“And what if I won’t leave my other baby? What if I won’t let you separate us?” she asked even though, judging from the expression on Dirk’s face, she already knew the answer.
“Then I’ll kill you and Douglas. He’s not my son, and you’re not my wife, just like Emily showed me that she was never any kind of mother to me. One way or another, I’ll be rid of all of you,” he told Brenda with such conviction that she had no choice but to despair.
PART 13 – Perdition
The sun still rose the next day despite the dark events that had transpired the day before. The world would not stop turning, no matter what horrors its inhabitants faced on a daily basis. In Swan Park, the geese still congregated to be fed by their mysterious benefactor.
Elijah was enjoying another warm morning in the park. Feeding these beautiful creatures gave him a calming sense of balance. He was able to maintain this amazing relationship with these animals that were as free as the wind that blew through the leaves of the trees above his head. Of course, they would never hold conversations with him in the traditional sense but, they shared a magical, unspoken understanding.
With only about two handfuls of breadcrumbs left in his small brown paper bag, he knew that reality was just around the corner. Once he had emptied it, Elijah felt the small slip of paper at the bottom of the bag. He removed it and tossed the empty bag into the trash bin next to the bench he was sitting on. The dollar amount written on the slip of paper was impressive. As usual, a single name was inked on it as well.
The slip of paper read: NASH TATE
PART 14 – Welcome to the Afterlife
Nash had never been more relieved in his life than when he received that first phone call from Brenda. Through fits of hysterics, she’d told him everything that had happened since she’d smashed the lamp over his head and locked him in the closet. He heard the grief in her voice when she explained how she had to abandon one child to save the other. He could tell that she mourned her first-born as if he had died. The circumstances she found herself in as a mother were horrible. Nash pitied her but at the same time, considering the alternative, things could have been much worse. Terrified and having nowhere else to turn, the first thing she’d done was call him. He’s told her to come over to his condo but she preferred to meet in a public place, just in case Dirk was still having her followed.
***
Nash waited for Brenda under the warm spring sun on a bench in Swan Park. There were no clouds in the sky, birds chirped as they returned home and he believed that it was the most beautiful day he had ever seen. Even the buzz in his ear from the occasional flying insect couldn’t dampen his spirits. He was aware of the danger but remained too excited to waste thoughts on the possibility of retribution from Dirk for past transgressions, even in the ill shadow of the things he’d witnessed. Nash was going to meet his son for the very first time.
The sunlight glistened on the lake in front of him as the geese swam gracefully on its surface. It seemed like an eternity passed as he waited. Every second that went by felt like an hour and every minute a day. Then, just as eager anticipation nearly turned to frustration, from the corner of his eye he spotted them, Brenda and his son. For a moment, everything else in the world slowed down as they walked down the paved, tree-lined path. Nothing had ever felt more like a dream and he was afraid he would suddenly wake. He stood up to greet them.
Little Douglas looked nothing like how a boy should, in a park with his mother on a sunny spring day. He clung tightly to the hem of his mother’s white summer dress as if it was the first time he had ever been outside. Brenda looked into Nash’s eyes for a brief moment before she turned her gaze downwards at the one child she had left. The pain in her face broke Nash’s heart. Without a word, he stepped closer to them and hugged Brenda tightly. He felt her body shake as she cried in his arms. He hushed, soothed and squeezed her until she calmed down enough to speak. When he let her go, he took a step back to give her room to breathe.
Brenda held her head down and looked away from him as a mild breeze blew through her hair as well as the thin material of her dress. Fear, hurt, horrors and unmistakable tragedy also draped themselves around her. Even with the weight of all of those things, somehow her spirit wasn’t completely dead. In Nash’s eyes, there was still a small piece of something inside her that had the potential to burn brighter than the sun. At the moment, he just didn’t know how to keep her from drowning in despair. He reached out and took her hand in his own.
“Thank you,” she said.
“You don’t have to thank me. I’m just glad that you’re alright,” he answered.
“I guess we’re as alright as we can be,” she said.
“Can I?” Nash asked.
“Of course you can,” she answered.
With her permission, Nash waved hello to his son for the very first time. Douglas didn’t wave back as he still clung to his mother. Nash felt a lump in his throat as the million things he wanted to say all came to him at once. Every word, from every missed moment tied his tongue. He had never believed this day would ever be possible. Brenda sensed the uneasiness and bent over to speak softly to her child.
“I know this is all confusing baby and I’m very sorry. Remember what we spoke about? This nice man is your real father,” she told Douglas.
She knew that this wasn’t the best way or the best time to tell her child the truth. At his age, she doubted he even understood the magnitude of the situation. She was grateful to Nash for being willing to help them and it was for his sake that she parted her lips to finally speak the truth. An eruption of emotion overwhelmed him and Nash’s eyes filled with tears.
***
At the last moment, Elijah decided to grant Nash a final mercy by not blowing his head off. Some semblance of humanity deterred this professional executioner from horrifically ending his life in front of this woman and child with a head shot. Dirk had allowed Brenda to go free with her son for a much more sinister purpose than she could have ever imagined. He knew that she would seek out the boy’s father and she had unwittingly played her part as bait to perfection. Nash never saw the scope attached to the sniper-rifle that would guide a bullet directly to his heart. A single slug ripped through his chest and he fell to his knees. As he clutched at the wound, his hands became soaked in his own blood. The geese on the lake took flight at the sound of the gunshot as it echoed throughout the peaceful air of the park. Brenda’s white dress was splattered with crimson as she screamed frantically for help. Douglas watched silently as the man his mother had just told him was his real father died in front of him.
“I love you,” were the words that Nash gasped with his final breath.
He touched his son’s face for the first and last time as he inadvertently smeared the boy’s cheek with blood. Through watery eyes and fading vision, it was the last image Nash would see in this life. It was a beautiful death.
In Desperation
by DK Gaston
I like to thank my writing conspirators. I've learned a lot from them while working on the anthology and hope that a little of me rubbed off on them. And I especially like to thank all the booklovers that enjoy reading what strange thoughts come out of my head.
Part 1 Anthony
She slapped me? She actually slapped me!
I stood there stunned, cheek burning, rubbing the right side of my face to work the sting away. I quickly scanned the neighborhood hoping no one had seen. The Connolly’s were pulling into their driveways, a man with his dog walked casually down the sidewalks away from us, kids played in the street. All were too busy to see what happened. Before I could react, Yolanda was stomping off in an angry huff, carrying an overstuffed gym bag. She hadn’t even told me what I’d done.
Bounding from the front porch in a Michael Jordan leap, over the three cement steps, I ran after her. She was making her way around to the driver’s side of her BMW before I was even halfway down the cracked sidewalk.
I yelled for her, “Yolanda
, can we talk about this, baby?”
With her hand on the car handle, she shot back a stare that gave me pause. There was hatred in her eyes; pure, unadulterated hate.
What had I done? I moved beside her as she opened the car door. “Wait! Can you just wait a minute? Can you at least tell me when you’re coming back?”
I’d known Yolanda’s answer as soon as I saw her clothes and toiletries in the backseat of the car.
She didn’t look at me when she said, “I won’t be coming back, Tony.” Her voice was as cold as ice.
My eyes began blinking. She might as well have kicked me between my legs. Air left me in deep, violent waves. I felt dizzy and my legs began to buckle. Desperately, I grabbed her arm. I spun Yolanda around, probably a bit too rough, trying to make her look at me. Her teeth clenched, but made no sounds of protest or pain.
“Baby, what’s this all about? What have I done?”
Slowly her gaze came to mine.
Her expression changed from icy rage to uncertainty. I loosened my hold. “You hurt me, Tony. I thought you were the one person I could trust…”
Her eyes filled with tears.
I don’t recall ever seeing her cry before.
Her lower lip began to quiver. I wanted to comfort her. To hold her in my arms until whatever this was could be forgotten.
She pulled away from my grasp. “…I don’t ever want to see you again,” she said with newfound resolve before tossing the bag inside and getting in the car. Yolanda drove off leaving me alone in the middle of the street without a clue.
Just last night, we had a romantic dinner together at the club Deluge where we first met. I presented her a beautiful diamond engagement ring, asking her to marry me over candlelight. I made arrangements with the band to play Janet Jackson’s When I Think of You, her favorite song. She said yes quickly, as though I might take it all back. Everyone’s attention turned to us. Our joy gave off an electric vibe that must have sent out a jubilant shockwave that affected the club’s patrons. Later, at my place, we made passionate love, awoke in each others arms and had a relaxing breakfast. Everything was perfect.
What had happen from the time I went to work to the time I came home?
What had she meant about me hurting her? I hadn’t hurt her or betrayed her trust. I would never do that. My mind raced, but there was nothing.
I yanked my cell phone from its holder on my belt and pressed the speed dial. I had to know why. It rang three times before going to voicemail.
“Baby, I would never—”
Never what?
I let out a long exaggerated breath before I spoke again more slowly, “Call me, okay? We can work through this, whatever it is. Just call me back, please.” I hoped she would call back.
In my heart, I knew she could carry that temper of hers into the next century. There was a better chance of Ike and Tina hooking back up than Yolanda returning my call.
My arm dropped to my side as though it held a heavy weight instead of a cell phone. The only way I was going to find out what happened was to search for the answers myself. Once I had that, maybe, and that’s a very iffy maybe, I could calm her down long enough so that we could work this out. Yolanda meant the world to me. I don’t know what I would do without her in my life.
Defeated, my head slumped between my shoulders. The sun glinted on a small reflective object on the street. I didn’t recognize it at first. My lips pressed together in a tight pinch. I fought back tears trying to burst their way out. Men don’t cry, I heard my father’s exacting voice.
When I was a boy, my dog Toby, jumped the backyard fence, running off forever. I cried all night praying for him to return. The next morning, Daddy came to my room, sat on my bed, gave me a stern look that resembled steel and said, “Men don’t cry.” He hadn’t meant it in an unkind way. Daddy wasn’t much of a talker when it came to emotional situations. It was meant to tell me that bad things happened in life, crying wouldn’t solve my missing dog problem. Thinking that was enough for a nine year old to understand, he smiled, patted my leg, and then brushed that same hand through my hair as though I were Toby. Strangely enough, it made me feel better.
I bent over reaching for the shiny object on the asphalt at my feet. It was the engagement ring. I hadn’t caught the sound of it dropping to the pavement when she got into the car. She had discarded the symbol of my devotion without the slightest hesitation. Was this how we were going to end our two years? I had the sudden impulse to fling it in the air. Instead, I calmly stuffed it inside my pants pocket and stood up.
My thumb stroked the cell phone in my hand. I wondered what I should do or if I should do anything at all. This could all blow over in a few hours. She could come to her senses. I remembered all her things in the back of her car. Waiting for this to resolve itself wasn’t going to do it.
I pressed the speed dial number for Pam, Yolanda’s best friend.
She answered on the second ring, when she spoke, she sounded almost in tears, “Oh Tony… It’s horrible… I don’t know what happened.”
My first thought was something happened to Yolanda but that was crazy of course, she just left me. “What is it? What’s wrong?” I asked trying not to sound as frantic as Pam.
“She called me a slut! Said that we were no longer friends! She said she hated me!”
Pam was one of the strongest sistahs I’d known and to hear the distress in her voice, it took all my strength to continue speaking. “Who?”
“Yolanda…” she gasped before a long pause. I think she muffled her side of the phone with a hand because the feedback sounded like listening to a seashell. When she spoke again, her voice carried more strength. “Yolanda said those things to me. She wouldn’t explain. I thought she was going to hit me. What’s going on Tony?”
“I. Don’t. Know.”
I wanted to believe this was a terrible nightmare but the diamond in the ring bit into my leg letting me know I wasn’t dreaming. I dug it from my pocket. It lay in the center of my palm, weightless, cold, unmoving, ugly. It’d lost the beauty it held a short time before. My fingers closed around it. My hand became a fist. I raised it up high, at first wanting to blame God for this day, but then I lowered it. This wasn’t God’s fault.
Not wanting to say it, I said, “She told me she didn’t want to see me either. I had hoped you could give me some answers.”
Pam’s silence spoke volumes. She wouldn’t have any answers. She was as lost and confused as I was.
When a car horn blared behind me for me to move, I realized I was still standing in the middle of the street. The driver, Miss Johansen perhaps the oldest person I’d known, who was rumored to be nearing one hundred, waved to me with her wrinkled hand as I stared at her. She said something I couldn’t make out as she passed. Without even thinking about it, I nodded politely to her and headed back toward the house. The phone stayed frozen to my ear.
When Pam finally broke her nervous quiet, what strength she’d found had abated. Her words sounded choked, “I don’t know what to do. She won’t take my calls. What are we going to do, Tony?”
We? In a strange way, knowing I wasn’t alone in this made me feel--to some extent--better. What’s the old saying: ‘Misery loves company’?
Raising my fist to God told me something. I needed answers that I wasn’t going to get by doing nothing. Yolanda was the most pigheaded person I’d known. If she was angry at us for something we’d done, Pam and I would have to pry it from her, because otherwise answers would not be coming.
I asked, “Are you absolutely sure she hadn’t said or done anything that could tell us something about what’s going on?”
“No. She came to my desk shouting at me this morning…”
I cut her off. “What time?”
This morning Yolanda left the house all smiles, ready to shout to the world that we were getting married.
“Around eleven, I think. She came charging into my cubicle after she finished talking with someone at hers.” Pam and
Yolanda worked together at the University’s Human Resource Department.
“Did you see this person…? The one who she was talking to?” I asked, grasping for straws. It was Yolanda’s job to speak with the University’s employees and family members.
“No, I wasn’t paying attention; I had someone in my cubicle at the time.” She was quiet for a long moment. “Wait a minute. When Yolanda started shouting at me, I jumped up from my chair in surprise. I caught a glimpse of the back of a woman’s head leaving her cubicle. She had short raven black hair and she was dark skinned, darker than Yolanda.”
Yolanda’s deep brown color reminded me of a rich chocolate.
“Do you think someone else in your office would recall seeing her?”
“I don’t know, I supposed it’s possible. Why? Do you think this is important?”
Barely noticing the three short steps I took up the stairs I was back on the porch standing motionless in the very spot Yolanda had lashed out at me. I was locked in place, unable to move, the memory of the slap looping over and over in my mind. The diamond chewed into the flesh of my palm, snapping me from my frozen state. My legs regained mobility.
I forced myself to head inside where Yolanda’s sweet perfumed smell would probably still linger. A vision of her standing naked and arms opened, waiting for my warm embrace, appeared. I quickly brushed the mental picture aside, returning my focus to the conversation.
“I… I don’t know, Pam. Is there anything else you can remember?”
“After she finished biting my head off, she up and left, without so much as another word.” Another pause, “I heard she then marched into the manager’s office and quit.”
Yolanda loved her job and the people there. I wondered just how far she would go not to see Pam and me. Would she move out of her apartment? Would she move out of the city, perhaps state? Panic overwhelmed me. If she did leave, without a single clue as to where she was going, there would be no way I could ever find her. Yolanda’s parents were dead; she hadn’t spoken to her brother DeShaun in years. The only remnant of his existence in her life was some old instant Polaroid of him hugging her. I found it lodged between pages of a book I pulled from a bookshelf in her apartment.
Crossroads: An Anthology Page 26