Dance of Deaths – Fiction by Nigerian Writer, Ikechukwu Henry

The news of David’s untimely demise, as he was en route to an 8:30 p.m. lecture, struck him with terror, hacking away at his inner sanctum just as the two preceding deaths had over two weeks.

His feet became as immobile as his body, gripped by numbing paralysis for minutes. Soggy palms and widened eyes marked his response. Why were they perishing a mere week after intertwining their lives with his? Who had assumed the mantle of divine arbiter, casting them into the realm beyond? A sudden recollection served as a stark reminder that boys were not omnipotent. They were human, with veins coursing blood, capable of tears, depression, ascent, and descent.

Similarities between their death and those preceding them were whispered through the corridors of rumour. A clean, unerring incision, starting from the heart’s dwelling and reaching down to the navel, lay embedded within the details. Their intimate parts were severed, and eyes widened in terror, as though they had stared into the face of the devil himself before their final breath.

The remainder of the day dissolved into a blur of unproductive nothingness, a lethargic haze wrapping around him. A refuge beneath his duvet provided some semblance of solace. He prayed that this macabre dance of death would cease, that no more lifeless bodies would surface. The individuals in question were all familiar to him – young men with whom he had shared the same academic arena. Boys he knew, whether by acquaintance or indifference, were now being swallowed by an abyss he couldn’t fathom.

*

Kelechi engrossed within the pages of his book, remained oblivious to the insistent clamor of his ringing phone. His startled reaction gave way to a resigned sigh as he fished the gadget from his pocket, eyes darting to the name illuminating the screen.

A name he had thought could make him smile. A name once associated with joy now hovered on the precipice of oblivion, drifting into the realm of nothingness. A domain governed by unrelenting darkness.

He swiped the screen indifferently. The call was answered with a nonchalant tone. “Hey, babe, where are you?” Jerry’s voice, accompanied by the echo of a smile, resonated through the receiver. The melodious timbre promised delight. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere, your department and hostel. None of your roommates have seen you.”

Kelechi shifted, his book sealed shut. “I’m by my usual spot near the law faculty.”

“Oh, right. Why didn’t I think of that? Your favourite reading spot. Stay put.” The call disconnected.

Yes, his favourite reading spot, the very place where he had crossed paths with Christian, Chukwudi, and David, each destined for premature death within a week of their intimacy. Likewise, he had met Jerry in the same manner – an encounter on a digital platform, a queer group that spanned the nation. Boredom had prompted his initial involvement, a message catching his attention amidst a sea of notifications.

Kelechi’s fingers danced upon the keyboard almost involuntarily, a hesitant reply sent forth. An immediate response arrived, the conversation forging ahead with pleasantries exchanged between the two. Days unfolded, revealing that Jerry was studying at the same university. Kelechi recognized the tempo of events – a swift connection, a refuge from the grim reality enveloping him. He embraced the entanglement as a means of escape, hoping to evade the shadows cast by the untimely demise of the first two men he had known.

“Babe, what’s on your mind?” A familiar voice punctured his reverie. Kelechi shook his head, masking his thoughts behind a feigned smile that he would later lament wearing. Could he truly confide in Jerry about his apprehensions? Could he verbalize his ominous premonition of becoming the next corpse uncovered once their week together drew to a close?

“How was the lecture?” he deflected, Jerry’s presence beside him dissipating the cloud of his apprehensions. A casual touch to his thigh, a sneeze that prompted a chuckle, all aspects of the Jerry he had grown to cherish. “Medicine isn’t for the faint-hearted.”

Kelechi leaned into the bench, immersed in the book’s pages. The world blurred into insignificance, the act of reading serving as a refuge from reality’s relentless barrage. At that moment, Jerry’s call rang out from his phone. As the words flowed from Jerry’s mouth, anticipation quickened Kelechi’s heart. The same name that had once been a source of elation now carried an air of finality as if fated to be etched into the pages of history.

“Can we go to your hostel?”

Jerry arched his eyebrows and smiled.

“Sure. That’s why I was searching for you,” Jerry affirmed, leaving Kelechi with a sense of impending loss, a bittersweet farewell as tomorrow marked their final day together.

*

I never truly cared about their deaths. The sadness and emptiness that purportedly gripped me upon each death was a mask, a veneer shielding my authentic self. It was my father who orchestrated this havoc, sculpting me into what I am today.

I often wonder how I survived those nights, the suffocating weight of his advances. In moments of vulnerability, I began to hear the whispers, a cacophony of voices uniting in a symphony of despair, as if the world itself was speaking in unison. My room plunged into darkness, save for the dim corridor light that seeped beneath my door.

Eyes were half-shut, ears straining, my breath a ragged rasp, the sound of shuffling feet disrupted the silence. Panic surged, my heartbeat; a frenetic drumming as I scrambled to my feet, accidentally colliding with the cupboard’s sharp edge. Darting beneath the bed, I sought refuge, sweat mingling with the salt of my fear. A sudden click, the door’s lock giving way, pierced the air. My heart raced a single thought: the door. I had forgotten to lock it, but it wouldn’t have mattered; he possessed a spare key. I withdrew, curled against the bed’s edge, two looming feet at the entrance.

Bile rose in my throat, teetering on the brink of expulsion. “Where are you?” Fear’s talons dug into my psyche as a succession of clicks ensued, a sinister dance that culminated in a harsh lash. I screamed.

“Come and give me my medicine, Jeremiah,” his voice, as insidious as it was familiar, reverberated. Panic and desperation drove me to thrash against his grip, my body betraying me as he dragged me from beneath the bed’s refuge. Medicine? I marvelled at his twisted definition. He wanted me to understand that this was his version of ‘medicine.’ The same man who exhorted me to excel in the sciences, a mimicry of his profession. I complied or risked disownment, he warned.

“It’ll be double punishment for you, naughty boy.” I could feel the weight of his body, his presence a smothering force. My boxers were yanked down, my body was flung onto the bed. A muffled groan escaped me as he thrust, my vision hazed by a mixture of pain and revulsion.

My eyes flutter open, fingers clenched into fists. My surroundings shift, the familiarity of my campus room dawning upon me. Morning light filters through the open windows, casting a soft orange glow across the room. The world outside is alive with activity, the promise of a new day etched in every ray of sunlight that pierces the shadows.

A pair of feet approach, breaking the stillness. My roommate tugs at me, snapping me out of my reverie. “Dude, there’s trouble,” he blurts out, urgency lacing his voice.

I jerk upright, my senses on high alert. “What’s going on?” I demand.

“Police officers are looking for you,” he replies, his face a mask of worry.

My heart skips a beat, the announcement stirring a mixture of dread and inevitability. My feet feel like lead, but I manage to follow him, the weight of impending trouble pressing upon my shoulders.

Outside, the officers stand beside their van, expressions inscrutable. Their stern faces give no indication of what lies ahead. “You’re Jeremiah Ekezie?” one of them questions, his tone devoid of warmth.

I nod, my throat constricting, a knot of anxiety forming in my stomach.

“Come with us to the station,” he orders, his voice leaving no room for negotiation.

I obey, a sense of resignation settling over me. The small, square room I’m confined to feels suffocating. The harsh light casts sharp shadows, painting an eerie picture. A small table and two chairs comprise the sole furnishings. A small window in the far corner lends the only connection to the outside world.

The door creaks open, revealing a man with a lined face and grey hair. His presence fills the room, and an air of authority surrounds him. He takes a seat across from me, his gaze unwavering.

“I’ll be brief,” he begins, his voice low and measured. “I want the truth, nothing but the truth.”

I nod, my heart pounding. It’s time to unburden myself, to put an end to the madness that has haunted me for far too long.

“Do you know Kelechi Iwueze?” he asks, his gaze intent upon me.

“Yes,” I reply, my voice steady.

“Rumours suggest he was last seen at your hostel before his death. Can you account for this? ” His scrutiny is unrelenting.

My mind races, the weight of my confession heavy upon my shoulders. “He did visit my hostel. He spent the day here before heading back to his place.”

He arches an eyebrow, waiting for further explanation. I hesitate, then continue. “He visited often. He was seeing someone in our group.”

“No defence?” he probes, his eyes never leaving mine.

I shake my head. The truth is my only defence, my only way out of this labyrinth of guilt and fear.

“Why did you kill those three boys before him?”

I draw in a deep breath. It’s time to reveal the full story, to divulge the dark secrets that have weighed me down. “I want to end this madness, this nightmare. I don’t want to become like him, like my father.”

He flips through a set of papers, each bearing the mark of an official investigation. “These are DNA test results, fingerprints… evidence linking you to the scenes.”

I nod, acknowledging the meticulous groundwork I laid to ensure a seamless web of guilt.

“I want to understand,” he says, leaning back. “Why did you kill them?”

My lips curve into a bitter smile. “It wasn’t entirely out of concern for them. I killed them because they pursued Kelechi, my Kelechi, beyond the boundaries I had set. They sought him out.”

His confusion is palpable. “Are you saying they were involved with Kelechi?”

I nod. “They were part of the group, just like David, the one I met after the other. They all approached Kelechi and pursued him. I couldn’t bear to lose him.”

The investigator furrows his brow. “But isn’t homosexuality illegal here? You’re aware of the consequences, right?”

I shrug, a mixture of resignation and defiance coursing through me. “Yes, I’m aware. But love knows no boundaries. Neither do emotions, be they for the same or opposite gender.”

He scribbles down notes, his expression a mixture of scepticism and curiosity. “So, you killed them out of jealousy?”

“Partly, yes. But also to shield Kelechi from their advances, to keep him safe from the danger I knew lurked beyond our shared world.”

The investigator leans back, contemplative. “You know, fourteen years of life imprisonment awaits those caught engaging in same-sex activities. Are you prepared for that?”

“I killed Kelechi because he slept around with other gays because he’s a ‘top’. He thought I wouldn’t find out. How wrong he was.”

“Hmm… Are these terms you guys use?”  I don’t want to explain because there’s no need for him to know. He stands, arranging the paper together. “Follow me.”

I chuckle, bitterness underscoring the sound. “Death would be a welcome alternative. I’ve betrayed the community, and more lives will be lost if I don’t leave this world.”

He collects the papers. “I don’t have the power to decide life and death,” he states, his voice devoid of emotion.

I shake my head, my hands gripping my nape. “I need to end this, to escape the cycle of terror. I can’t be responsible for more deaths.”

“That’s not for you to decide.”

“I have to decide,” I mutter, my voice resolute. “If not, terror will reign, and I can’t let that happen.”

“I’m not the one in a position to take life,” he says firmly.

My gaze meets his, the weight of my confession bearing down upon me. “Then I want you to take mine.”

He sighs, his expression a mixture of exasperation and pity. “I can’t fulfil that request.”

I close my eyes, a sense of resignation settling over me. “Then I’ll find a way for myself.”

The room falls silent, my confession hanging heavy in the air. I sit, locked in my thoughts, unsure of what awaits me next. The truth is out, my darkest secrets are laid bare. The investigator’s gaze lingers on me, a mixture of understanding and judgment evident in his eyes.

“Your actions have consequences, Jeremiah,” he says finally, his voice softer. “And you will have to face them.”

I nod, the weight of my decisions settling firmly upon my shoulders. The room feels smaller, the walls closing in. As the investigator rises and leaves, I’m left alone with the gravity of my choices, and the consequences that will inevitably follow.

The sun casts long shadows, inching across the floor as time ticks by. I sit in silence, my mind a tumultuous sea of regret, fear, and the tentative hope that by revealing the truth, I may find some semblance of redemption.