BLOODLINES AND BETREYALS

The Betrayal Deepens

Josue’s hands trembled as he stared at the ornate invitation. “A spiritual retreat for healing,” it read, signed by Pastor Ezekiel Ojo himself. The whole situation felt absurd—like something out of an over-the-top Nollywood drama where everyone speaks in tongues or faints dramatically. Yet here he was, caught in what could only be described as a real-life episode of *Family Drama: Lagos Edition*.

It all started during dinner when his mother casually suggested—half-joking, half-serious—that maybe Josue was cursed. At first, Josue dismissed her words with an exaggerated eye roll worthy of a comedy sketch. But then she doubled down, listing off recent misfortunes like they were evidence in court: his phone glitching mid-call, his car refusing to start, and the infamous pigeon poop incident that ruined his favorite jacket just two days ago.

Chief Adebayo seized on this theory with alarming enthusiasm. Leaning back in his chair like some kind of sage dispensing ancient wisdom (or peddling knockoff herbal remedies), he declared, “When life feels heavier than a sack of yams, unseen forces are often at play.” He gestured wildly, nearly knocking over a glass of palm wine. Josue wanted to laugh—it sounded ridiculous—but Chief Adebayo wasn’t done yet. “Pastor Ojo has helped countless families restore harmony. Perhaps… perhaps God is calling you to visit him.”

At this point, Josue glanced at Amara, hoping for backup. Instead, she gave him that look. You know the one—the wide-eyed, hopeful gaze that says, “Maybe there’s something to this?” Suddenly, he found himself outnumbered. His father nodding sagely, his mother clutching her Bible like it might burst into flames, and now Amara looking at him like he’d just suggested skipping church on Easter Sunday.

He tried to protest. “I’m not cursed; I’m just having bad luck!” But no one listened. His uncle chimed in with a story about a distant cousin who once thought he was cursed too—until Pastor Ojo prayed over him, and boom—his business tripled overnight. Even Josue’s little sister joined in, recounting how Pastor Ojo supposedly healed her friend’s acne last month. (“Not scientifically proven,” she added helpfully, “but definitely spiritually significant.”)

By the end of the evening, Josue couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. On one hand, it was utterly preposterous. On the other, maybe—just maybe—they had a tiny point. After all, how else could he explain why the power always went out precisely when he needed to charge his laptop? Maybe there *was* some cosmic force conspiring against him. And if Pastor Ojo really did have answers—or at least better Wi-Fi—then perhaps going to this so-called spiritual retreat wasn’t the worst idea.

So, despite the icy shiver that ran down his spine whenever Chief Adebayo said things like *“It’s for your own good,”* Josue reluctantly agreed. Not because he believed he was cursed, but because sometimes surviving family drama required choosing your battles wisely. Besides, he figured, how bad could it be?

What they didn’t know was that faith can be a weapon—and Pastor Ojo was sharpening his blade.

---

The room smelled of damp earth and incense, its flickering candles casting grotesque shadows on cracked walls. Josue’s wrists burned from the coarse rope biting into his skin, his body slumped in exhaustion after another grueling session of supposed ‘deliverance.’ Seventeen days. Seventeen endless days trapped inside this nightmare masquerading as salvation. Each day blurred into the next, punctuated only by Pastor Ojo’s cold chants and accusations.

“You are possessed by greed!” the pastor thundered, pacing like a vulture circling carrion. “Confess your sins, or you will never leave here!”

But Josue refused to break, even as hunger gnawed at his stomach and despair clawed at his mind. He clung to one thought: Amara would come. She wouldn’t let them destroy him entirely.

Outside the compound, Amara paced furiously, her phone pressed to her ear. “Seventeen days, Adeola!” she snapped, her voice cracking under the weight of fear. “No calls, no messages, nothing! Something is wrong—I can feel it.”

Adeola’s calm but urgent tone steadied her slightly. “We need proof before we act. Trust me, I’ve heard stories about this man. If we barge in without evidence, they’ll cover their tracks faster than we can blink.”

Amara bit her lip, frustration bubbling over. How could she stand idly by while Josue suffered? Yet Adeola was right; impulsiveness wouldn’t save him. Together, they began piecing together whispers of scandal surrounding Pastor Ojo—disappearances, hushed settlements, and ties to powerful figures like Chief Adebayo. It wasn’t enough to confront the monster directly—but it was enough to find Josue.

Their plan came together late one night, scribbled hastily on hotel stationery. Disguised as distant relatives seeking counsel, they approached the compound armed with false tears and rehearsed pleas. Inside, the air grew heavier with every step closer to the prayer rooms. When they finally reached the door marked *PRIVATE*, Amara’s heart pounded so loudly she feared someone might hear it.

Breaking the lock proved easier than expected. What lay beyond nearly shattered her resolve.

Josue sat hunched in the corner, his once-strong frame reduced to skeletal frailty. His vibrant eyes were hollow, haunted. For a moment, neither Amara nor Adeola moved, frozen by the horror of seeing their friend reduced to a shadow of himself. Then instinct kicked in. They rushed to untie him, murmuring reassurances through choked sobs.

“We’re getting you out of here,” Amara whispered fiercely, gripping his hand. “Hold on.”

But as they turned to flee, the sound of heavy boots echoed down the hallway. Pastor Ojo’s guards were coming.

Josue stumbled forward, propelled by sheer adrenaline despite his weakened state. Every breath seared his lungs, every step threatened to buckle his knees. Behind them, shouts erupted, growing louder as the guards closed in. Just ahead, sunlight spilled through an open doorway—their escape route. Freedom seemed agonizingly close.

And then, the unthinkable happened.

A deafening crash reverberated through the corridor as metal bars slammed down, sealing off their path. Pastor Ojo stepped into view, his expression smug, almost gleeful. In his hand, he held a small remote control—the mechanism that had triggered the trap.

“I warned your family you were stubborn,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “Now, my dear Josue, you’ll stay here until you repent—or until you rot.”

As the guards advanced, Josue glanced at Amara and Adeola, who stood frozen beside him. There was no way out. Or was there?

With a surge of defiance, Josue lunged—not toward the guards, but toward Pastor Ojo. What happened next would change everything.

To be continued…