the familiar surroundings, searching for clues to the Pastor's plan.

Later that night, we waited and waited for the Pastor to return home, but as the hours ticked by, his absence became increasingly unsettling. The clock on the wall seemed to mock us, its hands moving with agonizing slowness, as we grew more and more anxious. We had expected him to return shortly, but as the darkness deepened and the night wore on, our worry turned to fear. It was past 9:30 pm when I finally decided to seek help, my heart racing as I made my way to the neighbors' houses, hoping to find some answers.

As I knocked on the doors, I was met with curious faces, their eyes narrowing as they asked me who I was and what I was doing in the Pastor's house. One of them even had the audacity to tell me that I wasn't his wife, their tone implying that I was some kind of imposter. But I stood my ground, explaining that the Pastor was a helper, a friend who had taken us in during our time of need. Before I knew what was happening, the news had spread like wildfire, and soon the house was filled with the Pastor's church members, their faces etched with concern.

They kept trying his number, but it was switched off, a dead silence that only added to our growing unease. The room was filled with the murmur of worried voices, the air thick with the weight of our collective fear. Where was the Pastor? Why hadn't he returned? And what did it mean for our own safety, our own future? The questions swirled in my mind like a vortex, as we waited and waited for some sign of the Pastor's return.

"Have I not implicated this innocent pastor with my own problems like this?" I mumbled to myself, my thoughts a jumbled mix of guilt, anxiety, and self-reproach. My mind raced with the possibilities, my imagination running wild with worst-case scenarios. Had I dragged the Pastor into our mess, putting him in harm's way with my own foolish decisions? Had I jeopardized his safety, his reputation, his very life, by seeking his help? The weight of my responsibility bore down on me like a crushing burden, my heart heavy with regret.

I thought of all the times he had helped us, his kindness and generosity a beacon of hope in our darkest moments. And now, had I repaid that kindness by putting him in danger? The thought was too much to bear, my conscience screaming at me for my thoughtlessness. I felt like I had made a grave mistake, one that could have far-reaching consequences, not just for the Pastor, but for all of us. My mind was a whirlwind of "what ifs" and "maybes", my thoughts consumed by the fear of what might happen next.

Some of the church members, their faces etched with concern, left around 11 pm, bidding us a somber goodnight, while others stayed back, their steadfast presence a beacon of hope in the midst of our turmoil. I, however, was a picture of despair, pacing up and down the living room, my feet tracing a path of anxiety, my mind racing with thoughts of the unknown. Tears streamed down my face, hot and relentless, as I struggled to make sense of the chaos that had engulfed us.

I was lost, utterly confused about what to do next, my thoughts a jumbled mess of fear, worry, and uncertainty. The people present, though well-meaning, couldn't comprehend the depth of my distress, their words of comfort falling flat in the face of my desperation. I felt like I was drowning, suffocating under the weight of my own helplessness, as the clock ticked on, each passing minute a reminder of the Pastor's absence, and the uncertainty that lay ahead.

My pacing became more frenzied, my tears falling like rain, as I tried to think of a solution, a way out of this nightmare. But every door I opened in my mind led to more questions, more fears, more uncertainty. I was trapped, stuck in a never-ending cycle of panic and despair, as the night wore on, and the darkness outside seemed to closing in on us.

"Can it be that the king has him?" I wondered, my mind racing with the possibility of the Pastor's disappearance being linked to the very person we had sought help from. "Did he have an accident?" I thought, imagining the worst, my heart sinking at the prospect of something terrible having happened to him. "Was he kidnapped?" I asked myself, my mind conjuring up images of the Pastor being taken against his will, held captive by some unknown force. "Or do the police have a hand in this?" I questioned, my thoughts turning to the very people who were supposed to protect us, wondering if they were somehow involved in his disappearance.

The questions swirled in my mind like a vortex, each one leading to more possibilities, more fears, more uncertainty. I couldn't shake off the feeling that something sinister was at play, that the Pastor's disappearance was more than just a simple case of being out late. I thought of his words, his promise to help us, and I couldn't help but wonder if he had been silenced, if his determination to uncover the truth had put him in harm's way.

The more I thought, the more my mind raced, the more questions I had. But there were no answers, only the eerie silence of the night, the darkness that seemed to closing in on us, and the weight of my own fear and uncertainty. I was trapped in a never-ending cycle of questions, each one leading to more doubt, more fear, and more desperation.

In the early hours of the next day, just as the darkness was beginning to lift, and the first light of dawn was creeping into the sky, some men, about 5 in number, came to knock on the door. Their arrival was sudden, unexpected, and sent a chill down my spine. One of the church members, who had stayed behind to keep us company, cautiously opened the door, asking them who they were and where they came from. The men, their faces stern and unyielding, replied that they were there to see us, their eyes fixed on the house as if searching for something or someone.

As soon as the church member shut the door and informed us that some men were there to see my children and me, my heart skipped a beat. A sense of foreboding washed over me, my mind racing with worst-case scenarios. Who were these men? What did they want with us? Had they come to harm us, to take us away, or to deliver some terrible news? The questions swirled in my head like a maelstrom, as I tried to prepare myself for the unknown. My children, sensing my fear, clung to me tightly, their eyes wide with worry, as we waited with bated breath to see what would happen next.

"Did they tell you where they came from?" I asked the church member, my voice laced with a sense of urgency and concern. I needed to know who these men were, what their intentions were, and why they were asking for us. But the church member shook his head, his expression grim. "No, they didn't. They only asked me to help them call the fair woman with two children who are in here." His words sent a chill down my spine.

"Ah!" I exclaimed, my voice a mixture of fear and surprise. The way they had described me, "the fair woman with two children", sent a shiver down my spine. It was as if they knew us, knew our description, and had come specifically for us. I felt a sense of dread building up inside me, my mind racing with thoughts of who these men could be, and what they wanted with us. Were they from the king's palace? Were they sent to take us away? The questions swirled in my head, as I tried to prepare myself for the unknown, my children's eyes fixed on me, filled with worry and fear.

"Is anything the matter?" One of them quizzed, his voice firm but polite, his eyes scanning me and my children with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. I forced a smile onto my face, trying to appear calm and composed, despite the turmoil brewing inside me. "No, nothing," I replied, my voice steady, but my heart racing with anticipation. I opened the door wider, stepping out into the early morning light, my children clinging to me tightly, their eyes fixed on the men before us.

And then, my heart sank. Lo and behold, they were the King's guards, their distinctive uniforms and insignia a stark reminder of the power and authority they wielded. My mind raced with thoughts of the Pastor's disappearance, the King's involvement, and the danger that we might be in. I felt a cold dread creeping up my spine, as I realized that we were at the mercy of these men, and that our fate hung in the balance. The guards' faces were impassive, their eyes revealing nothing, as they stood before us, their presence a stark reminder of the King's reach and power.

"You people again?" I questioned, my voice laced with a mix of frustration, fear, and disbelief. How could this be happening again? Hadn't we been through enough already? I thought of the Pastor's disappearance, the uncertainty we had faced, and the danger that still lurked. And now, the King's guards were standing before us, their presence a harbinger of more trouble to come.

"The King summons you and your children to the palace," one of them let out, his voice firm and authoritative, leaving no room for debate or refusal. My heart sank, my mind racing with thoughts of what this could mean. What did the King want with us? Had we done something wrong? Were we in trouble? The questions swirled in my head like a vortex, as I tried to process the gravity of the situation.

I looked at my children, their eyes wide with fear, their faces pale with worry. What would happen to them? Would they be taken away from me? The thought sent a chill down my spine, as I realized that we were at the mercy of the King's whims. I had no choice but to comply, to follow the guards to the palace, and face whatever lay ahead. The uncertainty was suffocating, the fear palpable, as we prepared to face the unknown.

"For what?" I quizzed with popped eyes, my voice laced with a mix of shock, disbelief, and outrage. "You people want to bury us alive too, just like you buried my husband?" I barked at them, my words tumbling out in a torrent of anger and fear. The memory of my husband's disappearance and the King's involvement was still fresh in my mind, and now, the thought of being summoned to the palace again was too much to bear.

As soon as those people inside the house heard my voice, they started coming outside one after the other, their faces filled with concern and curiosity. The church members who had stayed with us, the neighbors who had come to offer support, and even the children who had been playing in the compound all gathered around, sensing that something was amiss. They formed a semi-circle around me, their eyes fixed on the guards, their bodies tense with anticipation, as if ready to defend us against any harm.

The guards, however, remained unmoved, their faces impassive, their eyes fixed on me with a stern warning. They knew they had the upper hand, and that we were at their mercy. I felt a surge of defiance and determination, knowing that I had to protect my children and myself at all costs. I stood tall, my eyes locked on the guards, my heart pounding with fear and anger, as I waited for their response.

"Madam, is everything alright?" One of them asked, looking at me with a mixture of concern and confusion, his eyes scanning the scene before him. But I was beyond consolation, my emotions raw and exposed.

"No, nothing is okay here!" I exclaimed, my voice rising to a crescendo, tears streaming down my face like a river. "These men are from the neighboring village, they work with the King," I spat out the words, my anger and bitterness boiling over. "They buried my husband alive two days ago, just because he preached the gospel and spoke the truth! And now, they are here for my children and me!" I said, my voice cracking with anguish, my heart shattering into a million pieces.

The crowd around me gasped in shock and horror, their faces reflecting their disbelief and outrage. The guards, however, remained unmoved, their faces still impassive, their eyes still cold and calculating. But I didn't care, I was beyond fear, my grief and anger propelling me forward.

"I won't let them take us away!" I declared, my voice firm and resolute, my eyes blazing with determination. "I won't let them silence us like they silenced my husband! We will not be intimidated, we will not be defeated!" I cried out, my words echoing through the compound, a defiant challenge to the guards, to the King, and to the darkness that had descended upon us.

"What?!" One of the members exclaimed, his voice laced with shock and disbelief, his eyes wide with wonder. And then, the rest of them started turning and looking at each other, their faces filled with confusion and uncertainty, mumbling some words in whispers to each other, their heads shaking in disbelief.

"Well, the thing is," a man stepped forward, his voice calm and resolute, "return to the palace and tell your King that you met some believers of God here, and they told you people that you can't leave this place with them." His words were like a balm to my soul, a ray of hope in the midst of despair.

Immediately, I felt relief wash over me, like a cool breeze on a sweltering day. My heart, which had been racing with fear and anxiety, began to slow down, my breathing becoming more steady. I felt a sense of gratitude towards this man, this stranger who had spoken up for us, who had stood up against the King's guards and their cruel intentions.

The guards, however, didn't seem too pleased with this turn of events. Their faces darkened, their eyes narrowing in anger, their hands clenched into fists. But the man's words had sparked a sense of courage and defiance in the crowd, and they began to murmur their agreement, their voices rising in a chorus of support. "Yes, tell the King that we won't let them take our sister and her children away!" someone shouted, and the crowd erupted in a cheer, their voices echoing through the compound, a declaration of resistance against the King's tyranny.

"We'll have to force them out of here to the palace, even carry them if that's what they want," One of the guards said, his voice cold and menacing, his eyes gleaming with a sinister intent. He approached us, his hand reaching out to grab my arm, his grip like a vice. But I was not going to go quietly, and neither were my children and the church members. We struggled and fought against them, refusing to be dragged away like animals.

My children clung to me, their faces wet with tears, their eyes wide with fear. The church members surrounded us, their faces set with determination, their voices raised in protest. "You can't take them away!" they shouted, their fists shaking with anger. "You can't silence the truth!" But the guards were relentless, their training and weapons giving them an advantage.

Just as it seemed like the situation was spiraling out of control, we heard the sound of cars driving into the compound. The guards immediately withdrew, their faces pale with fear. And then, we saw him - the Pastor, standing tall and proud, his eyes shining with a fierce determination. But he was not alone - he was accompanied by some army officers, their uniforms and weapons a stark contrast to the guards' menacing presence.

My children and I rushed to him, our faces wet with tears, our hearts overflowing with relief. "Where have you been?" we asked, our voices trembling with worry. "We were so scared, we thought we'd lost you too!" The Pastor's face softened, his eyes filled with compassion. "I had to travel out of town to report the case," he explained, his voice calm and steady. "I had to make sure that the truth was told, that justice would be served." And with that, he put his arms around us, holding us close, his presence a beacon of hope in the midst of darkness.

To be continued