Lady Arykah Reigns

by Nikita Lynnette Nichols

  Lady Elect 2: Lady Arykah Reigns

  Nikita Lynnette Nichols

  www.urbanchristianonline.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Other titles by Nikita Lynnette Nichols

  Dedication

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Book Club Discussion Questions

  UC HIS GLORY BOOK CLUB!

  What We Believe:

  Copyright Page

  Other titles by Nikita Lynnette Nichols

  None But The Righteous

  A Man’s Worth

  Amaryllis

  Crossroads

  A Woman’s Worth

  Lady Elect

  Damsels In Distress

  Contact the author at:

  kitawrites@comcast.net

  Facebook: Nikita Lynnette Nichols

  Twitter: @nikitalynnette

  Dedication

  I wish to dedicate this book to my very best friend, Jamia Ray-Franklin. You are, undoubtedly, the strongest chick on this earth. I thank God for your loyalty, your friendship, and your overall compassion. I love you, girl.

  Prologue

  The clock on the nightstand displayed 3:53 a.m. Arykah tossed and turned in her sleep.

  Praise and worship was in full swing. Bishop Lance Howell sat in the pulpit. Mother Pansie Bowak sat on the second pew. She clapped her hands and swayed as the choir sang.

  “Come on in where the table is spread and the feast of the Lord is going on .”

  Arykah fidgeted. She turned to her right side, not knowing that she had thrown the covers from her body.

  The sanctuary doors opened. Arykah appeared at the entrance. Myrtle and Monique stood on opposite sides of her. Darlita, Chelsea, and Gladys were behind her. Arykah took the first step, and all of the ladies followed her.

  Arykah mumbled, then turned to her left side. She rested her head against her pillow.

  Two policemen forced Clyde’s hands behind his back and locked cuffs on his wrists.

  “Clyde Trumbull, you’re under arrest for the rape of Arykah Miles and second-degree murder in the death of her unborn child,” an officer stated as he read Clyde his Miranda Rights. As they escorted Clyde up the basement stairs, they saw a huge collage of photographs, taken of Arykah, along the staircase wall .

  Arykah turned onto her back. Tears ran from the sides of her closed eyelids, passed her temples, and into her hair. She continued to dream.

  Dressed in a light blue terry cloth robe and curlers in her hair, Mother Gussie was visibly frightened. She stood in the middle of her living room and shook her head from side to side when questioned by the police .

  Arykah twitched, then mumbled.

  As Arykah and the ladies slowly made their way down the center aisle, the congregation lost interest in praise and worship. Everyone stopped singing and clapping. They focused on Arykah’s battered face. Arykah heard many gasps.

  “Is that Lady Arykah? Oh my God. What happened to her?”

  Mother Pansie turned around and looked up the aisle to see what had captured the choir and musicians’ attention. Her eyes filled with disbelief when she saw Arykah and her posse making their way in her direction. She turned back around and sat on the pew frozen. She stared straight-ahead.

  When Arykah had arrived at her side, Mother Pansie looked up at her, and then looked away.

  The entire church was quiet. Everyone watched.

  “You tried to break me, didn’t you?”

  Mother Pansie didn’t respond to Arykah. She sat stoic on the pew.

  Arykah knelt down and placed her bruised face directly in Mother Pansie’s view. “Look at me!” she yelled.

  Again Arykah twitched and mumbled, “No, no.” Sweat beads formed on her forehead. She pressed the rear of her head down into the pillow.

  Mother Pansie flinched. She hastily grabbed her purse and Bible from the pew and stood. She maneuvered past Arykah and collided with Monique, Chelsea, Myrtle, Darlita, and Gladys as they blocked her exit. She brushed past the ladies and hurried down the center aisle but stopped in her tracks when she saw Detective Cortney Rogers and two female officers walking up the aisle. Nervously, Mother Pansie turned around and saw Arykah and her gang closing in on her. She was trapped. She had been caught.

  Detective Rogers grabbed Mother Pansie’s arms and pulled them behind her. Her Bible and purse fell to the floor as she was placed in handcuffs.

  The church was in total shock. Many congregants looked on as their beloved Mother Pansie was arrested. “What’s going on? What’s happening?”

  Arykah approached Mother Pansie and stood toe-to-toe with her. “Did you really think that you could keep me away from this church?” She clenched her teeth and poked herself in the chest. “I am Lady Arykah Miles-Howell.”

  Mother Pansie held no expression on her face.

  “You tried to destroy me, but it didn’t work,” Arykah continued. “You came after my marriage, but that plan failed too.” As tears ran down her face, Arykah’s words broke. “You stole my baby from my womb, but guess what, Pansie? God is still holding my hand. That weapon you formed didn’t prosper. It will never prosper.”

  “Oh my God, not Mother Pansie,” Arykah heard many folks say out loud.

  Arykah laughed emotionally. “You know what I’m gonna do for you, Pansie? As the first lady of this church, I’m gonna ask the Lord to have mercy on your soul.”

  Detective Rogers escorted Mother Pansie out of the sanctuary. Lance came from the pulpit and stood in front of Arykah. “You did it, Cheeks. I’m so proud of you.”

  Arykah turned onto her left side again and exhaled. She slept peacefully for the remainder of the night.

  One

  She relented and gave in just to shut everyone up. Lance, Monique, Adonis, and even Mother Myrtle Cortland had worked Arykah’s last nerve. Her supporters were overbearing, and Arykah was at her wit’s end. If any of them mentioned calling a therapist one more time, Arykah was willing to slit both her wrists, and even theirs. She couldn’t take their nagging a moment longer.

  It’ll be good for you if you speak with a therapist . . . You’ve suffered a traumatic experience . . . Arykah, keeping your feelings and emotions bottled up inside will only cause ulcers . . . You have to talk about the rape . . . It’ll eat you up inside if you don’t. You’ll never get past it if you don’t open up to someone. Blah blah blah.

  Yes, Arykah had been raped. Yes, she had been beaten. Yes, she had a miscarriage. And, yes, she was traumatized. But Arykah wanted to heal in her own way and absorb the trauma on her own terms. Not talking about it and dismissing it from her mind was the best medicine. But each and every day since she was released from the hospital, it was, “Did you make an appointment with a therapist yet ?” Why couldn’t everybody just shut up and leave her alone?

  So, there Arykah sat, wasting her precious time on a Saturday afternoon, in a building, in a corner office in downtown Chicago, with a view overlooking Lake Michigan. The tides were high in early May. Arykah watched the waves crash against the shoreline.

  “A penny for your thoughts,” Lance said. He sat in a chair next to Arykah and caressed her hand inside his own.

  She glanced at him briefly before returning her gaze back to the water. “Hmm? Just wondering how many people have drowned in the lake.”

  Lance frowned, then he ch
uckled. “What?” He wondered what on earth would make Arykah respond that way.

  She kept her focus where it was. “Isn’t that why you and everyone else pressured me to come here? So that I could drown in my sorrows? Ironic, don’t you think? You brought me to a therapist to drown, when really all you had to do, Lance, was push me in Lake Michigan. You know my fat behind can’t swim.”

  Lance shook his head from side to side. He didn’t understand. “No, Cheeks. I thought it would be good for you to talk about what happened. I can’t get you to open up to me. You refuse to discuss it with Mother Myrtle or Monique. It’s obvious the rape and miscarriage are eating you up inside.”

  Arykah snapped her head in Lance’s direction. “What the heck you mean, ‘It’s obvious’? Because I cry from time to time? That makes me a nutcase?”

  Aw, heck, here we go , Lance thought. He knew it would take some time for Arykah to bounce back to her old self, sassy talk and cuss words surfing on the tip of her tongue. When they married, Lance had vowed to love Arykah for better or for worse, until death parted them. And Lance had accepted the fact that Arykah’s healing wouldn’t be easy. It would be stressful, difficult, and trying. But with each passing day since Arykah was assaulted, Lance had to walk on eggshells.

  Right then, all Arykah wanted to do was cuss out everybody who was either on her last nerve or the one before it. There was a time when Arykah was honestly trying to curb her vulgar vocabulary, but since the day she was attacked, she was starting not to care what she said or whom she said it to. If Lance said “Good morning” to Arykah, she wanted to respond, “What in the hell is so good about it?” For now, though, it was just a nod and a smile. But the clock was ticking before the sailor in her showed itself. God help her!

  She had Lance so confused he didn’t know if he was coming or going. One moment Arykah was behaving as if the rape never happened, and the next moment she would be crying and hiding from the world on the floor of her closet.

  Though Arykah had fought Lance tooth and nail about speaking with a therapist, he knew he had to get her some help, even if it meant dragging her to the therapist office himself.

  He chose his words carefully before he spoke to his wife. “Of course you’re not a nutcase, Cheeks. I’m concerned about you. We all are. Mother Cortland, Monique, and Adonis are worried that you may not be dealing with this matter in a healthy way.”

  She raised her voice. “In a healthy way ? Really? Well, why don’t you tell me, Lance, the healthiest way to handle this matter.” Arykah made quotation marks with her fingers. “You think it’s healthy for me to spill my guts to a total stranger about how my loving husband was not around when a man beat me, raped me, and ripped my baby from my womb?”

  Lance’s jaw became tight. Arykah said it. She finally said what Lance had felt. He knew Arykah had blamed him, but she hadn’t actually said the words. Had Lance known, on that Monday morning, that Arykah was in danger, he never would’ve gone to church. In his mind, Lance was a husband first and pastor second. He should have been home to protect his wife. Had it been him, instead of Arykah, who answered the doorbell, she wouldn’t have been raped and beaten. Arykah would still be carrying their child.

  Arykah seemed fine after she was released from the hospital. She had told Lance that she didn’t miss being pregnant because she hadn’t even known she was with child. And against her doctor’s orders to not indulge in any intimate relations for four weeks, Arykah tried to seduce Lance a week after the rape and miscarriage. Lance wanted to take Arykah but remained strong and reminded her of the doctor’s orders. But everything had changed three nights ago, almost four weeks after the assault.

  An hour after Arykah had retired for the evening, Lance walked into the master suite and saw that she had fallen asleep with the bedroom light on. He sat on the bed and kicked his slippers off, then reached for the lamp on the nightstand. As soon as the room darkened, Arykah gave off a bloodcurdling scream.

  “No! Please, God, no!”

  Lance was startled. He switched the light back on and jumped out of bed and looked at Arykah. She was trembling, and her head was shaking vigorously. When Lance moved toward her, Arykah squeezed her eyes shut and turned away from him.

  “Please don’t hurt me! No more. Please no more.”

  Her words stopped Lance in his tracks. His heart beat so fast he thought his chest would burst. “Baby, it’s me. It’s Lance.”

  Arykah clutched her pillow to her chest and sobbed loudly. Lance saw that she rocked back and forth in a fetal position. Slowly he moved toward her.

  Arykah began flailing her hands and legs. “Don’t touch me, don’t touch me.” Arykah looked toward the bedroom door. “Lance! Lance!” she called out.

  Lance sat on the bed at her side and tried his best to console her. He placed his hand softly on her thigh. “Arykah, it’s me. I’m right here.”

  Arykah fought off the man next to her. She swung at Lance, striking him repeatedly in his chest and neck area. “Get out!” she yelled. “Get out!”

  Lance stood, but his feet were glued to the hardwood floor. He didn’t know what to do.

  “Move away from me. Get away!”

  Arykah’s screams sent him running from the bedroom to the kitchen. He yanked the telephone from the wall and dialed Monique. He was breathing heavy in her ear. “You better get here quick.”

  “What happened?” Monique asked in a panic.

  Lance ran his hand over his bald head. “I don’t know. She’s screaming and yelling. She won’t let me near her.”

  Monique was already jumping out of bed and running to her closet to change her clothes. “I’m on my way.”

  Lance didn’t return to the master suite. He sat in the living room, waiting a half hour for Monique to arrive. He slept in one of the four guest rooms that night while Monique and Arykah stayed behind the closed door of the master suite.

  “You think that I don’t blame myself, for one second, that I wasn’t home when you were attacked? It kills me that I couldn’t protect you. I failed you, and I will never get past that.”

  There was a soft knock on the door before it opened slowly. An African American female entered the room. The first thing Arykah noticed was her cute short crop haircut and beautifully made-up face. Arykah had expected to see someone wearing a white lab coat, but the lady was dressed in a form-fitted dark blue jean button-down dress. She guessed the lady to be about a size fourteen. The last time Arykah wore a size fourteen was when she was fourteen. At thirty years old, Arykah fit comfortably in a size twenty-two. She was a big girl who took pride in her appearance. Arykah paid good money for her expensive clothes and shoes. She never allowed her size to interfere with looking her absolute best.

  Arykah glanced at the lady’s feet and saw a pair of black leather mules and frowned. Why couldn’t she have slipped into a pair of plain black stilettos to set that blue jean dress off?

  Arykah, a self-proclaimed shoe whore, thought that a lot could be said about a woman by the shoes she wore. The lady’s crop haircut . . . check . Her face was made up nicely . . . check . The blue jean dress hugged her curves perfectly . . . check . The black leather mules . . . epic failure. Perhaps, when they were done, Arykah thought that she and the lady could switch seats. She needed a lesson and obviously some serious therapy on how to upgrade her shoe game.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Howell?”

  Lance stood from his chair and extended his hand. “Yes. I’m Lance.” He shook the lady’s hand and turned to face his wife. “This is Arykah.”

  The lady looked at Arykah who was still seated. “Hello, Arykah. I’m Doctor Santana Lovejoy.” She sat down at her desk and noticed that Lance was still standing. “Lance, please sit.”

  Lance sat, and Doctor Lovejoy retrieved a notebook and ink pen from the center drawer of her desk. She looked up at both Arykah and Lance, then smiled.

  Arykah was drawn to her hazel eyes against her dark mocha-colored skin. Cute. She could not really deny that D
r. Santana Lovejoy was strikingly beautiful. Arykah rated her a nine. She could’ve been a ten for sure had she worn the correct shoes.

  Doctor Lovejoy had read Arykah’s file before she and Lance had arrived. She looked at Arykah.“How can I help you today?”

  Arykah didn’t want to be there. She concentrated on her hands and wondered when was the last time she had visited a nail shop. Since Lance thought the session was necessary, Arykah decided to let him and Doctor Lovejoy have at it. Arykah glanced at her cuticles. She was overdue for a fill-in. I could be somewhere getting my nails done right now .

  Lance waited for Arykah to speak, but she didn’t say a word. “Honey, you wanna start?”

  When Arykah didn’t respond Lance nudged her arm. While she kept her focus on her nails, Arykah nudged him back much harder.

  Lance gave Doctor Lovejoy an embarrassed smile. He cleared his throat. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all, he thought to himself.

  “Why don’t you start, Lance?” Doctor Lovejoy asked him.

  That was the second time she had said his name. The way she said it caused Arykah to snap her head in Doctor Lovejoy’s direction. Lance? Lance? It’s like that? She said his name like they had been acquainted. Like they knew each other. Like they go way back. Like they may have been intimate before. Doctor Lovejoy sounded like that chick from The Cosby Show when she whined her boyfriend’s name. “Oh, Laaannnce.” Arykah cringed every time she watched those particular episodes.

  “You two know each other?”

  Both Doctor Lovejoy and Lance looked at Arykah curiously.

  “You’re on a first-name basis. I thought that maybe you were old friends.”

  “Actually, this is the first time that I’m meeting both of you,” Doctor Lovejoy said. “I find that using last names in sessions doesn’t break the ice with my patients. I prefer to be on a friendlier term.”