by RM Johnson
As Lewis walked deeper into his house, he called out to Eva. “Hello. Anyone home?” he said, not hearing Eva or the kids stirring around. The only light that burned on the first floor was the lamp in the living room window, which Lewis thought was strange, since Eva’s car was parked in the driveway.
He walked into the kitchen, not bothering to turn on a light, and pulled the fridge open. He glanced in, but he had no appetite. Jahlil was too much on his mind, and all he really wanted to do was go upstairs, kiss his two little girls good night, then ask Eva to hold him, while he told her what had happened with the boy.
Lewis took the stairs up to the second floor and walked down the hallway to the girls’ room. He quietly pushed the kids’ room door open to find that they weren’t there. What was going on? Lewis thought, stepping out of the room and heading down the hallway toward his bedroom.
When he got there, he noticed the door was closed. He didn’t know why, but he hesitated a moment, his hand outstretched toward the knob, afraid to open it.
Forcing himself, Lewis turned the knob, threw the door open, and clicked on the ceiling light. What lay before him was total devastation. The bed blankets were all over the bed, and all the pillows had been thrown to the floor. Both lamps on both nightstands had also crashed to the floor, the bulbs broken, the shades crushed. The bedroom mirror over the dresser was shattered; the drawers had been yanked from their housing, clothes strewn from them.
Had they been robbed? Lewis thought. Had the girls and Eva been taken? He felt himself starting to panic. His breathing came hard and fast, the room starting to spin around him, as he yanked his cell phone from his pocket, trying to think of who to call.
Then, sadly, he abandoned his suspicions of robbery when his eyes fell again upon the bed.
“No,” Lewis said, shaking his head, as he stepped cautiously closer to it. What he hadn’t seen at first on the burgundy blanket and linen, but plainly saw now, were the dark wet spots in the center of the bed.
“No,” Lewis said, again, leaning slowly over the mattress, his hand trembling, as he touched the tip of his fingers to one of the spots. He pulled his hand back and examined it. Blood.
Lewis’s knees gave. He stumbled to the floor, begging, praying that what he thought happened was not true. His cell phone rang in his hand.
Startled, he stared at the screen. Unknown caller. “Hello!” he shouted.
“Is this Lewis Waters?”
“Yes. Who is this?” Lewis asked, desperately.
“This is Detective Shaw, Chicago PD,” a man’s voice said. “We need for you to come to the U of C Hospital emergency room.”
“Why? What’s happened?”
“Please, sir. You need to come. Now.”
90
For the last half hour, Caleb had stood ten feet away from his son, who sat on the park bench. He would not let his father approach him or say a word, till his mother arrived.
When Sonya finally did show, she stopped next to Caleb, took one look at her son, and said, “Oh, my God.” She started to go to him, but Caleb grabbed her by the arm, held her back.
“You have to give me the gun, before I let her come to you,” Caleb said to Jahlil.
Without hesitation, Jahlil held the gun out to his father. Caleb walked over and carefully took it out of his son’s hands, clicked the safety on, and pushed it into his pants pocket.
Sonya rushed to Jahlil and wrapped her arms around him.
“I’m sorry, Ma,” Jahlil said, hugging her back. “I’m sorry.”
“No, baby, you have nothing to be sorry for,” Sonya said, crying.
Caleb stood beside his family, feeling like an outsider, not knowing what to say or do. The feeling was far too familiar, and he knew his lack of involvement had contributed to his son’s situation.
“I just wanted to take care of my family,” Jahlil said, pressing his face into his mother’s shoulder, hiding the tears that started to fall.
“I know, baby. I know,” Sonya said.
“But I still need to, so you need to take me somewhere, Ma. Somewhere they can’t find me.”
Caleb wondered if he had heard his son correctly, and he saw that Sonya had hesitated after hearing what Jahlil said too.
“What do you mean, son?” Sonya said, pulling away just a little. “So who can’t find you?”
“The police.”
Sonya turned, gave a concerned look to Caleb.
“Jahlil,” Caleb said, “you’re gonna have to—”
“No. You don’t have nothing to say to me. You hit me.”
“And I’m sorry about that, son, but—”
“You left me, and when you came back, you said you’d never leave again, but you did. And then you treated me like shit, and then you hit me,” Jahlil said, stabbing a trembling finger at his father. “So you can’t say nothing to me.”
“But I can,” Caleb said, knowing this was the point where he had to step in and assert himself as this boy’s father, even if he had never done it before. “I have the right to say something to you, because I love you, and I know what you’re going through.”
“You don’t know what I’m going through!” Jahlil yelled, climbing off the bench and stepping away from his mother. “How could you? You were never there. You hardly know me.”
“But I do,” Caleb said. “I’ve known you since the day we brought you home, and I knew you could’ve turned out just like me if we weren’t careful. I prayed that would never happen, but it did. I been through exactly what you’re going through now, and a lot of it had to do with my father not being there for me. But when I needed him most, he came back and did something for me that I will always be thankful for. And I’m going to do the same for you.”
“What … what are you talking about?” Jahlil said, looking to his father, then to his mother.
“Jahlil,” Sonya said, tears coming harder down her face with what she was about to say. “You can’t run. You just can’t. You’ll be looking over your shoulder every day, and that’s no way to—”
“What are you saying?” Jahlil said, looking around, as if for a direction to run.
Sonya took Jahlil’s hand, pulled him close to her. “You have to turn yourself in, baby.”
“No. No! What about Shaun? What about my baby? I don’t even know if she’ll be okay.”
“You don’t have to worry about that, son. I spoke to Shaun tonight. The baby is fine,” Caleb said, stepping over and standing on Jahlil’s opposite side. “And like I said, I’m gonna do for you what my father did for me. When I went to prison, he took you and Sonya in, cared for you, protected you. Now I want to do that for your family. Let them stay with me and your mother, and know that while you go through this, you don’t have to worry about them, and when you’re done, they will be here, waiting for you.”
Jahlil looked into his father’s eyes, and for the first time in years, Caleb saw what he believed to be trust coming from his son.
“Will you let us do that?” Caleb said.
Jahlil threw his arms around his father, hugged him tight, and cried.
“I’m sorry, son,” Caleb said, but unable to hold the tears back. He cried with his son. “I’m sorry I hit you. I’m so sorry.”
Sonya stood beside them, sobbing, till Caleb reached out for her and pulled her in, where the three wept together.
An hour later, Caleb stood up from the bench where he was sitting beside his son. He looked out toward the street. He thought he saw a flashing light. He was right.
After the family had cried together and held each other, they had all decided that it was time to call the police.
Sonya didn’t want to be there when they came to take her son away, so she said her good-byes then, and still crying, she left.
Caleb would stay, talk to his son about the gift of fatherhood. He told him he would bring his family to visit and make sure Shaun sent pictures and emails as often as possible. They talked about a few of the good memories they had togethe
r and even laughed once or twice. But for the last ten minutes they sat in silence.
Now, as Caleb dreaded, he saw the lights from the two police cars that pulled up over the curb and across the sidewalk and drove up the grassy hill. They stopped some forty feet away.
Caleb placed a hand on his son’s shoulder. He felt the boy trembling badly under his touch. “It’ll be all right, son,” Caleb said, softly, as the doors opened on the first police car. The officer who drove pulled his gun and pointed it at Caleb and Jahlil; the other officer stepped forward and said, “Is this the boy we’re taking into custody?”
Caleb turned to Jahlil, who looked back at his father, fear in his eyes. “Be strong,” Caleb told him. Then he turned to the officers and said, “Yes, this is my son, the boy you’re taking into custody.”
91
Lewis stood outside of the small emergency patient room where Eva was being treated.
Upon arriving, Lewis had been told by a haggard-looking, dirty-blond nurse that Eva had been raped and brutally beaten by two men.
“What? No!” Lewis had said, feeling tears threatening to come to his eyes. “Who did—”
“I don’t have those answers, Mr. Waters,” the nurse had said. “But you can see her if you want.”
Now Lewis entered the treatment room. When he saw Eva, he raced to her, tried to hug her, but Eva recoiled in fear, as if he had been one of the attackers.
A different nurse, this one short and dark-haired, standing in the corner of the room, pulled on Lewis’s arm. “She’s still in shock. Take it easy with her.”
Eva’s eye was blackened and swollen. Dried blood and bruises were all over her face, and her jaw was twice its normal size.
“Who did this to you?” Lewis said, begging for an answer, but Eva did more crying than speaking. Whatever words she did mumble, Lewis could not understand.
Moments later, the dirty-blond nurse reappeared, wearing latex gloves. “I’m gonna need for you to step out for a moment. We need to do a rape kit.”
“What’s that?”
“The doctor is outside. He wants to talk to you.”
Lewis stepped into the hallway, where a balding man explained to Lewis they would be testing Eva for STDs and gathering DNA that hopefully would help them find who did this to her.
“Will she be okay?”
“Her jaw is broken,” the doctor said. “We’re going to have to wire it surgically, but other than that, and whatever she’ll have to get past psychologically, she should be fine. I’ll tell you more when we find out.”
The doctor left Lewis in the hallway, where he just wanted to slide down the wall to the floor, drop his face in his hands, and cry.
“Are you Lewis Waters?” a hulking man in a trench coat asked.
“Yeah.”
“Detective Shaw. I called—”
“Who in the hell did this to her?” Lewis said.
“That’s what I want to ask you. Does your girlfriend have any enemies? Anyone out there that would want to—”
“No,” Lewis said, thinking the question ridiculous. “You need to find who did this. You need to find them!”
“That’s my intention.”
“And my two little girls. They weren’t at my house when—”
“Your neighbors have them. Are you sure there is no one that—”
“I’m positive,” Lewis said.
Detective Shaw gave Lewis a glare that suggested he was lying. “If something comes to mind, call me,” Shaw said, handing Lewis his card before walking away.
92
Standing outside the back of the hospital on what looked like a loading dock, Lewis needed time to get his head around all this. It was dark and quiet back there. He walked to the edge of the platform, looked around the very dark corner of the building, faintly saw a row of what looked like parked delivery trucks and other hospital vehicles.
He stopped there, thankful for the silence, and stared up at the moon. Why Eva? he thought. Of all people, why would anyone want to harm her? Then a disturbing thought: Maybe it wasn’t Eva they were after. The detective had asked Lewis if Eva had any enemies. She didn’t. But he did.
Lewis turned to race back into the hospital when he felt the barrel of a gun pressed into the space between his shoulder blades.
“ ’Sup, motherfucker?”
The voice was immediately familiar, even though Lewis couldn’t place it. Lewis’s breath stopped in his chest. He raised his hands slowly to shoulder height.
“Did you tell him anything?”
“Who are—”
“Shhh,” the voice said. “The cop—I’m sure he asked you who raped your girl. Did you give him names?”
“I don’t have no fucking names,” Lewis said, finally realizing where he’d heard that voice. It came from the guy he’d found outside his house the other day. “Who did—”
“Shut the fuck up! I’ll kill you right now,” the man said. “This stops here if you don’t go to the police. You do, we gonna pay another visit to your house, and this time we do those two little girls that was down the hall. Know what I’m sayin’?”
Enraged, Lewis made a move to turn, get the gun, kill the man behind him before he was killed. But the gun was quickly taken from Lewis’s back and pressed harshly to the back of his skull.
“Don’t, motherfucker! He told us not to kill you, but I swear …”
Breathing heavily, his hands still raised, Lewis asked again, “Who did this?”
It took a moment, then, “This is payback from Freddy, for my sister, Joni.”
93
Last night Caleb had called and told Austin what happened with Jahlil. Immediately his brother had met him at the police station and assumed the position of his nephew’s legal counsel until a criminal attorney arrived.
At the station, Austin was made aware of the charges—breaking and entering and intent to commit armed robbery. They were pretty serious, but Jahlil was only sixteen years old, and he had no previous criminal record.
Because of the severity of the charges, Austin wasn’t sure Jahlil would get off with just parole, but he was sure the criminal attorney would fight as hard as he could for that or, at least, for as short a stay as possible in lockup.
Today Austin stood on his front porch, surrounded by his brothers—by his family. It was a glum, gray day, the day after he had broken up with the woman he could’ve been having a very good relationship with, and the day that his brother Caleb was moving out.
Boxes of Caleb’s belongings sat stacked on Austin’s porch, ready to be hoisted into Caleb’s van.
Marcus stood staring at Austin, then back at Caleb. “We been through it all, huh?” he said, sadly but attempting to smile.
“Yeah,” Caleb said, slapping a hand on Marcus’s shoulder. “But we’re still here. I guess that counts for something.”
Austin saw the concern and worry in Caleb’s eyes. He always knew when his little brother was troubled, could spot it when they were just kids. “Jahlil is going to be fine. I found him the best attorney.”
“I know,” Caleb said. “And I can’t ever repay you for this. Never.”
“Considering all the crappy treatment I gave you in the past, why don’t we just call it even,” Austin said, opening his arms.
Caleb smiled a little and walked into his older brother’s embrace.
“C’mon, Marcus,” Austin said, waving him over.
Marcus smiled and joined his brothers in the small circle, their arms wrapped around each other’s shoulders, staring into each other’s faces like they did as kids when they’d huddle while playing street football.
“I don’t have to tell you guys how much you mean to me, do I?” Austin said.
“Naw, you don’t,” Caleb said.
“But we wanna hear it anyway,” Marcus said.
Caleb gave Marcus a shove. Marcus grinned and shoved Caleb back a little.
“Marcus,” said Austin, “after Dad left and Mom died, you were the on
e that kept the three of us together. I think I can speak for Caleb in saying that we probably wouldn’t be here right now if it wasn’t for you. You’ve been the best brother that either of us could’ve asked for, and if there is ever anything you need, don’t hesitate to ask. You hear me?”
Marcus grinned. “I already know that, Austin. But it is nice to hear from time to time.”
Austin turned to Caleb. “And you, I know times have been hard, but let me tell you this, I will never, ever let you or your family go without. I will never let anything happen to them. Do you understand me?” Austin said, emotion starting to overwhelm him and make his voice quiver. “I got you! Do you hear me?” Austin said, tightening his grip on his brothers. “I love you, and I got you guys.”
94
Monica had found what she thought could’ve been a wonderful man. A man she could’ve fallen in love with and yes, even though she fought the idea, could’ve possibly spent the rest of her life with. Maybe. But she tossed that away, for what? she asked herself, as she parked her car and climbed out of it.
For the opportunity of a lifetime, she told herself, as she walked up the path toward the house in front of her. She had given years of her life, of her love, only to have been mistreated, to have been criticized and treated miserably, because she was unable to have a baby. She had been lied to, cheated on, disrespected, and almost killed because of her association with one man, Nate Kenny, and unfortunately, for the life of her, she could not leave him alone until she could somehow repay him for all the hell he had brought upon her.
Monica hadn’t told Daphanie about this move, but Monica knew the woman was willing to aid her in whatever capacity was needed.
Monica had already started her search for Tori Thomas, Nate’s ex-secretary, and mistress, and one of the many women he had wronged, and last night, while online, she had found her on Facebook, sent her a message. Hi. It’s Monica Kenny. Want to know how you’ve been. Have a proposition for you. It’s regarding my ex-husband, Nate, so you know it’s not good. Respond if you’re interested.