Role Play
Page 28
Elle dabbed her eyes one last time and cleared her throat. She stopped bouncing her knee and sat up straight. “Zora, you may have a point. I have something that I’ve been holding on to. I think this will prove my innocence.” Elle reached in her bag and handed Zora her iPad.
Chapter 68
Monty and Brooklyn
Monty gripped the edge of the white metal garden table on the lanai and flipped it over; the chair behind it.
Monty, whatchu doin’, boy!
He needed some coke, and he needed it now.
Fuck the conditions of the house arrest and the weekly drug test. Besides, the coke would probably be out of his system by the time he pissed in a cup. Everything had fallen apart. All of his friends dead, he had no idea who’d killed them, and there was no one he could trust.
He walked back into the house, grabbed his car keys, took off into the night, and soon found himself parked across the street from Brooklyn’s house. He watched Lorenz stand at her door. From what Monty could see, Brooklyn gave Lorenz the same look he used to get when he stood in that spot. Her brown eyes intense, sexy . . .
Lorenz kissed her softly on the lips before he got into his car and left.
Monty snorted and wiggled his nose.
Everybody around here is fucking with me.
* * *
The howling wind rattled the windowpanes in Brooklyn’s bedroom as footsteps crept in, causing the floorboards to groan. Her pulse ramped up. She turned toward the nightstand and froze.
“Open your mouth,” Monty said, as he stood over her.
Terror snatched her in a vise grip.
Monty stood there. His eyes void of emotion. His breath heavy, rancid.
This was it. She knew it. The uncomfortable premonition she’d always had of how things would come to a crashing end. And she would die, just like this.
Born into a bloodline of shit. She’d hoped to change it by doing something different than Bev had. Though in the end—the very end—she had done the same exact thing, just with a different Stony.
And here she was in the bed, ironically, before another TV, her throat closed and her heart seconds from its last beat.
“Open your fucking mouth!”
Her lips pulled apart like paste, as Monty pushed the barrel in.
“I saw you with that motherfucker tonight. And that’s when it occurred to me that this shit is all your fault. He’s been after me because of you.”
Brooklyn grunted. Tears poured down over her cheeks and around the barrel of the gun. “You around here selling me out, playing with my life and trying to bring me down, and for what? I loved you, you had to know that! And this is the thanks I get! What did you tell that reporter, huh?”
She shook her head. She couldn’t speak with the gun in her mouth.
“Stop lying, bitch! I sat there in my car and watched him kiss you after I warned your fucking ass!”
Tears fell from Brooklyn’s eyes. He’d come to fulfill his promise to kill her. But he was going to drag her to hell before he did it.
Monty’s dark eyes were narrow slits. “I should blow your fucking head off.” He sneered. “I kept telling your ass to stop fucking with me. I kept telling you to leave that nigga alone. But what did you do? You ignored me. And then you took this motherfucker as your man. Your man.” His jaw twitched. “Y’all out in public? Holding hands? Kissing? All while ruining my fuckin’ life! My goddamn career! I gave you everything! Everything, and that wasn’t enough.” He shoved the gun an inch deeper into her mouth. “Suck it. So I can see how you sucked that motherfucker’s dick. Here, suck this shit!”
Her lips didn’t move.
Whap! His hand sizzled across her face, leaving his blazing handprint behind. He gripped her by the neck, shoving her head into the headboard. “The fuck I just tell you to do, bitch?!”
Monty, what you doin’, boy?
His mind drifted. He could no longer see Brooklyn. It was his father he stood before, and instead of a gun, he saw himself at seventeen, his lips busted and bloody, while holding a bat over his father’s head. “I don’t know where she went!” he screamed at his father. “She’s been gone for six years! She don’t wanna be found! Maybe had you kept your hands to yourself, she would still be here.”
“Who-who-the fuck you talking to like that?” his father spat, his voice slurred. “And get that goddamn bat away from me! Who the fuck you think you are? You ain’t no man, you ain’t gone do shit! Gone stand up in my face and come at me like a dog in the street!” He stumbled, moving closer to Monty.
Monty took a trembling batter’s stance.
His father laughed in his face.
“What you gon’ do, huh? Weak li’l boy. Ain’t even worth his mama staying around. She left because of you. She knew you would never be more than evidence of a good fuck gone wrong!”
Bam!
He shook himself out of his flashback and realized that he’d slammed the gun into Brooklyn’s head and she’d fallen off the bed.
He panicked. His heartbeat drummed into his ear. “No, baby. No.” He fell to his knees. “Breathe.” He tried to lift her head. He couldn’t. “Breathe.” He slapped her across the cheek.
Nothing.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. What . . . I do . . .” He looked around the room. He didn’t know who to call. There was no one left.
He stood up.
Paced.
Brggg!
Brooklyn’s cell phone rang, and Lorenz’s name lit up the screen.
Think . . . Think . . . Think . . .
Brggg!
He hurried out of the room and tripped on his way down the stairs and out the back door.
Chapter 69
Elle
Brggg! Brggg!
Elle jumped from her sleep and scrambled for her ringing cellphone. She held it in her hand and squinted. Sheila. Sheila?
“Hello?”
Shelia said, “I hate to wake you, Ellaina, but I’m looking for Monty. He didn’t return to the office this afternoon and he’s not answering his phone. Do you—”
“No, I don’t.”
“You didn’t even let me finish.”
“I didn’t have to. I know you were going to ask where he is. I have no idea.”
“You understand he’s on house arrest and there are restrictions he has to adhere to. If he’s not found there will be a warrant issued for his arrest and the FBI will show no mercy.”
“Then you have to do what you have to do, but please leave me and my boys out of it. We have been through enough behind Montgomery.”
“Do you know where he could be?”
“He’s either one of two places . . .”
Chapter 70
Brooklyn
Purple lights.
Gleaming purple lights.
That was all she could see.
She had no voice.
There was no one around.
No ground. Only air, where she lay suspended. Arms stretched; feet pointed. She saw her body on a hospital bed, and she wondered if she could get back in. She felt a tug at her feet and began to float.
She didn’t want to float.
But she couldn’t scream.
She couldn’t turn over and crawl the opposite way. She had to give in to the wind.
She heard someone talking.
“It doesn’t look well. She’s suffered a serious head injury and has lost a substantial amount of blood. As she is in a coma, we can’t tell you much. And if she wakes up, we’ll have to see—”
“‘If’?” She knew that was Meechie. “Doctor, what do you mean ‘if’?!”
“I know this is upsetting, Miss Pryce. But I must be honest with you. Right now, we just don’t know if she will wake up or not. And if she does, we will then have to assess what condition she’ll be in.” He paused; his words sank into the room.
Brooklyn floated further away.
“I’ll give you all some time.”
Meechie moaned, then tumbled
into a chair at Brooklyn’s bedside. She cried, “Sister, you were always the one to tell me what to do and which way to go. No matter what it was. You took charge. And right now, I don’t know what to do. I keep trying to think of how I would handle things without you, but you never told me. I don’t want to be selfish, but you have to come back. You are everything to me. I love you, Alani loves you, and Mama too. Mama is praying so hard for you right now. Please. We’re just starting to put our family back together . . . please . . .”
The floating felt so easy. Freeing. All the pain she’d ever felt was gone.
She didn’t want to float, though. She wanted it to stop . . . It continued.
She heard Luck say, “Bae . . . She’s going to be okay.” Brooklyn could tell by the gasp of air Luck took between his words that he struggled with what to say next. “Yo, Brooklyn, cuz. Man, I know I used to call you Petty LaBelle all the time and mess with you. But the truth is, man, you my ma’fuckin’ homie. You know what I’m sayin’? You worked hard. Raised Bae into the beautiful and smart woman she is. She looks up to you. You are a great mother to Alani. And you my family too. Pull through, man. We got a wedding to plan. Me and Bae getting married. We need you here for that.” He choked up.
“Mommy.” That was Alani. She didn’t stop floating, though the pace slowed. “You gotta wake up. Everybody loves you, Mommy. Especially me. I got a lot to tell you about how much fun I had at the beach with Auntie Joy.” She looked over at Joy, who sat at Brooklyn’s bedside, silently in tears. “She can’t talk right now, but she loves you too. So, Mommy, you have to wake up because I want to hold your hand and sleep in the bed with you again. And I want you to come to my school. I want you to see me do ballet. I want you to kiss me good night and good morning. And I want that chocolate cake too, Mommy.” She leaned into Brooklyn’s ear. “Wake up, okay?” She kissed her on the cheek. Turned to Meechie and sobbed. Meechie picked her up and carried her out of the room, Luck and an upset Joy, a step behind them.
Brooklyn floated again, the pace picked up.
“You know I dreamed about you.” That was Lorenz. “Dreamed about you before I ever came to California, I just didn’t know who you were. But in my dream we were under a beautiful African sunset, on the beach. I sat alongside of you. Your head rested on my chest. I stroked your hair. You were so beautiful. My baby. I didn’t want to let go. That’s how I knew the moment I spotted you at the bar, that everything that had landed me in California was about meeting you. The moment I saw you. You were everything that I’d been searching for. And there’s no way our story ends here . . . I know that there’s more . . . God would never be so cruel.”
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The crisis alarm went off.
Doctors and nurses rushed in. “Code blue!”
Chapter 71
Monty
Monty paced the floor of his hideaway deep in the California hills.
Think.
Shit.
Brooklyn’s dead.
Monty slapped his hands to his temples.
I can’t believe I killed her.
My Brooklyn.
His head ached.
Monty, whatchu doin’, boy!
“I don’t fucking know!” he screamed. “I don’t fucking know!”
He just wanted the voice to be silent. Shut the fuck up and leave him alone. But it wouldn’t stop. It continued to haunt him. And there was no one to talk him through this nightmare.
No Elle.
No Dominic.
No family.
And no Brooklyn . . .
Shit!
“Fuck!”
“Governor.” A voice rose from the dark. “It’s me, Sheila.”
This was it.
He was finished.
He turned around, gun pointed.
“I know you’re scared,” she said, easing each word from her lips, “but put the gun down.”
Monty, what the hell you doin’, boy!
Boom!
* * *
As a rainy Friday night eased into a gloomy Saturday morning, a figure stood in the shadows.
Watching.
Waiting.
Calculating Monty’s every move . . .
He fumbled as he pushed the chair from beneath him and stood up. He took two steps forward, then staggered back onto the edge of the chair. A horrid leer drained the color from his face as he stared into the darkness and heard footsteps.
“Who-who-who’s there?” he slurred.
Silence.
It was the scotch.
It had always been the scotch. When he was a child, scotch had torn his family apart. Had forced his mother to flee his father’s berating and beatings in the middle of the night, when he was eleven, leaving nothing behind but a lavender scarf she’d dropped in the driveway.
Scotch had turned his father’s beatings on him, until the day he’d picked up a baseball bat and slugged his father into unconsciousness.
It was scotch that had lured him to pour his aches into the neck of a glass bottle, and that gave him the courage to cuss his late father’s haunting voice that always found its way into the darkness.
“What the hell you doin’, boy!” his father’s voice dropped into his ear.
“Leave me tha-tha-the fuck alone!” he slurred, standing up and turning to face the moonlight that glinted off the frosted windowpane. He wiped his hand across the window’s mist and saw a face reflected. Its head was shrouded by a black hood, eyes shielded by dark shades.
He whipped around, stumbling to the side.
No one.
What the hell you doin’, boy!
“What did I just say, huh, motherfucker? I said, leave me the fuck alone! I ain’t shit, just like you said I would always be. Nothing! I worked hard for everything I got—then I pissed on it. And why did I do that? ’Cause I’m your goddamn son!”
He snatched the bottle of scotch from the floor and turned it up to his mouth. Nothing. He fell down to the edge of the chair, his shoulders slumped, his head hung low, the empty bottle dangled in his grip. He looked over to floor where Sheila lay dead.
“What the hell you doin’, boy!”
He looked straight ahead.
The all-black figure stood before him . . .
He squinted.
What little he could see of the room spun in a kaleidoscope twirl.
His heart became a warm hammer thumping in his throat.
His tongue a heavy lump of flesh in his mouth.
His skin crawled.
The hairs on his neck stood up.
What the hell you doin’, boy!
He went back for an empty swig; the bottle was knocked from his lips, hitting the wall and crashing into shards of glass across the room. A hard breath escaped. His drunken gaze traced a stream of red light, easing from the floor to the center of his forehead.
He stumbled as a flash of his father’s ghostly face came into view and a whispering bullet rocketed from the barrel of a silenced 9mm Glock and ripped through his skull.
Chapter 72
Brooklyn
Her eyes peeled open. The last thing she remembered was seeing everyone distressed as she floated above her bed.
She eyed the room.
White walls.
Hospital charts.
Hospital bed.
Meechie sat in a chair at her bedside, holding Alani. Both slept. Luck sat next to Meechie, his neck tossed back and slob easing out the side of his mouth.
Lorenz stood at the window, looking out into the morning sun.
“L-L-Lorenz.” Her mouth ached.
He turned around, and his face lit up.
“Brooklyn?”
“Yes,” she said in a husky whisper.
Lorenz tapped a sleeping Meechie on her shoulder. She blinked her way out of sleep. Then looked over at Brooklyn. Meechie placed her fist in her mouth and fought back tears. She did her best not to hyperventilate. “Sister? Your eyes are open.”
Brooklyn nodded.
“Sister!” Meechie screamed, causing Luck and Alani to wake up. “You’re awake! Doctor, she’s awake!”
The doctor and nurses rushed in.
“Well, nice to see you, young lady.” The doctor lifted his stethoscope and placed it on Brooklyn’s chest. “Sounds great. You gave me quite a scare.”
“Shit, me too,” Luck said.
A soft laugh escaped Brooklyn’s lips.
The doctor continued, “Can you tell me your name, young lady?”
Brooklyn nodded. “Brooklyn Pryce.”
“How old are you?”
“Thirty-one.”
“Children?”
“One. Alani.”
“One more thing, and this may be a little difficult for you, and if it is, that’s okay. There are two detectives who have been waiting to speak with you. They have promised me that they only have one question and then they will leave.”
“Can they come back another time?” Lorenz asked.
“We promise,” came from the doorway, where two plainclothes detectives stood. “We won’t take up too much of your time.”
“Please don’t.”
The lead detective walked over to Brooklyn. “Ms. Pryce, can you tell us who did this to you?”
“Monty,” Brooklyn squeaked out. “The governor.”
“Thank you,” the detective said. “We’ll be back later, glad you’re feeling better.” They left.
“Looks like you’ll be just fine,” the doctor said, “but you need your rest.” He looked at her family. “We will need to run more tests, but from what I can see, she will be okay. Now, you four can go home and get some proper sleep and come back in a few hours.”
Meechie and Alani both kissed Brooklyn on the cheek. “Girl, you gave us a scare.”
The doctor peeked back into the room. “Okay, family, we need her to get her rest.”
“We’ll be back in a few hours,” Meechie said.
“Later, Petty LaBelle,” Luck said, taking Meechie by one hand and Alani by the other. The three of them walked out together.
Lorenz smiled and kissed her on the hand.
She clasped her hand with his and whispered, “Tell me about that dream again.”
The Chosen One