Chapter Four:
The sun was already leaning west when Precious reached the church gate that evening. The Blue Building shimmered in the dusty Ibadan heat, its paint peeling slightly around the corners, the iron gate screeching open to let her in. The compound smelled faintly of dust and hibiscus leaves. Someone had watered the small patch of grass by the side, and the water formed puddles that caught the fading light like sheets of thin glass.
Inside, the church was quieter than usual. The large ceiling fans rotated lazily, stirring air thick with incense and the faint musk of polish used on the wooden pews. Precious had come earlier than she intended. Pastor Tade had called in the morning, his voice calm, the tone deliberate, “I want us to pray about something,” he had said. “Something that concerns your journey.”
She had not asked questions. She had simply said yes, as though the word was already on her lips before she heard his request.
Her body felt restless in the quiet. She sat in one of the middle rows, her bag beside her, and tried to steady her breathing. Everything about the space felt familiar, the plastic flowers on the altar, the framed photo of the general overseer, the blue drapes that fluttered slightly from the back door. And yet, tonight, the familiar felt foreign. The silence was no longer peaceful. It was watchful.
She could hear faint movement from the office wing. The secretary, Funke — was there, she guessed, still tapping away on her phone or arranging offering envelopes. Precious had always liked her: polite, soft-spoken, always humming some old Tope Alabi tune under her breath.
But tonight, even that thought did little to ease her unease.
The door creaked behind her. “Sister Precious?”
His voice floated in, warm and measured.
She turned. “Good evening, sir.”
He smiled, the way he always did that half-smile that made him look both fatherly and younger than his age. His white shirt sleeves were rolled just above his elbows, his tie hung loose. He looked like a man stepping out of his own armor, momentarily human.
“You came early,” he said, moving closer.
“I didn’t want to be late.”
“That’s good. The Spirit loves punctual hearts.”
He chuckled softly, gesturing toward the front. “Come, let’s pray inside the office. The air conditioner works better there.”
She followed, clutching her bag tighter than she meant to.
Inside his office, the scent of cologne hung heavy citrus and something musky underneath. A Bible lay open on his table, pages slightly ruffled from use. A bottle of water, half-empty, sat beside it. The air hummed faintly with the sound of the unit by the window.
“Sit down,” he said. “We’ll talk first.”
She sat, her knees pressed together, her palms damp.
He leaned back in his chair, studying her. “You’ve been growing spiritually,” he said. “I can see that. There’s a light on you lately. The Lord is doing something.”
She smiled faintly. “Thank you, sir.”
He nodded, his gaze steady. “But I sense something… heavy too. You’ve been praying, but there’s a burden. Tell me, what is it?”
She hesitated. The truth was, she didn’t know how to name the heaviness she carried. It was work, yes — the endless pressure at the consultancy, the way her boss barked orders like commands in a war zone. But it was also something else, something she couldn’t fully define.
“I’ve been tired,” she said quietly. “It’s been… hard to focus. Work, life… everything just feels too much.”
He leaned forward slightly. “You’re not alone, Precious. That’s why the Lord sends shepherds. Sometimes, we think we can carry it all, but grace is shared. You understand?”
She nodded, eyes lowered.
He reached across the table, lightly placing a hand over hers. “Let’s pray about it. I feel led.”
Her heartbeat stuttered. The warmth of his palm sent a small tremor up her arm. He stood, walked around the desk, and stood beside her chair.
“Stand up,” he said softly. “Let’s pray together.”
She rose.
He began in a low voice, the rhythm slow and deliberate. “Father, thank you for your daughter… for your vessel of light. Thank you for what you are preparing in her.”
His hand rested on her shoulder, light at first, then firmer.
She closed her eyes, trying to focus on the words. But the words were distant, drowned beneath the sound of her own heartbeat.
When he said *Amen*, the silence that followed was heavy, too heavy.
“Open your eyes,” he said gently.
She did.
His face was closer than it should have been.
For a moment, time blurred — the hum of the air conditioner, the faint creak of the fan above, the smell of cologne and furniture polish — everything folded into one still image.
Then, he stepped back. “The Lord is saying something about your future,” he said, voice low. “But you must be careful. The enemy can use your gift against you.”
She frowned slightly. “How do you mean?”
He smiled again, that same calm, rehearsed smile. “You’ll understand soon. Just… stay prayerful.”
He walked back to his desk, lifted his Bible, and handed it to her. “Read Psalm 91 tonight before you sleep. Out loud. Three times.”
She nodded, clutching the Bible. “Yes, sir.”
He glanced at the clock. “It’s late. You should get home before it rains.”
Outside, the clouds were gathering thickly. She thanked him and walked out, the corridor empty except for Funke, who looked up briefly from her desk.
“Good night, ma,” the secretary said.
“Good night,” Precious replied, her voice quieter than she intended.
The drive home was slow. The rain had begun — soft at first, then louder, the drops slapping against the windscreen like small stones. She reached her compound in Oloja and parked by the gate, her mind still looping through the prayer session. Something about it felt strange, but she couldn’t say what.
Her room was small but neat — a single bed by the wall, a reading table stacked with reports, a small rack for clothes, and a standing fan that creaked each time it rotated. She sat on the bed, pulled off her shoes, and stared at the Bible in her hand.
She tried to pray, but her thoughts kept spiraling — to his eyes, the warmth of his hand, the tone of his voice when he said “You’re not alone.
It had been so long since anyone said those words to her with that kind of weight.
Her phone buzzed.
It was him.
“I hope you got home safely?”
She stared at the screen for a long moment before typing back: Yes, sir. Thank you.
Three dots blinked for a moment, then disappeared. Then his reply came: Sleep well, daughter. The Lord is with you.
She placed the phone face down and lay on her back, staring at the ceiling. The fan groaned above her. Her mind refused to quiet.
The next morning, she was at work before eight. The consultancy office in Bodija was a different world glass, coffee machines, the clatter of keyboards, the smell of perfume and tension. Her boss, Mrs. Olufunke, was already pacing by the main corridor, barking instructions.
“Precious, where’s the report from yesterday’s client review?”
“On your desk, ma,” Precious said quickly.
“Good. And send a soft copy to Mr. Ajayi before noon.”
“Yes, ma.”
The rhythm of work kept her mind busy, but every now and then, a flicker of memory — the pastor’s eyes, his tone — interrupted her focus. She scolded herself inwardly. *You’re imagining things. He’s your pastor, that’s all.*
By lunch break, her colleagues were laughing about a viral clip on TikTok. Precious smiled faintly but said little. Her mind was elsewhere.
That evening, when she got home, she saw another message from him.
*“Remember Psalm 91. Read it tonight. The Lord is showing me something about your destiny.”*
She stared at the text, her chest tightening. There was something thrilling and frightening about the attention.
Days passed. Their conversations grew longer, more personal. He asked about her job, her parents, her dreams. He told her about his own struggles — how ministry wasn’t easy, how people misunderstood him.
“I wasn’t always a pastor,” he said one evening after service, when they stood by the church parking lot. “I used to work in banking. I know what it means to fight for stability. You remind me of myself then — too focused, too lonely.”
She smiled awkwardly. “I’m not lonely, sir. I have… friends.”
He chuckled. “Friends don’t fill the silence at night.”
She had no reply to that.
They stood in silence until a car horn broke the air.
He glanced toward the gate. “Let’s continue this another time.”
That night, she dreamed of water — endless, blue, stretching far beyond reach. She was swimming, then drowning, then floating again. When she woke, her sheets were damp with sweat.
The weeks that followed unfolded like a slow dance she didn’t remember learning. Their calls became routine, then expected. She found herself looking forward to them — his gentle laughter, the way he spoke her name as if it carried hidden syllables.
But she was careful, or so she thought.
Until that Sunday.
The service had ended early. The choir was packing up instruments, people lingering to greet one another. Precious was by the side aisle, picking up bulletins, when his voice came again.
“Sister Precious, please wait a moment.”
She turned.
“Come to my office,” he said. “Just a brief moment.”
Her pulse skipped. She nodded and followed.
The secretary wasn’t around this time.
He gestured for her to sit. The Bible was open again on the desk, but there was something different in the air — heavier, charged.
He spoke about faith, about spiritual attacks, about how the devil sought to distract those who carried promise. She nodded along, only half hearing.
Then, as he prayed again, his hand lingered too long on her shoulder. She felt it — the tremor of something unholy cloaked in sanctity.
When he finally stepped back, she could barely breathe.
“Go in peace,” he said softly, his tone unreadable.
She walked out, dazed, barely noticing the faint murmur of conversation from outside.
At home that night, she sat on her bed, trembling. Her mind replayed everything — every word, every pause.
She didn’t tell anyone. Not Funke. Not her colleagues. Not even herself, not fully.
But the silence was a stone in her chest.
Two days later, the phone call came.
Unknown number.
“Is this Miss Precious Adigba?”
“Yes. Who’s speaking?”
“This is Inspector Nnamdi, from the Total Area Police Station. We’d like you to come in tomorrow morning regarding an ongoing investigation at Christ Royal Palace.”
She froze. “Investigation?”
“Yes, ma’am. It concerns your pastor.”
