by Evie Rhodes
He stood in the shadows of dying flames, embers, and the passing of life, watching. He wanted to drop to his knees in agony. He wanted to rage, yell, just let out his pain. But he couldn’t let the traitor Temaine see that. He’d learned to keep your friends close, but keep your enemies closer.
He wanted to drop down just to say a prayer at Kesha’s passing, but he definitely couldn’t let a nigga see that either. His girl was gone and he couldn’t even pay a respect to her. He had to let her go as though she’d never existed. As though they’d never shared a life or formed one together.
So all he could do was stand, stare, and contemplate, while planning to kill Ballistic in the worst way possible. He felt for his daughter because she had just lost both parents at once. He wouldn’t be around because he was definitely going to kill this nigga.
His death would be by torture. Nothing else would do. Rico turned on his cell. The moment he did it lit up.
“You have my deepest sympathies, baby boy,” Ballistic gurgled in his ear. “By now I’m sure you can see there are no rules, Rico DeLeon Hudson.”
Rico didn’t speak because he couldn’t.
Hovering in the smoke above where his house had stood was an image of something, black, possibly male or female. It looked like it was made out of the soot of the ashes. Where the whites of the eyes should have been was a deep mustard yellow. The pupils flashed red. This thing. Oh my God! The thing had wings. Its mouth was thrown open, emitting a Gallic cry. A loud shriek rent the air.
“Rockabye, baby,” it shrieked.
Rico turned to see if Temaine saw what he saw, heard what he’d heard. However, it was obvious that Temaine didn’t see or hear a thing.
A loud click in his ear ended Ballistic’s call.
Chapter 28
That night Shannon walked down the street toward his house. He looked up in the sky to see a full moon. There he went, looking up again. As though the answer to his problems might be written there.
For no reason at all he shivered. The very air around him was alive. He had an audience, though it was yet unseen. The forces had been sowing seeds of hatred against him.
Between the realms of the natural and the supernatural the spirits were weighing in as though watching a prizefight. The principalities of darkness, as Papa had observed, were aligning themselves.
It was spiritual wickedness in high places.
It was more powerful than flesh, though many didn’t believe that. It didn’t matter. They would all be believers before it was all over. They took life too simply. Never bothering to look beyond that which they could see, feel, or touch.
Well, there were things that couldn’t be seen with the natural eye. But like air, that didn’t mean they weren’t there.
The Darkling had no respect of persons. All it wanted was payback. Revenge. If you took, then you would be taken. These were the laws of the universe. Laws written before the advent of mere men.
Ah, the Darkling was a rainmaker. When it rained it would pour. Blood would be running in the streets. Souls would be lost. This was child’s play. For now it would watch the mortals play themselves out, follow the pattern that had been prepared for their destruction.
After all, the Darkling had been created out of their destruction, out of their lustful, deceitful, and vengeful ways. And it would exact retribution in its own time.
Shannon stopped in his tracks. T-Bone stepped out in front of him, blocking his path. A crew of gangbangers stepped up immediately behind T-Bone.
Shannon looked shrewdly at him. He didn’t twitch a muscle. “You’re blocking my way. Move.”
“Do you know who I am, partner?”
“No.”
T-bone stepped closer. “Well, you should. You spilled some of my blood.”
Shannon looked on the ground. Like a river raging he saw an illusion of some more of this punk’s blood flowing down the street. Instead of feeding into that he said, “Look, man, you tell Rico if he wants some of me to come on. I’m tired of playing games with him.”
“Rico will take care of you in his own good time. This ain’t about Rico.” With that T-Bone shoved Shannon backward.
Shannon was bugging. He just knew this young punk didn’t put his hands on him. He shoved T-Bone clean off his feet. He planted his feet solidly on the sidewalk prepared to throw deathblows.
T-Bone slowly climbed to his feet. “This is about my brother, Michael Claybay.”
Shannon hit T-Bone so hard it rocked his entire world. A few of his teeth flew right out of his mouth. Scrambling to his feet he came at Shannon again. Shannon kneed him in the chin, and then did a couple of body blows to his midsection. He wasn’t even winded. T-Bone stumbled around, blood spurting, trying to gather himself, trying to focus.
The gang members, seeing that T-Bone was no match for Shannon, all jumped him at the same time. This dude was an O.G. street fighting was his game. They knew they would all have had trouble taking him on, on a one-on-one basis. So it was time for the proverbial beat-down.
Shannon threw blow after blow, but there were too many of them. In the process he broke some jaws and dislodged some more teeth, he heard a couple of bones crack, but there was no way he could win this fight.
They beat the daylights out of him until his blood was running in the streets. Then they ran leaving him bleeding on the sidewalk.
Shannon got up. Though he was badly bruised he made it to his house. Amazingly his pride was more injured than he was.
He had grown up in an era where in order to be a serious contender for street fighting you had to be able to take as good as you could give. He had always been able to take a lot of punishment as well as dish it out.
Walking into his living room he saw that his house was trashed. Someone had seriously wrecked the place. The stuffing had been cut out of the sofa. Chairs were broken and thrown around the room.
Black spray paint was everywhere. The aquarium had been turned over. Water was all over the wall-to-wall carpeting. It was soaked through and through. Glass and dead fish were scattered all over the rug.
The birdcage with the parrot in it was on the floor. Shannon walked over to the birdcage. He stooped down. The bird was lying in the cage with his throat cut. “Poor Pete,” he muttered. Pete had been silenced.
An eerie shrieking sound rent through the dark of the night surrounding Shannon’s house. The female-male-thing spread its wings across the dark of the sky just above Shannon’s house. Another shiver raced through his body.
In her bedroom Aisha heard the shrieking of the Darkling. She shivered at the same time as Shannon Davenport. Being unable to speak she raced to her small desk in the room. On a pad in red marker she scribbled one word over and over again in her shaking hand. JESUS. JESUS. JESUS.
As she did so Mama looked up in her living room frowning. Papa lowered his paper and even Nana Mama from her spot in the guest bedroom in Mama’s house strained her ears wondering if she had heard what she’d heard.
Shannon looked to the wall in the dining room. The artist had decided to switch from black spray paint to red. Apparently the artist wanted to give him a taste of creativity with their next message. Written on the dining room wall were the words YOU’RE NEXT.
Chapter 29
Shannon heard a noise behind him. He whirled around to see Tawney walk in. She stopped in pure horror at the sight that lay before her. Her mouth flew open but nothing came out. She backed her way to the door she had just walked through, her eyes wide with fright.
Something inside Tawney snapped. She couldn’t believe her own eyes. Who would do something like this to her house? Who killed her daughter? Who shot up her house? Why? Oh God! Oh God! “Oh my God! Why?”
She felt the frame of the door against her back. All she could think of was getting away. Putting some distance between herself and the impending nightmare her life was becoming.
She exhaled and then leaped down the porch steps.
“Tawney!” Shannon yelled, shocked b
y her action. “Tawney!”
She didn’t even heed the sound of his voice. She just knew she had to keep leaping. She had to get away. She needed some distance. Shannon ran out the door and leaped down the steps behind her.
Tawney sprinted down the street as though she were a prized horse on a racetrack. She was tall with long slender legs, and she had rhythm. She moved like a newborn colt. Shannon had never known she could run so fast.
“Tawney, stop. Where the hell are you going? Tawney! Tawney!”
She continued to run as though the devil himself were pursuing her. Shannon finally got close enough to tackle her. He landed on top of her. Both of them tumbled onto the hard concrete of the street.
Tawney fought wildly. Her fear turned into pure adrenaline, and she fought Shannon like a wildcat. She kicked and screamed, throwing him a right cross that caught him square on the jaw.
Finally Shannon pinned her hands down to her side. In a single stroke all the fight left Tawney. She hyperventilated, sobbing. Tears ran down her face.
Shannon grabbed her to him. He held her against his chest. “I’m sorry, baby. I am truly so, so sorry.”
Against his chest she said, “Oh my God, Shannon. They want to kill you. I can’t take any more. I just can’t take any more.” He heard the despair in her voice. He felt her body drain of all its energy as she leaned against him.
He stroked her hair. “Shush, baby. It’s gonna be all right. I promise it’s gonna be all right. I got this. Don’t worry.”
Tawney pulled away from him. “No, Shannon. It’s not going to be all right. I’m going to end up burying you next to Jazz.” With those words went the last crack in Tawney’s armor. A picture of the second coffin in her family to enter the ground flashed through her mind.
She screamed hysterically, beating her fist on the ground. “It’s not fair. I’m sick of this. It’s just not fair.”
Shannon looked up at the sky. They sat in the middle of the street. He pondered Tawney’s words. She was right, it wasn’t fair. Life didn’t seem fair sometimes. But only the strong survived. He could not allow her to go weak on him, because if she did there was every chance that they might not make it.
“Listen to me, Tawney. We’re going to beat this . . .” Shannon’s voice trailed off as he heard what he thought was the equivalent of a low rumble.
A Jeep was cruising slowly down the street. It picked up speed. Faster. Faster. Until . . .
Shannon squinted over the top of Tawney’s head. “Dear Jesus.”
The Jeep was coming straight at them. He snatched Tawney to her feet in one swoop. He gripped her wrist. “Baby, we’re going to have to run for it.”
“What?” Tawney said in confusion.
Suddenly she became aware of the roar of the Jeep. She looked back just as the Jeep rolled practically on top of them. Shannon jerked on her wrist, making her feet fly into motion.
The Jeep bore down on them. Shannon pulled Tawney with him onto the sidewalk. The Jeep jumped the curb, pursuing them without missing a beat. Sweat poured from Shannon’s face, and his limbs ached from the earlier beating he had taken. He looked around swiftly, seeking shelter from the Jeep.
Ballistic’s man Warren P. was at the wheel with Trey on the passenger side. Rasheem and Mitchell were two underlings who were trying to make their way up into the ranks. They sat in the backseat ready for the takedown.
Rasheem leaned out the window and pointed his trigger finger at Shannon. “Bang, Bang!” he shouted as the Jeep flew over a bump, leveling off. Rasheem leaned back in the Jeep laughing as a picture of Shannon’s brains flying out of the other side of his head entered his mind.
Mitchell glared at him. He couldn’t stand silly-ass niggas. He handed him a gun. “If you wanna take the nigga down quit pretending.”
Rasheem shook his head. “No can do, man. Ballistic don’t want us to touch him. Heads will roll. Trey gave the word. Right, Trey?”
Trey only nodded.
Trey was becoming increasingly uncomfortable with gangster life, yet he was a leader and always in the midst of it. It was like being on a roller-coaster ride that you couldn’t climb off.
Warren P. pulled the Jeep so close to Shannon and Tawney that he could reach out and touch them if he wanted to. Instead he said, “Open the door, Mitchell. When I pull up next to them swoop up the girl.”
He swerved the Jeep on the side of them. “Now!”
The door swung open and Mitchell grabbed Tawney from Shannon’s grasp, pulling her into the Jeep. Tawney let out a shrill scream as she found herself separated from Shannon. The door slammed shut.
Tawney squirmed. Fear shot straight through her body at the dawning realization that she was at the mercy of these monsters without Shannon’s help. She kicked at the window with all of her might.
Unbeknownst to her the window had been strengthened with reinforced glass, so she would definitely not be able to kick it out. This was unfortunate.
Shannon banged on the door of the Jeep, as a sickening feeling hit the pit of his gut. He tried to get Tawney back. He struggled for a grip on the window, but Warren P. accelerated, causing his tentative hold to be broken.
Mitchell struggled with Tawney, who was fighting him like an alley cat. He finally managed to put a rag over her nose and mouth, knocking the fight out of her. She went limp in his arms.
Shannon stumbled like a scarecrow in the wind on the side of the Jeep his legs dangling as he was completely cut off. He fell to the street as the Jeep raced off spraying glass and street debris all over him.
He heard hoots of laughter coming from the Jeep as it sped away from him with his wife as hostage. A feeling of doom permeated Shannon’s entire being. It was like nothing he’d ever felt before, a tangible power unseen but felt. Waves of black washed over him.
Mama stepped out from behind the huge potted plant on her porch, where she’d been since she heard the screeching. She’d seen the whole thing. Shannon Davenport was going to need her help. She was an old woman but he needed her whether he knew it or not, very desperately.
His house had been shot up and destroyed, so he couldn’t stay there. This was her shot and Mama had never been known to miss a shot. She wouldn’t now either. She’d nurse Shannon Davenport back to physical health. Then she’d school him in the spirit. Because without a doubt Mama suddenly knew this boy whom she’d practically watched grow up in the streets was the tool that would be used to set things right.
He was one of the ones who had sat at her table as well when he was young. He’d terrorized the streets, then done an about-face when he got himself a wife and baby. She’d admired him because he’d stayed in the neighborhood, bought a house to put his wife in and raise his child in. All in the neighborhood he’d grown up in.
Now this.
It suddenly occurred to Mama like a breeze on the wind that Shannon was different, always had been. And Mama always listened to the wind of her inner voice. One never knew which way it would blow. Yes, the Destroyer was in their midst. Had always been so. But so was the power. Had always been so, a two-sided coin it was.
Mama looked up in time to see the North Star twinkle. “I hear you, Lord,” the old woman muttered under her breath.
Across the street Marcus Simms, who had been Jasmine’s best friend, the same little boy who had watched her die on the street, as her blood ran from her body into the sewer, watched as the Jeep sped away. He watched Shannon, who was lying in the street, struggle to get to his feet.
Marcus went over, giving him a shoulder to lean on. He helped him to his feet. They didn’t speak. There were no words.
Neither of them wanted to consider the fate of Tawney, who was most definitely in the clutches of evil.
Chapter 30
Warren P. pulled into a deserted industrial garage. The door closed behind them. Mitchell grabbed Tawney from the Jeep and threw her on the floor. The rest of them climbed out as well.
“Listen up, I need to meet with Ballistic. I need yo
u two to stay on top of this situation until I come back,” Trey said. He glanced at Tawney before putting an arm around Warren P.
“You can ride with me, G. Rasheem and Mitchell have got this.” He pulled the hood of his sweatshirt over his head, tying a knot in it.
“Hold up. Is Ballistic going to want to be up on this?” Rasheem questioned. “She’s personal, you know.”
Trey nodded. “Yeah, I know. But nothing goes down in this city that Ballistic don’t know about. You feeling me? Especially if his crew is involved.”
Rasheem and Mitchell both nodded.
“Good.” Remembering to be hard Trey said, “Wake that whore up, man. I don’t want her out too long.”
Warren P. chimed in. “Yeah, man, otherwise she’ll turn into a vegetable from that poison you dosed her with.” He laughed.
“We’re raising up outta here, little man. Keep it tight until I talk to Ballistic.”
“And you know that,” Rasheem replied.
Trey and Warren P. exited the garage by a back door, leaving the Jeep as well. They were pretty sure that the Jeep was hot on the streets by now. They would have to get rid of it.
As soon as they heard the door close Mitchell said, “I guess we’d better wake up the Black Sleeping Beauty.” He took a vial from the inside of his jacket. He stuck it under Tawney’s nose, waving it around. She sputtered awake.
Rasheem leaned over, whacking her a couple of times across the face for good measure. “Wake up, Sleeping Beauty.”
Tawney’s eyes opened slowly. She tried to focus. When she finally did the leering face of Mitchell came into view. She shook her head slightly, hoping to stay the nightmare. It had only just begun.
Blurry-eyed Tawney saw a glistening shiny object on the inside pocket of Rasheem’s leather jacket. She knew from the evil glint it couldn’t be good. Her eyes opened wide in fear as she identified the knife.
Rasheem met her glance. His eyes traveled slowly and coldly from her head to her toes. He could taste her fear on his lips, and he was enjoying it.