Forgive me Father, for I have sinned.

“Police alongside other security agencies are hunting for the terrorist only known as ‘The hand of God’ after the elusive terrorist released a statement warning of an imminent attack on “those that worship money”. All major banks and financial institutions have been put on high alert, and security measures in these places have been tightened, but the head of the special task force, Mr. Jerome Kasibante, has admitted that they don’t know exactly where or when the attack will take place. Anyone with any information should contact the task force on the toll free number zero, eight, zero, zero,…” the newsreader’s voice died out, as I got up with a sigh and turned off the TV.                                                                 The police were way off in their assumption that banks and ‘financial institutions’ were the target; I knew, because ‘The hand of God’ was my father.

To the casual observer, we were an ordinary middle class family; my father was a businessman who ran a small, but fairly successful transport company, my mother was a housewife, and together they had three children; my elder brother Derrick was in his first year at campus doing medicine, I was in Senior five doing Arts, and Daniel the baby of the family, was in Senior one. A simple, ordinary family, or so it seemed - except with our family, nothing really was as it seemed.                                                                    For instance, the casual observer did not know that my mother, who had never had a job, actually had a degree in civil engineering, and had graduated top of her class. She said she was happy to sacrifice a career for marriage and family – I said what a waste! The casual observer also wouldn’t know that while we went to church as a family every Sunday, my father’s devotion to God extended to killing those who sinned against him, or that Derrick, who was studying how to save lives at Campus, joined him in taking them, without batting an eyelid.                                                    Derrick and my father were very similar, not just physically (they were both tall, well-built men), but in the way they thought as well. Just like my father, Derrick believed we lived in a morally dead time and society, and that it was my father’s God appointed duty to punish those responsible for this sad state of affairs. They cited Sodom and Gomorrah as examples of what God did to sinners – I said God was perfectly capable of carrying out his own vengeance, which was why he sent down fire and brimstone from heaven, rather than some arsonist on earth. Of course I never voiced any of my different opinions; disagreeing with my father was unheard of in our home, and besides, I respected him too much to ever think of contradicting him.

Their first attack had been on one of the busiest nightclubs in the city; armed and masked, they had pulled up at the entrance and opened fire on the long line of revelers waiting to get in, and then sped off before anyone could wrap their heads around what was happening. By the time the police arrived, there were forty dead, dozens injured, and my father and brother were halfway home. Even though my father claimed responsibility for the attack, saying nightclubs were the devil’s playground, the police had no idea who ‘the hand of God’ actually was, and while they said they were ‘investigating’, their investigations seemed to focus on different Muslim leaders, and neither my father nor Derrick had ever been questioned or even named as suspects.

The next attack had followed a few months later; this time on a popular bar that had recently opened. Just like with the nightclub, without leaving their car, they had opened fire at the entrance, before speeding off into the night, leaving behind fifteen dead and many more injured. Again my father had claimed responsibility. Again the police had looked at the Muslims. Imbeciles!                      Now their third was imminent, and once again the police were way off track, beefing up security at all the wrong places, while I knew the target was actually Maywood Mall on Black Friday. The annual Black Friday sales at the mall brought in hundreds of shoppers each November, but my father said it was a foreign holiday that celebrated materialism and extravagance, and that just like Jesus had chased traders out of the temple, he would chase them out of the mall.                                                                                    I thought it was great to be able to buy stuff at ridiculously high discounts and snatch up amazing deals that one would never otherwise be able to afford, and that a mall was the equivalent of a market, not a church, so I don’t really think God would have a problem with the Black Friday sales, but as usual, I kept my differing thoughts to myself and didn’t question my father.                                                                       After each attack, I would watch the coverage on the news and be appalled and horrified by all the blood, gory injuries and dead bodies, all the tears and screams of the victims at the scenes, and later of the families as they searched for and identified their dead loved ones. To watch it all and know that my father and brother were responsible made me physically sick and twice I had actually rushed from the room to go and throw up after some particularly graphic images were shared. I knew they would only stop if they were caught, but at the rate our police were going, that wasn’t about to happen anytime soon. Each time I heard my father and Derrick plan their next attack, I would tell myself to put a stop to it by calling the number the police kept announcing. I knew that with just that one phone call, I could end the pain and killing, and actually save some lives, but something always held me back.                                                  First, was that even though they were cold blooded killers who had taken innocent lives they had no right to, they were still my father and brother, and I loved them. My father was strict and domineering, but he could be incredibly soft and loving as well. We had three dogs and two cats at home that I had rescued over the years, and while my mother had turned her nose up at each of them when I first brought them, saying they were dirty, smelly, and full of all ticks and fleas, my father had said we had a responsibility to care for all of God’s creatures, and had let me keep them. When I was twelve, I got admitted with a particularly bad combination of malaria and typhoid, and while my mother stayed home to look after Daniel, my father spent the entire night by my side at the hospital. Each time I had woken up dazed with pain and fever, it was his worried face I had seen, and he who had continuously mopped my forehead with damp towels until the fever broke.                                                                       I could go on and on with examples of my father’s kindness, and the same went for Derrick’s; there were so many times he had taken the blame for something I did, just because he knew my mother was stricter with me than with him, so his transgressions were more likely to be forgiven by her than mine were. Also, having Derrick for a big brother was like having my own personal bodyguard; growing up, the schoolyard and neighborhood bullies knew well enough to steer clear of me unless they wanted him to pay them a ‘visit’, and with his intimidating size and stature, none of them did. Now that we were older, that hadn’t changed, and I knew I could always count on him to have my back; as far as big brothers went, he was the best.                                                               Another reason I could never bring myself to make that call, was that as much as I loved my father and brother, I was ashamed of them as well. I didn’t want anyone to know that ‘the hand of God’ was my father, or that my brother was a killer! How would I ever be able to face anyone again? We would be hounded out of the area, but where would we go? Everyone knew about ‘the hand of God’ and hated him, and no-one wanted to live next door to a killer’s family.                                                                             However, the most overriding reason for me holding back, was that I knew if my father and Derrick were caught, they would without a doubt get the death penalty. How could I turn them in when I knew that by doing so, I would effectively be signing their death certificates? How could I repay the seventeen years of love they had given me throughout my life with betrayal and death? My mother would never forgive me, and the truth was, I would never forgive myself either.                                                                    And so, I had kept my mouth shut after each attack, and had never made that call – but this time was different. This time I could know one of the victims; this time it could be me screaming and crying as I searched through the dead and identified amongst them someone I loved.                                                   Louise had been my best friend for as long as I could remember; we had gone to the same schools since Primary, lived only three houses apart and our families even attended the same church. Just like me, she was the only girl in her family, and over the years our friendship had grown to the point where we now considered each other the sisters we had never had. We did everything together; when she joined the drama club at school, so did I, even though unlike her, I had no acting or musical talent to speak of, and when I took up running, she joined the sports club, even though she considered any form of exercise a cruel punishment.                      I confessed to her that I found our Biology teacher ‘hot’, and she told me about her secret crush on Derrick! There were no secrets between us – well, almost none; she didn’t know my father was ‘the hand of God’, or that Maywood Mall was his next target, or that the attack was scheduled for Black Friday. That was probably why she was so excited when she came to see me that morning; “Guess what! My cousins are coming over on Thursday, and my mum is taking us for the Black Friday sales at Maywood!” she announced happily.                                        “What!” I gasped, the color draining from my face.     In her excitement, she didn’t notice the effect her announcement had had, and carried on undeterred; “Usually their mum takes them, but she’s away this year, so they asked my mum if she would, and she agreed, so we’re going.”                                                   “Why Maywood? It’s far and will be so packed, you probably won’t even be able to get in. Besides, lots of other places have Black Friday sales as well, best to go to one of the others instead,” I tried desperately to dissuade her.                                                                  It didn’t work; “None as big as Maywood’s! Can you believe their clothes store on the ground floor is having an eighty percent discount sale on all their items! Eighty percent! I’m going to make sure we’re there before it even opens so we’re among the first ones in and don’t miss all the cool stuff. You should come too, it’s not that far, and if we’re early –which we will be – we’ll get in before everything is taken.”     “Uhm…no….I don’t think I can, and I don’t think you should either.”                                                                     “Why not?” she asked with a puzzled expression, finally noticing that I wasn’t as excited by her news as she was.                            “It’s just not worth it, too much trouble for stuff you can get elsewhere anyway,” I answered lamely. “Not at an eighty percent discount, that’s totally worth the trouble if you ask me,” she brushed aside my weak objection, and then went on determinedly; “Anyway, we’re definitely going. I’ve actually got to run now to help mum prepare for my cousins arrival. I just came by to tell you about the plan, but I’ll be back tomorrow,” she promised, then gave me a quick hug before rushing off.                    I thought about Louise for the rest of the day; I remembered how at school, we would stay up till the wee hours revising for our end of term exams; she was probably the main reason I always passed them. I remembered small silly details of our friendship, like how when we were eight, we had tried to surprise my mum by baking her a cake for her birthday, but had instead ended up surprising her with a kitchen that looked like a warzone, and a black, smoldering brick in the open oven, that we were desperately trying to air out when she walked in. I remembered that she had started her period before I had, and had told me all about it, so when mine finally showed up a few months later, it was to her , and not my mother, that I turned for advice and directions on what to do.                                                                             I smiled softly at the memories with tears in my eyes; Louise was a major part of my life and I couldn’t imagine losing her. More importantly, I couldn’t imagine losing her at the hands of my father and Derrick, yet either way, it seemed like that would be the inevitable result. From all the years of growing up with her, I knew that once she decided to do something, there was no stopping her, so come rain or shine, she would be at Maywood Mall on Friday morning.                                                                                       The only way I could save her, was by stopping the attack, but I had already determined that there was no way I could do that without turning in Derrick and my father. If I did, it was all over, our dirty family secret would be out, everyone would know ‘The hand of God’ was my father, and I would lose her anyway. She would probably hate me and want nothing more to do with me once the news was out, but at least she would be alive, I told myself.                 Another voice, but one that still belonged to me, instantly shot back; What about Dad and Derrick? What about Mum and Daniel? What about what happens to my real family if I make the call?  The two voices in my head made war and battled furiously throughout the day, but ultimately I knew what I had to do - it was something I should have done a long time ago. My hand was shaking, no, my entire body was shaking, and the tears that had filled my eyes as the two voices in my mind raged battle, spilled over and coursed freely down my cheeks, as I picked up the phone and dialed the number that I now knew by heart; zero, eight, zero, zero, …….