The Immortal - Chapter Five

CHAPTER FIVE

Prophet John

 Make yourself familiar with the angels,

and behold them frequently in spirit;

for without being seen, they are present with you.- Sales

The living room crackles with unspoken tension. I sit among Prophet John, Uncle Tayo, Senator Smith, and Jane, each drowning in our thoughts, the silence only broken by the distant hum of traffic seeping through the window.

I awaken feeling invincible, the shadows of yesterday’s nightmare erased by the dawn. Jane occupies the guest room, her presence a reassuring anchor of normalcy in the chaos.

Aaron perches cross-legged at the foot of my bed, his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that pierces through the morning haze. “Welcome back to the land of the living, Mr. Big Shot,” he teases, a playful edge in his voice. “I took a little trip to the president’s bedroom yesterday. He’s furious, Moses. Wants to see you lose everything.”

I disentangle myself from the rumpled sheets, casting off the remnants of sleep like old worries. The grandfather clock ticks softly, a reminder that the world outside marches on. As I reach for my toothbrush, the room fills with the gentle strains of a love song from my Sony Super Woofer, perfectly timed to start at six.

“Did you catch that?” Aaron’s voice sharpens, slicing through the melody. “The president’s gunning for you.”

I dismiss his concern with a wave, grabbing the toothbrush from his hand. My reflection stares back at me, a calm man, though tension coils like a snake inside. I grimace, more for Aaron’s amusement than my own.

“I saw that,” he mutters, a grin in his tone.

“You saw what?” I turn to face him, incredulous. “Can you see me in the mirror?”

“You heard me. I can see both of us,” Aaron replies, his voice tinged with pride.

His revelation jolts me. “Aaron, do you know what this means? Just yesterday, you could touch things, and now this?”

I pause, letting the implications sink in. “No, it can’t be what I’m thinking, right?”

“What are you thinking?” Aaron asks, laughter rumbling in his chest.

“That you’re becoming more like me—physical.”

“How could I? I have no physical body. I’m invincible!”

“You forget we were once alike,” I say, my mind racing. “Mother always said she felt the pain of a second child when I was born. She’s always believed in you. Father thinks I’m delusional. And remember, Jane heard you.”

Aaron falls silent, uncertainty flickering across his features—a rare moment of vulnerability.

“Speaking of Jane, where is she?” Aaron asks, steering the conversation away from the uncomfortable truth.

I glance at the door, a rush of gratitude for Jane’s comforting yet complicated presence.

“She’s got her room,” I insist, catching Aaron’s skeptical look. “Contrary to what you might think, we’re not sleeping together.”

Aaron saunters to the DVD player, switching the music to something more spiritual. “Are you saying you haven’t, you know, done it?”

“I’m not saying anything,” I shout back, frustration threading through my voice.

“Oh! Touché. Anyway, forget about who can see me or not. Last night, I sat at the foot of the president’s bed while he was with his wife. He looked ridiculous without his clothes on. I accidentally touched the First Lady, and she reacted.”

I freeze, my mind whirling with possibilities. “What’s happening to us, Aaron? Yesterday at the studio, it felt like I wasn’t in control. Something else took over my tongue.”

Aaron dismisses it with a wave. “Let’s set that aside for now. The Pastor might have answers for whatever’s going on. When he saw me yesterday, he looked at my eyes and shook his head. We’ve got a more pressing problem. What do we do about the president’s plan?”

“What can we do?” I sigh, the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders. “If he wants to take all my money, there’s not much we can do.”

I step into the bathroom, distracted as I climb into the bathtub, still wearing my nightclothes. The water isn’t as cold as I expect, and I peel off the soaked pajamas, letting them fall to the floor in a soggy heap. Aaron shoots me a disapproving look, but I ignore him. What’s his problem, anyway? It’s not like he’s the one who cleans up.

Aaron glances up at the ceiling, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. “Maybe you can’t do anything, but there’s plenty I can do.”

“Oh no, you don’t,” I warn, pointing a finger at him. “The last time you tried to ‘help’ me, I almost got committed. Dad was ready to send me to a psychiatric hospital.”

Aaron freezes mid-dance as Jane steps into the bathroom, clutching the telephone. Her eyes flicker away, but not before I catch her glance at my naked form. I take the phone, feeling a rush of embarrassment mixed with amusement. Aaron, seizing the moment, rushes over to Jane, aiming for a kiss, but she turns her head, and his lips land on her cheek instead.

“Hello, Aaron. I’m Jane. Moses didn’t properly introduce us yesterday,” she says, a playful smile on her lips.

Aaron stares, momentarily struck dumb. “She can not only hear me; she can see me!” he mutters, awe in his voice.

“Of course, I can see you,” Jane replies. “I couldn’t yesterday, but today, I see you just as clearly as Moses.”

“Hello, is anybody there?” Henry Hope’s voice crackles through the phone. My old friend Henry heads the State Security Service, the once-feared S.S.S. We haven’t spoken since he tried to convince me to take on armed police escorts, a suggestion I’d flatly refused. The last I heard, Henry had been appointed to the president’s ten-member anti-corruption team. I’m curious to know what he has to say.

“Hello, Henry. Long time no see. Sorry to keep you waiting. Something came up,” I say, my voice tinged with exasperation.

“Moses, my man, what have you done to make the government so angry? Look, you need to find some powerful people to intercede on your behalf because I’ve never seen the president so furious,” Henry replies, admiration lacing his tone.

Henry isn’t one to sit and watch television, so I know the news must have reached him through the grapevine. I brace myself, expecting a scolding, but Henry remains silent. “Hello, are you still there?” I ask, breaking the uneasy pause.

“You’re really in deep shit,” Henry sighs. “I would suggest you ask Prophet Elijah to speak to the president. How could you antagonize the only man many believe is the real power behind the presidency?”

“Are we still in a democracy?” I ask, incredulous.

“When will you grow up, Moses? For now, Nigerian democracy is the president, and the president is Elijah through Victor.”

“What are you saying?” I ask, feeling a chill creep over my skin.

“You heard me,” Henry says, his voice heavy with regret. “Find a way to appeal to the president. Maybe he’ll reconsider. If not, you’re in more trouble than you can imagine. I’m taking a huge risk talking to you. The president considers you persona non grata, and you’ve made an enemy of the only person who can make or break anyone in this country today.” Sadness weaves through Henry’s words, making my heart sink.

“I’d hate to be in your shoes right now, Moses. I don’t think anyone living in Nigeria today would want to be in your shoes.”

“You’re wrong, Henry. I know at least two other people who’d gladly be in my shoes.”

I hang up, a knot tightening in my stomach. Steam rising around me, I enter the bathroom and let the water cascade over my head. Aaron loiters in the doorway, a smug look on his face.

I grab my toothbrush from Aaron, who clutches it like a prize. I search in vain for toothpaste.

“You can use salt,” Aaron suggests, grinning.

I shoot him a glare. “I’m not using salt just because you said so.”

I spot an empty tube of toothpaste tucked behind the sink, squeezing the brush against it in desperation. Just then, Jane enters, her presence as calming as the morning light.

“I bought a new one yesterday when I saw you didn’t have any left,” she says, handing me the tube.

I thank Jane, but I use the toothpaste I squeeze from the nearly empty tube anyway, ignoring the fresh tube she offers. There’s something oddly satisfying about getting the last bit out.

The drive to the office is uneventful, and I settle into the daily routine, attending to my tasks with a sense of purpose. Nothing seems out of the ordinary, no hint of the upheaval that will shake my world in less than a week. The only odd occurrence is the abrupt cancellation of a significant road contract. I’d already received the usual fifty percent upfront payment, and now, I’m left to wonder what happens to the ten percent kickback I’d paid to the director general. I dial the Ministry of Works director, my voice steady as I demand answers. He assured me the ministry had suspended the contract and not canceled it. Satisfied, at least for now, I finish the day’s work and return to Jane.

Since my last confrontation with Joseph Giwa, I’ve kept my distance, letting the tension between us cool. The uproar over my blunt comment about the president on that TV program still reverberates throughout the country, creating ripples that refuse to settle. The presidency has suspended the director of programs, the producer, and the talk show moderator involved. I know from experience that they are likely already retired or sacked.

The government’s intolerance knows no bounds, but in my naivety, I convinced myself they couldn’t touch me. After all, I’m not a government employee. How wrong I was.

I try reaching Henry, but my calls go unanswered. Finally, on Friday, Henry calls. “Listen to an important announcement by the Secretary to the Federal Government on the Nigerian Television Authority Network this evening,” he says, his voice devoid of its usual warmth.

That announcement marks the end of one chapter in my life and the beginning of another fraught with uncertainty. The government revokes my oil license, alleging irrefutable evidence linking me to illegal oil bunkering. They quickly enacted a new law stipulating a five-year imprisonment for anyone involved in such activities. Additionally, anyone involved will forfeit all proceeds from these illicit transactions to the government.

The government enacted the new law specifically to nail me. With all the major newspapers already crucifying me for my earlier comment, I expect no sympathy from the press this time. The government has me cornered.

A few days later, the government released a white paper, freezing my bank accounts and confiscating all my property, leaving only my house and a measly ten billion Naira in the bank. Rumors circulated that the government would have made me face the full wrath of the new law, but some advised against actions that might paint me as a hero rather than a villain. So, they didn’t charge me with any offense or take me to court. This new law and my persecution are the reasons for this early morning meeting, the air heavy with the weight of what’s to come.

The atmosphere in the room buzzes with warmth and liveliness as we chat and sip coffee. Jokes fly back and forth, our conversation skirting the real reason for our gathering. Jane looks as beautiful as ever, wearing one of my pajamas that seems to fit her perfectly as if tailored for her. Her presence has a magnetic effect on everyone in the room except for her brother. Uncle Tayo and Senator Smith can’t help but steal glances at her, their eyes betraying their curiosity and admiration. I smile, knowing their thoughts probably mirror mine. The question dances on their lips, dying to be asked, yet restrained by her presence.

Uncle Tayo has already filed a suit at the high court, challenging the government’s decision to confiscate my property. Whether that was a wise move is one of the key points we need to discuss in our meeting. Until now, our conversation has been light-hearted, but things are about to turn serious as Prophet John asks everyone to stand for prayer. He prays for divine guidance to help us navigate the situation and for good health to see it through logically. A resounding “Amen” fills the room as we sit back down. Prophet John gives me a nod, indicating it’s time to get started.

“Gentlemen, I think some introductions are in order,” I say, glancing toward Uncle Tayo. “We all know the gentleman who just prayed. You’ve likely seen him on television even if you haven’t met him personally. I believe Senator Smith is also familiar to everyone. The only person who might be a mystery to some is the lady I see Uncle Tayo and the Senator are particularly eager to know.” I grin, pretending I’m about to sit down, drawing disappointing looks from them.

“To satisfy your curiosity,” I continue, “this is Jane. She is Prophet John’s sister and also my fiancée.”

Uncle Tayo and the senator exchange envious glances as if saying, ‘You’re the luckiest son-of-a-gun alive.’ They nod to Jane in acknowledgment, adopting the air of gentlemen despite not being as gentlemanly as they pretend. How many true gentlemen, whether lawyers or senators are out there? In my experience, most of them are rascals.

Uncle Tayo raises his hand to speak. “Please, gentlemen, allow me to shed some light on why the government persecutes Moses.”

“We all know why they’re after him,” the Senator interjects. “It’s because he can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“My dear senator,” says Prophet John, his expression serious. “That may be true to some extent, but it doesn’t capture the whole truth. A few days ago, I visited Moses here. We had a lengthy discussion about the state of the country and the role he will play. He didn’t take me seriously then. The only one who did was his invisible twin brother.”

“His invisible what?” Uncle Tayo asks, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Oh, Moses has an invisible twin brother. He is sitting right next to you, Barrister Tayo.” Prophet John’s eyes sparkle with a knowing smile as he gestures toward the space beside Uncle Tayo.

Uncle Tayo looks around, his eyes wide with disbelief, his face a canvas of confusion. He shrugs, seemingly at a loss for words.

“His twin brother is invisible,” John continues. “They were born on the same day. That is why Moses is special.”

“So, there was nothing wrong with Moses all these years?” Uncle Tayo murmurs, awe lacing his voice. “No one believed his story about his brother, who always got him into trouble when he was a kid.”

“Yes, Barrister Tayo, nothing is wrong with Moses.”

“Oh, my God! We’ve all done him a great injustice.” Regret drips from his words like rain from a soaked gutter.

“You can all apologize to Moses later,” Prophet John says with a gentle smile. “Aaron is the only one who believed me. He came to my house for advice on what would happen after Moses’s famous interview.”

“I told Moses about Elijah, but he wasn’t interested. Elijah is behind his problems with the government. Even if Moses hadn’t participated in that program, Elijah would still find a way to deal with him. Moses represents a major irritant in his scheme of things; he can’t afford to leave him alone. Moses hasn’t heard the last of him.”

With my palm resting contemplatively on my head, I ask, “Just because I called him the Anti-Christ?”

“It’s true. Maybe not the Anti-Christ, but something close—a mighty one. Did you read that passage I asked you to read, Moses?”

“Oh no. I forgot in light of everything that happened afterward.”

Prophet John opens his Bible, flipping to a marked page. His voice resonates as he reads aloud.

“Revelation 13:11-17. t‘And I beheld another beast coming up out of the earth; and he had two horns like a lamb, and he spake as a dragon. And he exerciseth all the power of the first beast before him and causeth the earth and them which dwell therein to worship the first beast, whose deadly wound was healed. And he doeth great wonders so that he maketh fire come down from heaven on the earth in the sight of men. And deceiveth them that dwell on the earth by the means of those miracles which he had power to do in the sight of the beast; saying to them that dwell on the earth, that they should make an image to the beast, which had the wound by a sword, and did live…’”

He pauses, letting the tension thicken, the air heavy with meaning.

“You can all read the rest later. Elijah isn’t the beast or the Anti-Christ because he doesn’t have the mark of 666; he’s the precursor of the beast. He performs miracles that confound even the most powerful magicians.”

Many people keep his image in their houses, claiming they have received countless miracles and healings through him. Elijah’s followers often quote Malachi 4:5, “Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the coming of the great and dreadful day of the Lord.” To them, he is Elijah, who has returned, performing all the biblical miracles and more. But the lord he serves is not the Almighty. It is Lucifer, the ruler of the dark kingdom.

“Moses, do you know why I left Jane with you?” Prophet John’s voice slices through my thoughts, drawing my attention back to the room.

“You said you were going on a journey, which…”

“I did that because I knew the confrontation with Elijah was near. I’ve been a guest of the Federal Government for the past week,” John explains, his voice calm but edged with bitterness. “They accused me of nearly everything except treason, which they would have loved to charge me with.”

Uncle Tayo shoots up from his seat, his face flushed with anger. He slams the table with his palm. “Damn it. You mean you’ve been detained illegally for the past week?”

“The government detains more people these days than under any military regime. Most are at the instance of Prophet Elijah or one of his prophets. Victor may be ruling us, but he is like a puppet responding to the pull of the puppeteer.”

John’s words hang in the air, thick with implication. I feel the weight of them pressing down on the room. He lets the silence linger, allowing us to absorb the magnitude of what he’s saying.

“Do any of you know Elijah’s place of birth?” John asks, pausing to let the question settle.

None of us answers. It’s a question without a clear answer, and we all know it.

“Elijah is not of this world,” John continues, his voice steady and sure. “He says he will ascend to heaven like the biblical Elijah. He invokes fire from heaven at will, and he’s done it so many times people no longer doubt anything he says. But his mission is nearing its end, and his goal is to enthrone the kingdom of the Anti-Christ in preparation for the Anti-Christ himself.”

John takes a sip from the glass of water beside him, his eyes scanning our faces, gauging our reactions.

“He has achieved the first leg of his plan. The Parliament will soon amend the constitution to allow Victor to rule indefinitely. Next, they aim to make Victor the president of Africa, a possible feat given Nigeria’s prosperity since Victor came to power. The economy collapsed before he took over, but now the country has more money in foreign accounts than it can spend.”

John stops, allowing his words to sink in. I feel the gravity of the situation pressing down on me.

“Only one person can stop Elijah from achieving his goal,” John says, his gaze locking onto mine. “Moses.”

“Me?” I stammer, disbelief ringing in my voice. Uncle Tayo echoes my sentiment, spitting out imaginary phlegm in a gesture of disbelief.

“How would Moses do that?” Uncle Tayo demands, his skepticism clear. “He doesn’t even attend church services!”

“That’s precisely why,” John counters, his eyes glinting with conviction. “The new brand of religion that is neither Christianity nor paganism that is prominent these days has not tainted him. In any case, Paul was not a Christian, but God chose him to spread the gospel.”

“I have to agree with Uncle Tayo, even though I don’t like his tone,” I admit, my voice tinged with resignation. “I’m just an ordinary person. I can’t even heal a headache, so how can I defeat someone like Elijah?”

Prophet John fixes me with a penetrating gaze, his expression unwavering. “That’s where you’re wrong. Was David a warrior?” he asks, not waiting for an answer. “You are not ordinary, Moses. You have Aaron. How many people have an invisible helper? Elijah cannot harm Aaron. You earned your first degree at fifteen. How many have achieved that? Look at the special mark on your chest that you’ve always been ashamed to let people see.”

I instinctively touch my chest, recalling the embarrassment that mark caused me as a child. The big patch near my breast had been the source of taunts, my playmates cruelly dubbing it the devil’s mark. Aaron bears it too.

“What do you think it is?” John’s voice pulls me back. “It’s a sign that marks you as special. You’re mistaken when you say you don’t have the power to perform miracles. If you learn to harness those powers, you can do ten times what Elijah is doing. I will guide you. Together, we’ll free this nation from the shackles of Lucifer.”

“That was a pretty fine speech, Prophet,” the Senator remarks, breaking his silence. He leans back in his chair, a skeptical smirk on his lips. “He may be Moses, but he’s far from becoming his biblical namesake.”

“Patience is what we need to reach our promised land, where Moses will lead us,” John replies confidently, his faith in me unyielding.

“Where do we fit into all this if he’s doing all the work?” Uncle Tayo asks, glancing at the clock on the wall, impatience creeping into his voice.

“I’ve been wondering when we’d get to that,” John says, his tone shifting to one of strategy. “Your role is more of a diversion, Mr. Giwa. You’ll file a suit at the federal high court challenging the confiscation of Moses’ property. We don’t expect to win but to keep Elijah busy. Mr. Smith will raise a motion to probe the various religious organizations in the country. The motion will drag on for some time, allowing us enough time to plan our strategy.”

Prophet John goes over the details and lays out the steps we’ll take over the next week. As he talks, memories of my unusual dreams surface in my mind.

“I had the most unusual dreams,” I begin to share, the vivid images still fresh in my mind.

John touches his lips, silently urging me to keep quiet. I shoot him a questioning look, but he only shakes his head, his eyes urging caution. Meanwhile, Aaron, lounging in the corner, looks bored with the discussion.

Prophet John returns less than ten minutes after everyone has departed, his demeanor more serious than before. “I had to come back because there’s something I need to discuss with you alone,” he says, settling into a chair with an air of urgency.

“I need to tell you some things about Elijah that I dare not share in the presence of the others,” Prophet John begins solemnly.

I shift uncomfortably in my seat, the weight of his words pressing down on me. I decided to share my nightmares with him, the disturbing visions that have haunted my sleep.

Prophet John listens intently, his expression pensive. “The bastard,” he mutters under his breath. “I didn’t expect him to come on so strong. What you call a dream was no dream. It was real. That the knife couldn’t kill you means you’re stronger spiritually than you realize. Elijah now sees you as a threat and wants to destroy you.”

His words send a chill down my spine, the realization of my peril settling in. “I will tell you about Elijah and yourself, illuminating many things and making you accept your destiny. Please do not interrupt me until I finish my narration,” he continues.

“Millions of years ago,” John begins, leaning forward with an intensity that commands my attention, “Lucifer, also known as Satan, was the most senior Archangel in heaven. He had the ear of the Almighty God. He was so powerful that there was nothing he couldn’t do. The only one more powerful than him was the Almighty Himself. He commanded many of the heavenly Angels. Everything was going well for him until he became greedy.”

John’s voice is like a storyteller weaving an ancient and timeless tale. I can almost see Lucifer in my mind’s eye, his ambition burning like a flame, consuming everything in its path. “He wanted to be in charge,” John continues. “He longed to be number one instead of number two. He gathered some Angels of like minds and staged a coup in heaven. But his plan backfired. He never bargained for the power of the Almighty.”

I imagine the fierce battle in heaven, the clash of celestial forces. John’s words paint vivid images of the struggle between light and darkness. “Lucifer and his Angels were defeated and driven out of heaven. God hurled them down to the earth. ‘And there was war in heaven: Michael and his Angels fought against the dragon; the dragon fought and his Angels, and prevailed not; neither was their place found any more in heaven. And the great dragon was cast out, that old serpent, called the Devil, and Satan, which deceiveth the whole world: he was cast out unto the earth, and his Angels were cast out with him. ……… Therefore rejoice, ye heavens, and ye that dwell in them. Woe to the inhabitants of the earth and of the sea! for the devil is come down unto you, having great wrath, because he knoweth that he hath but a short time.’ Rev.12: 7-12.”

His recitation is almost hypnotic, each word resonating with a profound truth. I find myself drawn into the narrative, feeling the weight of its implications.

“Since then, Lucifer took control of the earth and its people,” John explains, his voice heavy with the gravity of the situation. “Except those who worship the true God and His son, Jesus Christ, who died for our sins. The sons of men would not resist the devil and his ways, so he always led them astray. The sins of the world were so great that, at a point, the Almighty destroyed the world, leaving a few honest men to repopulate the world again.”

I feel a pang of recognition, a connection to the timeless struggle between good and evil. “You would think the sons of men would learn from their first mistake, but they never did,” John says, his voice tinged with sadness.

“They were hell-bent on the destruction of God’s creation and His image, which they are. When God saw that the devil had gained absolute control of the hearts of the sons of men who were heading for destruction, He sent His son to redeem the world from Lucifer.”

John pauses, allowing his words to sink in. The room feels charged with a palpable energy as if the air vibrates with his tale’s truth. I hold my breath, waiting for him to continue, eager to hear the rest of the story that now seems to entwine with my destiny.

John’s words hang in the air, each sentence like a stone dropped into a still pond, sending ripples through my consciousness. I’m reeling, trying to make sense of it all as if the very foundation of my reality has been uprooted and turned upside down.

“Lucifer instigated the sons of men to murder the Son of God to stop His message, which proved to be a costly mistake,” John continues, his voice steady yet urgent. “The message spread to the whole world like a savannah forest fire during a harmattan season.”

I lean back in my chair, eyes wide as I absorb the gravity of his words. The room feels familiar and alien, as though it is a stage for a drama I didn’t realize I was part of.

“After this initial failure,” John says, gesturing as if sculpting the air, “Satan devised another strategy. He sent his servants out to the world to corrupt Christ’s message. Elijah was entrusted with this task. Elijah is the thirteenth in the hierarchy of Lucifer’s kingdom, his enforcer. This assignment, if successful, will catapult him to twelve positions.”

I can feel the tension coiling like a spring ready to snap. My breath comes in shallow gasps, the enormity of the situation closing in on me. The idea of Elijah being such a powerful agent of darkness here in Nigeria chills me.

“He has been immensely successful up until now because the condition in this country is ripe for his message,” John says, his voice rising with the weight of his conviction. “Open your eyes, Moses. Cast your mind back to the past ten years. What was the situation in this country like before the turn of this millennium? There was abject poverty amid plenty. Our oil failed to bring us succor.”

His words paint a vivid picture—starkly contrasting past struggles and the current, almost magical prosperity. It’s a prosperity I have benefited from, and suddenly, I feel exposed, my life’s accomplishments taking on a darker hue.

“Nobody cares if something else induced the prosperity,” John continues. “The world is experiencing a devastating economic recession, but things seem to be looking up in Nigeria. The price of oil, the mainstay of the economy, is at its lowest in the world market, yet Nigeria is now the toast of those countries that used to be the envy of other nations before. Open your eyes, Moses. This prosperity is unreal.”

My mind races, trying to piece together the fragments of truth in his narrative. I have been one of the beneficiaries of this newfound wealth, and now I am confronted with the possibility that it is all an illusion, a dark enchantment cast over the land.

“People now have access to outrageous amounts of money,” John says, leaning forward, his eyes boring into mine as if searching for understanding. “They acquire wealth through dubious means. They will dupe others, kill, and do all sorts of things to acquire it. You are a living witness. What did you do to earn all your money?”

His words hit home with the force of a sledgehammer, and I flinched, unable to meet his gaze. My mind flashes back to the deals, the whispers of transactions, and the luxurious trappings surrounding me. It’s true; I have never questioned the source or the morality of my wealth.

“I’m not saying Christians should not be rich,” John says softly, his voice gentler now. “But they should balance their prosperity with holiness. It is not suitable for a child of God to look wretched because of their faith, but he should acquire his wealth legitimately.”

“Elijah has done his work very well,” he concludes, his voice laced with a mixture of admiration and disdain. “He has the country in his vice grip. His boss is happy, which means his work is nearing completion. He will then become one of Lucifer’s chief advisers. He cannot afford to fail. We are up against somebody whose promotion in hell depends on his performance here.”

Silence envelops the room, a thick blanket that mutes my thoughts. I clear my throat, struggling to find my voice and articulate the question that gnaws at my core. “Why me?” I finally ask, the words slipping out, raw and vulnerable.

John meets my gaze, his eyes unwavering, filled with an intensity that feels almost otherworldly. “What do you mean, why you?” he counters, a fierce light shining in his eyes. “Why not you? You are the chosen one. I know you are the one.”

His conviction shakes me to my very core, and I feel the weight of destiny settling upon my shoulders. I’ve never felt so small yet so profoundly significant. The room seems to fade away, leaving only the enormity of my fate before me like an uncharted path, beckoning me to step forward.

“I am not a religious person. Maybe you are making a mistake,” I confess, my voice barely above a whisper, my gaze falling to the floor. The weight of John’s words presses down on me, a mantle I feel unworthy to bear. My life has been a mosaic of worldly pursuits, a tapestry of materialism and ambition that seems incongruous with the idea of being an instrument of divine purpose.

“Paul, when he was still Saul, never knew he would become the greatest evangelist for the propagation of Christ’s message to the world,” John replies, his voice gentle yet insistent, each word resonating with conviction. “He was an antagonist of the message, who became a protagonist, not through his own will, but through God’s. Like your biblical namesake, the time has come for God to show you the way. Then I can open the door leading to the destination.”

I sit there like a fraud, a man of little faith thrust into a narrative I neither sought nor understood. Sure, I identify as a Christian, but I’m far from devout. I’m not a member of any church group, nor do I embody the fervor of a born-again believer. The idea of standing against Elijah, confronting an immense and otherworldly force, feels like a farce.

John’s silence hangs heavy in the air, a testament to the moment’s gravity. I search for words that might encapsulate my turmoil, but nothing comes. How can a man needing his deliverance hope to liberate others from Elijah’s grip? Elijah, an immortal being, seems invincible. How do you destroy something that can’t be killed?

The shrill ring of the telephone slices through my thoughts, jolting me from my reverie. I jump, knocking over my glass of water, which spills across the Oriental rug, soaking into its intricate patterns. John chuckles softly, a sound that seems to cut through my tension.

“We are jumpy, aren’t we?” he teases gently. “Answer the phone. The show is about to start.”

“What show are you talking about?” I ask, confusion and curiosity warring as I lift the receiver.

A sense of disbelief floods me as I listen to the voice on the line. “Prophet Isaiah is proposing a meeting with his Lord, the outcome of which could make every one of my problems disappear,” I relay, glancing at John, who nods in encouragement.

We agreed to meet at two o’clock the following morning at the presidency. An ungodly hour when most people are deep in slumber, lost in dreams of things that might have been or could still be. It seems fitting, in a way, that a meeting with such sinister undertones would take place when darkness is at its deepest. I replace the receiver, a cold shiver running down my spine at the thought of what lies ahead.

The reality of my situation feels like a cruel joke. Elijah’s power and influence are beyond anything I’ve ever encountered. Facing him seems an insurmountable task. Yet, the stakes are too high to ignore. As I turn back to John, I see a glimmer of hope reflected in his eyes, a promise that maybe, just maybe, the improbable might become possible.

“You don’t have to be afraid, Moses,” John says, his voice firm and reassuring. “Remember, David defeated Goliath with nothing but a sling and a stone. Your faith, however small, is your weapon. We will prepare you for this battle.”

I nod, trying to internalize his confidence, but doubt lingers in the corners of my mind. “What exactly will we do? How can I stand a chance against Elijah?”

John takes a deep breath, his expression turning serious. “We will start with prayer and fasting. Your spirit must be fortified. I will teach you how to tap into the spiritual power within you. Aaron will also help you navigate this journey. You are not alone.”

Fasting and intense prayer feel daunting, but I know it is necessary. “And what about the meeting with Prophet Isaiah?”

“Go to the meeting,” John advises. “Listen to what they have to say, but be cautious. Elijah’s influence is vast, and his servants will try to manipulate you. Keep your faith strong.”

That night, I lay in bed, unable to sleep. My thoughts swirl with images of Elijah, the impending meeting, and the weight of the task ahead. Aaron, sensing my unease, sits beside me.

“Don’t worry, brother,” he says softly. “We’ve faced challenges before. We’ll get through this.”

I look at him, his presence a calming influence. “I hope so, Aaron. I really do.”

The drive to the presidency feels surreal, the streets eerily empty. The air is thick with anticipation and the promise of unknown dangers.

Arriving at the presidency, I’m escorted to a dimly lit room where Prophet Isaiah waits, his demeanor serene yet imposing. He gestures for me to sit.

“Thank you for coming, Moses,” he begins, his voice smooth and persuasive. “Elijah has taken a keen interest in you. He believes you can be a great ally.”

I nod cautiously, my heart pounding in my chest. “And if I refuse?”

Isaiah’s smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Refusal is not advisable. Elijah’s reach is long, and his patience is thin. Consider this an opportunity for redemption.”

The words hang heavy in the air, a veiled threat wrapped in the guise of an offer. I force myself to remain calm, remembering John’s advice.

“Why does Elijah want me?” I ask, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

“Your potential,” Isaiah replies smoothly. “You have gifts that, under Elijah’s guidance, could be honed for great purpose.”

I suppress a shiver, the weight of the situation pressing down on me. “I’ll need time to consider this,” I say, buying myself a reprieve.

Isaiah nods, though his eyes flash with impatience. “Time is a luxury, Moses. Use it wisely.”

When I left the meeting, the night air feels colder and more oppressive. The drive back is a blur, my mind racing with the implications of Isaiah’s words. Back home, I find John waiting, his presence a beacon of calm in the storm of my thoughts.

“You did well, Moses,” he says, his voice a balm to my frayed nerves. “Now we prepare. Tomorrow, we begin your training. This is just the beginning.”

I nod, a sense of resolve solidifying within me. The path ahead is uncertain and fraught with danger, but I am not alone. With John and Aaron by my side, I will face whatever comes. The battle against Elijah is just beginning, and I am now ready to step into my destiny, no matter where it leads.

“John, how do I start?” I ask, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

“First, we train you to harness your spiritual power,” John replies, his eyes shining with conviction. “You must learn to control and amplify the gifts you have. With Aaron’s help, you’ll become a formidable force. We’ll gather allies and strategize. This battle is physical and spiritual; you must be prepared for both.”

I nod, feeling a sense of purpose taking root. The path ahead is fraught with danger and uncertainty, but I believe I can rise to the challenge with John’s guidance and Aaron’s support. The fate of the nation, and perhaps more, depends on it.

John’s eyes soften, and he steps closer, reassuringly touching my shoulder. “Moses, the greatest of journeys often begin with the most ordinary steps. You may not see yourself as worthy, but that is precisely why you have been chosen. Your humility and your doubts make you the perfect vessel. You are not alone in this. Aaron is with you, and I will guide you. Together, we can challenge the darkness.”

His words ignite a spark within me, a glimmer of hope amidst the storm of uncertainty. I nod slowly, feeling the stirrings of resolve begin to take root. This path is fraught with peril and sacrifice, but I see a way forward for the first time—a purpose greater than myself.

As he speaks, I feel a shift, a realignment of priorities and purpose. The weight of destiny no longer feels like a burden but a call to arms. I rise from my chair, ready to embrace the path.

“Let’s get started,” I say, my voice firm and resolute. The road ahead is uncertain and scary, but with John’s guidance and Aaron by my side, I am ready to face whatever comes. We will challenge the darkness and strive to bring light to our land.

I woke up with sweat all over my body. Did I attend a meeting with Isaiah at the presidency, or was it just a dream? I will have to ask John in the morning. I turn over and go back to sleep.

🪶
J.J. Oluti
Creative Voice of Africa