“What happened? How did I get here?”
She turned to make sure no one else was in the room and the door was closed before speaking. “It was Tom, Aunt May’s bingo buddy. He tried to kill us because you found out about what he had been doing to the neighborhood kids all these years. You stopped him, Ronald. You even stopped him from killing me.”
Ronald looked out the window into the distance, wondering when his freedom would end. Either Cecelia would be back with her orders, or the police would be coming to take him.
“Don’t worry. He was a terrible man—a terrible man that will never hurt anyone ever again. And your friend Detective Barnes arranged to get your statement without you having to come down to the office. He said not to worry and that your father sent him to help.”
“Barnes?” he tried his best to remember, recalling one of his father’s old partners.
* * *
The tall Black man always used to ruffle his hands through young Ronald’s curls as he encouraged him to grow up to be a man of justice.
“No man is above the law, and no man is below it; nor do we ask any man’s permission when we ask him to obey it. Theodore Roosevelt said that,” he educated young Ronald.
Mr. Doolally chimed in, “Therefore, it is our duty to enforce it.”
* * *
The memory slowly faded from thought. It was what he remembered most about Detective Barnes.
“Can I see that?” he asked Gertrude, eluding to the newspaper in her hand. He’d noticed the headline “Backyard Nightmare” on one of the articles folded back on the front page.
“Of course.” She placed the paper atop the white hospital blanket covering his lower extremities.
“Although a mass of dismembered body parts was found outside the residence, inside, the bloody crime scene was void of anyone, including the man suspected of committing the crime, Arthur Columbus.” He thought through what he’d read aloud.
If he had left Arthur’s body there, who’d taken it? he wondered. Maybe Barnes has been helping all along, Ronald considered.
Just outside his room in the hallway, Richard sat on a bench reading that very same newspaper article. Doctors, nurses, and hospital staff passed by, neglecting to ask who he was there to see. The older gentleman certainly wasn’t wearing a visitor’s pass. Maybe it was because he looked trustworthy. How far he had evolved from the dirty beggar he once resonated with. Into what was the question. It was an answer to be determined by the perspective of the individuals he would encounter. Hopefully, for them, they were on the right side of the law.
* * *
One week later, Brenda walked down her driveway to the mailbox out front, coffee in hand. She opened the box, pulling out a postcard from Tennessee. It simply read, “I’m okay, Queen. Don’t worry about me. I miss you. I love you, and please know that I can make it on my own. Thank you for always being there.”
Tears streamed from Brenda’s eyes as a feeling of immense joy had begun to heal her aching heart. “Thank you, God,” she screamed toward the heavens, rushing back inside through the side door to call Gertrude.
Of course, Gertrude was busy nursing a bandaged boyfriend. Ronald hadn’t seen or detected Cecelia since the accident. Seems his surgery had utterly blocked out her influence. Although his memories were coming back more every day, Cecilia remained a distant memory as far as his present state of being. The guilt Dr. Martyr talked about had finally subsided. Gertrude sat at his bedside, feeding him a bowl of homemade potato soup she had whipped up herself when the phone rang, interrupting Ronald’s lunch.
She set the bowl atop the nightstand, then picked up the receiver next to it.
“Hello.”
“She’s alive! She’s alive!” Brenda screamed into the phone on the other end.
Knowing her best friend’s voice, Gertrude responded immediately, “Who’s alive?” she asked.
“Tiffany! She’s alive. She sent me a postcard,” Brenda rejoiced. “I’m so happy she contacted me. All I wanted was to know that she’s alive and well.”
“Oh, thank God Tiffany’s alive. She sent Brenda a postcard,” Gertrude exclaimed as she relayed the message to Ronald.
A soft but sly grin surfaced upon his face upon hearing Brenda had received the postcard sent via Detective Barnes. Once Ronald realized his father’s former apprentice had been helping him all along, together, they’d decided it best the girls assumed Tiffany was a fugitive from justice, alive and kicking. They would never know the truth about what happened to Tiffany that fateful night.
Ronald Doolally lay there feeling all was indeed well....
The End
Deadliest Intuition Page 25