Chapter 3 The cage with no bars

Chapter Three: The Cage with No Bars

Alice woke to the faint scent of herbs and smoke.

Her body was sprawled on a woven mat in a dark room lit only by a flickering kerosene lantern. Strange symbols were chalked on the walls. A carved wooden idol with glowing red beads for eyes stared down at her from a corner. Her wrists and ankles ached, though they were not tied.

She tried to move, but her limbs felt heavy as though her spirit had been pinned to the ground.

"I warned you not to resist," Festus said from the doorway.

He was no longer wearing his hospital whites. Instead, he was dressed in a long brown wrapper tied across his chest, beads clinking around his neck, barefoot, and expressionless. His eyes glinted in the low light-not mad, not angry-certain.

"This is madness," Alice whispered.

"No," he said calmly, stepping forward. "This is tradition. This is power passed from father to son. My grandfather did it. My father too. You are simply the next vessel."

"I am a woman. A human being. Not a vessel," she spat weakly.

He knelt beside her and reached out to touch her face, but she flinched.

"Fighting will only make it harder. Accept it, Alice. You're mine-body, soul, and womb."

Her eyes filled with tears, but her heart remained defiant. "You can chain my body, but not my spirit."

He smiled. "We'll see."

Over the following days, Alice's world became smaller and darker.

The house was surrounded by a tall fence. Her phone had vanished. Her access to the outside world-gone. Festus told the staff at the hospital she had moved in "willingly," and nobody dared question him. His reputation in town was untouchable. He was Doctor Festus, the savior of the sick, the generous benefactor to widows and orphans, the man who never raised his voice.

They did not see what happened behind closed doors.

Patience and the children had vanished without warning. When Alice asked where they had gone, he simply said, "They were in the way."

At night, she heard chanting in the backyard-soft voices murmuring in a language she couldn't understand, the low pounding of drums that came not from speakers, but the earth itself. When she closed her eyes, the chants entered her dreams. She would wake gasping, drenched in sweat, her heart thumping like a wild drum.

Then came the blood.

Small streaks. Sharp pains. A terror that something was wrong with the baby.

But each time she tried to get medical help, Festus intervened. "It's normal," he said. "Your body is adjusting to the power."

She began to lose weight. Her cheeks sank. Her eyes dimmed.

And then came the dreams.

Babies-eight of them-wrapped in white cloth, floating in a black river. Each time she reached out, they slipped away, their cries echoing in her skull. Behind them, she saw Festus standing, arms open wide, as if welcoming them into his shadow.

One morning, Alice stood before her mirror and saw someone else looking back at her.

Not just someone older or weaker-but wrong. Her reflection smiled when she didn't. Moved when she was still. A version of her dressed in red, with eyes that glowed faintly, lips that whispered in a voice only she could hear.

She screamed. The reflection did not.

When she turned, no one was there.

Was she losing her mind? Or had the magic seeped into her bones?

She collapsed onto the floor of her room and began to pray. Her voice was hoarse. Her mind foggy. But she forced the words out like fire from dying coals.

"God... if You're there, if You still see me... don't let this man win. Don't let him destroy me."

The air shifted.

It wasn't dramatic. No thunder, no lightning. Just a breeze that moved through her window and brushed against her sweat-soaked face. For a moment, she felt light.

Not free-but not alone.

She placed a hand on her belly. The baby kicked. A tear slipped down her cheek.

"I'm still here," she whispered. "And as long as I am... I will find a way."

---

Later that night, Festus came in to check on her. His eyes scanned the room like always, looking for signs of rebellion, weakness, or escape. But Adaobi lay quietly on the bed, her eyes closed, breathing even.

He sat at the edge of the bed, touched her ankle.

"You're learning," he said softly. "Good girl."

But inside her, the spark had returned.

It was faint-but it was alive.

And it was waiting.

---

Would you like to move on to Chapter Four, or introduce a new character or turning point next?