The Woman Trapped in the Dark

by J. D. Mason

  James was not the voice of reason in this situation. Even if he was right, Naomi couldn’t afford to get caught up in thinking about shit like that right now. The only way she could handle this was one day at a time, and the only reason she’d agreed to do this, besides the money, was because DJ assured her that the woman wouldn’t be killed.

  “No matter,” she told him definitively. “I’ll take her food.”

  The way he looked at her made Naomi take a step back.

  James held out his hand again. “Or I could show up at your door today at around five thirty.”

  Of course this dirty bastard would play dirty games. If Thomas found out that James came back, every hope she’d ever had of saving herself and her children would be gone.

  “My husband will be home,” she murmured, more to herself than to him, her plans for escape dangerously balancing the actions of this fool sitting in front of her.

  “I know,” he said, stretching out his arm and waiting for her to place the key in his palm.

  Hold Your Nose

  BELLE WAS SLEEPING IN THE OTHER ROOM. She’d been staying with Shou Shou since she’d started feeling poorly. The hush of night fell around her, and Shou should’ve been asleep, but she was wide awake, sitting up in her bed, more anxious than she’d been about anything in a very long time. Sleep should’ve come hours ago, but lately, she’d gotten her days and her nights mixed up. That sometimes happened to the blind, but it hadn’t happened to Shou in years. Her nerves were bad, only she didn’t know why. It was as if someone had shot a jolt of electricity through her, flooding her with unsettled energy.

  She’d tried not to let on how nervous she really felt, to keep Belle and Marlowe from worrying too much. The doctor had said that her blood pressure was fine and that Shou was healthier than just about anybody else she’d ever seen at her age. She was into her seventies now. But what was ailing her wasn’t physical. It was spiritual. Warfare. Her ancestors were restless, jostling around each other trying to put order to chaos. Whose?

  “Y’all need to tell me,” she murmured earnestly to the spirits.

  Did it have anything to do with one of her girls? Shou absently wrung her hands together in her lap.

  “Marlowe.” She mouthed her niece’s name over and over again. “That one always did give me the blues. Lord knows Belle ain’t got no business to worry me. Never does.”

  Her lovely Marlowe with her soft and willing heart was vulnerable to the world’s ugly ways. She called herself being in love with that man called Plato. Shou never liked him. His spirit was filled with shadows and warnings. He held part of himself back and away from Marlowe and from anybody who threatened to get too close.

  “She don’t listen,” Shou said, shaking her head. “Too damn hardheaded. Stubborn and silly.”

  Marlowe would fall in love with a rock if it rolled the right way. That crazy girl just wanted Plato. Didn’t matter how he came to her or when.

  “Is it her again? Is she who’s got me worrying so?”

  Shou sat and waited for the ancestors to confirm her suspicions that her niece was the cause of all of Shou’s turmoil, but they were quiet.

  She thought about Belle, Marlowe’s cousin and Shou’s other niece, sleeping quietly in the other room. LuLu Belle she used to call her when she was just a little girl. Sweet and unselfish, Belle never asked for nothing, but she gave. Oh, she was generous to a fault, with everything except her heart. Shou feared that love would never come for Belle because she ran from it, had been running her whole life. Belle never wanted a man to come into her life because she was afraid he’d break her heart. Shou’d tried to tell Belle that she’d been breaking it herself since she’d first come into this world.

  “My hands and feet are always cold,” she said to her ancestors. “Nothing I do seems to warm ’em up.” Sudden tears filled her eyes. “I’m afraid.” Her voice trembled. “But of what, I just don’t know.”

  An authentic, unexplainable fear filled her inside and wrapped around the outside of her like a blanket. It had been gradually building, growing stronger with each passing day. On the surface, Shou had no reason to be afraid, but this feeling was unnatural and spiritual. It was the worst kind because it came at her from all directions with no good sense of what was causing it.

  The last time she’d felt this way was when Marlowe’s twin, Marjorie, got sick. She hadn’t even gone to the doctor yet, but Shou knew before anyone that death was coming for her. She knew and didn’t tell anybody and it did. By the time Marjorie went to the doctor, they told her that she had only months to live. Shou Shou had already known it, though. The memory prickled on her skin.

  The flavor of a peach filled her mouth all of a sudden. It was as if she’d actually taken a bite of one. Shou smacked her lips and swallowed the sweet, sticky nectar of the fruit washing down her throat. Panic immediately filled her.

  “But I’m allergic to peaches,” she said dreadfully.

  What if death was coming for her? Peaches made her break out in hives and closed her throat. The last time she’d eaten one had been more than thirty years ago, and oh, that peach sure gave Shou Shou a fit. And it was the best peach she’d ever eaten, too. The juice from it ran between her fingers and down her chin. She ended up in the hospital because of it.

  All of a sudden, the spirits had her!

  A rush of warm air filled her room and washed over Shou’s body, pushing breath back into her chest and pressing heavy against her. She felt herself floating—flying until suddenly she stopped and felt twigs and dry leaves crunch beneath her bare feet.

  She jerked, startled by the sight of a dark and commanding figure of a man with no face. Shou had vision in her spiritual walks. Never clear vision, though, blurred shadows mostly and this one was no different. But she knew who he was instinctively; she knew that he was Marlowe’s man, Plato. Black from head to toe, featureless, big and bold. She handled him well enough in the real world. He was scared of her here. But Shou was seeing him in the spirit world, his true self.

  “I’m allergic to peaches,” she blurted out in defense, as if he were personally going to force her to eat one.

  He needed to know that. For some reason she didn’t understand, he needed to know that Shou was allergic to peaches and that she would not stand by and let him force one into her mouth.

  The scent of ripe peaches filled the air.

  “So sweet,” she repeated, turning in slow circles and inhaling the scent. “But Lord, no! I can’t eat ’em. I can’t.”

  It was as if someone had taken her and dropped her into what her version of hell would be. The smell of them peaches was strong enough to taste. The hair on her arms stood up as welts began to swell on her skin.

  “I ain’t ate any!” she yelled angrily. “I ain’t even touched one!”

  But the smell was overwhelming. It was in the air all around her, thick like marmalade, so rich she could taste it on her tongue.

  “No!” she spat.

  Shou felt the muscles in her neck constrict; her windpipe began to close in on itself. She began to claw at her neck, gasping and coughing, desperate to catch pockets of air to fill her lungs before it was too late.

  * * *

  “Auntie?” Belle’s voice startled Shou back into this present moment, still coughing and trying to catch her breath.

  “It’s all right. Just a bad dream, Auntie Shou. I got you.”

  The urgent need to tell him that she was allergic to peaches was too overwhelming to ignore.

  “Get me the phone, Belle,” she recovered and told her niece.

  “Auntie Shou, it’s late.”

  “Get the phone, girl. Now.”

  Belle took the phone from the nightstand and handed it to her. Shou fumbled with it until she found the button to push to dial Marlowe’s number. Her hands were shaking so terribly she feared she’d drop the phone.

  “Hello?” Marlowe answered groggily.

  “Is he there?” Shou asked, her voice shaking.r />
  Every nerve in her body was on edge. If that bastard was going to try to kill Shou with a peach, he needed to know that she was on to him. That she’d be watching him, and that he’d have one hell of a fight on his hands if he thought he could get rid of her so easily.

  “Aunt Shou?” Marlowe asked, confused.

  “Put him on the phone, Marlowe,” she demanded.

  “What? Who?”

  “Your man, girl! Put his ass on the phone.”

  “Calm down, Auntie,” Belle said, soothingly rubbing Shou’s arm.

  Shou slapped her hand away.

  “Yeah,” he finally said huskily.

  “I’m allergic to peaches,” she said angrily.

  “What?”

  “I’m allergic to peaches, gotdammit!”

  “Why’re you telling me this?”

  “’Cause you need to know. You keep yo’ distance and you keep them peaches away from me. You hear me? I mean it. You keep them peaches away from me!”

  Shou abruptly hung up and shoved the phone back in Belle’s general direction.

  After a few minutes, Belle, feeling that Shou had calmed down enough to sleep, left and went back to her room. But Shou wouldn’t get any sleep tonight. Not until that bastard understood who he was dealing with. Not until he took his damn peaches and shoved them up his ass. That devil would not take Shou without a fight.

  Couldn’t Fake It

  “GO ON, BABY GIRL,” James said as tenderly as he knew how, sliding the white paper bag on the floor toward her. “Got you a burger and some fries.” James then slid the soda over to her. “None of that boring-ass shit that old girl’s been giving you to eat.”

  Pretty brown eyes locked on to his and James quietly fell in love. He wasn’t a bad dude, and he wanted her to know that. It wasn’t hard to see that she didn’t trust him, though. But he got it. She was scared, and him hiding behind this mask wasn’t helping.

  He remembered the first time he’d seen her, weighed down with steel-toed boots and a utility belt. There’s no hiding pretty no matter how hard you tried. But she didn’t pay him no mind. Barely even glanced at him when she asked him what his name was and offered to help him unload his truck. She thanked him when they finished. Smiled when she did it. Almost like she might actually remember him, but he knew that she wouldn’t.

  “I swear it’s good,” he assured her with a smile. “Just take a few bites. You don’t have to finish it.”

  Reluctantly, she opened the sack, pulled out the hamburger, and took a small bite, but she never took her eyes off his. James liked that. Watching her eat, he couldn’t help but think about the magic she spread all over that man of hers that probably drove him crazy. Why else would James, DJ, and Naomi be hired to go through so much trouble taking her and keeping her? Whoever he was, the people behind all this believed that he was crazy enough about her to pay to get her back, way more money than the three of them were getting. Are you worth it, sweetheart? he wanted to ask.

  “I’m not supposed to know your name,” he said softly, “and of course you can’t know mine.”

  It was just the two of them in this small room. James played this game in his head, the one where he would try to do the right thing. DJ had his rules that he expected James to follow. Bullshit rules that didn’t mean a damn thing. James played along, though, in his mind. He was the good guy. In reality, he could do whatever the hell he wanted to her and no one could stop him.

  “Is this a courtship?” James posed the question more to himself than to her.

  She stopped eating. He wanted her to trust him. He wanted to impress her and to sway her into relaxing just a little bit with him here. He could be her savior. Couldn’t he? James could be the one to set her free if she could somehow convince him that he should. It was an odd thought for him to have, and he had no idea why it even came to mind, especially when he knew the truth. He knew it better than any of them. Her fate was sealed and James was the only one with the courage to think about it.

  James would be the one to kill her because DJ was too chickenshit to do it, and Nay was fuckin’ useless. James would do it because he was the only one who could do it. The revelation struck him like a punch in the gut. So, he owned her. Didn’t he? He held her life in his hands and that meant that she, in some way, belonged to him.

  “I don’t want any more,” she said softly, putting the hamburger back in the bag and pushing it over to him.

  He sat across from her on the floor for several minutes wondering how he’d do it. Something quick. A bullet? When she wasn’t looking. A bullet when she thought she was free. Damn! That’d be fucked-up. Wouldn’t it?

  “How much money did they promise you?”

  Her question caught him by surprise. Miss Abby squared her shoulders and challenged him with a look.

  “I beg your pardon?” he asked, surprisingly proud at the courage she seemed to have all of a sudden.

  “I can get you more than what they said they’d give you.” She swallowed. “I assure you—I can.”

  She was serious. James leaned his head to one side and studied her.

  “Whatever they’ve promised you, I can double it. Triple it.”

  Of course she was thinking she would get it from that rich motha fucka.

  “And no one would ever have to know,” she told him. “You could take the money and disappear. Go where you want. Do what you want. I can make this happen,” she said, with all the confidence of a queen.

  Of course, James had to consider this offer. The money DJ had promised him was nice and all, but it didn’t take a genius to know that it wasn’t enough to last for the rest of his life. Her man could set James up for forever, and the idea was far too tempting to just dismiss it.

  “I just need to make a call,” she continued softly. “One call and you can have more money than you ever dreamed of and no one would ever have to know about this.”

  James took a deep breath and let what she’d said sink in. This was a deal just for him. Not DJ or Naomi, but just James.

  “You know it’s a good plan,” she said. “You win if we do it this way. You win. Be smart about this.”

  After a long pause, he finally spoke. “A phone call?”

  She nodded. “Yes.”

  He could be a rich man, too, with a whole collection of chocolate beauties like her at his beck and call if that’s what he wanted. And all he’d have to do is let her make that call. James raked his hand over his head and let that idea take hold. Basically, he’d be flipping a finger to his brother and Nay, and riding off into the sunset free and clear of this. Or she could be setting him up.

  “Who would you call, sweetheart?”

  She damn near choked holding on to her man’s name.

  “I ain’t no genius.” He shook his head and sighed. “But I ain’t a complete fool, either.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  “Stop,” he commanded, and pointed at her. “You call him. He has my number and takes it to the police. I seen my share of movies. They trace this number to me and then track it to a cell tower somewhere around here and find you.”

  “Then get another phone,” she suggested desperately. “One from the convenience store. They can’t trace that to you.”

  “But they would be able to find you, and then we’d all be up shit creek.”

  “I won’t tell—”

  “No, you won’t,” he said, pressing his finger to his lips. “Sounds good, though. Damn! How much would he pay me for you?”

  She shook her head slightly and shrugged. “Let me make the call. He’ll pay whatever you want.”

  All of a sudden, James laughed. “What the hell did you do to him, girl?” he asked absently, staring mesmerized by this woman.

  For all her lovely promises, he knew that there was no other way for this situation to play out than the one ending with her dead.

  “Then let me give you the number and you can call from any phone, anywhere.”

  Did she know she
was living on borrowed time? Did she know that his face would be the last one she’d ever see again? Killing was intimate and he wanted to know her.

  “How’d he find you?”

  She glowered at him and then anger turned to fear. Which was only right. James scooted closer. She tried to disappear into that wall behind her to separate herself from him. He studied her, wondering what she might’ve looked like all made up and wearing fancy clothes.

  “Where’d you meet him?”

  Men like the one paying for her could have any woman they wanted. Why had this one chosen her? And why did James give a shit? She was just going to die anyway.

  Tears glistened in her eyes.

  “What’s so special about you?” he asked. James nodded his own affirmation. “I mean, you look good and all, but you’re just some bitch outta Blink. What’s so special about you, Miss Abby? Why would he pay all that money to get you back?”

  Deep down she had to know how all this was going to end. He reached for her. She was close enough to touch, but she shrugged away from his fingertips, recoiled like a snake. James couldn’t help himself. He laughed.

  “Where the hell you think you gonna go, baby?”

  “Just leave,” she said shakily. “Please.”

  It was her rejection of him that fueled him. It made him want her even more, just because she had the nerve to think he couldn’t. James abruptly reached out to her, grabbed her by one of her ankles, and pulled her to him.

  “No!” she screamed, kicking with her free leg, but he grabbed hold of that one too, pulled her off that mat and across the floor and onto his lap. “Oh, God! No!”

  James laughed, pinning her thighs against his sides with his arms, and twisting both her arms behind her, pinning them to her back. Her soft breasts pressed against his chest. And his dick doubled in size and pressed painfully against his zipper. Oh, she fought. And the harder she fought, the harder he got.

  “You getting me all worked up, baby girl,” he said, nuzzling his face in the crook of her neck and inhaling. “Mmmm.” He kissed her there. “Shit! You feel so damn good.”