by Blue Saffire
However, I’m going to enjoy the sweet post essence of good love-making. Was it love-making? Or was it us getting out our frustration. Either way, I’m going to enjoy it. I grab a hand towel and begin to clean up.
After, I make my way back into the office. I find Mrs. Beal picking up all the books that fell. “Thank you, Mrs. Beal.”
She smiles that I know what you did smile. I nod and so does she. Without any explanation we go back to work.
Chapter 9
Nothing’s Changed
Ethan
I walk through the door of Penndel Heights hospital, a cell phone pressed to my ear as I search for my sister. She called me with news that our mother is in the hospital. She refused to tell me why she was there, only that I had to hurry.
I wonder if she’s dead or if she’s ODed again. “Eth.” I turn and Soren motions me to the open elevator. I move to it quickly. As I step in, I know it’s bad. Soren would normally rush to tell what’s going on. This time he remains silent and it’s deafening.
When we step out, our sister comes into view sitting with a cup in hand, her head leaning against the wall. The next thing to grab my attention are the two small feet dangling from the seat beside her. I guess we’re keeping Keegan.
When I near, Jay stands and so does Keegan. It’s clear my siblings have taken to him and started to give him affection I wouldn’t know how to begin to show. He looks a bit different already. A clean new Spider Man T-shirt, blue jeans and a watch. Jay definitely dressed him.
Jalyn’s face looks somber. “Tell me quickly,” I say as I take her into an embrace.
She speaks into my shoulder. “She has four broken ribs, a hairline fracture on her fibula and she ODed.”
I stand in silence frustrated by the situation. I will never understand my mother. This shit burns so deep, I swear one day it will consume me.
“I say we move her and adopt Keegan,” Soren says. I look back at him leaning against the wall.
“The police were here. They’re searching for Jimbo,” Jay says. While she speaks, I’m focused on one thing, getting rid of Jimbo.
He has been in existence for too long. I start to set my plan in motion. “We’ll put her in rehab. Then we’ll see about getting her a house in Penndel.”
“She won’t stay.” I look down at Keegan, his shoulders are sagged, he’s a perfect mix of Soren and myself.
“We’ll help her to stay,” Jalyn murmurs, releasing me. She reaches to squeeze Keegan’s shoulder.
She walks him back to the chair and they both lean their heads together. I move to Soren. His whole body is coiled as if he’s ready to attack. He’s normally the peacemaker of the family. I think he might just be ready for war this time.
“About Jimbo,” I speak in a hushed tone, turning my back on Jalyn.
“I want him dead.” Well, he didn’t need much convincing.
Each one of us has had a different level of relationship with Mom. However, as the youngest, Soren is closest to her. I nod in agreement, knowing this isn’t the time, but confirming the end of Jimbo.
A doctor approaches Jalyn and we go to join them. I tighten my fists at my sides. I have a sour taste in my mouth, it’s a bitter taste I’ve known too many times. We’ve been here before.
“Hi, I’m doctor Chu,” the doctor says as she gives us a warm smile. “Your mother is doing fine.” All four of us exhale in unison. I glance at Keegan as he holds onto Jalyn’s leg. “She over dosed on Flakka, however it was laced with Fentanyl.” She adjusts her glasses.
“Fentanyl and Flakka?” Jay says as she furrows her brows.
“Yes, Flakka is the new synthetic zombie drug, most likely the dealer cut it with Fentanyl.”
I’m so confused. “What are the effects?”
Dr. Chu clears her throat. “Like cocaine it affects the dopamine levels in your brain.”
“So, it makes you happy?” Soren asks.
“And paranoia. It can lessen a person’s reasoning ability. Giving them superhuman strength, high temperature and a zombie like demeanor.” Dr. Chu adjusts her clipboard. “Your mother is lucky that she has such a smart son.”
We all look at Keegan. He still stands by Jay’s leg. “Is that so?” I ask.
“Yeah, our brother called 911,” Soren says.
“It’s a good thing he did. It would seem she was beaten, then administered the drug,” Dr. Chu continues. “Narcan is an opioid inhibitor. We used three bottles on your mom.”
I’m numb, that’s how I feel. At least, until the rage is lit once again and starts to rise. I’m going to kill Jimbo and get rid of the drug dealer once and for all.
“How long until we can get her out of here?” I say tightly.
“She’ll be released in a few days. For now, we have to keep her for observation.” She smiles at us. “I truly believe with the four of you helping her, she may be all right.”
“Can we see her?” I ask.
“Sure, one by one. I will take you to her room.”
Jalyn’s pushes me to go. “I’ll stay here with Soren and Kee.”
I follow Dr. Chu through the hospital corridor; we’re ushered forward by the silent chatter of people in a room, the sound of someone crying spills from one of the others. I hate hospitals. They give me the creeps. It’s a place that houses sickness and death.
No, thank you.
Dr. Chu pushes open the door and my heart stops. As I step into the room, it’s like I’m hallucinating. The woman on the bed is unrecognizable. My mother looks like a black and blue balloon.
I can’t understand. I wonder if Dr. Chu made a mistake until I see my mother’s wrist. Years ago, my grandmother suffered with Alzheimer’s. One day, after a long search, the police found her sitting in the library bathroom. She couldn’t remember her name or how she got there. My mother and I went to the police station to collect her.
She didn’t even remember my mom’s name. I think that broke my mom’s heart. The next day Mom went for a tattoo with all of our names. She joked that if she got Alzheimer’s, she would have her children’s names tattooed on her wrist to remind us.
I hated those tattoos. Today, I stand at the foot of her bed and I understand. I’m even grateful for them.
The machines around her sound with the compressing of air and the measure of her heart beat. I walk to the side of the bed. Her hair is matted to her pale forehead. A blue tube protrudes out of her mouth, her face is twisted and swollen.
Her fingers and toes twitch lightly. It’s then that I notice the restraints on her hands and feet. I remember Dr. Chu spoke of a zombie like demeanor, and a high level of paranoia and hallucinations.
It’s as if nothing has changed. I’m thrown back into my past. I leave the hospital hours later feeling dazed and hopeless.
Joel Huntsman
Luciano Pavarotti’s “Nessun Dorma” echoes through my home office. I’ve always loved opera. I love the drama and the stage settings. However, it’s the music that moves my soul.
My favorite part being the crescendo. The climb to the apex of the song. It intrigues me. In my life, I think of myself as the maestro. The conductor who’s directing everyone on stage to their rightful positions in life.
With the swing of my mighty arm, the greasy, flea bitten man called Jimbo is sitting in my office. I’m conducting.
“You couldn’t have done it without me. Trust me his ass is distracted.” Leaning on the threshold to my office, he picks his teeth. He’s making the most annoying noise I’ve ever heard.
“What did you do?”
I know what he did. I already had someone send me a report from Penndel Hospital. This piece of white trash almost killed his wife. Granted, when I paid him, it was to create a minor distraction for Wulf, not kill his wife. Not that she’s worth much, trash is trash. However, if this continues and he’s found out, I will be connected to him. He’s a disloyal son of a bitch, he will talk.
He slicks his hand over his hair. “I had enough of her and tha
t brat anyway.”
I open the briefcase at my side and turn it toward him. “$50,000.00 as promised.”
Jimbo scowls. “You said one hundred fucking thousand, Huntsman.” He reaches in the back of his pants and pulls out a Berretta M9. He starts to pace as I sit calmly with a glass of bourbon in my hand. He taps the gun lightly against his head. “This is why I don’t fuck with niggers. I should shoot you and leave.”
I place my bourbon on my side table and stand. Dusting off the invisible lint on my pants, I act as if he hasn’t said a word. I straighten my suit jacket, before leveling him with my gaze.
He points the gun at my forehead. “Are you taking me for a fool? I ought to shoot your black ass.”
I’m growing tired of his stupid banter. I stand and saunter toward him leisurely. He narrows his gaze on me as his hand starts to shake. With a swift movement his gun is now in my hand. Denzel Washington’s Equalizer has nothing on me.
“What the f—” He tries to talk, but I shove the pistol into his mouth. He widens his blood shot eyes and throws his hands up into the air.
“Shh, shh. Have respect for Pavarotti.” I pull the hammer back and he starts to wiggle. “No, no, now don’t do that, I could pull the trigger by mistake.” He stinks of sweat with a mix of dry acid. Maybe the cocaine is coming through his pores.
I close my eyes listening to the strength that is Pavarotti.
“This opera is called ‘Nessun Dorma.’ It’s my favorite aria from Puccini.” I open my eyes to find Jimbo has blanched.
“Do you know opera, Jimbo?” I have him by his T-shirt. He shakes his head frantically.
“Calm down, I don’t expect you to know it. Nessun Dorma means, none shall sleep.” I smile at Jimbo, feeling the weight of the piece in my hand. I push the gun further into his mouth.
“Call me nigger one more time and I will make you disappear. Nod if you understand.”
He nods slowly, his breathing becomes erratic around the muzzle of the gun. Beads of sweat start to form around his hairline.
“I’ll pay the other $50,00.00 when you receive the shipment of Flakka for me.” I let go of his T-shirt and tap his oily head. “Do we have an understanding?”
Drool leaks out to the side of his mouth. The fear in his eyes is clear. He’s finally understanding that I’m conducting this show.
“Now, you’ll give me information about Wulf. I’ll decide what you’ll tell the press, and we’ll go from there.”
I take the gun out of his mouth. He starts to cough, holding his neck. “I got it,” he mutters.
I move to collect my bourbon for another sip. Setting the gun down in its place, I let the music fill me. I close the briefcase and stroll back to Jimbo to hand him his money.
“Get out of my house.”
He dashes past me with the case clenched to his chest. He makes his way out to his car and drives off as I watch through the window. Once he’s out of sight, I pull out my cell phone and dial my next move.
“Hello, I need you to do something for me.”
I’m always in control.
Chapter 10
Pie and Rumors
Amelia
Three days, that’s how long it took for Ethan to reach out to me. Each time I called him, it went straight to voicemail. I was tempted to show up at his hotel to be the extra fiancée.
However, I chose not. When he did show up, he was closed off once again, reminding me that this is still an arrangement. So, for the last month and a half we’ve been doing this song and dance.
I refuse to beg for answers, and I will not show him how affected I am. However, today I plan to address his behavior. Enough is enough.
I have questions and I’m angry, but I’m smiling on stage in the middle of town hall, holding a caramel apple crumb pie. For the time being, I have every intention of winning this apple pie contest.
People take my pie making for me being perfect and sweet. The truth is, I love to win and be the best. There’s also a part of me that feels the need to be good. As if when I am, I’m forgiven for all my ugly past transgressions. However, when my fiancé is a judge and he’s smiling way too long at Sophia and her ordinary-wanna-be-classic-apple-pie, I just want to shove this pie where the sun doesn’t shine.
He’s accompanied by the town Sheriff, Jack, and my dad. Surprisingly, my father is playing nice today. I find that weird, but what’s normal about any of this.
Ethan stands with his clipboard making his notes. He’s showcasing the world’s most false smile. All grin and no heart.
How can you achieve a smoldering look with a fake freaking smile?
God, I hate him some days. Why of all the days does he have to look this good today? His black polo showcases his biceps, and hint at his stupid abs. Those jeans… why does his ass look so tight in those jeans? His thighs even look a bit thicker.
I roll my eyes in my mind as Emma Gretel giggles at something he says. The flirting makes my skin crawl. I grind my teeth, but never lose my smile.
Finally, they reach me. “Neither your fiancé, nor your father can judge your pie,” Sheriff Jack says.
“But we sure as hell can taste it. Right, sweet pea?” My father smiles softly at me.
My blood chills. Something is wrong. Or am I being paranoid? Sweet Pea? What the hell is wrong with my father, he never calls me endearing names like Sweet Pea anymore.
Sheriff Jack adjusts his belt over his midsection. I give it ten minutes before the belt loses its battle and slips right back under his tummy. “Tell us about your pie?”
“My pie is a hot gooey caramel apple crumb pie. It’s sensational. It’s packed with Granny Smith apples like a classic apple pie.”
“What’s the difference?” Ethan asks, his smile never reaching his eyes.
I can’t help wondering what happened. After that day in my office, he said we would talk. That never happened. I don’t know whether this change has been because of me, or whatever he rushed off to. Whatever it is, I’ve reached my boiling point.
“The difference is the warm caramel syrup, drizzled over the pie. I then top it with a crunchy streusel.”
Take that.
The Sheriff takes a fork, digs into the pie and tastes it. He stares at me. I start to think something’s wrong. Maybe he doesn’t like the pie? Is it too sweet? Did I make it with salt instead of sugar? I did that once; it was a well-baked disaster.
Sheriff Jack’s moans halt my spiraling thoughts. “This is fantastic!” he declares.
I smile proudly as he places the blue ribbon on my pie. I win first place again. Sophia comes in third and Sandy second. I’m elated.
As I’m interviewed by Marely Tuffet, a buzzing presence surrounds me. I know it’s him before I see him. It’s the most confusing part of all of this. Ethan may be distant, but that connection is still there between us.
I’m frustrated on the inside, but I never lose my smile. I put on a show for the cameras. Always working for the win. As my interview comes to an end one of the other reporters turns to focus on Ethan.
“Mr. Wulf, how did you enjoy the Bake Off?”
“I think I have to go to the gym later. Everything was delicious.” He smiles and I’m quickly forgotten.
“Mr. Wulf, over here?” Marley Tuffet shouts out, moving to shove her mic in his face.
Ethan nods at Marley. She looks giddy, too giddy for my liking. That feeling of uneasiness tingles up my spine.
“Can you tell us where you get your campaign money? Many say its drugs and others the mob. What do you say?”
Ethan smiles at her shaking his head. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“She’s talking about your involvement in the drug industry,” my father walks up to us with a grin on his lips and places his hand on Ethan’s back. “I believe it all, by the way.”
I purse my lips and step forward. “Mr. Wulf never had any association with the drug industry.”
“Just today, Aaron Jimbo Stone told PTV about
your early investment into drugs. As well as your past, as both a distributor and seller,” Marley smiles cunningly, shoving the mic into the face of Ethan once more. “Do you deny this?”
Ethan’s face pales, then turns red. “Jimbo can take his—”
“There will be no further questions. A conference will be held this evening and all these allegations can be put to rest.” Although I want to slap the shit out of Tuffet, I put on my sweetest smile and personality. “Enough about Mr. Wulf. A girl can feel insulted when the focus is shifted from her.” The reporters laugh, but Ms. Tuffet isn’t to be deterred.
“How do you feel about these allegations?” I would snatch Tuffet right out of her cheap bright blue suit if the cameras weren’t around.
“Ms. Tuffet, I should warn you that slander is an offense, you can be convicted for by law. Be careful.” I make sure my smile drips with charm.
My father’s jaw rocks as he watches me. Sheriff Jack comes over. “Until further notice please withhold all questions relating to Mr. Wulf. Thank you all for coming.”
He then turns and ushers us all to the back of the hall into a private space. I glare at the back of my father’s head as we go. I don’t know what he’s up to, but I don’t like it.
I’m fuming. “She has some nerve. God, I hate that woman. She’s a slimy putrid snake.”
My rant is interrupted by the clicking of someone’s heel. Jalyn appears and rushes to Ethan’s side.
“Hey, I can’t leave for one minute without all this drama breaking out. Hello, Mr. Huntsman.”
My father grimaces. “I’m not a racist, nor am I a bigot, but I do hate when white trash tries to act classy.”
Ethan turns to my father and calmly walks up to him. “I came back to destroy you. Trust me, in time I will, but you disrespect my sister again and your destruction will happen so fast your head will spin.”
Sweat beads on my father’s head. The fear is evident in his eyes. He clears his throat and steps away from Ethan.