When the first shots shattered the nervous silence of the cold, crispy night, Samantha didn't realize they were gunfire. In fact she practically continued to hack at her pharmacy textbook with her mind on automatic before realizing that students in the library had jumped to their feet in agitation. Still acting like a moron, she slowly packed up her books while the rest screamed for the door amidst books flying in every direction. Two more sharp reports and the sounds of glass shattering added fuel to the pandemonium. Everybody knew what was going on: exam season was in the air and cultists allergic to academics were doing what they know best -- making mayhem.
Samantha started for the exit with her heart hammering violently in her chest. She was terrified to say the least. It was pitch dark outside and the closest female hostel could only be reached by sprinting across an empty square. Which, considering her present predicament, was fool hardy. The cultists would grab her before she even went halfway. And only God knew what they would do to her.
By now the previously jam--packed library had been emptied, except for the books. She was alone and scared senseless. Screams ricocheted of the walls outside as students scampering down the staircase in a mad rush for safety. She knew a lot of people were going to be hurt by the stampede and she didn't want to be among them.
She stood still by the door and tried to calm herself down. Maybe if she just stayed put the danger might pass. Or it might rather find her and devour her on the spot. She wanted to get back to her room. Only her room! She began to move towards the staircase, desperation made her chuck common sense to the four winds. As she reached the landing she suddenly bumped into a tall figure, dressed entirely in black.
"Jesus!" she screamed in terror. She started to back away but long arms encircled her waist and held her tight with the authority of a hangman's noose. Her knees gave away and she sagged. Fear like an ice cold wave washed over her and sapped all the strength from her body. The arms held her up.
"Please..." she pleaded weakly, "Please don't hurt me."
The arms hoisted her upright and her face drew close to her captor's dark, chiseled features. She caught a faint whiff of alcohol and nicotine. Then she stared into the scariest pair of eyes she had ever seen. They were the eyes of a wild animal. Samantha thought she was going to faint.
"I'm not Jesus" the stranger drawled "Maybe you should go further upstairs."
"What?" She asked confused.
"Never mind. Where are you off too?"
"Back to my room" she answered wondering whether this was the customary chitchat before he ripped her cloths off and possibly her heart after he must have had his way with her.
"Tired of reading? Don't blame you. I've reached saturation point myself"
Samantha didn't think he had been reading but she kept her opinions to herself. Anyway she was beginning to think she was in the middle of a very bad dream. And she could not look away from those eyes. They had her frozen on the spot, they way a cobra hypnotizes its prey before striking.
"Don't you know a pretty girl like you should not be outside at this time?"
"I'm very sorry, sir" she gibbered desperately, "I'll never do it again".
Samantha suddenly became aware that his fingers stroking her gently.
"Please don't" she pleaded weakly.
He suddenly laughed. It sounded surprisingly good-natured.
"Let me take you home" he said softly, "If I don't go with you, you'll never reach there safely."
And so he did.
Even though he had an arm round her waist through out, he never did more than stroke her occasionally with detached interest. They met some sinister characters on the way but they greeted him instead of challenging him. Soon they were outside the entrance to Awolowo Hall.
"I'll advice you to read in your room from now on" he said with a smile, "This is not a safe period. Okay?"
"Yes. Thanks"
He bent down suddenly and kissed her full on the lips. Samantha was too shocked to react.
'Nice meeting you" he whispered huskily, "I can't tell you my name for obvious reasons. Maybe one day I will. Bye-bye".
And he was gone.
"Bye" she said to empty air. The dark figure had already receded into the shadows. She shivered violently and staggered into the hall.
***
Michael walked briskly up to the wrought iron gates of the registrars Lodge. It was late evening and the setting sun cast a warm red glow over the houses on the street where the vice chancellor and other top brass of the University of Nigeria resided in comfort. The street was quiet. Apart from the fact that honking of horns was prohibited along the street, no cars moved on the road.
Michael pressed the bell on the wall and waited for response. Ten seconds later a scruffy looking security guard emerged from the guardhouse and peered malevolently at him. Michael wasn't surprised by his frosty reception. Most male students of the University were held in a suspicious light because it was more than likely that any one of them belonged to a secret cult. As for Michael he was the poster child for dyed in the wool cultists.
Clocking nearly seven feet and massively built he did not present a picture of a genteel character. His shaven head and satanic goatee did not help to soften his looks either.
"I am here to see the Registrar" he announced loudly as if the guard was deaf.
"Who are you?" was the curt, rude response.
"Tell him it's the delivery boy".
"What are you delivering?" The guard stared curiously at the package under Michael's arm.
"None of your fucking business, he's expecting me so hurry up".
The guard attempted to set him ablaze with his bloodshot eyes but when that didn't work he turned around and walked stiffly to the house. Michael waited with the air of a man who was confident he would be received.
The guard returned with a different expression on his face, Michael wondered whether he had swallowed a bee. Maybe he had. After all there were some beautiful flowers growing in the compound.
"Go straight inside" the guard said as he unlocked and opened the gate for him. His tone sounded as if the invitation was drawing quarts of blood from his body.
Michael didn't bother to reply and shouldered past him. He sauntered up the gravel path to the front door and went inside.
The plush living room was empty. The big screen TV was on and tuned to CNN. Michael sat down and watched televised reports of strife around the world until the Registrar came down the staircase and into the living room.
The Registrar was a large balding man with a potbelly of astronomical proportions and a behind of similar dimensions. A thick pair of spectacles perched precariously on his fat, bulbous nose. His casual get-up of T-shirt and shorts showed off his unenviable contours. All these attributes gave him no concern. What he was concerned with was what Michael was carrying.
"Did you bring it?" he asked, unable to keep the eagerness from his voice.
"It's right here."
