Aftermath

by Tracy Brown

  “Aye, Baron. I know you were sleeping, but I had to get in touch with you ASAP. Frankie got me meeting him at his house on Staten Island right now. He said somebody shot his brother, Steven. Killed him. The police are over there right now. He got Biggs and Danno over at Gillian’s house to keep her safe. I just wanted you to be alert, my nigga. Shit is real right now.”

  Baron’s face froze. He felt so vulnerable lying there in his hospital bed hooked up to what felt like a thousand machines. On the night that he was shot and his father had been murdered, Baron had sustained gunshot wounds to his chest, stomach, and both legs and had been grazed in the head by a bullet, as well. Luckily for him, none of the injuries had cost him his life. However, they had rendered him practically immobile. His head was wrapped in a bandage, as were both of his legs. He had a heart monitor, an IV, and even a colostomy bag attached to him. He was defenseless and he couldn’t help taking note of the fact that Frankie had secured Gillian safely, but had left him open to attack.

  Tremaine could hear the fear in Baron’s voice as he spoke. “I can be as alert as I want to, Trey. But if somebody comes up here, what can I do?” Baron buzzed for the nurse. He wanted to see how long it would take for someone to get to his room if he needed help at this hour of night. For weeks he’d been stuck in the hospital—mostly lying dormant in a coma while he fought for his life. In the days since he’d regained consciousness, his mother, Celia, and Misa had taken turns sitting at his bedside each day, doing their best to keep him comfortable and helping him come to terms with what had happened. But it was the middle of the night, and both Celia and Misa had gone home hours ago.

  “I hear you, son,” Tremaine said. “But I’m already on Staten Island to meet up with Frankie. All I can do is tell you to keep your eyes open.”

  The nurse came in and asked if Baron was all right. Ironically, she offered him something to help him sleep, but he refused. Sleep was the last thing he needed right now. He asked for some water and she left to retrieve it.

  “Yo, Trey, good looking out. But tell Frankie not to leave me fucked up like this. He can send somebody up here the same way he sent goons to my sister’s house.”

  Tremaine was pulling up in front of Frankie’s house at that moment and saw the chaos that surrounded the sprawling home. He put his car in park, turned off the ignition, and wiped his hand across his face in amazement. “I’ll let him know, Baron,” he said. “I’ll call you back in a little while.”

  Tremaine hung up the phone and sat in the dark of his car, the flashing lights from the police and emergency vehicles illuminating his face. He started to dial Frankie’s number, not wanting to go into the house without his friend. But then he spotted Frankie running toward the driveway and Tremaine climbed out of his car and followed.

  Frankie saw all the emergency vehicles outside of his house. As he ran toward it, he heard someone call his name. Turning, he saw Tremaine headed his way. He didn’t greet his friend, but Frankie’s eyes said it all. He was definitely scared of what awaited him on the inside of his house. Together, they walked up the stairs and right into Sergeant Denton who was waiting in the doorway.

  “Mr. Bingham?”

  Frankie nodded. “Where’s my brother?”

  The sergeant led them into the foyer of the home and paused, holding his hand up in front of Frankie. “Mr. Bingham, let me bring you up to speed on what we know so far.”

  It felt odd to Frankie, having this cop stop him from moving freely about his own home. But he was anxious to find out what was going on. Frankie was all ears and Tremaine, too, hung on the officer’s every word.

  “We were called here tonight by your wife…” The sergeant looked at his notepad and found the name he was searching for. “… Camille. She informed us that she arrived home to find that your brother had been shot in the kitchen. According to her, he was dead when she arrived.”

  Frankie felt the blood drain from his face.

  “The murder weapon was found lying beside the deceased. Camille picked up a knife nearby and then proceeded to the dining room where she found her sister seated at the table.”

  “Misa?” Frankie couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

  Sergeant Denton referred to his notes again. “Yes, sir. Misa Atkinson. Your wife found her seated in the dining room with blood spattered on her hands and on her clothes. There were also some bloody handprints found on the wall in the dining room. When we arrived, Ms. Atkinson was still seated in the dining room, in somewhat of a…” The sergeant seemed to search for the right words. “… a state of shock. We’ve since moved her to another room where detectives are talking to her. She has so far refused to answer our questions but she has acknowledged that she is the person who committed this crime. We’re attempting now to establish a motive for what happened here tonight. And we’re hoping that you or your wife may be able to shed some light on anything that may have transpired recently between your siblings.”

  Frankie leaned against the wall, feeling like he might pass out at any moment. “You’re telling me that Misa killed my brother?” A million thoughts raced through his head. What possible reason could she have to hurt his brother? The two rarely even spoke to each other as far as Frankie knew.

  Sergeant Denton nodded. “That’s what we believe based on what we’ve been told and also based on the fact that there were no signs of forced entry into the home. Nothing has been stolen, according to your wife, and your sister-in-law admits that she shot the victim until the gun was empty.”

  “Shit!” Tremaine muttered under his breath.

  “We’d like to have you come with us into the kitchen where we’ve collected your brother’s remains for transport to the medical examiner’s office. If you can confirm his identity, we can process the case much faster since he’s now listed in our report as John Doe. We’ll need to perform an autopsy and will need your permission to do that.”

  Frankie stood there in silence for a moment or two.

  “… your brother’s remains…”

  He felt his heart pounding in his chest, and felt his palms sweating despite the freezing January cold. On shaky legs, Frankie followed the officer into the kitchen and Tremaine trailed behind, taking in the whole scene. With each step through his home, Frankie felt as if he were walking through a nightmare. He looked around for signs of a struggle, but saw no clues as to what could have made Misa kill Steven. It felt surreal, and as they entered the kitchen it became downright horrific. A large pool of blood was in the middle of the floor. Broken glass crunched under Frankie’s feet as he entered. A few officers were snapping pictures of the blood all over the room for use as evidence. Steven lay on a gurney, his cold and lifeless body shrouded in a black body bag. The bag was zipped up to his chin, revealing only his face, which was frozen in a ghastly expression, eyes wide open.

  Blinking back tears, Frankie nodded. “That’s him.”

  Sergeant Denton nodded toward one of the junior officers and they zipped Steven’s body all the way up and wheeled him out past Frankie and Tremaine who stood in stunned silence. Frankie looked around the kitchen. He watched one cop walk past with a .38 Special zipped up in a plastic bag. Gathering that this was the murder weapon, Frankie turned his attention back to Sergeant Denton.

  “Where is she?”

  “Your wife?”

  Frankie shook his head. “Misa.”

  The sergeant seemed to hesitate, as if unsure whether or not it would be wise to let this man, who was clearly upset, be in the same room as the suspect. He decided to go for it. After all, it might be interesting to see how Misa reacted to seeing her brother-in-law. Figuring that the worst that could happen would be that some questions might get answered, Sergeant Denton led the way to the living room where Misa sat surrounded by detectives.

  Camille stood with her back to him, flanked by Toya and Dominique, both of whom had just arrived. When Frankie entered the room, Misa’s face resonated with fear. Turning around to see what had caused Misa’s re
action, Camille came face-to-face with her husband.

  “Frankie,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

  He ignored his wife, instead staring straight at Misa. The officers on the scene stood guardedly, waiting to see what would happen. But they said nothing as Frankie stared at his sister-in-law and walked slowly toward her.

  “You did this?” he asked, his gaze fixed on her.

  Misa’s jaw clenched. Her body seemed to tense and she stared right back at Frankie as he drew nearer. She nodded, and in one swift motion, Frankie lunged at her, snatching her by the neck as officers hurriedly pulled him off her. Camille ran to him, trying to plead her sister’s case. But Frankie shoved her off him.

  “Get the fuck off me!” he bellowed as Tremaine and Sergeant Denton restrained him.

  “Calm down,” Tremaine urged. “You don’t want to go to jail tonight, Frankie.”

  “Listen to your friend, Mr. Bingham,” a detective warned.

  Frankie’s chest heaved as he glared at Misa, who was holding her neck as if he’d managed to hurt her in the few seconds he’d tried to squeeze the life out of her. “Why’d you do that to my brother, Misa?” he asked, tears streaming down his face. Steven was Frankie’s Achilles’ heel—his weakness. By hurting Steven—who Frankie had always tried to protect from any kind of harm—Misa had crushed him in a way she couldn’t possibly imagine.

  Misa shook her head as tears fell from her eyes, too. She hadn’t thought this far ahead. It hadn’t occurred to her that she would hurt Frankie, that his marriage to her sister might never survive this. Frankie had always been generous to her. But she still had no regrets about what she’d done to Steven. The bastard deserved what she’d done and more! She said nothing as her brother-in-law looked at her with hate in his eyes.

  “I asked you a fuckin’ question!” he yelled. “Why’d you shoot my brother?”

  Toya and Dominique held Camille back as she still struggled to get free and get close to her husband. Toya had to fight the urge to slap her friend. Instead, she hissed at her, “Don’t go near him right now, bitch! He’s pissed! Be easy.”

  Finally, Misa spoke up, her voice low and calculated. “He was fucking with my son, Frankie,” she said through clenched teeth. “He was molesting Shane!”

  Frankie’s expression conveyed utter disbelief. He looked at Camille, then back to Misa. “You’re crazy!”

  Misa was enraged now. “No, your muthafuckin’ brother was crazy!”

  “Easy,” one of the detectives warned her, as Tremaine got a tighter grip on Frankie.

  Frankie looked at his friend and took a deep breath. He looked Tremaine in the eye and said, “Let me go. It’s all right. I’m not gonna touch her.”

  Slowly, and hesitantly, Tremaine released his grip on Frankie. Frankie took two steps back, closed his eyes, and cupped his hands in front of his face as if in prayer. Looking at Misa, he frowned. “You think my brother was touching Shane?”

  Misa didn’t answer. As far as she was concerned, the subject was not up for debate. She didn’t think Steven had done it. She knew he had.

  “You got this idea in your head and you came over here … to my house. And you killed him?”

  Again, Camille stepped gingerly toward her husband.

  “Frankie…”

  He held one hand up to her as if to stop her from coming any closer. “Nah,” he said calmly. “Stay away from me.”

  He was unmoved by Camille’s tears as Dominique hugged her. Frankie shook his head. Camille was carrying on like she was the victim. Meanwhile, his poor brother had been pumped full of lead and accused of a heinous act against a child. He turned his attention back to Misa, who was again refusing to answer the detective questioning her.

  “Misa, you just said that your son was being molested. Can you elaborate on that?”

  She shook her head. “I want a lawyer.”

  The detective nodded. She had already told him that a thousand times in the past hour and a half. “You understand that we have no choice but to place you under arrest and take you down to the station?”

  She nodded. She couldn’t wait to get the fuck out of here. She felt like she was in a fishbowl, with all eyes on her. Frankie, more than anyone, was making her want to get out of this house as soon as possible.

  The detective rose and guided Misa to her feet. Handcuffing her behind her back, he noticed that she was shaking despite her icy demeanor. He could tell that she was scared to death as he read her rights.

  “You have the right to remain silent,” he said. “Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney…”

  As Misa acknowledged that she understood what she was being told, Camille looked at her husband. Frankie had an expression on his face unlike any she’d ever seen before. Clearly, he was devastated by his brother’s murder. But the pain of what Misa had accused Steven of was evident on his face as well, as he stared at her being led out of the house and into a police car. Sergeant Denton was explaining to Camille that a bail hearing would not be held for Misa for hours, that she’d be spending the rest of the night down at the precinct and would be brought to court to appear before a judge sometime after noon that day. As he finished giving her this information, Sergeant Denton suggested that Camille find somewhere else to spend the night. The home was still being processed as a crime scene, plus the last thing he wanted was to leave the Binghams alone together after what he’d just witnessed.

  “You can come back to my house, Camille. You can stay for as long as you want,” Dominique said.

  Camille was still staring at Frankie. Their eyes met and for a few silent moments, she pleaded with her eyes for him to talk to her. Instead, he stared at her blankly before he turned away, tapped Tremaine on the arm, and strode right past Camille and out the front door. She called after him, but he ignored her and kept on walking.

  “Let him go, Camille,” Toya said. Her tone of voice conveyed that she was sick of her friend calling after Frankie. “He just found out that his brother was killed. It’s a lot to digest in one night.”

  Camille took a deep breath. She knew that Frankie needed time to sort out everything that was happening. Shit, she hadn’t processed it all herself. But, as she packed a suitcase to take to Dominique’s house, she admitted to herself that it was deeper than just tonight. She knew that things in her family would never be the same again. Frankie had left her for Gillian. Camille was pregnant with his child. Steven was dead. Misa was in jail. And poor Shane had been victimized. In a daze, Camille left her million-dollar home amid the flashing lights of news cameras and the curious stares of her neighbors. As she climbed into Dominique’s MKX, shielding her face from the news photographers, she cried for all of them. This was worse than anything she could have ever imagined.

  Reckoning

  The sun had come up, and Gillian had brewed a fresh pot of coffee by the time Frankie returned to her Manhattan home. By then her imagination had gotten the best of her. Last she’d heard, Frankie was running off to the home he shared with his estranged wife—who, incidentally, had just announced that she was pregnant. Gillian had lain awake all night while Danno and Biggs patrolled her home like pit bulls. She wondered what had happened to Steven, wondered why Frankie hadn’t bothered to call. Gillian was worried sick.

  When Frankie came through the door at just after seven-thirty in the morning, Gillian was standing near her floor-to-ceiling kitchen windows gripping a coffee mug. Seeing him enter, she set the mug down on the nearby marble countertop and looked at him expectantly. Her eyes seemed sad, and Frankie almost dissolved in a puddle of tears at her feet. He hated having to burden her with more horrible news. But what had happened to his brother was not something he could keep from her.

  He walked over to her and pulled her close to him. His strong arms overwhelmed her as he inhaled her scent. With his nose nestled in her hair and her face buried in the crook of his arm, Frankie openly cried. Gillian’s hair bec
ame damp with his tears and she clung to him, aware that his underlings were still present and that Frankie had never been one to cry in public before. Despite the grimmest of circumstances, he kept a stiff upper lip. But now he openly wept, seeming not to care who saw him fall apart. Finally, he loosened the grip he had on her and she reached up and touched his face, wet with tears. Glancing around she noticed that Danno, Biggs, and Tremaine had had sense enough to withdraw to her study.

  She looked at Frankie, his eyes squeezed shut as if to stop the torrent that was pouring forth. “What happened?” she whispered softly. “Come here.” Gillian kissed Frankie’s exquisite lips and wiped his face. “Tell me, Frankie. What happened?”

  Frankie shook his head back and let out a deep and seemingly calming breath. When he looked at Gillian again, his eyes were red and puffy. She led him by the hand to her living room and got him situated on the couch. Sitting beside him, she squeezed his hand as he began.

  “My brother is dead.” Frankie’s voice was monotone, his eyes distant. “Misa shot him. She…” His voice caught in his throat then. Clearing it out, he clenched his jaw, folded and unfolded his hands, and then went on. “She went to the house while no one was home last night. She had keys.” His voice got louder. “You know what I’m saying? We trusted that bitch with keys to the house ’cuz her son was over there all the time. She let herself in. And she waited for him. And when he came in, she shot him.” Gillian couldn’t believe what she was hearing, but she kept quiet as he continued. “Pulled the trigger six times and then sat there. Camille found her in the dining room.”

  Gillian couldn’t be silent any longer. She almost didn’t believe what he was telling her, but then how could he possibly make up such madness? “Frankie, what are you telling me? Misa shot Steven … for what? Why would she just go over there and kill him?”

  Frankie stared at the floor. His mind was reeling. After leaving his home, he had ridden in Tremaine’s car to the morgue and signed the forms necessary to perform the autopsy. It all felt like a bad dream to him. Like he was trapped in his worst nightmare but couldn’t wake up no matter how hard he tried. Steven, the little brother he had nurtured, attempted to mentor, and protected, was dead. Frankie knew that their mother, whom he hadn’t spoken to in at least two years, would be devastated. This might be the thing it took to finally kill her.