You stabbed your best friend three times in his abdomen, and afterwards, you ate pizza with your bloody hands. The cheese and sausages were warm in your mouth and you relished the smell of the hard bread base. You licked your fingers and the tomatoes on them mixed with the blood. You sat in your chair long after you were done eating. You watched Moses lying on the ground, blood oozing from his abdomen, his face turned awkwardly sideways. His mouth remained open, just as it was when shock shook him upon the first stabbing. He looked funny with his crooked teeth exposed for the world to see. You had always teased him about his teeth. Now he was dead, murdered and you were the murderer. You loved how the light left his eyes, like a lantern dimming into darkness. It was so glorious, watching him die. 

You had to get rid of the body. You were not bothered about getting caught. It wasn't the first time you murdered someone. It wasn't even the tenth time. You had lost count. You killed for fun. But killing Moses was not the usual pattern. He deserved to die for what he did. It was unforgivable. He was crying when he came to you this evening. He said he was so sorry. You took him to the kitchen and wiped his tears with tissue. Then you said you were too tired to cook and ordered pizza. The pizza delivery man arrived and you even smiled as you brought it inside to be devoured. But you saw Moses sitting at the table, not crying anymore and rage made your lips quiver.

“You should still be crying, Moses,” you had said.

“Nicholas, I am sorry. I know I have hurt you in an unimaginable way and‒”

“You should still be crying,” You said slowly and dropped the pizza on the dining table. The table gleamed with a polished brown finish.

“I have changed, Nicholas. I have given my life to Christ. I have been reborn. I'm a changed man. That's why I'm telling you this. I couldn't lie to you anymore.”

“You. Should. Still. Be. Crying.” Your voice was hard as steel now. You were thinking of the shiny steel of your favourite knife. Knives had always been your favourite toys, even as a kid. Your parents had thought you were demon-possessed so they took you to prayer camps to pray for deliverance. The pastors and prophets declared that an evil spirit was eating your soul and making you heartless. That was why you enjoyed hurting other kids in your class. That was why you killed animals for fun and dug out the entrails with your hands. That was why at age thirteen, you tied your younger brother's legs and hands with ropes and pushed him into a swimming pool. You did that because he ate your fried rice and chicken without your permission. That was your favourite meal. You still wished your mother had not found him before he drowned. You wanted to enjoy the spectacle of him dying. Too bad Kwaku was still alive twenty years after. Well, you could still kill him. You hadn't forgiven him for eating your food. That was yours, not his. It was unfair that he wasn't punished. You loved punishments and you enjoyed being the punisher. The power of punishing was exhilarating.

Anyway, your stupid friend, Moses, had been punished and you needed a way to get rid of his body. You took his phone. You needed to unlock it. You raised his lifeless finger and used it to activate his fingerprint and unlock his phone. Well, that was easy. You scrolled through his chats on WhatsApp. You tapped on the chat of the lady he had been trying to woo. He had told you about her. He told you about how he was crazy about Efia. He met her at a wedding reception in East Legon and he quickly went closer to her to "shoot his shot". He got her number but she had been playing the hard girl card and it was proving rather difficult to convince her to go out with him.

You tapped on Efia's chat and swiftly composed a message.

I don't think I can do this anymore. I'm tired of life, of chasing things I can never have. Nobody ever wants me. Even my parents abandoned me as a child. I'm cursed. I'm tired of living. I'm ending it. That's the best thing to do. 

You copied the message and posted it on his WhatsApp status. Moses' phone began to blare with calls and messages. You smiled and wrapped the body in a body bag and dumped it in the boot of your car. You drove to his house and took the body to the kitchen. You stabbed his chest with his own kitchen knife and his fingers wrapped around it. Then you staged the kitchen to look like he died there. You rushed outside the house and sat in your car, preparing your body for what came next. Your body began to shake with sobs but they were rehearsed tears.

Your mind was formulating a story. You knew what to tell the world. Moses had been depressed and you had been trying to convince him to seek professional help. You saw his WhatsApp status this evening and you kept calling him to talk him out of suicide. You rushed to his place but when you got there‒oh God‒when you got here, he was‒oh God! Why did he do this to himself? You tried to help him. You really did. And he pushed you away. You really tried to help him. But now he is‒oh, Lord of mercy‒now he is gone!

You deserved to win an Oscar for your performance. Of course, Moses' loved ones believed you. Of course, the police believed you and your fabricated grief. You refused to eat for days and you kept crying in your room. Your voice was hoarse from the howls and your stomach growled with hunger. But you had to stick to the script.

“Nicholas, you have to eat,” your parents told you when they brought you different meals.

“Mummy, he has been my friend ever since we were kids. We grew up together‒”

“I know.”

“Why‒Why would he do this to himself? To me? I loved him as a brother.”

“Take heart, Nicholas,” Daddy said. “God knows the best.”

Your brother, Kwaku, avoided you during the days of your mourning. He was still afraid of you, of what you could do. When he recovered from his close brush with drowning, he had begged your parents to send him to a boarding school. 

“He is going to kill me. I can see it in his eyes, the way he looks at me. He is going to kill me.”

The day Moses was buried, you finally bumped into Kwaku. He was talking to Efia. Your belly burned with rage as you watched him talk to Moses' crush. Late Moses. Duh. Moses had always been an early bird. Now, he was late. Efia was laughing and leaning towards your brother. You wanted to bash his head against a wall. You walked up to them and smiled thinly.

“Hello, Nicholas. Kwaku here was trying to cheer me up with the story of how he tried to swim as a young child and almost drowned in the swimming pool,” Efia said and gave a weak smile. Mourning looked good on her. Her dimples were conspicuous and you wanted to stick your fingers in there. You wanted to use your fingers in different parts of her body.

You laughed and threw your head backwards.

“Yeah, I remember that day. He kept screaming and I came around. I was so scared that I jumped into the water to try and save him. But I couldn't swim well, too and we almost drowned together. Our Dad had to save us. Efia, Kwaku was vomiting fried rice in the pool. It's so funny, now that I think of it,” you said and adjusted the edge of your black turtleneck.

“Of course, it was funny.” Kwaku was looking at you directly and you could see the cold animosity in his eyes. The story the both of you were telling was what your parents had crafted for the both of you to share to the world. They didn't want the whole world to know that they had a little devil who tried to kill his younger brother. 

“I'm so sorry that happened to the both of you,” Efia said and touched Kwaku's chest. You pressed your lips together and your fingers stiffened with taut anger. Now that Moses was gone, Efia should be yours. 

“I'm going to greet Moses' parents,” Efia said, looking at the both of you. “I will be back.”

You watched the roll of her buttocks as she sauntered away. You imagined tying her to a bed and whipping her naked butt with a belt until they were red. Then you imagined taking her from behind. Efia was yours to take.

“Stay away from Efia,” you said as you stood beside Kwaku.

“I should be telling you that, Nicholas. Stay away from Efia. You are just going to kill her the way you killed your last girlfriend.”

“Cynthia was stupid. She slipped on the wet tiles of her room and she hit the back of her head on the ground,” you said and heaved. You wished you missed Cynthia. There was nothing to miss.

“That is what you made it look like. Too bad Moses had to go through suicide.”

You smiled at distant relatives as they walked by. Kwaku waved. To the outside world, you were two nice brothers comforting each other on a dark day.

“I didn't have anything to do with this, Kwaku,” you said.

“You think I'm going to believe you? C'mon, I know who you are. You are a psychopath.”

“You shouldn't tell a psychopath they are a psychopath. You could be the next victim.”

“I'm not afraid of you.”

You smiled and moved closer to Kwaku so that your shoulders touched. He shuddered and moved away from you.

“I'm not afraid of you,” you mimicked him with a mocking tone. 

“Please stay away from Efia,” he pleaded.

“She is mine.”

“She is a Christian. She goes to church. She led Moses to Christ. You can't do this to her. You don't even go to church. You don't even believe in God. She doesn't yoke with unbelievers.”

“Then I guess I would have to do some rebranding.”

“What do you mean?”

You shrugged and watched Efia from a distance. She was hugging Moses' mother. The mother looked like a flower wilting in harsh sunlight. 

“I will become born again, too. She will lead me to Christ.”

“You can't be saved.” Kwaku's voice was low. He kicked a stone. Dust floated above his feet and the motes coloured his black shoes brown.

“C'mon,” you said and nudged him with your hips. His body shivered at your touch. “God is ready to welcome all those who believe. I am a sinner and I want Jesus Christ in my life. And Efia is going to lead me to him.”

“I will report you to the police if you do this.”

You turned and faced him sharply. Kwaku almost fell down but you held his hand and squeezed his fingers. You enjoyed watching him wince. He tried to withdraw his hand but your grip was strong.

“I will kill Mummy and Daddy before the police gets to me. I will chop off Daddy's toes and shove them into his anus. I will cut off his penis and shove it into Mummy's vagina before I cut them open very slowly. It's been my biggest fantasy. Don't make me do it. I know how much you love them. Don't do this to them.”

Kwaku's eyes filled with tears. 

“You can't be saved, Nicholas.”

You sucked through your teeth and smiled like a child who had been offered ice-cream. Efia's backside was quite impressive. It deserved to be whipped like a bad child.

“I'm Nicodemus seeking redemption.” Your stare was blank and devoid of expression. You looked like glass. Sharp glass.

*

You visited Efia the next day at Tabora. Her house was just beside the Salvation Army school. Your shoulders were drooping and your face was plastered with snot and tears. When she opened the door, the worry on her face satisfied you.

“What's wrong, Nicholas?”

“I just can't stop thinking of how he died, how I saw him. I can't sleep at night. It haunts me. I should have done something, Efia. It feels like I killed him.”

“You didn't do that. He did that to himself. You are not a murderer,” she said and hugged you. You smiled over her shoulder. Of course, you were not a murderer. 

She led you inside and you talked about how you felt so empty inside.

“I keep thinking of where I would go when I die. I think of death and I'm so scared. I deserve to burn in hell.”

“God is ready to save you from the bondage of the devil. You won't burn in hell when you are saved.” She began a sermon that made you yawn internally.

“You don't know the things I have done.”

“We have all done bad things. But Christ came to die for our sins, to redeem us. No matter how bad your sins are, His blood can wash them away.”

You held Efia's hands and cried.

“Efia, I want to be saved. I want Jesus Christ in my life.”

“Thank you, Jesus.” She pressed your fingers and you felt electricity zap through your veins. Your manhood stiffened as she made you repeat the Sinner's Prayer and she led you to Christ.

“Dear Lord Jesus, I know that I am a sinner, and I ask for Your forgiveness. I believe You died for my sins and rose from the dead. I turn from my sins and invite You to come into my heart and life. I want to trust and follow You as my Lord and Saviour.”

“Come with me to church this evening,” she said when you were done crying. You said yes as you wiped the tears from your face. 

That evening was the first time you had been in church after so many years. You stopped going to church when you got to the university. You had always found it theatrical and unnecessary. Christians were fools beneath you. They didn't know what it felt like to live freely, to act out your impulses and kill at will, eat at will, have sex at will. They were people who had to submit to a fictional God's will. You almost yawned as you listened to the pastor preach about God's love and redemption.

“When you come to Christ, you are born anew. Old things have passed away and you are a new creation.”

“Preach on, pastor!” Efia hailed and clapped. You clapped and nodded with enthusiasm. You had to blend in, pass the test and win the girl. Boy gets girl. Men did all sort of things to win the heart of their desired ones. Ladies were cows to be wooed, instruments of pleasure to be used. That was what you believed. You knew Efia was a feminist, you had gone through her socials. She hated misogynists. Well, you would just blend in and be whatever she wanted you to be, so long as she also bent to whatever you wanted her to be. You would cook, do the laundry, take care of the kids, treat her like a queen and make her think she had a say in making decisions of the house. It was easy. She just had to be good. It would be a shame if it got to a point where you had to kill her.

The pastor called first timers to come out and be welcomed. You told the congregation you were there to stay and they clapped for you, welcoming you. You smiled shyly and rubbed your hands on your trousers.

“God, he is so handsome and shy,” you heard the young ladies whispering. “I like him.”

Fools, you thought. They were fools.

The pastor called you to his office after the service. The room was spacious and the white walls irritated you. You hated anything white, that whole charade of purity. 

“My name is Pastor Dennis Afoakwa,” he said. “You are welcome to our church, Nicholas.”

“Thank you, Pastor. And that was a great sermon. It was so powerful. I could feel the spirit of God speaking directly to my soul. I feel so different now that I have given my life to Christ.”

“Do not be deceived. God cannot be mocked.” The pastor's voice was low and his stare was piercing.

You were taken aback.

“What?”

“You are not deceiving anyone but yourself. I know why you are here. I know who you are, what you are.”

You laughed loudly and leaned back on the chair. You raised your legs and crossed them on the table.

“And what am I?”

“You know that yourself.”

“C'mon, I came to church. I am saved. I want to be saved. God can save me, right? No one is beyond redemption. With God, all things are possible.”

“Do you want to be saved?”

You looked at Pastor Afoakwa and whistled notes of Pharrell Williams' “Happy”. 

“You said you know why I am here so you should know the answer.”

“Why did you kill Moses?”

You laughed and snapped your fingers to the music in your head. 

“He was a member here so you should know the answer.”

“He came to you to beg.”

“Wait, were you the one who sent him? Oh, you did send him. Oh, that's sad. So, so sad. So you killed him.”

“You killed him.”

You snorted.

“He committed suicide.”

“Why? Why did you kill him after he begged?”

“I told him to continue crying and he ignored me. I hate it when people don't listen to me. Nobody ever listens to me. Everybody already thinks that I'm this evil, twisted monster and I'm not worth listening to because everything that comes out of my mouth is a lie. Nobody ever listens.”

“He was sorry for what he did.”

“He raped my ex-girlfriend, Cynthia. He raped her and I thought she was cheating on me all the time that she withdrew from me. He raped her and made her a shadow of herself. And I had to kill her because she was trying to cut me off. I didn't know she was traumatized. I thought she had seen that I was a soulless monster and was trying to cut me off. She wasn't listening to me. I begged her to stay. I‒I‒I begged her but she didn't listen and I had to kill her. I had to kill her because nobody ever dumps me. Nobody ever leaves me until I say so. Moses made me kill Cynthia. He made me kill the love of my life. He stabbed me in the back. So I stabbed him three times and oh God, it was so glorious watching the shock register on his face, watching the light leave his eyes. He deserved to die.”

“So how do you feel now?”

You shrugged.

“The same way I felt before ordering the pizza that evening.”

“How?”

“I felt nothing. I felt nothing at all. It was just silent inside me and hollow, like an empty drum. I don't feel things that people feel. I don't feel things that people feel I should feel. I actually feel like ordering pizza now.”

“You want to kill me.” Pastor Afoakwa's voice was low and his sustained eye contact was unnerving. 

You shrugged and leaned towards him. You winked at him.

“I have to. But I don't know how I would get away with it this time.”

“Because you won't, Nicholas. Efia knows why you followed her to church. Your brother told her and your parents know what you did to Moses and what you've threatened to do. We know everything.”

“I could still kill you and kill myself afterwards.”

“You are not going to do that.”

“You talk like you know me.”

Pastor Afoakwa leaned forward and supported his chin with his hands. 

“I want to know you. I want to listen to you.”

You leaned back and looked at the ceiling. You felt trapped. You thought of ways to get out of the situation but your mind was blank. You were truly hollow inside. You could feel vibrations of a higher power in this room. It made goose bumps rise on your skin. When you looked at Pastor Afoakwa, his lips were moving in silent prayer. You could tell that he was speaking in tongues. Your stomach growled.

“I am hungry, pastor. I am ravenous and I don't want the bread of life. I want pizza.”

“Great, Nicholas. Let's order pizza,” he said and picked his phone, unlocking it with his finger. You tapped your feet three times on the floor and leaned back in the chair, closing your eyes. You thought of eating pizza with bloody hands.