“C’mon, you’ve come this far,” Ambrose encouraged. Dominique lifted the knocker and banged it three times.
“Who?” an unfamiliar voice called from the other side and suddenly the door swung open. It was a little teenage girl that Dominique did not recognize.
“Um . . . hi . . . is Awilda Branch here?” Dominique stammered.
“No. Don’t no Awilda Branch live here. We just moved here two months ago so . . .” the little girl said with attitude.
“Oh, sorry,” Dominique said, confused. As they turned to walk away, the door across the hall cracked open. It was Ms. Hilda, one of Awilda’s old friends and neighbor for years.
“Hi, Dominique,” Ms. Hilda said softly. Dominique whirled around. She always liked Ms. Hilda but never respected her. She didn’t understand how that woman could have known what Awilda was doing to her and not come to her rescue.
“Hello, Ms. Hilda,” Dominique managed.
“You know your aunt is gone, don’t you?” Ms. Hilda asked.
“Um . . . no, gone where?” Dominique asked.
“She died a couple months back,” Ms. Hilda said solemnly, shaking her head from left to right like it was the worst tragedy. Dominique lost her breath for a minute. She’d never considered that Awilda might be dead.
“How?”
“Of the AIDS they said. I’m not really sure. She had gone a little crazy for a while. I used to be able to help her at least take a bath and give her something to eat, but she started being nasty and mean and cussing all the time. You know they said that medication them doctors was giving her was ’spiramental so she was like a guinea pig. Her reactions wasn’t good . . . not good at all,” Ms. Hilda explained, shuddering at the memory.
Tears fell from Dominique’s eyes. Ambrose hugged her and told her it was okay. Dominique figured they both thought she was crying for Awilda, but it was really out of anger. Now she would never be able to tell Awilda how much she had ruined her life.
The months flew by like days and Dominique was proud of herself for staying clean in the program. Dominique had spent the day providing services to girls who were still out on the streets. In the evening, she went to Mama Grady’s, excited to share her accomplishments with someone.
One evening she walked into Mama Grady’s house, and knew right away something was amiss. No food smells wafted through the door. Despite the wheelchair, Mama Grady still slid around that kitchen and prepared food every single day. Dominique also noticed a mess of medical supply packaging on the living room floor and Mama Grady’s wheelchair pushed over in a corner.
“Mama Grady!” Dominique called out, a feeling a dread washing over her. She ran through the apartment but there was no sign of her anywhere. When she walked over to the table, she found a note from Sharon. They had taken Mama Grady to Mount Sinai Hospital.
Dominique raced out of the apartment and ran as fast as she could toward the train station. She couldn’t keep still on the train. When the door finally opened on her stop, she darted from the train car like a mad women. By the time she reached the hospital lobby, she was drenched in sweat. Just being in the hospital again made the hairs on her arm stand up.
“I’m looking for Ina Mae Grady,” Dominique huffed out.
“She is in Cardiac Intensive Care ma’am . . . only relatives allowed,” the front desk receptionist said.
“I’m her granddaughter,” Dominique lied so fluidly she could’ve believed it herself.
“Okay . . . here you go,” the receptionist said, handing Dominique the little laminated pass. She sped over to the elevators and banged on the buttons. When it came, she jumped in and walked in a circle until she got to the right floor. Walking down the corridor, she banged on the glass door until she was buzzed through.
Everything was blindingly white on the cardiac ICU. The smell of alcohol and disinfectant made Dominique gag–it smelled like death.
She spotted Sharon immediately and rushed to her side.
“Sharon, what’s going on?” Dominique barked, her heart racing so fast.
“I think she is just holding on for you,” Sharon said solemnly.
“What are you talking about, Sharon?” Dominique screamed, stomping her feet.
“Go inside, Dominique. You need to see her before she goes. She’s waiting for you,” Sharon said, tears falling silently from her eyes. Dominique swallowed hard. Sharon didn’t know what she was talking about. Mama Grady was going to be fine.
Dominique moved slowly into the room, feeling like she was floating on air. Her knees buckled at the site of Mama Grady’s body connected to several tubes.
“No . . . no, please . . . no,” Dominique cried, bending over in pain. The heart monitor blipped a slow, steady rhythm. Dominique grabbed Mama Grady’s hand and combed her fingers through the silver hair that resembled a soft bird’s nest. Dominique watched her chest rise and fall with every hiss and pump of the machine.
“Please, don’t leave me. I need you. I can’t finish this journey without you,” Dominique cried, rocking and gripping her warm hand, wishing life into her body.
“Mama Grady, I haven’t said this to anyone since I was twelve years old . . . but I love you. I love you so much. Thank you for teaching me how to love myself,” Dominique cried pitifully, bending in and kissing Mama Grady on her forehead.
Something on the machine began to ring. Alarmed, Dominique bolted upright, grasping Mama Grady’s hand even tighter. The room filled with a cavalry of nurses and doctors. They pushed her aside to fuss over Mama Grady.
“Get her out of here,” one nurse yelled. Dominique was pushed out of the door. She ran straight into Sharon and grabbed onto her. They sobbed in each other’s arms like two sisters. Finally, the doctor returned. “She is gone. I am so sorry for your loss.”
Dominique screamed loud enough to wake the dead. She felt like dying herself.
Dominique sat in the back of the Abyssinian Baptist Church trying not to be angry at God. Mama Grady’s home going service was beautiful. Dominique listened to the choir sing and finally felt at peace with her death.
While the pastor spoke, a man came and touched Dominique’s arm, offering his condolences. He told her he had been an apprentice pastor at the church and had grown to love Mama Grady. Dominique had a hard time maintaining eye contact with him, embarrassed by her scarred face and the urges she still had to get high. The man was persistent until he had finally broken through Dominique’s tough exterior. This tall, cinnamon-colored stranger with perfect teeth and the sharpest suit had softened Dominique’s hardened heart by just mentioning Mama Grady’s name.
Dominique returned to church every week after that. It was the thing that kept her from going out to find drugs. She had considered getting high every single day since Mama Grady had closed her eyes. Dominique had began shutting herself off from her friends at My House. The church and the new pastor had made her good enough and she didn’t have to face her past like she did at My House. Dominique eventually stopped going to My House altogether. Being at the church offered her the same refuge and hope for the future as My House, she rationalized.
Dominique and Pastor Alton Camden began their courtship with the support of everyone in the church. Dominique poured herself into their relationship to keep her mind off drugs. She hid behind makeup until her scars were healed. She buried her secrets and lived out a fantasy she thought she’d never live. After less than a year, Alton had convinced her to marry him. It had been a small, intimate ceremony. Dominique did not invite any of her old friends at My House, afraid that Alton would find out about her past and lose interest in her. Instead, Dominique filled her void for Mama Grady with her new husband.
Casey swallowed three pills and chased them down with Patrón–her new sleep potion. She looked at herself in the mirror. “That bastard!” she cursed, noticing the blue and green bruise Jordan had left on her cheeks. He had grabbed her face forcefully when she refused to sign the contract for the Fuck Fest movie he wanted her star in.
Casey had shuddered at the thought of thousands of men having sex with her, one after the other. But in the end, she had signed on the dotted lines. Jordan needed the money and so did she. The filming was set to start on March 10 and end on the 13, which just so happened to fall on a Friday this year. Casey hoped that wasn’t an omen.
Chapter Fifteen
Healing Wounds
Whenever Brice closed his eyes, the night he saved his sister’s life would play over in his head. Now, he sat vigil at his sister’s hospital bedside, refusing to leave even to change his clothes. They wanted to keep her for observation and to run a battery of tests. Ciara couldn’t remember much of what had been done to her, which Brice was grateful for. His mother lay next to his baby sister, smoothing her hair down and acting as if she never wanted to let her child go again. Brice jumped to attention when he heard a small knock on the door. The police officer who had been assigned to stand guard peeked his head around the door.
“There’s a lady out here to see you, Detective Simpson,” the officer informed.
“I’ll be right back,” Brice told his mother. In the hallway stood a petite woman holding a bouquet of flowers.
“I . . . I didn’t mean to intrude,” Bridgett Coleman said, abruptly handing him the flowers.
“Not at all,” Brice said.
“I just wanted to say thank you for catching my daughter’s killer,” Bridgett managed, before her tears started dropping.
“And I want to thank you as well. If it weren’t for the information you provided, I would have never made the connection and my sister could be . . .” Brice returned, his voice trailing off. Bridgett reached out and hugged Brice, hard. She finally had closure over her little girl’s death.
Dominique watched from her car as the FBI and Suffolk County Police Department descended on her home like a swarm of bees on a hive. After they kicked through her front door, she heard loud crashes from inside. All of her possessions were being thrown around–destroyed. Dominique needed to see him being taken out in handcuffs. Then she would know it was all over.
Finally, Alton emerged with his head down and his body bent at the waist. The media trucks were capturing their footage from a distance just like she was. Dominique swallowed hard. It had taken her eight tries before she finally placed the call to the police, but she was glad she had done it. After she provided the information, the authorities began investigating Alton. During surveillance they discovered that he had been paying a crooked NYPD cop to provide him with underaged girls. Dominique cooperated with the police and helped them get up enough probable cause to secure a search warrant for the church and their home. They’d found Alton’s stash of external hard drives filled with child pornography. Dominique had brought him down, and in the process, saved girls just like herself.
“You okay?” Ambrose asked Dominique.
“Yes, I am ready to confront my past and look ahead to the future,” Dominique said, repeating what her old therapist had told her. Dominique had tried to run from her past, but she always ended up in nearly the same place–with another abusive man. This time she would do things differently.
Backwater Creek was smaller than Casey remembered. It still had that seemingly red glow from the Utah dirt. Casey bent down and ran her fingers through it. She inhaled and took in the familiar scent of burning wood stoves. There were no guards at the front gate like when she was a child and some of the houses had been reduced to piles of rubble. She walked along the dirt path until she reached the small white cross. It had been knocked over and the wood was weather beaten. She set it upright and ran her fingers over the letters that spelled out the name of her deceased son.
Casey stood on the porch of her childhood home like a stranger. After living in big cities for so long, Casey felt like she’d stepped back in time into an old Western movie. Finally, a lady came to the door. The woman was dressed in the traditional FLDS garb. “Yes, can I help you?” the woman asked.
“I’m looking for my mother,” Casey said.
“Your mother?” the woman asked, confused.
“Yes, Margaret Pete.”
“Oh, honey, Margaret Pete has been dead for three years now. She was one of my sister wives,” the lady said, wiping her hands on her apron. The shocking news immobilized Casey, making it difficult to breathe. In a matter of seconds, she fell to the ground in a faint.
“Help!” Jordan screamed as he balled his body into a fetal position. Just as he did, he felt his ribs buckle under another close-fisted blow. Jordan felt kicks to his kidneys and genitals. Then he took a blow to the stomach. He felt like a volcano had erupted inside of him. Blood bubbled up his esophagus and spewed from his mouth involuntarily.
“That’s what you get for being a kid killer, muthafucka!” one inmate growled, spitting on Jordan as the others continued to let their blows land at will. The COs stood in the bubble and watched. They had heard all about Jordan Bleu and didn’t have any desire to interfere with the inmates’own dispensation of justice.
Dominique stood up in front of the girls at My House and flashed a bright smile.
“Today, it is my pleasure to welcome you to our Stories of Survival gathering. We will hear from two victims and a police officer about the sexual exploitation of women and how it can be stopped,” she announced.
Myra looked on proudly as all of the media cameras snapped and clicked. My House was getting a lot of coverage these days, which helped get the message out to the public, and especially to those women in need of assistance.
“So, it is with great pleasure that I bring our two survivors to the stage, Ms. Casey Pete and Ciara Simpson!” Dominique gushed.
Ciara held on to Casey’s hand and they exchanged a telling glance. They walked out on stage, no longer ashamed of being women who had survived and eventually been emancipated from their sexual slavery.
Brice and his mother sat in the audience. A feeling of pride and sadness washed over him. Being in the presence of the My House victims, one of whom, was his sister, made Brice wonder about the girl he had raped. Was she dead, strung out or pimped out? These were all thoughts he considered. Brice wished he knew where to find her so he could apologize and tell her about My House. He wondered if that would be enough to repay what he had stolen from her.
Notes
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Price of Fame Copyright © 2010 Amaleka McCall
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ISBN: 978-1-6016-2284-6
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