“Chill out Mama,” said Meka, as the rest of the lobby looked on nosily.
The supervisor, an elderly white woman, appeared with a huge, burly, security guard following behind her. “What seems to be the problem here, Janine?” Her tone was both authoritative and slightly condescending.
“Ummm, well these two women came up to the desk and asked about a patient by the name of Michael Smith, who they say died here within the last couple of days. I repeatedly told them that we have no record of a Michael Smith being pronounced dead at this hospital within that time frame. They began making threats and using profane language so… I called you.”
The supervisor pushed her spectacles up on the bridge of her thin nose. “What’s the person’s name again?” she asked Gloria and Meka.
“Michael Smith,” they said together.
“Let me see something here,” said the supervisor as she leaned over Janine and got on the computer. Her glasses began sliding down her nose again but she just pushed them back up and kept looking for whatever she was searching for on the computer. She moved the mouse around and after a couple of clicks, she stood up and looked at Janine with a look of disdain. Then she looked at Gloria and Meka. “The reason we have no record of a Michael Smith being deceased is because… he’s not. The patient is in critical, but stable condition in the I.C.U. Room 210.”
Meka and Glo looked at each other wide eyed, with a sense of shock and utter surprise. Mike was alive!? They took off for the elevator. Once they got to the second floor, where the I.C.U. was located, they walked hurriedly down the hallway towards room number 210. There were doctors and nurses on the floor in their scrubs going from room to room, checking on the status of different patients. All of the patients required different types of intensive care depending upon their physical states. But the thing all of the patients on that floor had in common though was the sobering fact that at one point they had all been knocking on deaths door. Some still were, but for right now, their knocks remained unanswered.
Being on this floor gave Meka goose bumps all over her skin. She had herself been a patient on this very floor in room 215, only a few months before, and the memories were still fresh. As she and her mother approached room 210, Meka saw a familiar face. “Well, well, well. If it ain’t sleeping beauty herself,” said Detective Patterson, sarcastically. Detective Daniel Patterson was the investigating officer who had been assigned to Meka’s case. She remembered vividly his unwelcomed visit to her room when she had first awakened from her coma. His breath had reeked of stale coffee and cigarettes. She also remembered his insincere concern as he attempted to get Meka to tell him about the incident that had left her nearly dead and in a coma for weeks. True to the code of the streets, Meka played slow and Patterson left with absolutely nothing to go on. Now here this red necked muthafucka was again, outside of Mike’s room. Fuck is this clown doing here, wondered Meka.
“Isn’t this a lovely surprise? Didn’t expect to see you again anytime soon,” said Patterson, in his raspy, cigarette tinged voice. His tone was sarcastic and mocking as usual. He smiled, revealing teeth that had been discolored from many years of tobacco and caffeine usage. He positioned his body to keep Glo and Meka from walking past him.
“Look, shit mouth; we here to see my family, not have you blow your shit balls all in our damn face!” Meka snapped. “So I’d appreciate it if you’d move the hell out our way.” Patterson’s face turned crimson as Meka and Glo pushed past him and walked into Mike’s room. There was really nothing he could do (legally) to stop them. It was visiting hours. Of course, he could say that they had assaulted him as they forced their way past him, but after some serious thought, he decided against it.
Once they stepped into the room, they immediately stopped. Gloria turned her head, momentarily unable to look at Mike. He was laid up in a hospital bed, hooked up to a myriad of machines and tubes that all served a vital purpose in keeping him alive. Meka knew what some of them did because of her own previous experience. Intravenously some of the tubes fed him while others supplied much needed drugs to relieve the pain he was in. Machines monitored his vitals, and alerted the nurses that had been assigned to Mike of any change in his condition. There were other machines and tubes too, but Meka had no clue what the hell all of them did. She stared at him and wondered if she had looked the same way when she was laid up in her hospital bed.
Gloria turned her head back towards Mike and forced herself to look at him. It hurt, but the pain was a lot more bearable than dealing with the anguish she felt when she’d first heard he was dead. Mike had lost some weight, but other than that (and the tubes running up his nose and all over his body) he just appeared to be sleeping. Glo’ glanced down at the foot of the bed and for the first time, noticed that Mike’s right leg was shackled to the hospital bed.
“Meka, why they got them thangs on his leg?” she asked her daughter, pointing at the shackles with a frown on her face.
Before Meka could respond, Detective Patterson, who had been standing in the doorway spoke up. “Well, ma’am, I don’t wanna let the cat out of the bag just yet but uhhh, Mr. Smith here is looking at some serious time when he wakes up,” he said with a sardonic smile on his face.
“What the fuck is you talkin’ ‘bout Patterson?” asked Meka. “Muhfuckas killed his fiance’ and tried to kill him. How the fuck is he lookin’ at charges?”
“Well actually, those guys did kill him… a couple of times. The doctors at this wonderful hospital here just happened to bring him back. But once he sees what he’s being charged with, trust me… he’s gonna wish they wouldn’t have done him that favor; unless he cooperates with us of course.” Patterson winked at Meka and laughed. She glared at the detective and balled up her fists tightly. Damn she wanted to knock the shit out of that red necked, racist ass pig. Mike, who was like a brother to her, was lying up in a hospital bed fighting for his life and this cocksucker was making jokes about his situation!?
“Fuck you, you stank mouth muthafucka! You racist ass cracker! Your mama shoulda did the world a favor and swallowed yo’ worthless ass! Yo’ faggot ass ain’t shit without that gun!” Meka yelled out, loud enough for the whole floor to hear.
Right when Meka was about to swing, Gloria grabbed her by the arm and hurriedly rushed her daughter out of the hospital room before she did something stupid. She knew how bad Meka’s temper could be sometimes. On top of all the other drama that was going on, she definitely didn’t need her baby girl getting locked up in the county jail.
Once out in the hallway, Meka continued to hurl obscenities at Detective Patterson who just laughed at her as Gloria held her back. Patterson pulled out his cell phone and made a call. Within seconds, Glo and Meka were accosted by two uniformed deputies who not so nicely asked them to leave the premises. Obviously they had already been in the vicinity. “Get their asses outta here!” yelled Detective Patterson. The uniformed officers grabbed Meka and Gloria by the arms. Nurses and Doctors looked on as they were aggressively escorted to the elevator. Meka continued to curse Patterson out until the time the elevator door closed.
For a brief moment, Mike opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He thought he had just heard some familiar voices, but he wasn’t sure. He listened, but the voices were gone. It wasn’t long before all the morphine and assortment of other pain medications running through his IVs began to take effect again. Within seconds he had drifted back off to sleep and began mumbling to himself unintelligibly. He hadn’t even noticed the white man who had been standing by the door observing him. Or the shackles that chained him to the hospital bed.
CHAPTER 10
The hardest thing for any mother to do is to bury her own flesh and blood. For nine months she nurtures and carries that baby around in her womb. One day her water breaks and that mother is painfully forced to deliver her infant into the arms of a cold and uncaring world. The mother cries. Her tears are as much tears of joy as they are tears of sadness, knowing that the life she just gave birt
h to will someday be forced to experience pain. That mother knows this pain is inevitable and does everything within her power to protect her baby from all possible harm. Over the years, the mother tries to prepare her child for whatever the world may throw at her baby, but ultimately, she knows one day her little one will be forced to fend for themselves. She braces herself for the impact of life. But what she can never prepare for is the news that the newborn she gave birth to, fed, clothed and loved unconditionally had been murdered in cold blood. How do you prepare for that?
When Sandra Jones had first been visited by the Greenville County Sheriff’s Department and told about her daughter being shot and killed Sunday afternoon, she had simply refused to believe it. She laughed nervously and told the officer that they must’ve made some type of mistake or something. They must have the wrong girl, she said. The black female officer stood in Sandra’s living room, and attempted to explain what had happened. It was at times like these that Deputy Sharon Greggs really hated her job. She knew she had been chosen by her superiors to be the bearer of bad news only because she was a black female. The people in charge of the case had probably reasoned that Sandra would take the news better from her. But did the skin complexion and gender of the person telling a parent that their child was dead really make a difference? She doubted it, but those were the orders she’d been given, so she followed them.
Still in denial, Sandra was asked to take a ride down to the morgue and simply confirm that the young woman they had identified as Nikki Jones either was or wasn’t her daughter. Begrudgingly, she agreed. When she arrived, she was led inside of a freezing cold room. A body, covered in a sheet was pulled out horizontally from a drawer. The sheet was pulled back to reveal the face of a corpse. Silently, tears began to stream from the corners of Sandra’s eyes which was all the confirmation Deputy Greggs needed. Unfortunately, she had more bad news for Sandra… Nikki had been three months pregnant. Sandra cried out in anguish before she fainted and fell to the floor.
When Sandra came to, she was in a hospital bed. She immediately began to shriek at the top of her lungs. “Y’all killed my baby! Y’all killed my baby!” she screamed out over and over again. When the orderlies and nurses were called to her room, she kicked, scratched, bit and fought them all frantically, like a woman possessed.
She was beyond hysterical. She kicked one orderly in the groin, causing him to double over in pain. Another one, she bit on the hand. After many attempts to get her under control, the orderlies were finally able to restrain her long enough for the nurses to stick her with a needle that contained a mild sedative. When she continued to struggle and fight, the dosage was increased. As the medicine began to take effect, her violent attacks became noticeably more subdued, until at last, she was completely out of it.
Now, as a black veil covered her weary face, Sandra was extremely calm (thanks to the help of a large dose of Valium) as she prepared to lay her first born to rest. Nikki’s little brother, Damien stood beside his mama and tried to be as strong for her as possible. But he just couldn’t help the tears that silently slid down his teenaged face as he looked at his big sister lying in that casket. She didn’t look like she was dead, just sleeping. He wished that he could run over and shake Nikki until she woke up and yelled at him to get out of her damn room. But she wasn’t sleep… she was dead.
Sandra and Damien were joined at the church by their family and many of Nikki’s closest friends. Some, like Vicki and Tasha had known Nikki since her days at Serene Elementary. Others hadn’t known her as long, but they had all been touched in some way by Nikki’s beautiful heart and spirit. She was a very popular girl who had a smile that could light up any room she entered. Nikki was the type of girl that loved to joke, have fun, laugh and enjoy life. She’d had so many dreams, hopes and aspirations for the future, but in a blink of an eye, those hopes and dreams had been permanently deferred.
No one who had known Nikki could honestly say anything bad about her. She didn’t have any enemies. Even the girls who’d initially thought she was stuck up and were jealous of her beauty, eventually got cool with her and came to realize that Nikki was one of the sweetest, most genuine people you’d ever want to meet. And now she was gone.
There wasn’t a dry eye in attendance as Pastor D finished delivering a touching eulogy for a beautiful young woman that had been taken from her loved ones far too soon. “…And so we say our farewells to Nikki; a beautiful spirit who God saw fit to call home to be by his side in his Kingdom. May we smile while reminiscing on the memories she’s left behind and rejoice in knowing that she is truly in a better place; resting peacefully in the bosom of the Lord.” Pastor Dillinger concluded with a commonly quoted verse from Genesis 3:19: “For dust thou art, and unto dust shalt thou return… Amen.”
After Pastor D finished the eulogy, two of Nikki’s closest friends, Brandy and MoNique, who used to sing with Nikki in the choir, began to belt out a soul stirring rendition of “I’m Missing You” from the movie Set It Off. “Though I’m missing you (although i’m missing you)/ I’ll find a way to get through (I’ll find a way to get through)/ Living without you. Cause you were my sister, my strength and my pride/ Only God may know why, still I will get by… They managed to get halfway through the song before they both broke down in tears, unable to finish.
Mourners solemnly filed past the coffin to get their last look at Nikki before her casket was closed and she was placed into the wintry December ground. Among them was News 4’s reporter Jennifer Henderson who had shown up not as a reporter looking for a scoop, but as a compassionate black woman who felt the overwhelming need to be there and share her condolences. Veteran reporters always advised against getting psychologically attached to a story, but she needed to feel some type of emotional connection to this story. A daughter and a sister who had been carrying her own child had been brutally murdered; and for what? She needed to know. Not necessarily for herself, but maybe, just maybe she could help give this grieving family some closure, she thought as it was her turn to file past and look inside the casket. Jennifer looked at the beautifully serene face of Nikki Jones and felt the tears begin to well up in her own eyes. It was one thing to report the facts of a story. It was something entirely different to see the aftereffects of what she reported first hand.
“Fuck y’all doing here!? Get y’all asses the fuck outta here!” Nikki’s cousin Gregg yelled out, causing the entire church to turn toward his voice to see what the hell was going on. Gloria had just entered the church along with her children, Meka and Ant D to pay their respects. They hadn’t known Nikki that well, but they knew Mike had loved her enough to want to marry her. And after finding out the day before that Mike was still alive, they felt obligated to show up on his behalf. However, Gregg wasn’t trying to hear that shit. Only twenty-three himself; his ear was still firmly planted to the streets and it was common knowledge that those bullets that had torn Nikki’s body apart weren’t intended for her. She had just been an innocent victim who’d gotten caught up in the middle of Meka, Ant D, and Mike’s bullshit.
Gregg’s brother O.T. came to his side. “What? Y’all muhfuckas ain’t hear what my brother just said? Y’all ain’t wanted in here.” His voice hadn’t been as loud but his tone conveyed his seriousness. His calm demeanor belied the mean mug displayed on his face.
“Young man, we just came through to show our—“
“Fuck your respects!” spat Gregg, interrupting Gloria. “Y’all the fucking reason my cousin’s lying up in that casket now!”
“So you can either walk outta here or get the shit beat out your asses and get carried out,” O.T. said, in a menacing tone. Other family members of Nikki’s had begun to gather around Gregg and O.T. like an angry mob. They looked on like they were just waiting for the wrong word to be said so they could pounce all over Gloria, Ant and Meka. They needed someone to direct the anger and frustration of their loss at.
“Muthafucka, I don’t care how many of you niggas it is up in here,” said
Ant. “The next time you disrespect my mama, I’ll put a hole in yo’ head so goddamn big the coroner will be able to see what the fuck you was thinkin’ before I killed yo’ bitch ass.” Ant pulled up the front of his shirt to reveal the butt of the all black gun he had tucked in his waist. Ant hadn’t even thought twice about bringing a weapon that was designed to take lives inside of the church. He had very little faith that there was a God anyway. On top of that, niggas was trying to wipe him off the planet. And it wasn’t like funerals didn’t get shot up. So House of the Lord or no house of the Lord, he had that thang with him and was ready to use it. The church fell silent. The tension in the air was palpable.
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