Murder, Mayhem & a Fine Man
Page 23
One singular thought sped through my conscious mind.
Kill him.
I would kill him for this.
I realized I’d stopped paying attention to the drama unfolding in front of me. Susan’s voice continued on. “I’m going to kill you for all the people you hurt. I’m going to kill you for hurting me, for hurting the first baby you put inside of me.”
They could have been my own words. I battled to retain my professional distance. But my own pain had a stronger voice.
Kill him.
Miriam gasped when she picked up my baby. I turned my face away from her. She was so tiny it felt obscene to look at her. She looked like something only God should see.
Susan kicked and shouted, “I hate you. You evil, horrible vermin. I hate you!”
They could have been my own never-uttered words. I hadn’t dared to say them aloud, not once in the seven years since I’d left Adam. But they’d stayed with me; “I hate you” seeds, having grown into tall weeds in my soul, choking the good in my life, hiding me in dark corners—away from people, from regular church attendance, and from the abundant life Jesus promised.
Kill him.
Gabriel and Adam merged into one, hateful entity in my mind—both evil to the core. The world would be better without them.
Kill him.
I felt Jazz’s hand at the small of my back.
Dear God, Gabriel was in front of me, but Jazz was behind me. Choose. Death or life. Every dark desire I had so skillfully suppressed came to the surface. I pointed Jazz’s gun at my tormentor’s head. Susan kicked him and kicked him, but he fixed his hard, cold gaze on me. I had only one question.
“Did you rape me?” I asked, my agitated voice piercing, accusing.
He sat perfectly still.
Jazz whispered to me, “Give me the gun, baby.”
I ignored him, walked over to Gabriel, and yanked the gag out of his mouth. Susan stood wide-eyed, absorbing this change of roles.
“I asked you a question, you little worm, did you rape me?” Say yes, so I can kill you.
“I am the Lord, your God. I am the gate to paradise. I am your God, and you belong to me.” His bulging eyes cold as ice.
I pointed the muzzle of the gun right in the middle of his forehead. He didn’t flinch. “Wrong answer.”
Jazz gently touched my back. “Don’t do this, Bell.”
I didn’t move.
“Drop the gun, Bell.”
Susan fell to her knees, rocking back and forth and sobbing.
“I said drop it, Bell. He’s not worth it.”
“I can’t, Jazzy.” My hand felt glued to it. My eyes couldn’t stray. Gabriel had me locked in. Hate turned the key.
Miriam laid my baby on my bruised, naked chest. My heart shattered. And then I went silent as a grave.
Jazz’s bloodstained hands circled my waist. “Give me the gun, baby.” But I’d frozen in place, my hands poised to give Gabriel a quick boost into the hereafter.
Jazz took Gabriel’s gun from my waistband.
“Bell,” Jazz’s voice sounded firm, strong. “Give me your weapon. Him, Adam; they’ve taken too much from you already. Don’t let them have the rest of your life.”
Forgive us our debts, as we forgive our debtors.
Oh, God. Gabriel. Adam. Both of them pure evil. I can’t forgive them.
And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.
My own refusal to forgive the men or myself—all of it was evil. How could I have known when I prayed that simple prayer at the crime scene that I needed to be delivered from the evil within me as well?
My finger itched to pull the trigger. To kill the evil in front of me, to kill the evil in my life.
“You killed my baby.”
“I didn’t rape you,” he said, his voice clear, authoritative. “First you must fear me. Then you must love me.”
“You killed her.”
My great-grandmother’s image flashed into my mind. Once, she’d told me a story her mother had told her. Aimee was in the kitchen shelling green beans. The master of the house came in to where she was working and made his evil intentions clear. They were alone, and she had no one but God to protect her. He yanked her up from her chair, and his intentions became reality. A knife lay inches from her fingers. That’s all the story that my great-grandmother told me.
Kill him.
I have set before you life and death, blessing and cursing: Therefore, choose life that thou and thy seed may live.
My seed was dead. “You killed her.”
“I didn’t kill your child. I would have loved her. I would have raised her to know God.”
I heard sirens in the distance. It was now or never. Two voices warred within me.
That thou and thy seed may live.
I don’t understand what you mean, God.
Jazz spoke softly but urgently into my ear. “Give me the gun, Bell. The police are coming.”
His voice was different than theirs. His voice was life.
I said aloud, “Why didn’t she ever tell me the rest of the story?”
You know the rest of that story. You are here. What is the end of this story? What will you choose?
It was the shepherd talking to me. My sheep hear my voice, and I know them, and they follow me. I knew this verse since my pigtails and laying-on-Ma-Brown’s-bosom days.
“Jesus,” I told my shepherd, my heart heavy with the sin burden I’d carried for so long. “I let him kill my baby.”
I felt like a levee broke inside of me, and the flood of tears I’d denied all these years burst through, destroying me on the spot. I sank to the floor, sick with pain, screaming the only words left in me. “I LET HIM KILL MY BABY. I LET HIM KILL MY BABY. I LET HIM KILL MY LITTLE GIRL.”
“He’s not Adam, Bell.”
“My little girl,” I whispered.
Jazz pleaded with me. “I want to hurt Gabriel for what he did to you. God knows I do, but we’ve got him. He’s going to prison. We have to leave his life, as pitiful as it is, to God.”
“No,” I wailed. I wanted to do something. I wanted to stop what God hadn’t.
“Give me the gun now. I don’t want to have to hurt you, Bell.” Jazz urged—the big, bad cop. He had a job to do, but at the moment I didn’t care. I had a job to do, too.
I stayed there on my knees for what felt like an eternity, Gabriel’s life in my hands and my life in Jazz’s. Thoughts of my unborn baby girl merged with images of Jonathan and Damon, Elisa, and Susan with her twisted mind; all the death and destruction he caused. I steeled myself to pull the trigger.
The soft but determined voice of my great-grandmother rose up in my soul.
Vengeance belongs to the Lord, baby.
How many times had Ma Brown taught me this lesson when she spoke of unspeakable horrors our people endured, and the special grace God gave us to move on with dignity? How many times had God taught me this lesson? I closed my eyes. Lord, I’m not strong. Joel 3:10 rushed to the forefront of my mind.
Let the weak say, “I am strong.”
I shook my head, and said weakly, “No.”
Choose.
Death or life.
Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, in earth as it is in heaven.
I thought of all the living my daughter never got to do.
As it is in heaven.
She lives in me, my shepherd said.
My daughter lived in Jesus. Would I dare to do the same?
Let the weak say, “I am strong.”
“I am strong,” I whispered. I didn’t feel strong. I felt faint and dizzy, all the adrenaline draining out of me like a balloon deflating.
I breathed in and out, each inhale and exhale calming me. “I am strong,” I said, easing myself away from Gabriel and death, toward my Savior and life.
“Bell?” Jazz spoke gently, his voice caressing me.
“Okay, Jazz,” I whispered. “Okay.”
I handed him the gun and
felt a weight come off more than just my hand. I looked at him, tears flowing down my face. “I’m so sorry. I let Adam kill my baby.”
“God forgives you, Bell. I promise you; He does.”
“Jesus, please forgive me.”
I sobbed into Jazz’s chest while he held me. The police burst into the room, but I didn’t care. I was busy talking to Jesus.
I cried for a long, long time.
Chapter
Thirty-two
LIEUTENANT JAZZ BROWN, who was now my favorite detective—even more than Columbo—made me promise that I would promptly deal with my own issues, and I’d better not miss church. If I didn’t do as promised, I’d have heck to pay. Only he didn’t say “heck.”
No one else died because of Gabriel and his madness. Other than Jazz, no one else was injured. Susan and Gabriel were on their way to the Washtenaw County Jail, to begin paying their debts to society and to get the psychological treatment they both desperately needed.
Jazz was still plenty mad at me and yelled all the way to the hospital. “You could have been killed—for the second time this week. Have you no fear? Didn’t you see that I had been shot? Which reminds me, I got shot. I’ve been a police officer for half my life—never been shot—until I met you. Sometimes I can’t decide if God sent you my way or the other guy did.”
He railed on. “You know what? You’re going to follow the rules from now on, so we can be blessed. No touching, Dr. Brown, and definitely no kissing. I get kissed by you, and the next thing I know, I’m in love or have a bullet ripping through my thigh. It ain’t right. You got me all messed up, Dr. Brown.”
“Hey, Jazz.”
“That’s Lieutenant Brown to you. What is it, Dr. Brown?”
“You can call me Bell.”
He stopped yelling and stared at me. “You just gotta win the argument, don’t you?” he said.
“Yep,” I said.
He smiled that wonderful, beautiful smile. “What am I gonna do with you, woman?”
“You’ll think of something.” I held his hand.
“No touching,” he said.
But I held it anyway. Right now he was my friend. Later we’d figure out the rest.
Discussion
Questions
The Lord’s Prayer is prominently featured in this book. Is your experience with this prayer similar to Bell’s—rote memory? How do you interact with this classic prayer?
Bell and Carly have very different lifestyles. How do you deal with other Christians who may not have the same values you have?
Bell is Evangelical and Jazz is Catholic, yet they have a strong friendship. Do you have friends who are of different religions and denominations? How do you deal with your differences?
The attraction between Bell and Jazz is undeniable. Do you think they deal with their feelings appropriately? What would you do if you were in their situation?
Jazz’s conflict about remarriage after divorce keeps him from pursuing a deeper relationship with Bell. What is your opinion of divorce and remarriage? Do you think Jazz should move on or remain single?
Bell says that at her church, the Rock House, God is like a pal. Do you think this attitude is too casual? Why do you think Bell would choose a church like this after her experience with Adam? What is your idea of a healthy church?
When Bell goes to Gabriel’s house to find Susan, she experiences a painful consequence. Should she have gone? What should she have done differently?
Bell experiences several traumatic life lessons, yet she continues to have faith. What helps you hold on to God, even in times of suffering?
Bell never grieved the loss of her daughter. What would you do to begin to heal from a profound loss? What support do you think you would need?
In the end, Bell discovers her anger is deeper than she realized. Her rage could have led her to make the worst possible decision. How could she have handled her feelings differently when she confronted Gabriel?
Bell Brown’s
Five Ways to Know if
Your Boyfriend is
a Nutjob
Instead of asking you to be his girlfriend, he asks you to be his disciple.
His term of endearment for you is “sweetheart.” He likes it when you call him “master.”
His idea of a romantic date is taking you home and showing you his collection of guns and explosives.
Over a candlelit dinner, he takes your hand, looks deeply into your eyes, and asks you to be one of his wives.
Instead of Neighborhood Watch keeping an eye on his place, it’s watched by ATF.
Author Interview
a Chat with
Claudia Mair Burney
Your book is dedicated to your great-grandmother, Amanda Bell Brown. Why did you name your heroine after her?
My first memories of grace and holiness are mostly of my maternal great-grandmother. Ma Brown, like many old black women, was quite the mystic. She was wise, profound, and very kind to me. I remember so clearly the sound of her ambling down the hallway with her walker. Thump, shoosh, thump, shoosh. She’d be humming a hymn or praying. If she stumbled, her favorite expletive—which I won’t say—would come tearing out of her mouth. She was just like the saints: holy, and quirky, too! She lived in a time when there were so few opportunities for women of color. She couldn’t make her own dreams come true in the way I can, so I loaned her a bit of mine. I also wanted to keep her name in this world a little bit longer and to share, through a very thin veil of fiction, some of my memories.
How did Bell’s story come to you?
Quickly, and after a publisher asked me what I had! It’s true. But I always wanted to write a mystery, and I wanted it to be fun. I also wanted it to feature characters like me: flawed. I wrote the kind of book I wanted to read, with a heroine like me.
How did you become a writer?
I was in the fifth grade and found a scrap of a play on the floor in the hallway at school. It was love at first scene. I started writing plays and performing them in front of my teachers. After that I told stories to my girlfriends. Poor Keysha! I’d bend her ear for hours, spinning novels right out of my mouth. I learned later how to write things down. I still can’t believe I get money for this.
Who inspires you?
That’s an easy one. I actually wear a ring that says, “I am my beloved’s; my beloved is mine.” That would be Jesus, lover of my soul. Ken, my husband and best friend, is a close second. My family and my writer girlfriends—published and unpublished—are amazing, too.
What’s your favorite book?
My fiction pick is Ron Hansen’s Mariette in Ecstasy. Nonfiction is without a doubt Eugene Peterson’s The Message.
If you weren’t a writer, what would you be doing?
I don’t understand the question. Is there something else I can do?
Famous last words?
“Pray diligently. Stay alert, with your eyes wide open in gratitude” (Colossians 4:2, The Message). The Lord’s Prayer is also a great option.