Heartless

by Al-Saadiq Banks

  Loud sirens roar in the air. With her eyes swollen shut, she can’t see a thing. She’s picked up from the ground and dragged away. She’s thrown into the back of the police car and the door is slammed shut.

  Everything seems to be moving in slow motion. Through bloody, swollen shut eyes, all she can see is flashing lights. The flashing lights ricochet and bounce off the many lights that illuminate the huge buildings of the Vegas skyline. Even through partial vision she can see that her freedom is gone.

  The police have the area roped off. White sheets covering three bodies tells Storm that she’s added three more murders onto her jacket. Swarms of people are everywhere. The feature attraction is the cop car that she sits in. They peek nosily into the car, trying to see who is responsible for the mayhem. She knew this would be a big night but never did she think she would be the main event.

  77

  “No one could’ve ever told me I would’ve ever ended up living this type of life. I’m the daughter of a pastor, the granddaughter of a pastor. As a child I wanted to be a pastor. I was groomed to be one in my early childhood.”

  Eleven-year-old Angelica stands at the pulpit dressed in her best Sunday dress. She paces back and forth as she wipes the perspiration from her forehead with a handkerchief. She daps the corners of her mouth with the handkerchief as she looks down at her bible. She peeks up, staring at the congregation.

  “Y’all don’t hear me though,” she says, smiling from ear to ear.

  “Preach!” a woman shouts from the back of the small church.

  “Every first Sunday, in Sunday school, they would let me preach a sermon that I prepared myself.”

  Young Angelica has one hand in the air, finger pointing to the ceiling. The congregation are all standing to their feet and clapping.

  Angelica continues on with her sermon. “For I am persuaded that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principles, nor powers, nor things to come, nor height, nor depth, nor any creatures shall be able to separate us from the love of God which is in Christ Jesus Lord!”

  “Amen!” a man shouts from the first row.

  Angelica jumps for joy excitedly, hands stretched upward before falling backwards. She stumbles over the few chairs that are lined up behind her before falling onto her back. All the members of the congregation become hysterical. They run to the front of the church, crowding her.

  “And it all went blank from there. The next thing I know I woke up in a hospital hooked up to many machines with my whole family surrounding me. I didn’t know what happened, but from the looks on their faces it couldn’t be of any good.”

  Angelica lays in the hospital bed, barely conscious. Her mother sits at her side, holding a bible close to her heart. Her father and her little brother sit on the other side of her.

  Angelica looks up into her father’s eyes. “Daddy, what happened?” She looks to the machines that are hooked up to her. “What’s wrong with me?”

  “My Angel, you have suffered a heart attack.”

  Angelica doesn’t know much about heart attacks except that everyone she’s ever heard of having one has died. Fear settles in her bright and innocent eyes. “Heart attack? Am I going to die?”

  “No, baby,” he replies. “You are an angel protected by God.”

  A doctor enters the room and Angelica’s father and mother bum-rush him. Their conversation is not loud enough for her to hear, but the sadness on their faces speaks volumes.

  “Doc, will she ever be the same?”

  Sadness covers the doctor’s face. “Sir, I’m afraid that she has suffered severe heart failure. The only thing that will save her young life is a heart transplant.”

  “Heart transplant?” her mom asks. She breaks out into tears.

  “I’m afraid that is the only answer,” the doctor replies.

  “From that point on my whole life changed. I felt as if my childhood had been stolen from me. No more basketball or bike riding or even running. My parents tried to protect me from every little thing. Their overprotecting and crowding later led me to run away and never look back.

  “For the life of me, I couldn’t understand why that was happening to me. I was always told that I was one of God’s Angels, so if I was, why was God putting me through that? I started resenting God and I hated to be called Angel from that point on. To me an Angel was just a reminder of the torture that I had gone through and how when I needed God most he wasn’t there for me. I felt that he abandoned me.

  “A few months passed and finally our prayers were answered.”

  Angelica’s mother and father sit at a desk across from a woman dressed in a tailored fit, pin-striped business suit. The woman is hospital administration. Angelica’s mother looks up to the ceiling. “Thank you, Jesus!”

  Her father lowers his head in humility as he drops a silent thank you to God. He looks up with a huge smile on his face. The woman wears a stone cold look on her face but she smiles with her eyes. “So, when can we get on with the procedure?”

  “I remember it like it was just yesterday. I was terrified and confused as they rolled me down the hall on the stretcher. I remember looking into my daddy’s eyes looking for confirmation but the look in his eyes didn’t give me any.”

  Angelica lie on the stretcher as she’s being wheeled through the hospital hallway. She’s wearing a hospital gown and bouffant cap on her head, prepared for surgery. Her mother on one side of the stretcher holding her hand as her Dad walks along with his hand on her shoulder. The stretcher is stopped short at the double doors. Angelica’s mother bends over and kisses her on the forehead.

  Her father leans over close to her. “My daughter,” he whispers. “I know that you’re afraid right now, but you must be brave. This is for the better. After this you will be like new again and we will live happily ever after.”

  “You promise?” Angelica asks with no sign of hope or faith in her eyes. The uncertainty on his face is a look that she will never forget.

  “I promise.”

  * * *

  Hours later, Angelica lays in the hospital bed, in the recovery room. She’s hooked up to machines. Her mother sits at the foot of the bed reading from her Bible while her father paces back and forth around the room. Angelica opens her eyes slightly in a groggy state just as the doctor is walking into the room.

  Her mother looks up from her bible and finds Angelica’s eyes open. She double takes at Angelica before looking up to the ceiling with her hands in a praying position. She thanks God over and over again.

  “All I remember is waking up in a dreamlike state hooked up to machines. For the life of me I couldn’t figure out why or even how I got there. It was all a blur.”

  Angelica looks down at herself as her mother kisses her gently on the forehead. Her father holds her hand with a tight grip. “My Angel, you pulled it through,” he says.

  Angelica’s little brother comes into the room, leading a pack of a few of the members of the church. Her brother curls up next to her, wrapping his arms around her neck. He’s so happy to see his big sister. She’s his idol. The members of the church surround the bed, hands clasped together in prayer.

  After the brief prayer session ends, the doctor walks over to the bed and stands over Angelica. “Congratulations, Angel. You pulled it through successfully. You’re such a brave and courageous young lady.” He extends his hand for hers. They lock hands. “Here’s to new life!”

  “And then it all started coming back to me. I realized that the heart transplant had just taken place.”

  As the priest wipes his eyeglasses, he peeks up at Angelica with a look of true concern. “And how did you feel about all that had taken place?”

  A confused expression crosses her face. “Well, at that time I was too young to actually understand how blessed I was. But it was all so strange. I felt weird, like cold and empty inside. I didn’t feel like mysel
f.”

  The priest listens attentively before interjecting. “The donor of the heart, by chance do you know who he or she was? Did you ever meet the family?”

  “You know, those thoughts I lived with all of my adult life. For some strange reason, the information was never revealed. I’ve always felt like I was living with a stranger inside of me. I always wondered what type of person he or she was. It wasn’t till I got here in this place that I did some research.” A starry look fills her eyes, coupled with a grin. “And this is what I found out. Listen closely because this is where it gets good.”

  North Philadelphia, 2005

  A shabby, blond dread head albino steps out of an abandoned house. He stops short with a shocked expression on his face. The house is surrounded by police whom all have their weapons drawn. “Calvin Collins, don’t move!” is shouted through the bullhorn.

  The dread headed albino backs up with caution, peeking around attentively. He stumbles clumsily over a row of garbage cans that are lined up behind him.

  “Calvin Collins, we have you surrounded! It’s over! Put your hands in the air and slowly drop to your knees!”

  “I learned that a string of robbery/homicides led the detectives back to him.”

  The albino ducks behind two garbage cans as he draws his gun from his waistband. He lifts his head up slightly, peeking over the lid of the can. Two detectives run toward him with their weapons drawn. The albino raises his gun in the air and fires.

  Boc! Boc! Boc! Boc!

  The first detective stumbles backward from the impact of the bullet crashing into his bulletproof vest. The second detective stumbles over onto his side, holding his thigh. A detective standing off to the side, behind an open car door has a clear shot in the alley and takes it. He fires three consecutive rounds.

  Blocka! Blocka! Blocka!

  The albino stands up and quickly fires a shot of his own.

  Boc! Boc! Boc!

  He quickly ducks low for his safety. The detective ducks low behind the car in a nick of time. The car window shatters into pieces.

  The albino peers around and notices that the street is now swarming with police with riot gear on. That doesn’t scare him one bit. In fact it excites him. He stands up and fires two shots.

  Boc! Boc!

  As he’s ducking down three shots come back at him.

  Blocka! Blocka! Blocka!

  The bullets whiz past his head and ricochet off the wall behind him. He looks over his shoulder at the chipped aluminum siding which is only inches away from his head. He peeks around quickly, looking for a better shield. He spots an old refrigerator on the other side of the alley.

  “Calvin, drop your weapon!”

  The albino’s eyes peer from side to side, in between two garbage cans. “Never!” he shouts back at them with determination.

  The detective places the bullhorn to his mouth. “You will never,” he manages to say before the sound of gunfire rips through the air.

  Boc! Boc!

  Both bullets bounce off the hood of the car. The detective ducks for safety.

  The albino runs across the alley as he squeezes two shots.

  Boc! Boc!

  He makes it to the refrigerator where he hides behind it, standing tall. The sound of a helicopter hovers in the air. He looks up and sees it’s a news helicopter but in his sick and deranged mind, he believes it to be the opposing army’s copter. His days as a Marine veteran are relived. He aims at the copter and fires.

  Boc! Boc! Boc!

  After firing, he rolls over and lays flat on his stomach. He reaches over and pulls a sink closer to him, using it as another shield. He has himself boxed in.

  In his mind, bombs sound off. He clasps both hands over his ears with his eyes closed. He has a history of suffering from post-traumatic stress disorder from the war he was in. “Aggghh!” he screams as he relives it. A huge explosion takes place only in his mind. He envisions his soldier buddy a few feet from him step onto a landmine. “No!” he screams as he attempts to shake away the vision. He screams out names and code words. Before his eyes he sees a war battlefield, with the opposing army and not the police that are actually here. He leans against the wall, gun in the air. He hits the lever and the cartridge drops into his hand. He quickly counts the rounds that he has left before slamming the cartridge back into the gun. He peeks to the front of the alley and the back, and in his mind he sees soldiers coming at him, instead of the cops. They have him trapped. He peeks back and forth nervously.

  “It’s all or nothing,” he says to himself. “They’ll never take me alive.” He stands up and fires a shot at the front of the alley and one to the back of the alley.

  Up overhead, two snipers lie on their bellies on top of neighboring buildings. Both of their assault rifles are aimed downward. Just as the albino is looking around planning his next attack, the sound of two shots from the rifles rip through the air. The albino collapses, falling onto his face.

  * * *

  Hours Later, two doctors stand across from each other in an operating room. On the stretcher in between them is the dead albino. One doctor shakes his head in pity as he explains the details to the other doctor, “An all-out war for fifteen minutes before snipers took him out.” He points to the hole in the corpse’s head.

  “Oh! Is this the wack job, Killer Cal, that was all over the news? Oh and how many dead women did they find in his home?”

  “In total, seven. One being his ex-wife who apparently cheated on him ten years ago. He just decided to repay her after all those years. Abducted her from her home after murdering her current husband. He slept with the corpse in the bed with him for months. Even had sexual intercourse with her. The other six women were crack whores whom he murdered after sex, all by strangulation. Some of them had been in the closet dead for close to a year. They all had one thing in common.”

  “And what was that?” the doctor asks curiously.

  They all shared the same complexion. All high-yellow complexioned women. It’s apparent that because of his wife he had a thing against all women of that complexion.”

  “Wow,” the doctor sighs in disbelief. “Yeah, a real wack job. So, what are you doing now?”

  “Extracting the heart. Upon enlisting into the Marine Corp, he signed on as an organ donor. I guess that’s the only good that he has done in his whole life. After God knows how many lives he has taken at least he will save one.”

  “Or end many more,” the other doctor replies with sarcasm. “I’m not sure if I would want the heart of a serial killer. It’s like you’re doomed from the start.”

  “Try telling that to the many people who are waiting in line for this heart. They will be so ecstatic to have the heart they may not even ask whom it originally belonged to.”

  The doctor shakes his head sadly. “Well, God bless the individual who gets that heart. They will need it. They’re getting a gift and a curse.”

  78

  Las Vegas, Nevada

  Florence McClure Women’s

  Correctional Facility Death Row

  March 14, 2016

  Twenty-five year old Angelica Hill, dressed in an orange prison jumpsuit and shower slippers, sits at the end of an old steel table. Her hair drapes down in two long Pocahontas braids. Currently she’s the youngest woman on death-row in the entire country. She’s been on death-row for three years, one month and twelve days, but her time is now up. She’s broken another record as well. Before her the shortest amount of time spent on death-row before being executed was held by a thirty-nine-year-old man from Alabama for killing his own six-month old son. She has him beat by a little less than a year.

  She holds her shackled wrists over the table, hands clasped together. Underneath the table her ankles are shackled together as well. Her head is hanging low with her face wet from tears. “Well, Father. There you have it. That explained m
y hatred for lighter skinned women. It also explained how the city of Philadelphia was not foreign to me. Also, my change of hair color after the transplant. I’m sure no one would ever believe me if I told them it was like he was living through me. So I never told anyone until now. It’s like no matter how hard I’ve tried in life to do the right thing that uncontrollable force inside of me managed to always bring the worse out of me.”

  Across from her sits the elderly Caucasian priest in his late seventies. Father John’s wrinkled, baggy face looks like that of a hound dog. Tiny, oval shaped spectacles cover his low, sagging eyes. He stares into Angelica’s eyes for seconds before speaking.

  His face is wet from tears as well. Hearing this story has him heartbroken. From the bottom of his heart he now believes what she says about the uncontrollable force but he’s quite helpless. He really doesn’t know what to tell her at this point. “My dear child, the biggest war that man and woman has ever had to fight is the war with their self. You, my child, have allowed the wrong to overpower the right and now you sit here to pay the consequences for your actions. Such an expensive price to pay.”

  Angelica shakes her head from side to side with despair. Her face lights up when the door opens. There her parents stand accompanied by her younger brother. She hasn’t seen them in many years. They all hug her tightly, weeping hard.

  Father John reaches over the table and claps his hands over Angelica’s forearms. “My child, my job here is done. You are in God’s hands. Let us bow our heads.”