Eye for an Eye

by Dwayne S. Joseph

Shante shook her head. “Sorry, but our phone’s not working either. The power’s out here too.”

  Rebecca shifted her head to the right and tried to look past Shante, who quickly shifted to the left to block her view. “But your lights are on,” she said.

  Shante said, “The lights are, but the phone’s out. Sorry.”

  “That’s weird,” Rebecca said, flexing her fingers around the grip of her 9 mm. She was a horrible liar.

  “Yeah, it’s a weird house. Anyway, I was in the middle of something, so . . .” She started to close the door.

  Rebecca quickly slid her foot against the bottom of it. “What about a cell phone?”

  “Look, I don’t own one.”

  “What about the man of the house? I saw him walking around earlier.”

  Shante clenched her jaw and drummed her fingers against the wood of the door. She was agitated and nervous as she took a quick glance behind her. “He doesn’t own one either,” she said, looking back at Rebecca, her voice sharp and biting.

  Rebecca stared at her intensely. Lisette was in trouble and by the panicked glint in Shante’s eye, and the drumming of her fingers, Rebecca knew that something was going on right at that moment.

  She gave Shante a hard glare.

  Shante returned it in kind.

  And then a scream for help erupted from upstairs.

  Lisette’s voice.

  Shante turned her head momentarily and in that brief moment, Rebecca didn’t hesitate.

  She pushed against the door, knocking Shante back, and brought her pistol from behind her back and pointed it at her. “Don’t move!”

  Shante’s eyes grew wide.

  “Back up!” Rebecca ordered as Lisette called out for help again.

  Suddenly there was a crashing noise. Rebecca looked up toward a set of stairs at the end and to the right of the foyer.

  That was a mistake.

  Before she knew it, Shante rammed her shoulder into her, sending her crashing back into the wall. Rebecca grunted and air escaped from her lungs as the 9 mm fell from her hands.

  Shante dove for the gun. Rebecca quickly made a move for Shante, throwing herself down onto her. The gun, which had been in Shante’s grasp slightly, went sliding down the foyer.

  Rebecca grabbed Shante’s hair as she tried to scramble for the 9 mm.

  Shante screamed out, “Bitch!” and tried to pry Rebecca’s hands from her hair with one hand, shoved her other hand in Rebecca’s face, and lashed out at Rebecca’s thigh and midsection with her feet.

  Rebecca had always been attractive, but she’d never been an attractive women who shied away from physical contact, and even though it had been a very, very long time since she’d been in a knock-down, drag-out rumble, she tussled as though it were something she did on a regular basis.

  She tightened her grasp around Shante’s hair, refusing to let go, and bit at Shante’s hand in her face.

  Shante screamed and contorted her body wildly, trying to get Rebecca off of her. Rebecca rammed her knee into Shante’s side and pulled at her hair even harder.

  Shante screamed out again, swung out, and knocked Rebecca off of her just enough for her to stretch out and wrap her fingers around the gun. Quickly, Rebecca was on her again, her hand clamped over Shante’s. They wrestled on the ground, both fighting to possess the weapon, while upstairs more crashing could be heard.

  Shante was strong, Rebecca would give her that. She was giving her all she could handle and more, but Rebecca had been too determined and also too scared, and that fear gave Rebecca the edge.

  She drove her knee into Shante’s stomach, then used her elbow and hit her in her face. For a split second Shante released the gun, and that split second was all Rebecca needed.

  Acting purely on instinct, she took control of the 9mm, shoved it into Shante’s chest, and squeezed the trigger.

  Shante cried out and then within seconds, her fight ceased. Rebecca, breathing heavily, backed away and pointed the 9mm at Shante, ready to fire again. But that wasn’t going to be necessary.

  Shante was dead.

  Rebecca breathed deeply as her heart beat heavily. Her hands trembled violently as the reality of what she’d done hit her.

  She’d killed someone.

  Before she could prevent it from happening, she doubled over and vomited. When she was finished, she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and then sniffed as the scent of something caught her nostrils. She turned quickly, looked toward the end of the foyer, and saw smoke coming from upstairs.

  She stood up with her 9 mm gripped tightly in her hand and ran to the stairs.

  45

  I could do nothing but watch.

  As Aida rushed the woman whose name I still didn’t know. Kyra’s lover. She killed Ryan. No. Not Ryan. Griffin. I’m sure that wasn’t his real name either. She killed him without a thought, without hesitation, in cold blood. She was going to do the same to Aida and then come back to me to finish the job she’d started.

  I pulled against the ropes tied around my wrists, hoping that if I couldn’t break free from the bindings, then maybe I could use the bindings to my advantage to break one of the bedposts.

  I pulled. Hard. Felt the rope dig into my flesh. Felt it burn as I eased and then pulled again. I pulled relentlessly. Tried to be superhuman. But as hard as I tried over and over and over, nothing happened. And so I was forced to just watch and hope that Aida could kick the bitch’s ass.

  I watched.

  As Aida grabbed Kyra’s lover by her wrists and shoved her back into the dressing table.

  I watched.

  As that bitch bent her wrist and tried to angle the razor blade down so that it sliced Aida’s hand. And when her attempt had been unsuccessful because Aida’s strength was too much for her, I watched her lift her knee and drive it into Aida’s stomach. The move had been just enough to cause Aida to let go, and when she did, I watched as she brought down her hand with the razor. Fortunately, Aida had moved just enough to the side so that the blade only caught her on the arm.

  Aida cried out, but her adrenaline pumping, she quickly blocked the next attack with her left forearm and then threw a right cross straight to the bitch’s chin. The bitch cried out, but refused to let go of the blade, and swung out to keep Aida from advancing.

  “Bitch! I’m going to kill you!”

  In a wild rage, she charged at Aida, who sidestepped her and stuck her foot out, catching her at her ankle, causing her to stumble. As she fell forward, she swung out again and caught Aida on her thigh.

  Aida yelled out as blood flowed from a gash the blade produced, but refused to let that stop her. She threw herself into the bitch, and I watched as they came crashing to the floor beside me.

  Two things happened then.

  One good.

  The other bad.

  The good: the blade finally fell from her hands.

  The bad: the night table with the four candles toppled over, sending the candles to the ground, where one of the candle’s flames set afire the bottom of the curtain hanging by the window.

  I watched.

  As Aida, who had the advantage by being on top, hit the bitch twice in the face, one of her blows bringing blood from her nose.

  Kyra’s lover yelled out and reached her hands up and grabbed strands of Aida’s hair. She pulled down hard, causing Aida’s chin to go up toward the ceiling, and then twisted her over.

  While all of this went on, I watched smoke begin to fill the room as the fire on the curtain grew bigger and began to spread.

  I watched.

  That’s all I could fucking do.

  Aida and Kyra’s lover continued to go at it.

  Blow for blow. Kick for kick. Scratch for scratch. Bite for bite when possible. Wrestling, twisting, grunting.

  A gun shot suddenly went off from downstairs.

  I turned and looked toward the door for a moment, and when I turned back, the bitch was still on the bottom, but had the blade in her hand again. I
n a swift motion, she dragged the blade across Aida’s stomach.

  Aida cried out as Kyra’s lover pushed her to the side.

  “Bitch! You fucking whore! Now it’s over for you!”

  Kyra’s lover got to her knees and raised her hand.

  Aida was on her side, her hand over her wound, which was much more than a flesh wound.

  Fire burned.

  Smoke as thick as cotton hung around us.

  I coughed and watched as Kyra’s lover brought the blade down, going for Aida’s neck.

  I watched.

  As blood and brain matter spewed from her forehead suddenly, and her body slumped to the side, her arm, blade in hand, coming down at Aida’s side.

  I watched.

  As Rebecca Stantin rushed into the room and screamed my name. “Lisette!”

  Rebecca Stantin.

  There.

  It didn’t make sense to me. But I said, “Untie me! Quickly!”

  Rebecca moved to me and fumbled with the ropes. “The knots are too tight!”

  “Grab her blade!”

  Rebecca nodded, and moved to Kyra’s lover’s dead body.

  I glanced at Aida. Blood was flowing from her stomach, but she was breathing.

  Rebecca came back and began cutting the ropes.

  I coughed, the smoke burning the inside of my lungs, and stinging my eyes. “Hurry!” I said, my eyes still on Aida. The fire was getting worse, spreading now across the room.

  Rebecca worked frantically and cut the rope tied around my right wrist. She moved to my left, cut it, and then took care of the binds around my ankles.

  I rolled from the bed and moved to Aida, pulling her away just as flames crept toward her. “Help me!”

  Rebecca moved and together we lifted Aida by her arms and carried her out of the room, which was quickly becoming engulfed in flames. We made our way down the stairs and out of the house where we collapsed on the front lawn.

  “We . . . need . . . help,” I said, coughing.

  Rebecca got up and ran to the neighbor’s house and banged on the door. When the owner opened the door, she raced inside without saying a word.

  I looked at Aida, who looked up at me with eyes dazed and bloodshot. She was bleeding and shivering, but despite the obvious pain she was in, she gave me a smile. She coughed and said in a whisper, “Is there something . . .” She coughed a few times and continued. “. . . something about your past you . . .” Another series of coughs. “You want to tell me about?”

  I shook my head and did the only thing I could. I laughed.

  Rebecca returned a moment later with blankets in her hand. “The police, EMT, and fire department are on the way.” She draped a blanket around me and then covered Aida.

  I looked at her and said, “What the hell are you doing here?”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Proving to you that I’m worthy.”

  I nodded and looked back to the house where Kyra’s lover, Shante Hunt, and their hired gigolo were burning up.

  I had to give it to Kyra’s ex.

  She’d done her homework and had put in a lot of overtime. It had been one hell of a plan. I was almost envious. Almost.

  But as good as her plan had been, there’d been one major flaw. It was the same flaw that Kyra’s had fallen victim to.

  They’d chosen the wrong bitch to fuck with.

  I looked back to Aida and Rebecca, their faces and bodies bruised and covered in blood and soot.

  No. I stand corrected.

  They’d chosen the wrong bitches to fuck with.

  Future

  46

  Three Months Later . . .

  “So you’re really going to do this?”

  “It’s time. Besides,you’re stepping down. Someone’s got to take your place.”

  “I’m not really stepping down. I just want to take some time. I want to focus solely on Ben, Michael, and me.”

  “I understand.”

  “And you’re sure that you can leave the field to come behind the desk? Because I’m telling you, it’s nowhere near as exciting.”

  I put my hand to my face and ran my fingers up and down my three-inch scar. It was a constant reminder of how exciting life could get.

  Kyra was dead.

  So was her lover, Vivian Johnson–not Steele–along with Shante Richards–not Hunt–and their hired gigolo, Jermain Reese–not Griffin or Ryan. Their identities were confirmed after their autopsies were conducted. All three of them had priors on their records.

  Hurt, but always thinking on my feet, I used the information Vivian had given me about Jermain, and told the police that both Aida and I had been kidnapped. That they’d planned to rape me after they had their way with Aida, who informed them that they had indeed done just that.

  Rebecca’s side of the story was that she’d been visiting her friend next door and was leaving when she heard screaming coming from the house. At first she was going to ignore it, but then she heard another scream, and this time it sounded like someone said the word, “Help!”

  Curiosity getting the best of her, she went to the neighbor’s house and knocked on the door until Shante answered. She was asking if everything was all right when another scream for help came from upstairs. Next thing Rebecca knew, Shante was attacking her, trying to drag her inside. Fortunately for Rebecca, she took self-defense classes and was licensed to carry a firearm for protection. She didn’t want to do it, but Shante had been trying to kill her, so Rebecca had to shoot her. She was going to call the police, but more screaming came from upstairs and so did smoke. Without giving it a second thought, Rebecca rushed upstairs and found me tied up and Aida on the ground bleeding and about to be cut again by Vivian. She hadn’t meant to shoot her in the head, it had just been a lucky shot. She untied me and then the two of us carried Aida out. Rebecca called 9-1-1 after that.

  The three of us wanted our identities to remain private, so before the media arrived on the scene, the EMTs took us away to the hospital, where we gave the police our stories and answered all of the questions they had. We were three women, three strangers, who’d survived a harrowing ordeal.

  No one doubted us and Rebecca never had to worry about using her gun.

  After the fire was put out, the police searched the home looking for any other kidnap victims. They didn’t find any, but they did find Myles’s body wrapped in a body bag and stuffed in the trunk of one of the cars in the garage. The discovery of Myles’s body allowed them to close the case for Kyra Rogers, who’d gone missing months ago.

  I said, “I don’t need the excitement right now.”

  Marlene said, “I think a break from it would do you some good. Who knows, maybe you can take that time to find someone.”

  I shook my head.

  She would never give up.

  As if she’d read my mind, she said, “It can happen, Lisette. Right now your song is just a song. There’s no real meaning behind it.”

  My song.

  “Amado Mio.”

  It was playing from my new iPod in the living room. Vivian tried to ruin it for me with her off-key and off-rhythm humming, but she’d failed. We had nothing in common, but through good times and bad, “Amado Mio” and I were joined at the hip. We would last longer than any marriage between a man and woman would.

  I said, “I don’t do love, Marlene.”

  She sighed. “I know, I know. I’m wasting my breath.”

  “Yes. You are.”

  “One day,” she said, breath wasting and not giving a damn. “One day I’m going to win this argument.”

  I smiled.

  She was ever the optimist.

  “Anyway, how’s Aida? I called her, but her phone went directly to voice mail.”

  Aida.

  I’d watched and approached her nearly a year ago because I’d seen in her things I’d only ever seen when I looked in the mirror. Most women would have caved after going through an experience like the one she’d gone through. But like me, she wasn’t
most women. She’d been beaten and scarred, but she was now mentally stronger than before. That made her one hell of a force to be reckoned with.

  “She’s in Hawaii on assignment.”

  “Really?”

  “A woman wants her husband taken down at his family reunion.”

  “Ouch,” Marlene said.

  “She wants to humiliate him in front of everyone before she leaves him.”

  “Are you sure Aida’s up for this? I mean, I know I’ve asked before if she was OK before, but what she went through . . . I don’t know . . . I just don’t see how she can’t be traumatized.”

  “Aida is fine,” I said. “She took what happened, processed it, accepted it, and learned from it.”

  “You make her sound like a robot.”

  “Not a robot. Just someone who understands the possible consequences of the business she’s in.”

  “But–”

  “She’s fine, Marlene,” I said. “I wouldn’t have let her get into anything if she wasn’t.”

  “I know. Well . . . what about Rebecca?”

  Rebecca.

  Of all the places in the world, she’d been at her friend’s house that night.

  She told me all about how she’d seen me go down and about how she’d gone around the house searching for a way inside, until she eventually had to knock on the front door. A move that eventually saved my life along with Aida’s.

  Of all the places.

  Despite the cold shoulder I’d given her and the messages I hadn’t returned, her desire remained strong. Rebecca wanted to be a home wrecker not for the thrill or the control, but because she wanted to truly help those who, for one reason or another, couldn’t or just didn’t know how to help themselves. Her ex-husband had his mission in life, and thanks to me, she had hers. All I had to do was give her a chance.

  She’d killed Shante.

  She’d killed Vivian seconds before Vivian could kill Aida.

  Of all the places.

  With her resolute determination, her will, and her 9 mm pistol, she saved my life. Not being sentimental, but I would always owe her for that.

  I said, “Rebecca is better than I thought she’d be.”

  “I still can’t believe her friend lived right next door,” Marlene said.