📖 Chapter Two:
[The Temple and the Teeth]
The scream tore through the flat like a blade through silk.
Nkemdilim sat bolt upright, drenched in sweat, her breath ragged. Her fingers clawed at the sheets, eyes wide, pupils dilated—as though she'd glimpsed something ancient and unforgiving.
Her roommate, Ejiro—born and bred Warri girl with a voice sharp enough to slice yam—burst into the room, wrapper half-tied.
Ejiro:
"Ah ah! Wetin be all dis one na? Shu! You wan use shout kill person for midnight? Na so your own dreams dey do you? Person no fit sleep in peace for this house again abi?"
Nkemdilim couldn't speak. Her mouth moved, but no sound came. Just tears. Just tremors.
Ejiro softened, realizing her friend's torment. She sat beside her, pulled her close.
Ejiro:
"See ehn, I know say all these bad bad dreams no be your fault and E Dey ordinary. Na why I dey tell you since—this wahala wey dey follow you, e get spiritual leg. You need go church. Real one. No be all these Instagram pastors wey dey shout 'fire' but na only woman and money dem dey chase. Go church make dem pray better prayers for your head. You dey hear me?"
Nkemdilim:
"I don't know if I believe anymore."
Ejiro:
"Believe wetin? Na belief dey keep person sane?you wan run made? E get one church wey my cousin dey go. She talk say the pastor for church sabi pray well-well. Dem say e dey see vision. Say power dey the church. Maybe e fit help you. I go send you the address if you wan go."
(⛪️ The Church of Divine Mantle)
Sunday came like a whisper. Nkemdilim dressed modestly—ankara blouse, plain skirt, no makeup. She didn't want to be seen. She wanted to be healed.
The church was tucked between two warehouses, painted in loud gold and white. Inside, the air was thick with incense and ego. The choir sang like they were auditioning for heaven. The ushers moved like soldiers.
Pastor Ephraim stepped onto the altar, flanked by a convoy of acolytes and junior pastors. His presence filled the auditorium. Tall. Smooth. Charisma wrapped in cassock. His eyes scanned the congregation like a predator in prayer.
Pastor Ephraim:
"Sister, I see you. You, in the third row. The veil is upon you."
Nkemdilim froze. Her heart thudded.
After service, he summoned her to his office. The room smelled of cologne and secrets. Bible on the desk. Champagne in the drawer. His gaze lingered—white smile, polished charm,his presence almost intimidating,but there's something darker beneath as he steers her with lust.
He began speaking in tongues, performing his rehearsed theatrics. His smart tab glowed beneath the desk, quietly pulling up her information. He shouted:
Pastor Ephraim:
"Oh Yes Lord! I hear you! Speak to me!
After soliloquizing and whispering words only he understood, he turned abruptly, eyes wide—like he was attempting to pierce her soul. But Nkemdilim didn't flinch. She had seen his kind before.
Pastor Ephraim:
"Sister Nkemdilim. Nkem for short. I heard the angels call you by that name, I know my secretary didn't mention the price for one-on-one counseling, but that's fine. You don't have to pay anything. You're a special case. I like that. The Lord showed me your face last night. You carry power. But power must be guided."
Nkemdilim:
"I just want peace."
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a whisper, eyes narrowing.
Pastor Ephraim:
"Peace comes with sacrifice. Sometimes… with intimacy. You understand?"
She didn't flinch. Her eyes locked onto his—not just looking, but scanning. She saw through the facade.
He reached for her hand. She pulled back.
Pastor Ephraim:
"Don't be afraid. The Lord uses vessels. Your beauty is a gift. Your body, a temple. Let me worship."
⚡️ (The Confrontation)
Nkemdilim snapped. She stood, fury boiling.
Nkemdilim:
"You're not a pastor. You're a parasite."
Pastor Ephraim:
"Careful, sister. You don't know who you're speaking to."
Nkemdilim:
"I know exactly who I'm speaking to. A man who hides lust and greed behind liturgy and fake prophecies, taking advantage of people's pain and suffering. You're a thief. And you're not even aware of your own depravity. You'll burn in hell."
She stormed out. The ushers stared. The choir paused. The veil inside her pulsed.
🏠 Back at the Flat
Ejiro was waiting, chewing chin-chin like it owed her money, watching a movie on her phone.
Ejiro:
"Aah aah! Dis one your face dey like dis—how e go nah?"
Nkemdilim:
"Your pastor na fraud. E wan use prayer enter my pant. See ehn, if no be say you be my childhood friend—almost like sister—I for get better problem with you now!"
Ejiro dropped the chin-chin.
Ejiro:
"Jesu! You say wetin? You no mean am! I go call my cousin tell am the gist. I been hear say that man don try am with three girls before. Na so dem dey cover sin with anointing oil. Aah forgive me o. No vex. Na help I been wan help my sister."
Nkemdilim: so you been know say E Dey like that you still advise me go there!
Ejiro: Aah aah, sha I don apologize, why you still Dey Frown face for me nah, but you really show the pastor fire o. Ejiro laughs trying to cheer her up.
Nkemdilim: don't do that,it's not funny,okey?
"I'm done with churches. I'll find my healing elsewhere."
Ejiro:
"Then make we find your big sis nah, Amaka. She sabi truth pass Bible. If anybody fit help you, na she."
Nkemdilim nodded. Her nightmares weren't just dreams. They were memories bleeding through the veil. And Amaka? Amaka was the only one who knew how to stitch them shut.