Not all roads lead to Rome(Ewa Gerald Onyebuchi) Not all roads lead to Rome,
some, probably, lead straight to hell.


Where they constantly passed the night looked like a bus or train. Actually, it was a bus. At least, it was what their money could afford.

The only reason Jane had agreed to this trip was, probably, to find a means of resurrecting their dead marriage; but Steve seemed a little indecisive about what he hoped to get from the trip.
Five years had rolled out since Steve and Jane tied the knot. Five years slithered on them like a snake, almost invisible, yet they seemed to be wobbling around the same issues.

Night hung in the sky like a dirty linen; and Jane felt irritated by the cold air which darted around. Steve’s eyes were the first to welcome sleep—the inevitable guest—before the rest of his members did. Then Jane yelled him out of it.
Steve! Her voice sounded like a doorbell held on for hours. Although he was within earshot, it seemed his mind had wandered off into that invisible world of slumber. They had just arrived Jos and were about to get killed.
But would you blame him? It had been a long ride from Imo State to Jos and the Mercedes Benz, which was way out of its league, had decided to break down intermittently, all the more prolonging the hours they spent on the road.

In the early hours of the morning, even before the rooster (no one knew where it had migrated from) which strangely chose to dally outside of their house on the stairs leading to the entrance crowed, Steve had carried out his usual thorough check of the fitness of the car—examining its engine, radiator, brakes, four tires and other useful parts that needed the thoroughness of his hands and eyes. The cold air that accompanied the early hours of the morning wreathed about him like bees would a hive, and the thick sweater he wore couldn’t chase it off; instead, the sweater absorbed all of it to the extent that he began to wriggle like an earthworm.
“If it’s a bit cold out here, imagine how it’s going to be when we get to Jos,” the thought breezed in while he was about to rev up the engine.
When he was done with his examination and was sure of the car’s pliability on Nigerian roads and the roughness that accompanied them (most Nigerian roads are disfigured with potholes), he nodded like a lizard and whistled his way in. Half-way in, his eyes caught the poor rooster, which seemed pale and alone, sitting on the stairs. He turned to sneeze into the right arm of the sweater then turned to face the rooster. But it had vanished without a trace. A bit startled and struck with fear, he raced towards the door, opened it with the speed of light and shut with the urgency of the former. He bolted it from inside and was too scared to divulge to anyone.

***

The journey from Imo to Benue State was a bit cool, although they had encountered the usual potholes and more importantly the Nigerian police; they seemed to be everywhere.
The police officers which stood at various roadblocks seemed to have outnumbered the potholes. As usual, they begged for money. Actually, they demanded for it, as if it was their birth right or something. All along, Jane seemed to be reclining in herself; she said little, but smiled each time Steve made jokes that were both funny and dry.
Oga where una dey go? The officer in black uniform and a gun strapped to his right shoulder inquired. This was the seventh roadblock.
We are travelling officer, Steve, who looked repulsed at his question, replied.
We are travelling officer, he tried to mimic in a satirical way. The place you dey go no get name?
We are on our way to Jos sir.
I see… oga your papers.
And he hurried his hands over a couple of grimy and dusty papers located within the glove box next to Jane.
While this officer who seemed to be in charge continued to interrogate Steve like one suspected of murder, another weird looking one in dark shades walked up to the passenger side of the car where Jane was sitting; it didn’t look like she was being interrogated.
Kai, who be this fine woman? He inquired, his pidgin almost resembling Hausa.
She’s my wife officer.
Jane flashed a smile at him and a conversation ensued as quickly as the smile had arrived. Steve whose countenance had been lit with jealousy, cleared his throat meticulously to alert her. But she continued anyways.
The officer continued to walk his eyes over the ruffled papers. Then he stopped and moved slightly backwards to get a perfect view of the Benz. Suddenly, he walked down to the rear end of the car and up-front to where the license plate was plastered. He squinted over the letters and numbers inscribed on it, the strictness in his face, as if he were desperately in search of something he left.
Please, officer may we go now? Steve, who seemed to be boiling with jealousy, inquired in the most raucous tone.
The officer seemed offended but there was nothing available to pin on him. Everything was in order. Not everything.
Along the way, she had expected him to say something to her, maybe scold her, or, even smash her face like he always did. But he remained calm and didn’t say anything about it. She was struck with shock.
“But why isn’t he angry? Probably he’s thinking of the next thing to do or say. Maybe he’s learning to grow past his petty jealousy, good for him,” she mused.
The car began to gallop immediately they arrived the State called Kogi— here, the potholes were massive, making the roads look so ugly and the ride daunting. At this point, the engine had begun to bleat like a goat in labour and the car started off at a slow pace. Steve looked confused. But he had checked the Engine at the early hours of the morning. He turned his gaze towards Jane’s face, as if the reason for the jerkiness of the car laid in it.
What’s the problem? I checked this car this morning, he announced. Then the car stopped. They hopped out.
Thank goodness this nonsense didn’t happen in the middle of nowhere, she remarked blithely. He ignored it.
Then the whole situation was worsened by a traffic which held sway up-front. He managed to pull up by the side of road and luckily, a mechanic came by. It wasn’t an engine problem. But the radiator had obviously melted from intense heating. So a new replacement was found, and the journey resumed.

***

Jane hit him hard on his back and sleep fled from his eyes instantly. It dawned on him that the car had started to slide off the road and was heading for the bush. With great force he applied the brakes, and managed to bring the car to a halt before it collided against a tree.
Gush! You almost got us killed, Jane yapped at him.
I’m sorry ok. I’m human, not a robot. As such, I get tired and…
Oh, please spare me. What did you check?
Are you hurt? He walked up to her in a bid to check if she was injured. But she shrugged him off and stepped to the other end, some distance away from the car which was gifted with just a scratch on its side, in order to relieve her mind of the shock.
He entered the car to test if it was still functioning. Then he began to rev the engine while she came in from the other end.
I’m sorry, he repeated. She didn’t look at him. And they continued, silence once again reinstated until they arrived.

Steve peeped into his wallet and he was shot on cash. Besides, it was late and there was no nearby ATM. They couldn’t afford an exquisite hotel.
How much do you have? Jane inquired
Three thousand! Steve retorted.
I have two, let me have them.
She tried to straighten the wrinkled naira notes and handed them over to the man in charge of the bus-like hotel. They had paid five thousand for five nights. The manager of the hotel was a tall, fair, young man by the name Sadik. He had a slightly slim built; yet he was quite attractive. And Jane felt intrigued. His English was a bit polished. She didn’t believe that Hausa men spoke English so effortlessly like he did. And his beautiful mastery of the English language did not in any way hamper his grasp of Hausa.
Imagine you had to lodge in a hotel apportioned into four rooms—the first room being occupied by a weird bespectacled professor who wore pajamas around and carried a big book in his hands everywhere he went, the occupants of the second being two females trying to yell down the roof of the building in the name of having a quiet time with the Lord and the third room, obviously next to yours, where you were greeted all night by the moans like peals of thunder, from a couple.
This was the case for Steve and Jane.

Maybe much more than just his facial looks and his ability to speak English fluently without interruptions by his local dialect, Jane saw something in Sadik’s grey eyes, something she could not bring her mind to; something she had not seen in Steve’s since their five years together. Maybe she had only seen it once, but that was a long time ago before she said ‘yes’ to him.
She saw something in those eyes that assured her of safety; something that made her felt special.
Was it love? It could be. But this new thing would force her to sneak off each time to be with him.
This new thing, maybe love, had begun to stare up again the tides of jealousy within Steve.
Why were you smiling at him like that? Steve inquired and his face painted in jealousy. She had never smiled at him that long and not with so much interest.
Like what! Please, let me be already. I’m tired. Good night, she hauled the coverlet to her side.
Furiously, he laid in bed and dragged the coverlet from her body. As soon as she had noticed it was missing and the wind had begun to whoosh over her, she made for it. He felt a harsh tug on his legs. And the sleep which had started to settle over him, was driven away. He sighed. Then he stood up. His gaze caught a book in green cover, which laid carelessly on the floor close to his luggage. And he sighed again. He bent over to pick it up and slouched in bed with the book in hand. Tears would begin to collect down his chin from his eyes as memories poured in.
Steve, who was once a renowned writer, enjoyed fame but for a while. “Love is something Green,” the title of the book in his hand was his debut novel and a major breakthrough for him. The book had sold almost a million copies following its release on September 24, 2006. Obviously, people enjoyed it—the book focused more on love, family and sex—and the following year, a sequel was released. But after that brief period of fame, something tragic happened.
On the 24th of December, precisely the eve of Christmas, he got a call that his twin brother based overseas had died of cancer. After the death of both parents, James happened to be the only closest relative he had. But he was addicted to drugs.
Eventually this ugly incident had a strong toll on Steve, and brought a slow death to his writing career. Within a twinkle of an eye, everything about him began to fall like rain. The debts grew irrepressibly. It seemed he was learning to write again, and, instantly, those crowd that had cheered him up and sung his praise disappeared. Yet his family stayed—his wife and two girls.
And instead of trying to be committed to them, he was drifting into himself, shriveling up with sadness and contempt. Sadness, because James had died and his demise had brought an end to his writing journey. Contempt for the audience who had once gathered at his book unveiling, read and applauded it; now they had turned against him, deserting him when it mattered most.
One time, Jane had offered him some money to start a new business, at least to start over, he had invested all of it in his book publishing, which yielded nothing tangible.
He dropped the book on the bag and stepped outside for a smoke. Despite wearing the thick coat James had sent down from London with his hands swallowed in it, the cold still grew with more audacity. It startled him. He had quit smoking but after his brother’s death, he returned to it.
He walked a few meters from the bus to a little dark corner where he could empty his bladder.
In a bid to unzip his jeans and with the cigar resting on the edge of a lower dark lip, he began to hear strong footsteps emanating in front. He paused and waited for whatever fierce beast that would appear and, maybe, tear him to shred. He started to tremble. Suddenly, a tall silhouette started behind him.
The figure tapped his back. At that moment, urine began to pour all over his trousers.
Steve recoiled in horror.
But it was no beast. It was Sadik, in his apron smeared with different stains and dark boots, standing before him.
Jesus! Man you… you scared me, Steve yapped at him.
What are you doing here at this time? Sadik inquired.
Is that urine? He taunted.
I’m sorry if I startled you, He added.
Still trying to wriggle out of the shock, he pulled up his wet trousers and stomped inside.
The professor in room one peeped through his window to see who it was and Steve’s glance caught him. Realizing his cover had been blown, the peeping professor turned off his lights and crawled back in bed.
The following morning, everyone was up early, except Steve. He was still snoring away and breakfast had been served. Everyone gathered around a big table, where the meal was served.
Jane sat all by herself at some corner. She wanted to chart with one of them at least, but she felt handicapped, as the right words had eluded her.
Hey beautiful, what’s the name? One of the couple in room three next to hers called out in a frenzy manner.
Me… Oh, my name is Jane.
Jane! What a beautiful name for a damsel like you, He gave his complements.
Mine is Peter. Yeah, like Peter packer and Maryjane, You know.
Shut the fuck up Peter. I’m the only Jane in your life, Lydia cut in with a gentle tap to Peter’s face. She sat on his laps.
Don’t mind her, she can be a little dramatic, Peter scolded warmly and he started to smooch her lips.
Yea we’re like that most times. Lydia is the name, she extended an arm across.
Nice meeting the both of you, Jane received the hand with a nod.
The other two girls, Abike and Rosemary, introduced themselves as undergraduates from the University of Lagos and that they had a conference at the University of Jos to attend the following day.
I’m professor of Religious studies, yea. And that’s all there’s to know, thank you, the professor announced in the blithest way. Nobody gave a damn about him anyways, except Jane.
She noticed that the professor was a bit uptight and was always staring and smiling at Sadik, who also happened to be the chef. The professor was more of a nerd. He wore big glasses and carried a big book about.
Hope everyone is having a good time, Sadik called out.
Please sir we’ve been here for three days, and need to make a call. We don’t have airtime on our phones Can we use your phone? Abike pleaded.
Oh, my phone is being charged. Maybe later, eh…
Sadik, I have a meeting this morning at the University, and I’ll be needing a suitable means of transport, the professor opined.
Guy, you for just say I need your car or truck, which one come be all these long talk, Peter jested.
I beg your pardon… in the professor’s tone.
Sorry professor, I ran out of gas. Maybe later in the day.
But I said I have a meeting this…the professor began and his voice seemed to be swallowed up in a guffaw which had erupted. Jane had said something funny and everyone started to laugh hysterically.
No need to panic, everyone will leave whenever he or she chooses. But let’s have some good music, Sadik assured each one. Then he brought a guitar and began to play. The sound was pleasant to the ear.

Steve’s snoring was interrupted by the sound the strings made. He rose from bed, yawned his way to the bathroom. He came out of the bus, and squinted as the rays of the sun pierced his eyes. And he put his glasses on. His eyes roamed about: from the dense forest which stood in front of the bus, to the gorgeous vista of the mountains whence he stood—spectacular. He had not seen anything like it before. Suddenly, his eyes caught his wife and the rest laughing, while Sadik played the strings dexterously. Now his jealousy was ignited. He stomped towards them dragging a few crumb of dusts on his boots.
Oh, here is my husband, Steve, Jane declared.
Yea, we know already, Peter and Lydia echoed uniformly.
Hi, I’m Lydia, she extended an arm like before.
Good morning, Steve replied and waved instead. He whispered into Jane’s ears and hauled her by the hand into their room.
Don’t worry, I’ll be back, Jane’s voice, overly gay. Their eyes followed them.
Something isn’t right about those two, Rose said.
It started off as a calm discussion between them. Then an argument ensued. Suddenly, a fist fight erupted between Steve and Jane. A scream was heard. Steve was on top of her, and everyone, including Sadik, rushed in to rescue Jane from Steve’s grip.
And why do you have to put up with such an animal like him? Lydia inquired. But Jane did not reply. She continued to sob.
Allow me to teach that brute a lesson, Peter insisted.
No, please leave him alone. He didn’t mean it, Jane pleaded.
He didn’t mean what? Look at your face. See the bruises all over, Sadik opined.
Everyone had left except Sadik who took her by the hand to his inn, where he attended to her wounds. Peter caught them leaving together while standing by the window. He was about to make his way to Sadik’s inn, when one of them held his hand.
And where are you going mister man? Peter thundered at him.
Let go of my hand.
Aren’t you ashamed of yourself, wife beater? Lydia scolded.
The five of them guarded the walkway so he wouldn’t pass. Frustrated. Anger all over his face. He stamped in and banged the door after him. He felt ashamed of himself and his actions. A photograph of his wife and two daughters (he had left them in the custody of Maria, Jane’s sister) laid beside him. But he had talked her into going on this trip with him and assured that he would try to fix their marriage. Suddenly he remembered James, and the tears he had held back broke over his face.
“James, I’m sorry, but it’s time to move on; you are in the past now. I have to gather the pieces of my life together. I can’t afford to lose my family,” he spoke to the photograph as if it were James before him. Jane, I’ll try to fix us, he assured himself.

Before they retired for the night, he begged for her forgiveness but she didn’t respond. She closed her eyes and feigned to be asleep. But Steve couldn’t sleep. He picked one of his books, forced himself to read; just maybe, sleep would finally gather around his eyes.
Meanwhile, it seemed as if Steve wasn’t the only one having trouble sleeping. Peter stepped outside in the cold. His girlfriend was snoring like a pig. Oh, you thought it was the other way round. He came out for a smoke and was surprised to find Sadik still up at that hour. Upon request, he offered Sadik a stick of cigarette.
It’s cold out here, Sadik remarked gaily as he took a good drag into his lungs, letting a plume of smoke issue out of his nostrils first, then the rest is allowed to jet out through an aperture of pursed lips.
What are you doing out here at this time? Peter probed
You know, just checking my animals, He retorted.
Oh, yea right.
Hope you don’t mind my asking this? He probed further.
Oh no, go ahead.
How did you manage to own this place? I mean just take a look at it. No offence, but this place is a jungle man. It’s as if we are cut off from human civilization, Peter stated.
And how did you manage to locate this place? Sadik’s question sounded both rude and polite.
It was late, so we couldn’t get a cab going to the main town where my aunt stays, and someone had directed us here. By the way, my girlfriend and I will be leaving tomorrow.
I see… Sadik said. Better go in before those night monsters crawl out and make dinner out of you, he added before sauntering towards the abattoir behind his inn.
Ah, ah, really funny. I’m not scared bro, let them come; I’ll kill them by a single punch.
Suddenly, there was a quick dart from the bush. The darkness impaired his sight. He sensed something or someone kept a close watch. Gradually, he started about the bush to see what it was.
Immediately, a squirrel appeared and ran past. He held his chest and heaved a sigh of relief. In a bid to make a U-turn, someone struck him in the head with a baton and he fell flat like a log.
His assailant was nobody else but Sadik, the son of late Mallam Al-hijam, the famous Butcher.
It was rumored that he had killed his father and raped his mother to death at a tender age. You know how it is with these rumors —sometimes they could be true and false at this same time. But one thing was certain, and that was: he had a bipolar disorder that made him do horrible things. And most people avoided him.
He carried him on his shoulders into the abattoir; he was oblivious of the blood pouring down from Peter’s cracked skull. His face was lit with rage and he rolled out his tongue like a snake, and placed him on a bloody table. It wasn’t just a slaughter house for animals; actually it was a long time ago, prior to his father’s death. But Sadik had converted it to a slaughter house for human flesh. There in the slaughter house, the smell of blood and putrid corpses hung in the air and smaller body parts were preserved in containers filled with formalin. The bigger ones that couldn’t be accommodated by the containers, were stored in a refrigerator.
Peter was awake already. He tried to scream, but the gag held his tongue. Both hands and feet were pierced with long nails. Pain wriggled out of him. There was a butcher’s knife in his hand. An axe laid lazily on the floor. A saw hung on a detachable hook
Don’t worry my friend, you won’t feel a single thing after all this, Sadik said, caressing his scalp while grinning from ear to ear.
Sleep finally washed over Steve’s eyes.
But Lydia was awake and noticed Peter’s absence. She strolled out in a pink pajamas and began to call out his name in the dark. There was no response.
Back in the Abattoir, Sadik had finished dicing him to death like some onions and stored his various parts in the containers and refrigerator. An ear was all that was left of Peter, and he was about to pick it up and throw in his mouth when Lydia saw him and screamed. She was about to take to her heels, when she slipped and fell, bashing her head against a hard material.

***

Her scream was so loud that it could raise the dead.
Did you hear that? Abike asked Rosemary.
Yes, I did.
What was that? Rosemary inquired in return.
I don’t know. Let’s go check, Abike replied.
Everyone rolled out in fear, and a mumbling rose among them.
Everyone let’s stay calm, Steve’s voice rose to douse the mumbling. Jane inquired what it was and the professor said it was a scream.
Where’s Peter and Lydia? She inquired in a raised tone.
They should be in their room, Rose replied.
How could they be sleeping with that terrifying scream? The professor inquired stamping his foot.
Jane checked the room, but found it empty; it looked like a rat hole.
They are not there, Jane stated.
Satan has come to kill us, Rose cried.
And where is Sadik? Steve asked. His question not directed to anyone.
Yes, that’s true, Abike supported.
I just hope it’s not what I’m thinking, Steve stated.
Fear fell on their faces. Steve suggested they spread out in order to trace the source of the scream but the professor reprimanded the idea—he insisted it was too dark and risky. The two men agreed to go alone while the ladies remained in the bus.
For the first time in a long while, Jane kissed Steve so passionately. Then she told him to be careful and to return to her alive.
The men had only a big touch and their instincts to lead the way. Their phones had died and they were in the middle of nowhere. They followed the blood trail on the ground and it led them to the slaughter house. They were horrified by the things they saw. The professor started to puke like a pregnant woman. Sadik wasn’t there. He had concealed himself somewhere in the dark. Lydia’s decapitated body laid in a pool of blood beside the foot of the refrigerator, and the professor screamed like a girl. Sadik struck the professor from behind and he fainted. He was about to hit Steve and he dodged. Steve managed to pin him to the ground, although for a moment, with a huge rod slug to his head. He continued to smash his head with it and stopped when he was sure he couldn’t move. He forced the professor to his feet, although he was bleeding, it was only a scratch.
Come on, we have to get out of here! Steve pulled him by the hand. But the professor was too weak to run. And his head ached. Yet getting out of that place, was their only chance of survival. So they ran and ran without pausing for breath.
Ladies gather your things, I mean anything you can find, we are leaving this night, Steve announced.
Where are they? Jane inquired.
Dead! Peter and Lydia dead, Steve retorted.
That monster butchered the both of them, the professor cried.
How are we going to leave, you said the car was out of gas? Jane asked.
His truck, the professor suggested.
Nice idea, Steve retorted.
As they were about to take the truck, the monster appeared again. This time, he was armed with a saw and his face covered in blood. At the sight of him, everyone scattered. In pairs, they all veered into the forest. Except for the professor who couldn’t run. He fell to his knees and started to plead.
But the cold-heart-murder sawed him into two, smirked and started in the way of the forest.
Steve and Jane continued to run on one side of the forest, oblivious of their location. The other girls continued on a different path together. One of the girls was too chubby and it precluded their journey.
Come on Rosemary, we must keep running, Abike pleaded as they halted.
I’m exhausted. I cannot continue.
You have to please. What do you want me to tell your parents? The former inquired, breathing heavily.
Suddenly, he resurfaced from wherever his was and slit Abike’s throat with a knife, before dicing the other with the saw; although Rosemary had proven a bit difficult at first, she ended up like the rest.

Please honey we have to keep running, Steve begged.
But we don’t know where we are going? Jane replied in deep short breaths as they took shelter under a tree.
Sadik kept howling his way towards them. Then he paused and began to sniff around like a dog, before taking a different route.
Steve and Jane had ran past the forest. Now they made their way to the road. Gradually, the overcast which hung in the sky, began to give way for the first rays of sun to find expression.
They stopped as they came towards the main road. Jane threw herself on the floor with legs akimbo. Steve held his waist, bent down and continued to breathe heavily. But the battle wasn’t over.
Sadik dashed out of the forest like a ghost, with a knife; he had flung the saw in the forest.
The men started to wrestle. Sadik tried to stab with the knife, but missed his target. Then Steve flung a jab. And he missed too. Sadik attempted to stab the second time and Steve grabbed him by hand. Then he hit the hand so hard until the knife rolled off. Jane quickly picked it up and pointed it to him like a gun. Then Steve hit him in the head with a big rock and he collapsed.
Jane came over with the knife and began to stab multiple times. She cried and cussed while she did.
He’s dead, let go, Steve commanded.

But she wasn’t satisfied. She carried the big rock and split his skull open. Steve took her in his arms to calm the rage smothering within her.
Babes, I’m sorry for everything, Jane pleaded.
I understand. I’m also sorry for neglecting you and the kids.
By and large, they continued to walk down the road, then stopped and waited for a Good Samaritan to pass by and decide to offer them a lift to anywhere but here.

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