by Love Belvin
After a few minutes more, it was clear to me he was done with his speech, but the people weren’t. They were all over, screaming and dancing. It was alarming to see this behavior I’d heard joked about regarding church people, but never seen live and in color. It was somewhat frightening to experience.
I’d never been to a church service. My family was of Islamic faith, though my father hadn’t been the best steward of it due to his addiction. My mother’s practice of it had been mild and almost neglectful as she tried keeping up with my father. I had faint memories of being in a mosque as a child, but I was certain there was no display of emotion of this kind there. These people were going crazy in here. The music matched their zest, if not incited it.
I glanced to my right at Tasche again, where she mouthed, “See. I told you!”
So this was her friend’s husband. I couldn’t lie; he was a particularly handsome man. The raspy voice and composed demeanor in an animated and lively environment didn’t hurt either. Even now, I was able to see him in between two dancing bodies and his intense gazing out into the room, his eyes were thin to the point of touching lashes, his mouth between the wiry hairs of his face moving rapidly as though he were speaking Spanish or something.
A short guy took the mic and began singing a slow song, somehow not breaking the energy of the room. In between belting out impressive notes, he encouraged everyone to praise God as if He was in the room with us in that moment. The minister began pointing people out in the audience and inviting them up to the stage. I didn’t understand why. From what I could see, he spoke to them, clearly using words that struck them emotionally because most cried, some shouted in praise, and two actually passed out. I shook my head, unable to believe people were fainting when this man laid hands on them. One guy was bigger in build than the preacher!
As fascinating as this all was, it came to an end at some point. Another man, this one wearing a priest collar, took over the podium and began giving final words. He thanked the preacher, whose name apparently was Pastor Carmichael, for his service here tonight. He also thanked his minister of music. As this new guy spoke, I felt my eyes instinctively shift to the right of him, my gaze slamming into the preacher. His regard was blank but he was definitely staring, and so hard I began to feel uneasy. I shifted in my seat, clearing my throat before going back to the reverend on the mic.
Two minutes later, the same thing happened. My gaze found the preacher man gaping at me. He swiped down his full beard this time as he gawked. That’s when panic struck in my chest. Was he checking me out?
Not when his wife is here, where he’s supposed to be sharing the word of God!
That thought annoyed me to the point that I decided not to look his way again, no matter the pull into that direction. If that didn’t work, Tasche tapping and motioning for me to go did. I turned to my left where the aisle was and saw a different woman in an all-white nurse’s uniform wave us on. Once out into the aisle, I let Tasche get in front of me because I had no idea where we were going. I followed the pair to a side door off the stage and down a hall. We traveled to a room where the dark-skinned woman with a wild mane I’d seen in the auditorium was with a toddler, feeding her crackers.
“Hey, Tasch!” Her smile was luminous, and her eyes danced at the sight of Tasche.
“Whaddup, Lex Dawg.” Tasche was lower in volume, but just as familiar. She crossed the room for the little girl at the table, chomping away, watching the screen above on the wall of the auditorium we’d just left. “Hey, Lisa-Mare! I miss you, lil’ buggy,” she singsonged.
The little girl giggled, turning toward Tasche.
“Hi.” Her voice tore my attention from witnessing the softest side of Tasche I’d ever seen. The woman neared me with her hand extended. “I’m Lex. You’re Tasche’s friend?”
“Oh, hey!” I took her hand. “Yes.” I smiled to match hers. “My name is Bilan.”
“Yeah. This my baker-student friend I told you about, Lex. She came through tonight.”
“I appreciate that.” I caught the New York accent in Lex’s voice.
“That was your husband. Right?” I asked.
“Yeah. That was my Ezra. I hope he didn’t go too hard for you.”
Too hard, as in strange? Pretty much…
“Oh, here he go,” Tasche murmured, and both ladies’ attention went behind me.
Lex moved in the same direction. By the time I turned, the bearded pastor was in her arms and I could hear her mumble something in his ear. His eyes were closed as he listened.
“Amen,” he rasped. “Thank you, beloved.”
When his eyes flashed open directly on me, my heart plummeted to the floor. Lex released him, backing away as his gaze was on me. My neck whipped over to Tasche, who was now holding the little girl’s hand next to her.
“Hey, Ez. You did good out there, as usual,” Tasche complimented. “I keep telling you, you gone have to teach me a few of them fancy words.” Her chuckle was nervously delivered.
The guy wouldn’t stop staring at me! Thank goodness his wife noticed. But Lex didn’t appear alarmed, as I would have thought.
“Carmichael, this is Bilan, Tasche’s friend over here.” Lex made the introduction.
For a while, he didn’t speak; only his eyes bore into me. My skin began to feel like it was crawling, forcing me to look away.
“I hate to be outré with my presentation to you, and I assure you it isn’t indecent.” That got my attention, returning my gaze to him. I could see Tasche and his wife’s regards were on him, too. “It’s just, strangely enough, while in the sanctuary, the Holy Spirit began to speak to me concerning you. Do you have siblings—a brother, perhaps?”
My eyes whipped to Tasche, Lex, then back to him before I bit my lip nervously and nodded.
“Your parents deceased?” I nodded again, mouth secreting excessively. That’s when Pastor Carmichael nodded, too, his eyes sweeping the floor. “As my regard was on you, my attention was on the story of Joseph. Are you familiar with that biblical account?” I shook my head, insecure in the moment.
Ezra’s eyes narrowed and he switched weight on his hips as his gaze deepened. “Where are you from?”
“Here—”
“No.” The speed of his retort was record-breaking. “Your bloodline…heritage. Where are you from?”
I sucked in my lips again, eyes falling. “Somalia. My parents were brought over as young babies—one still in the womb.”
Again, he nodded as though I’d confirmed something. “Other relatives around?”
“Kinda. Not really.”
“Yes. Lorn.”
“I wouldn’t say all that.” I hated the defense in my voice.
“You wouldn’t say you’re afraid each day, at a specific part of it either. You also wouldn’t share your deepest yearning with those closest to you,” he rasped, thick curly beard lifting in the air as he challenged me.
My eyes shot over to Tasche again, who looked just as spooked as I felt.
“I’m not afraid of anything. I’ve been on my own for so long now, I know how to protect and look out for myself.” If that didn’t come out just as weak and uncompelling as the worst acting attempt, I wouldn’t be ready to cry. “I don’t know what you think you know about me, but I’m just fine.”
Scoffed. He actually pushed the air from his nostrils that screamed, “Bullshit!” But why?
“You’re not,” he rasped. “But you will be. You do, however, have a turbulent voyage ahead of you, similar to Joseph. You see, people focus on the betrayal, then the ultimate overdog nature of his story, when I’m always reminded of the journey of his faith. Yes, Joseph was deceived by his siblings, and sold into slavery. He was lied on by his boss’ wife, accused of attacking her with sexual intent. But Genesis, chapter thirty-nine, verse two tells us, ‘The Lord was with Joseph.’ Joseph was then imprisoned for, some say, thirteen years.
“It was those years of despair, confusion, and imprisonment that impress me the mos
t about Joseph. He was alone and in captivity. And once again, in verse twenty-one, we’re reminded, ‘But the Lord was with Joseph.’” His smile was handsome, unexpected, and alarming. “We learn in chapter forty-eight how Joseph may have appeared to have been removed from his birthright, but his birthright remained in him each moment of what turned out to be twenty years of separation from his family. In the end, God not only released him from that prison, but He made him ruler of Egypt under the pharaoh of the time: the second most powerful man of Egypt,” he made clear.
“Joseph became what’s called a vizier and decided…” He considered his thoughts for a few moments. “What you millennials refer to as ‘who got to eat, and eat well.’ He went from a slave to a prisoner to a high-ranking official, ruling over the brothers who betrayed him.”
My eyes blinked and I shook my head. “I don’t get what you’re saying. Why are you telling me all of this?”
His face lifted again, and in a disarming and cheeky grin. “The Holy Spirit revealed to me a similar path you’re about to take. You’ve been in a valley and have more time in it, but the amazing thing about God is no matter your Islamic roots, He covers you. Your upbringing, culture, current lack of knowledge of Him is inconsequential to His covering and will for your life. He still wants to be in a relationship with you.”
“Why?” Another defensive clap of my lungs.
Why would a stranger want to be in relationship with me? How would anybody’s god know me?
“Pastor?” a woman stepping into the room called out. Pastor Carmichael peered over his shoulder at her. “Bishop Peterson wants to take pictures with you and your daughters.” He nodded in answer before turning back to me.
After a long and decided period of quiet, Pastor Carmichael spoke again.
“In the vision, some of your nights were long. You witnessed things only seen in cinema or between the pages of a novel and/or pamphlet. You were thrust into a world never known to you. You will feel pain, joy, betrayal, bliss, deeper loneliness, and contentment like no other period in your life. There will come a time where you will flee—run in fear.” That made absolutely no sense to me. “But the Lord will be with you.” My heart thundered in my chest at the grave dipping of his voice. “The Stranger you’ve never known knows each strand of hair on your body, has covered you since your conception, and will continue to during this next phase of your life.”
“What phase?”
“The one you would do better in if you remembered He’s protecting you every step of the way.” His gaze shifted behind me. “Ms. Remah, can I have her?” I didn’t know there was not just another woman in the room—an older one—but a baby, too. “Now, I need to go, but before I do, would you mind if my wife and I prayed for you? I’d like to speak protection over you before we part ways.”
I sucked in a breath, eyes sweeping below while my brain whirred with confusion. I shrugged, not knowing what he was asking or what my response should have been. Before I knew it, Lex was in front of me with her soft hands clasped over mine. Her tall and thick husband stood behind her with his hands on her shoulders as he rasped words of praise to his god. Then, I realized he moved on to commands for my health, safety, journey, birthright, purpose, and family.
“I declare right now, Satan, you may tempt, but cannot destroy. You may come near, but cannot touch. You may plot, but you will not conquer. In case you did not know, this soul belongs to The God Who Sees. El Roi has already seen into her future, has already lain the trap of her faith…” As he spoke powerfully about events unknown to me, in between uttering words of another language, Lex mumbled words I could not make out.
His pitch rose and fell depending on his words, and Lex’s right hand slipped from my left and pressed into my chest, over my heart. It then pushed into my belly, then swiped over my forehead as she muttered words I couldn’t hear coherently.
When Pastor Carmichael’s theatrical prayer came to a close, Lex’s long arms immediately encased me, pulling me into her warm bosom. When my eyes opened, I could see Pastor Carmichael’s frame brushing past us as he held a baby in his one arm and the tiny hand of the toddler in the other hand. The older woman followed them with a car seat in one hand and a mountain of their family’s coats in her other arm.
“Damn! That nigga stay on ‘I’ for intense as fuck,” Tasche breathed.
“Are you okay?” Lex asked as gentle as her New York accent would allow.
My mind was utterly blown. I had so many questions. My brain wanted to believe he was insane or fanatical with religion, but standing here with these two women, who hadn’t been shouting those accusations, caused my disinclination on that call. And the way he’d just left… It was as though he hadn’t just dropped a bomb in my already stressful world before skipping out with his children for a photoshoot. For a while, I couldn’t breathe; forget speaking.
“This…vision,” I hesitated. “Does he have more details?”
There was a decided pause before Lex spoke. “He usually knows more than he reveals. He only shares what he’s told to part with.”
Panic struck my chest. “What does he know?”
Her head shook softly as she peered deeply into my eyes with what looked like concern. “I don’t know. I may never know until you do and decide to share it with me. My husband is rigid about his gift. But in the event you need me…” She went into her pocket and pulled out a business card. “Here’s all of my information. We have a safe house where women in need can come and…disappear.”
I sucked in a wop of air and my eyes ballooned. “Disappear to where?”
“From the sight of trouble. I can’t give more details than that, but I can say since we’ve opened, no one has been located until they’re out of hiding. Call and give them your name. We’ll take it from there.”
“Beloved,” a deep rasp sounded from behind me. “The call has been placed to DiFillippo’s. Time is of the essence at this point.”
I turned to find Pastor Carmichael waiting with pinched brows, holding their baby. He was ready to go.
My head swung back to Lex “I—”
“I have to go.” She cupped my hand and squeezed. “Call anytime you need,” she whispered, taking off.
Lex quickly hugged Tasche and exchanged a few words of mumble before gaiting off to her waiting husband. Tasche then turned to me, standing nearly as stiff as I was with shifting eyes.
“C’mon, baker girl.” She took me at the arm. “Let’s get you back to work.”
Hard yelps of a grown ass man met me the moment I sauntered toward one of the back rooms of the warehouse. It was no surprise they were in this particular room. The space was small, and easy for the men to clean after slaughter.
Jim, one of our guys, opened the door when I approached. I nodded as I crossed the threshold, taking in the room.
“He’s finally here,” my father announced, sarcasm lined in his voice. “We thought you had better things to do.”
I approached him first for a respectful handshake and hug.
“Sorry about that. Had to make a stop before dropping Lia off,” I explained so generously.
Moving along to my brother, I hit him with blank eyes as I repeated the physical greeting.
“Thanks, Deek,” he whispered in my ear.
There were four others from my father’s crew in the room, to whom I offered a nod of acknowledgment. They were all returned, along with a few mumbles as my attention went to the corner where the kid sat, tied to a chair. A large, plastic tarp stretched out several feet around his leaking body. His eye was swollen shut, shirt ripped and bloodied, and jeans soiled with urine. Big John stood over him with a power drill at his kneecap. I could see blood staining his jeans there, too.
“What do we have?” I asked.
“He says he doesn’t know,” my father muttered.
I turned to him. “Doesn’t know?”
My father shook his head, his lips pouted. “Our crew found him at his baby mother’s house on Governor
Street. Ran up in there at four in the morning. He snuck back into town last night.”
Widening my legs, I switched stances, clasping my hands behind my back while gazing at the kid again, noticing a broken nose. “On the run for six years,” I murmured “and he doesn’t know anything?”
“This muthafucka know something!” my brother, Iban, shouted. “Fuck that!”
“I don’t! I swear!” the kid cried. “It wasn’t my idea. They told me where to meet up at, and that we was gonna get…” His teeth rattled vociferously from fear and pain. “…like five apiece if we hit the warehouse. I told them I was down!”
“Who set it up?” Iban demanded.
“Dis— this dude, Ab—”
“Who the fuck is Ab?” my brother shouted in the kid’s face with his usual impatience.
“The nigga that set everything up. We did time in the county together a few years back. He— ahhhhhhhh!” he cried as Big John pushed the tip of the drill into his knee as an incentive to keep talking.
“Keep talking, muthafucka, or I’mma have him on your left one!” Iban warned.
“Ab did it! He pulled everybody together,” he mumbled in a cry.
“Who did he say he got the drop from?” I asked.
“He ain’t say. He was the only one that knew!”
“And that’s the kid that’s locked up?” my father asked us. I nodded. “He should be coming home soon. Correct?”
“Yup.” Iban approached the kid, snatching the drill gun from Big John. “Too bad you ain’t ask questions. At least you’d know who was responsible for your death.” He revved the drill engine. “You can ask ya boy, Jamal, about it when you get to hell. You know we got him right after y’all robbed us. Right? His dumb ass ain’t run.” He snickered.
At this point, I knew what was coming. Nothing excited my brother more than violence and pussy. He’d been dying to exact this type of revenge on these dudes since they broke into my father’s old warehouse six years ago, killing three of his men in pure luck.