I could feel myself running — running, running through the dark streets.
Afraid. Weary. Tired. But not giving up.
I was running from something unknown, fear tightening its grip around my heart. My breath came slow and ragged, each one weaker than the last. But I couldn't stop — not yet. Not until something closed in on me.
And then, I screamed.
At least... I thought I did.
When I opened my eyes, I was still trapped — locked inside this iron-gated, run-down room the world calls a prison.
Realization struck, and suddenly I laughed. My laughter echoed eerily through the silent room, but I didn't care. I couldn't stop. The dream seemed funny, in a twisted sort of way.
Even in death, she still wanted to be me.
That thought made me laugh harder.
Why? The girl in the dream wasn't me. She wasn't even important — that little wannabe. But she was something. Something unforgettable.
She was my last victim. Alia.
---
Hi, my name is Vivian Adetunji.
I won't say this with full confidence, but if not the best — if named second — then no one could claim first.
I am a certified killer.
Would you believe me?
Probably not. Not until you hear my story.
Would you like to listen — to a story about death, killings, neighbors, a desperate search for wealth, and a broken little girl in an environment full of wolves?
Then listen carefully.
It all started when... (voice fading)
---
April 5, 2010
Five people were curled up inside a little yellow taxi — plus the driver, making six.
Three adults. Three children.
I was the last born — the youngest of them all.
My father sat in front, my mother at the back with me on her lap, and both of my brothers nestled at her sides.
That day was strange — very strange. It was as if the weather was crying for us, not with us.
The day turned to night, and darkness swallowed the skies.
But we didn't stop. We couldn't.
We kept going — across the Third Mainland Bridge, into Lagos Island, in Lagos State, Nigeria.
If only we knew...
We would have — should have — turned back.