by La Jill Hunt
“I’m better. It’s been a rough couple of days. But I’m finally able to sit up. I had that same tube down my throat until two days ago. My leg and foot suffered the most damage, but I’ll be fine.”
“That’s good to hear and see. I’m glad you are better.”
“I had my security guard wheel me down here so I could see him. I hope it’s okay,” Scorpio told him.
“That’s fine. I’m so sorry my brother got you into this situation.”
“Got me into it? No, he didn’t get me into anything. He pulled me out of it. Your brother saved my life. I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.” Scorpio’s voice quivered and then she sniffed. Malachi could tell she was crying.
“Oh, I didn’t know,” Micah said. “Here take this.”
Yeah, you wouldn’t know, asshole. Always tryin’a make me out to be the villain!
“Thanks,” Scorpio said after blowing her nose, then she continued. “He drove me home from the club because I was too drunk. Later, when the fire started, I collapsed. He found me and got us both out of that house.”
Now what you got to say, Micah? I saved her life!
“The police told us they were investigating him because it was arson.”
“It was arson, but it wasn’t him. I keep remembering seeing a woman right before the fire started. It’s fuzzy, but I know she was there, and she was yelling at me about something. Then, she kicked me and ran out right before the fire.”
Woman? What woman? Malachi didn’t know who or what Scorpio was talking about. As far as he could recall, they were the only two people in the house.
“Wow.” Micah sighed.
“Is he going to be okay?” Scorpio sniffed again. “What are they saying?”
“All we can do is wait and pray,” Micah told her.
“I really can’t help with that.”
“With what?”
“Praying. I don’t know how. The only thing I know about prayer is it’s what some people do before they eat and during church. I don’t eat that much, and I can’t tell you the last time I’ve been in a church. I think it was for a bridal photo shoot,” Scorpio said. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be embarrassed. I definitely don’t judge.”
Liar! You’ve been passing judgment on me since we were in sixth grade! You’re the most judgmental, hypocritical man alive. You and your daddy!
“Thanks.”
“But prayer is a simple conversation with the Lord. It doesn’t have to be deep. He already knows what’s on our hearts. He just wants us to be honest with Him and speak it. It’s not always asking but simply sharing with Him. The Bible says, ‘Open your mouth wide, and I will fill it.’ When we pray, we build a relationship with God. Would you like for me to pray with you?” Micah asked.
“Can we pray for him? He’s the one who needs it more than I do. I need you to help me pray for him if that’s what they say he needs,” Scorpio said.
“We can pray for both of you,” Micah told her. “Take my hand.”
Malachi then felt the presence of his brother beside him as he took his hand. What the hell? Is he really about to do this? I don’t believe it.
“Close your eyes. Now, Father God, in the name of Jesus, we come to you right now saying thank you. Thank you for bringing us here together, God, and for sparing these two beautiful lives. God, we know that you will heal Malachi and strengthen him, Father. We are asking that you bring him back whole to us. We cover him and ask that you fall fresh on him and restore him like never before. We ask, God, that you continue to heal Scorpio. Hear her heart and be her comfort right now as she continues to regain her strength. Guide her wherever you would have her to go right now. Direct her path and give her peace in her situation. In Jesus’ name, amen.”
“Amen,” Scorpio repeated. “How did you do that?”
“Do what?” Micah asked her.
“Know to pray for peace in my situation? And that I needed guidance? How did you know to say all of that? Are you, like, psychic?”
“No, I’m not psychic.” Micah laughed. “It wasn’t what I knew, but it was what the Holy Spirit put on my heart to say. I told you, prayer is what’s in your heart, that’s all.”
“Well, thank you. I guess I should go. I’m sorry. I don’t even know your name. I’m normally not this rude.”
“You’re not rude. And my name is Micah.”
“Thank you, Micah.”
“You’re welcome. I’ll keep you in prayer.”
“And now that I know how, I will keep praying for Malachi.”
Malachi listened and seconds later realized she was gone. He felt Micah’s hand on his again and then heard him say, “My brother the hero. Who would have thought? God, heal him, cover him, protect him.”
Malachi didn’t want to hear any more. He didn’t want to feel his brother’s hand or accept any prayers from him. Again, he went back into the darkness of what he thought was sleep.
When he woke again, Micah was gone, but there was someone else standing beside his bed talking to him.
“Chi, I don’t know if you can hear me, but I want you to know I’m praying for you, son.”
It was Jerry, the bishop’s best friend, and Malachi’s godfather. “You know your daddy is pissed at both of us right about now, but everything is gonna be all right. We just need for you to stick around awhile longer. Man, we ain’t even get to celebrate your coming home. I tried explaining to him and your mama how you didn’t want them to know—”
“What are you doing in here?” The bishop’s voice interrupted what Jerry was trying to say.
“Walt, man, you know I had to come and see him,” Jerry said, “I love this boy as much as you do. He’s just as much my family as he is yours. I will do anything for this boy.”
“Well, we know you’d lie for him.” Bishop said, “You’ve shown us that much. Malachi should have come home when he was released. He needs direction, structure, and some Bible-based discipline in his life. This right here shows that he wasn’t ready to handle freedom. He was out of jail how long? Twenty-four hours and look at what happened. I blame you for this, Jerry!”
“It wasn’t like that, Walt. You know I didn’t want this to happen, and neither did Malachi. You don’t give him enough credit.”
Malachi was glad that Jerry was sticking up for him. He had always had Chi’s back no matter what. It was one of the reasons he was closer to him than to his own father.
“Just get out, Jerry, before I have you thrown out,” the bishop said.
“Stop trying to be his bishop and try being his father for a change. I been telling you that for years,” Jerry said.
“And how many sons have you raised, Jerry?”
The room got quiet, and Malachi waited for Jerry to say something, but he never did. He realized that he was gone, and Malachi thought he was alone until he heard his father’s voice again.
“Malachi, I’m gonna need for you to stop this and wake up. You’ve always been the stubborn one. I remember the night you were born, they delivered Micah first, and you made your mama labor for five more hours before you came out. You made us wait until you were good and ready. Well, your mother is laboring again for you, and I’m begging you to just come on out so she can . . . we can stop worrying about you. It’s been too long since . . . since . . .” The bishop’s voice stopped.
Malachi wondered if he had drifted off into the darkness until he heard the voice again, this time, with tears. He had never seen nor heard his father cry before, and it stirred something within him. He wanted to yell for him to get out because he was so uncomfortable.
Malachi tried to force himself back into the darkness. He used everything within him to block out the sound of the bishop’s tears. Then he heard his voice, this time in song.
I realize that sometimes in this life
You’re gonna be tossed by the waves
And the currents that seem so fierce
But in the word of God I’ve got an anchor...
Malachi’s chest became heavy, and he tried to fight the emotions that were erupting inside of him. Please let him leave, God. I don’t want to hear any more. I just want to sleep and be left alone.
Malachi tried and tried to go back into the darkness that had been comforting him for the last several days. But something was different. He couldn’t find it.
“I . . . I love you, son,” the bishop told him. Then he softly called, “Malachi? Son, can you hear me?”
Malachi didn’t answer. He tried to fight his way back, determined to find the dark tunnel and stay there. Slowly, the darkness surrounded him and he was relieved. He realized that each time he left the darkness, it was becoming harder and harder to return.
He lay in the hospital bed, listening to the sounds of the bishop’s crying fade as he slipped back into the coma. Malachi wondered if death really would have been an easier option for him.
Chapter 16
King Douglas
King Douglas looked around the living room of his home and fought tears. It looked as if a bomb had gone off inside. The hardwood floors were soaked with water. The walls were charred. There was a terrible odor. The grand piano, which was the central feature of the room, was unrecognizable along with the furniture, art work, and other decor. The damage in the kitchen was even worse. The garage and the entire left side of the first floor of his home had sustained the most damage. King’s motorcycle and custom Suburban, along with Scorpio’s Porsche Panamera, were also completely totaled in the fire. His life had been in shambles ever since he got the call that his home was engulfed in flames. For the first time in over two and a half years, King needed a drink. He had finally got the okay from the fire marshall to come inside his home. Seeing the damage was overwhelming in addition to all the confusion behind the entire incident.
“Are we going to the hospital to see Madu when we leave here?”
King didn’t respond. He kept looking around at all of the damage. He tried to remember if he had a bottle hidden somewhere in the house and if was somewhere that the fire didn’t reach.
“Dad, are you okay?”
King snapped out of his trance and said, “Yeah, son. Just trying to assess the damage.”
“Are we gonna see Madu?” His son’s shoes made a squishing sound as he walked on the wet floor.
Knight had been asking about “Madu” ever since King had picked him up from the airport that morning. It was the name Knight had affectionately called Scorpio. At first, they couldn’t figure out why he called her that, until they realized he was saying “Mom Two” in his own way. King appreciated that his son and Scorpio had such a great bond. He knew Knight was worried about her.
“Yeah, we can go check on her. I just need to check things out,” King said as he navigated his way through the watery chaos that was formerly his living room.
“Are we gonna stay here?” Knight asked.
“Naw. Do you see how bad this is? It’s not safe right now.” King frowned and shook his head.
“Why not? I know it’s really burnt down here, but upstairs is fine. Well, my room is, and the studio, oh, and the game room!” Knight said and began bouncing the basketball he had in his hand, causing water to splash onto the matching Air Jordans they both wore.
King jumped back. “Boy, didn’t I tell you not to go up there! I swear you don’t listen. And stop bouncing that damn basketball in my house. I mean, our . . . well, this house!”
Knight stopped bouncing the ball, which was now wet. “Are we gonna have to move? Are we gonna live in the hotel? That would be kind of cool.”
“Hell no, we ain’t living in the hotel,” King snapped.
“I’m sorry, Dad. Do you want me to go back with Mom?” Knight’s voice softened.
King looked up and saw the worry in his handsome son’s 14-year-old face. “No. Stop tripping.” He reached over and gave him a hug and playfully hit him on the head. “You trying to chuck the deuces on me, kid?”
“No one says that anymore, Dad. I just figured . . . maybe now isn’t a good time for me to be here. And maybe you want me to go.”
“I don’t want you to go,” King told him. “Go outside. You can even bounce your ball!”
Knight grinned and went rushing toward the door. “Cool!”
“Be careful!” King called behind him. For a second, he thought maybe his son had a point. Maybe this wasn’t the right time for his son to be staying with him. Not that he had a problem taking custody of Knight, but it was all so sudden. Melissa suggested they postpone Knight’s arrival to California to stay with King after she heard about the fire, but he told her he could handle it. Now he wasn’t so sure. He had to not only deal with the aftermath of the damage to his home, but also make sure that his estranged wife was okay.
The first stop King made when his plane touched down was to the hospital to check on Scorpio. He assured Scorpio that he would make sure she was taken care of and everything was going to be okay. But now, standing in the middle of what used to be his living room, he didn’t know what he was going to do.
“Hello,” a voice called, and the front door opened.
King turned around and hoped his mind was playing tricks on him. “Yolanda, what are you doing here?” he asked.
“I’m here to see about my daughter’s belongings and assess the damage to her home,” Yolanda told him.
“You do know she hasn’t lived here in almost a year, right?” King asked her. “There isn’t much here that belongs to her.”
“I know that her name is still on the deed to this property, so everything in here belongs to her as far as I’m concerned. I don’t care how long she hasn’t lived here. And she was here when the fire started. Explain that.” Yolanda looked him up and down.
King really didn’t have an explanation. The fact that Scorpio was here in the house was just as much a mystery to him as the woman who Scorpio said started the fire. King didn’t know who the woman could be, and so far, the authorities had yet to find her. He began to wonder if there really was a mystery woman. Scorpio admitted that both she and Malachi had been drinking and smoking weed before the fire. None of it made sense to him.
“Look, Yolanda, there is no need for us to be at odds, especially now when Scorp . . . I mean, Sarena needs us.”
“Sarena doesn’t need you! What does she need you for? There’s nothing you can do for her. You’re a washed-up musician with no money, a bunch of illegitimate kids, and a whole bunch of baby mama drama.” Yolanda’s words cut him like a knife, and he could feel his anger rising.
“I think you should leave,” King told her, trying to remain calm.
“I’ll leave when you do. This is my daughter’s house!”
“I don’t have time to deal with you and your craziness,” King said, shaking his head. He considered calling the police, but the last thing he needed was even more publicity about this entire ordeal. Instead, he turned, carefully stepping across the charred, wet floors, and headed upstairs in an effort to get away.
There was still a stench of smoke in the air, but the upstairs of his home wasn’t nearly as damaged as downstairs. The garage, which was where the fire started, along with the kitchen, downstairs bathroom, living room, and foyer, seemed to have sustained most of the damage. The door to his bedroom was closed, and he took a moment and closed his eyes before opening it.
Relief consumed him when he stepped inside and saw that everything was still intact. His custom California king bed was still made, with the exception of a blanket on top. His bottles of cologne, seventy-inch plasma television, and numerous watches on the dresser were untouched. The high-tech keyboard in the sitting area of his bedroom was exactly as he left it, along with his designer headphones and his Mac computer.
King’s eyes spotted a pair of Jordans near the bed that he knew weren’t his. Even though Scorpio’s feet were a women’s size eleven, the sneakers were too big for her. Not to mention, they weren’t really her style. They had to belong to Malachi
Douglas, the guy who was in the house with Scorpio when the fire started. King looked around, checking to see if there was anything else that didn’t belong and hoping to maybe find some clue as to why the famous bishop’s son had even been in his home. His estranged wife was not a religious woman, so he couldn’t figure out the connection. The only other clothing lying on the floor was a tiny dress, a discarded thong, and a pair of red bottom heels. Those he easily recognized as belonging to Scorpio.
King walked into the huge closet on the right side of the bedroom. When the house was built, they agreed that they would have identical closets that were the same size. For months, Scorpio’s had remained empty. Now there were three Louis Vuitton suitcases sitting in the center. There were a few items hanging in the once-empty 350-square foot space. King slowly inhaled her scent, which never left even after she did. Although his own closet was filled beyond capacity, he still never put any items into her space. It was as if he subconsciously wanted her to come home, and with her luggage there, it looked as if she finally had. Maybe, just maybe . . .
“Where are her things? What did you do with them?”
King cringed without turning around. “Right there.”
Yolanda brushed past him and looked around the empty space. “Where?”
King pointed at the suitcases and the hanging dresses. “There.”
“Where are the rest of her clothes? Her shoes? Her jewelry?”
King didn’t answer her. Instead, he walked past her and went down the steps and out the front door. Yolanda was making him more and more upset, and he could feel his stress level rising. He decided it would be best if he just left and came back later. He climbed into his Acura SUV and was about to pull off when he remembered his son. He turned off the ignition and hopped out. He looked around but didn’t see Knight.
Damn it, where is he?
Listening for the sound of the basketball, King didn’t hear it, and he rushed back inside, yelling, “Knight! Where are you?”
He continued through the house, not caring about the drenched floor ruining his shoes and splashing on his clothes as he stepped. He snatched opened the door leading to the backyard, hoping to find Knight. The yard was empty with the exception of a lone duck floating in the swimming pool. He jogged across the yard into the gazebo, but still, no Knight. King continued calling out his son’s name, his voice becoming more and more panicked as he tried to think of where he could be.