Surprise! Heaven’s Gift — Part 3 of My Romance with Fear

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I walked into the new cell room—partly sad, partly happy. At least I got a worthy punishment for my sins. My sins didn’t begin with the murder. They began the day I said yes to the man I murdered—the children I let him punch out of me. Maybe my life sentence will appease their spirits. Maybe it will erase their tears for the life they never got to experience.

I walked to my bunk, trying to block out the clanging of the padlock as the jailer locked the cell, sealing my fate. I dropped a few personal belongings on my thin mattress, spread the wrapper one of those prison evangelists gifted me, and sat on it. Then I let the tears flow. No sobs. Just tears pouring down in torrents, like the rains of Port Harcourt.

They say after the rain comes the sun. Well, I finally stopped the tears and lay on the bed.

“If I already was a monster, I will be it fully,” I decided.

With a new resolve, I shut my eyes and forced myself to sleep.

“Hi,” I heard faintly. It sounded high-pitched and far away. I turned slowly to see who owned the voice. I saw no one. I heard it again—closer now. I turned again. Still no one.

“It must be an angel. I am dead,” I thought.

Then someone touched my shoulder—suddenly jolting me. I jumped, hitting my head on the metal rail of the upper bunk. My eyes flung open as I grabbed my head in pain.

“Jesus,” I said scared yet slow.

I saw the figure, not clearly at first as my head still ached. She was bent low, apologizing profusely. I could barely decipher what she was saying, but my heart raced like a chased rat as I tried to analyze everything happening around me.

“Who are you?” I finally asked, glancing at the barred door. It was still locked.

“I am Angel,” she said.

“Am I dead?” I asked.

She looked confused.

“Erhhh… no, you are not,” she said, chuckling.

I stood and walked to the window. The day had broken. I turned back to her, tears in my eyes.

“What happened here?” I asked.

She looked at me apologetically.

“I jolted you while trying to wake you and then…”

“No,” I said, silencing her. “I have not slept this well since I killed him,” I added—more to myself than to her. “What happened here?” I asked again.

She walked up to me, placing her hands on my shoulder.

“I might know what happened, but we should prepare to assemble at the yard before the guards get here.”

I turned away without saying a word, but my mind noted her fluency with the English language.

“She must be different from me. She must have been framed into this place,” I kept thinking as we lined out for prison labour that morning.

Two days later, as we lay on our bunks at night after lights out, Angel began telling me how she got into prison.

“I killed my husband too,” she said.

My mouth flew open in shock, and I was grateful she couldn’t see me from the top bunk.

“We had two children together. Two beautiful girls.” She paused, as though contemplating her next words. Then she continued. “Jordan would come home drunk, beat me, lock me up, and molest the girls in the living room. Their innocent screams always tortured me, yet I never left or sought help. He was always sorry when he became sober, and I was always too scared to leave—too scared that my girls would be tormented with shame all their lives if anyone ever knew.

“One day, he beat me mercilessly and closed the door but forgot to lock it. I noticed, opened the door, and when I saw my daughters crying in pain, I grabbed a stool by reflex and flung it at his head. His dead body fell right there in front of me and the girls.”

She ended the story with a sniff.

I lay on my bed, staring at the rails of the upper bunk, unsure what to say—or even think.

“Do you feel like a monster?” I asked finally, breaking the silence.

“No,” she said, laughing. “I once did, though. But I am at peace with myself now, and my girls have gotten help and are thriving.”

“How?” I asked, confused.

“Well…” she started.

Just then, the guard on duty banged our cell door.

“If you no shut up now, I go shut you! Idiot murderers!” he shouted, his torchlight flooding the room, its rays dancing from one corner to the other as though conducting a mini search.

I shut my eyes, thinking about our conversation, until I slept off.

By the next morning, we both acted like the conversation never happened. That was until two weeks later, when Angel smiled at me as we filed out for labour and whispered, “I am leaving here soon.”

I almost laughed out loud but for the stern look of the guards.

“Angel dey weird,” I said to myself, smiling.

Being around Angel had a way of making me feel light—at peace. And every time she lay quiet on her bed, it felt like heaven paid a quick visit to earth. She was just weird in a beautiful way.

On some days, I actually thought Angel wasn’t even human—because she felt like an angel trapped on earth. She was a detour from anything I had ever known. Some nights, after our wholesome conversations, I would stare into the night, thinking maybe God still cared about me. That was the only explanation for this surprise packaged from heaven to me.

It was 5:30 p.m. on October 1st when the prison warder walked into the yard, his potbelly leading. You would almost think he was pregnant. He cleared his throat and shouted loudly, “Attention in the yard! I have the governor’s gazette here.”

The entire yard went dead silent.

He continued, “Inmate Angel, service number C551/23, you have been granted a total pardon by His Excellency. Pack your load and report to records.”

I turned to Angel with fear and awe.

“Angel! You are a witch!” I screamed. “How did you know?”

My fear was overtaken by excitement. I grabbed her, squeezing her into a hug, then pulled back slowly as tears welled up in my eyes.

She hugged me again, whispering, “I will visit you, I promise.”

Tears rolled down our faces as she pulled away, picked her things, and followed the warder. I watched until she disappeared from sight.

I turned away, forcing the tears back in as I imagined what life in that cell room without Angel would look like. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized Angel left her spirit behind—because I felt that calmness she always carried.

I smiled and let the tears flow, maybe from the pain of the loss, maybe from the peace I felt.

I couldn’t tell.

To be continued