Black Beauty

by Erica Hilton

  ***

  Pyro sat parked outside the hospital in heartache over his friend. He sat behind the wheel of his car in total disbelief. It all had to be a bad dream. What the fuck happened? Who did this to his friend and his fiancée? He seethed like never before. And he cried. He was all over the place with emotions. In a few days, they all were supposed to be in Hawaii to witness a beautiful union on the beach. He, his best friend, his fiancée, and Mecca, they were supposed to see glory. And Pyro was looking forward to the wedding and the escape to paradise.

  He sat inside the car, deep in thought. He was not able to move. He was not able to go inside the hospital to see his friend. He couldn’t see Mateo in his condition, comatose from a bullet to his head. He strongly felt he should have been there to watch Mateo’s back.

  “Fuck!” he cursed. “Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Fuuccck!” he screamed madly while repeatedly banging his fist against the dashboard.

  What he really wanted to do was take the 9mm Berretta that was by his side and blow someone’s brains out. He wanted to avenge his friend.

  Pyro already had his suspicions on who was behind the violent attack. He knew it wasn’t random. It was carefully planned. Mateo and his fiancée had been targeted and stalked.

  Mateo had told him that Chanel had invited her sisters, Charlie and Claire, to the apartment a few days before the home invasion. Mateo had always been extra careful who he brought to his home. He deduced that Charlie gave her man the intel he needed to execute the attack. He knew it had to be them.

  Pyro sat there inside his Benz until he noticed Charlie’s dirty looking man, God, leaving the hospital lobby. The sight of that nigga enraged him—especially seeing him at the hospital where Mateo and Chanel were. He glared at God with the urge to pick up his gun and march over there and murder that nigga in cold blood. Mateo was a nigga who’d bust his gun if he had to, but Pyro was a nigga who’d bust his gun when he wanted to.

  Pyro climbed out of his Benz, wanting to start some shit with God. He continued his hard stare at God. He wanted to make it obvious that he was looking directly at him. And God soon noticed. God looked back at Pyro like, What the fuck you looking at, nigga? Both men exchanged menacing stares, and neither was intimidated by the other.

  Pyro kept his eyes fixed on God until he climbed into Fingers’ car and it drove away.

  “I’m gonna see you around, nigga. Believe that shit,” Pyro said.

  He changed his mind and decided to go into the hospital to visit his friend. He owed Mateo that, to still be by his side no matter what. But he had the seed of revenge planted in his mind and heart. They weren’t going to get away with what they did to Chanel and Mateo.

  Chapter Thirty

  God slammed the bedroom door behind him and immediately started in on Charlie, shouting, “What the fuck you been telling people?”

  “What the fuck are you talkin’ about, God?”

  “Did you open ya big fuckin’ mouth?”

  “No!” she shouted, still baffled as to what was going on.

  “You sure, bitch?”

  “I’m sure!” she shouted.

  “Then why this nigga’s friend was looking at me sideways and shit at the hospital? Like he knew some shit—sneering at me all funny style and whatnot. I don’t like that nigga, and I swear, he gonna get got too. He wanna fuckin’ size me up, I’ll kill that nigga Pyro! I swear, I’ll fuckin’ murder that nigga. I don’t give a fuck, you hear me? I don’t give a fuck!” God ranted in front of Charlie.

  “God, just relax and chill. You’re paranoid,” she told him.

  God cut his eyes at Charlie with a hard glare and unexpectedly slapped the shit out of her. Charlie spun around and stumbled backwards. The slap caught her off guard. He was becoming more and more violent toward her—utterly disrespectful.

  “I ain’t fuckin’ paranoid, bitch,” he barked.

  Charlie stood there holding the side of her face in bewilderment. The look in God’s eyes was demonic.

  God seethed and stormed out of the bedroom. He refused to sleep there that night.

  Charlie soaked up the wound. It wasn’t the slap that hurt her physically, but mentally, she felt everything was falling apart. Going after her sister and her man, was it a bad sign? Was this an omen? Controlled by greed and jealousy, she couldn’t tolerate Chanel having a bigger and a better life than her. So, she did what she knew best—steal and have people killed.

  But she didn’t want this to be their downfall. No way. Charlie wasn’t about to be beaten by her little sister. She needed to do something before the situation grew out of control and came barreling down on her like a runaway locomotive and destroyed everything in its way.

  ***

  Bacardi wiped away the few tears that trickled down her face. She didn’t know exactly what it was, but seeing Chanel’s condition and knowing she had been brutally raped and her virginity had been violently taken from her, it did something to Bacardi. Her youngest daughter was truly innocent and pure. The only thing she wanted from everyone was to be loved.

  Bacardi knew that she was eighteen years too late to become a mother to Chanel now, but she wanted to try. The grudge she held against her daughter because of a broken heart wasn’t fair.

  Chanel suffered some trauma and the tragedy affected her heavily. Being raped and seeing your fiancé shot was too much of a nightmare for anyone to endure. Bacardi could only imagine what that girl was going through right now. The doctors informed Bacardi that her daughter would most likely need some counseling.

  At night, Bacardi slept in an uncomfortable chair next to Chanel’s bedside, and during the day, she would hurry home to shower and bring back some food. Chanel would cry on her mother’s shoulder, and Bacardi would walk with her each day to visit with Mateo in ICU. He was still alive, and he was still holding on through a miracle. Being shot in the head was a death sentence, but Mateo was strong and fighting to come back to her. Chanel believed he was fighting for their love. He’d promised her that he would never leave her, and it looked like he was desperately trying to keep his promise.

  “I need to go back to the apartment to change clothes, Chanel. But I’ll be right back,” Bacardi told her.

  “I’ll be fine, Ma,” Chanel replied faintly. She smiled.

  Chanel always understood. Even though it was hard for her to be left alone because she had been severely traumatized, she still understood about her mother’s departure for a few hours to travel back to Brooklyn.

  Bacardi hugged Chanel and left the room.

  Chanel sat back on the bed and closed her eyes, but sometimes the darkness became too overwhelming for her and she would suddenly see her masked attacker standing over her, assaulting her and raping her over and over again. She would abruptly wake up from her sleep screaming and clearly horrified. It felt like she couldn’t escape from them. They were following her wherever she went.

  Bacardi traveled back to Brooklyn via train and several buses. It was early afternoon when she arrived home. It was a clear, sunny day, but there was nothing sunny about her life.

  The apartment was quiet, and it seemed like nobody was home. Lately, Butch had been doing his disappearing acts, and Claire had been in her own world doing God knows what. Bacardi couldn’t worry about them. She had one tragedy to deal with already, and she was making good on her promise to Chanel.

  She went to her bedroom to get a change of clothes, but she was soon intercepted in the hallway by Charlie and Claire coming out of their bedrooms. Charlie and Bacardi looked at each other, while Claire stood there quietly. A jealous Charlie, who knew that her mother was only there to come and go right back to Chanel’s bedside, said, “I think she’s lying about being raped.”

  Bacardi stopped dead in her tracks. She couldn’t believe what had just come out of her daughter’s mouth. “Excuse me?”

  “I said, Chanel’s lyi
ng about being raped.”

  “Are you serious, Charlie? So Chanel raped herself, huh? I saw the hospital report, and unless she fucked herself and caused the tears to her pussy, then you need to shut the fuck up!”

  Charlie crossed her arms and poked out her lips. “So, that’s it? Chanel cries rape and we’re all supposed to kiss her ass?”

  Bacardi’s face tightened into an intense scowl and she stepped closer to her oldest daughter. She growled, “You need to stop being a selfish fuckin’ bitch, you fuckin’ hear me?”

  “Looks who’s talking,” countered Charlie matter-of-factly.

  “I’m sick of ya shit, Charlie. You need to be by your sister’s side and not here fuckin’ hating!”

  “And you need to wake the fuck up! Now you wanna start caring about her?” Charlie retorted.

  “Better late than never!” Bacardi countered.

  The two argued in the hallway. Claire continued to stand there in silence. She was torn. Should she tell Bacardi what she’d overheard the other day at the hospital—what Charlie had fussed about with God, or should she mind her business? After she had been exposed as a liar and a cheater, Claire decided to mind her business. All Charlie would have to say was that she was lying and no one would believe her anyway.

  So while Bacardi and Charlie argued in the hallway, Claire went back into her bedroom and closed the door.

  ***

  The following day, Chanel was released from the hospital, and Bacardi was there to help her home. They rode back to the Brooklyn projects via cab. There was no way Chanel was capable of taking public transportation.

  Inside the apartment, the only thing Chanel wanted to do was go to her room and lay down. She was quiet mostly, and when she did speak, it was a prayer to God to help save Mateo. She was fortunate to come home, but Mateo was still in ICU fighting for his life. Chanel wished she could do more for him, but she couldn’t. She hated feeling helpless. She still was having nightmares, and the fact that she no longer had her virginity to give Mateo on their wedding night was heartbreaking. With her birthday looming, what was supposed to be a special day, Chanel only wanted to forget and disappear somewhere. She didn’t want to think about her birthday at all.

  She sobbed in her bed. It wouldn’t go away.

  That night, Chanel lay in the bed in a dark and silent room. Everything felt completely still. She wasn’t hungry or thirsty, hadn’t eaten in a day. The only thing she wanted to do was lay there. Saddened and depressed, she felt like concrete on her bed, unable to move from the weight of everything that’d happened to her—and sometimes not able to think.

  As she lay there, she heard the bedroom door open and close. Thinking it was Claire coming into the room, she didn’t turn around and paid it no attention. But then she felt someone take a seat on her mattress. She turned over to shockingly see God staring at her. It felt like her heart had stopped. She remained frozen on her bed startled and fearful.

  “I didn’t mean to scare you, Chanel. I just came in here to check up on you . . . to see if you were okay,” he said.

  She couldn’t say a word.

  “You good? Yo, I heard what happened to you the other day, and I’m sorry that you went through that shit. But if you need anything, I’m here, a’ight? I got ya back.”

  God reached forward to touch her leg in some kind of comfort, but Chanel jerked frightfully from his touch and flinched away from him.

  “I know that shit got you messed up,” he continued. “But you just need to be strong, a’ight?”

  He finally stood up. Chanel couldn’t keep her eyes off of him. Her heart started to beat a mile a second.

  “And believe me, I’m gonna help find whoever did this to you and I’m gonna murder these fools that raped you, okay? You got my word on that,” said God.

  He turned and eventually left the room, closing the door behind him and leaving Chanel alone in the dark. His sudden presence did something to Chanel. She erupted into tears. She couldn’t stop shaking. There was something about his presence that made her skin crawl and plunged her into deep fear.

  It took her nearly an hour to stop shaking.

  The following day, God was in the living room with Bacardi, and the two shared a blunt. They were engaged in conversation. Things were still tense in the apartment, and they figured smoking weed would relax them.

  God took a long pull from the haze and then said, “Bacardi, you know I always will have love for you and your family. That shit that happened to Chanel, I’m already on it. I got my peoples out there lookin’ fo these niggas that did that shit, ya feel me?”

  “Fuckin’ animals out there and I want these fuckin’ niggas dead,” Bacardi said with contempt.

  “Don’t worry ’bout it. Whoever did that shit, they gonna get theirs, fo’ real. You know Chanel always been like a little sister to me.”

  “I know, God.”

  “That shit really fuckin’ hurt me,” he continued.

  They passed the blunt back and forth and prolonged their conversation about how would they kill the two men responsible for raping Chanel. Bacardi came up with some sadistic ways that even made God cringe.

  “Damn, you a foul and dangerous, bitch, Bacardi. Damn.”

  “You fuck wit’ mines, then I fuck wit’ you, no fuckin’ mercy. I would cut these niggas’ dicks and balls clean the fuck off and make them fuckin’ eat that shit. I would watch them die fuckin’ slow.”

  “Yeah, I feel you on that,” God agreed.

  He was really selling it to her and to everyone else that he was the concerned surrogate older brother for Chanel and that he really wanted to go after the men responsible for her rape.

  The next night, God entered Chanel’s room again to check on her. He was reaching for information, trying to see if she remembered anything about that night. He never removed his mask, they wore gloves, but he did leave with a few marks across his back after raping Chanel missionary. He knew it was a dumb move to untie her wrists so he could feel on her chest.

  Once again, Chanel was lying in bed, not actually sleeping, but in a slight stupor. When she saw God come into the room again, she immediately cringed from the sight of him. He looked at her with concern, but there was a profound lie behind his eyes.

  “Chanel, I just came in here to see if you were okay,” God said sympathetically.

  “Just get out!” she exclaimed.

  “I’m sorry. I just wanted to make sure you were good in here.”

  “Get the fuck out!” she cried out.

  “A’ight shorty, you ain’t gotta yell. I’ll leave. I care about you, Chanel, and I was just showing you some concern.”

  Not wanting to upset her even more, he did what she asked and left the bedroom.

  Chanel was visibly shaken-up and uncomfortable around him. Her tears started to run down her face like a river. He was purposely invading her personal space and stirring up fear inside of her. To her, God was her nightmare and his presence gave her the chills.

  ***

  It had been weeks since God had spent the night with Charlie. After he slapped her, he would come and go, and he didn’t really pay Charlie that much attention. He’d sold off everything they gotten from Mateo’s place and it was a healthy profit. He gave Charlie her cut, and she felt like she was the breadwinner in the family again. She used her share to buy a used car to get around in. While Chanel was left devastated, frightened, and alone, Charlie felt no contrition for what she did to her little sister. But Bacardi hadn’t shifted her attention from Chanel. Nothing had changed inside the apartment except for Charlie’s wealth.

  One evening, while God and Charlie were fucking in the bedroom, Charlie ran her hands down his back and she could feel scabs. When they were done, God stood up naked and when he turned his back to her, she could see the deep scratches that someone else left behind. They were now healing, but
they looked appalling, like Wolverine had attacked him.

  Charlie puffed out and suddenly had to choke back her tears. She watched God walk around the bedroom naked, looking for some pants to put on. She didn’t know what to think. The evidence was there. He raped Chanel and she had left her mark behind on his skin.

  “I’ll be in the shower,” he said.

  He left the room. Charlie lingered on the bed with a lot to think about. True or not, how could she betray her man? She was eating again, she had nice things, and they started to have great sex again. So, would she bring all that to a halt for Chanel? She doubted it. But still, knowing that God was the monster that raped her little sister was a sickening feeling.

  God hopped in the shower and took his sweet time in the bathroom. He felt that he’d gotten away with the assault and attempted murder. For a few weeks now, he’d been subtly keeping tabs on Chanel. Although the girl was frightened of him, he was confident that she was clueless.

  After his shower, he dried off and wrapped the towel around his waist. He smiled at his handsome reflection in the mirror and was ready to start another day. Fingers had been asking to do another lick. God wanted to wait a bit longer before they went after another target. Things had been too hot on the streets and the cops were putting pressure out there. It was a risk to move too soon, especially anywhere in the Tri-State area. Their work of deadly home invasions had been on the news, and a task force had been set up to catch the culprits. God didn’t want to push his luck. If anything, he felt that it was time to move out of town and start fresh somewhere else—maybe the South or the Midwest.

  As he was coming out the bathroom dressed only in a towel, Chanel happened to step foot out of her bedroom. The two crossed paths in the hallway. God smiled at her and said, “Pardon me.”

  He hurried into the bedroom to be with Charlie, while Chanel stood there frozen like she was cemented to the floor. In passing, she noticed the scratches on God’s back, and an uneasy and queasy feeling swiftly came over her, and the night of the rape and assault came flooding back.