Chapter 9
Colleen…
You Have Some Nerve
Who the hell is ringing my doorbell and banging on my door, as if they had lost their damn mind, I thought. I hurried down the stairs, half asleep, wrapping my robe around my naked body. Yes, I was old and still slept in the nude─don’t judge me. I worked hard Monday through Friday so I could sleep in my bed on the weekend, and this extended weekend would be no different. I would only wake early if Patrick was stopping over before flying out to meet a client, or if Chance had a mid-afternoon basketball game, but it wasn’t basketball season, and the way things were going with these negotiations, I doubt there’s even going to be one. I was looking forward to a Monday morning when I wasn’t racing from bedroom to bathroom, and then the kitchen because I had overslept or had snoozed my alarm one time too many.
“This better be some important shit,” I yelled halfway to the door.
“We certainly hope you think it is,” a response came from the other side of the door as I got closer.
Unable to see the image though the frosted glass panes, I yanked the door open.
“Who the hell?” I said.
They stood before me, their faces dressed in seriousness.
“I’m Officer Tristan Hollins,” the taller of the two men declared. “This is Officer Evan Perkins. You’ve been served, ma’am,” Officer Hollins continued, handing me a folded piece of paper.
I stood and looked at both from head to toe, sizing them up. I didn’t trust cops, and those two looked crooked. Officer Hollins was dressed in a black solid suit made slim to fit his slender figure.
I studied Officer Hollins’ face before I spoke.
“Jasmine Coren Amherst?” I questioned, after unfolding the document. “You have the wrong person.”
I quickly folded the paper and handed it back to him. I looked them both squarely in the eyes.
“Textbook,” Officer Hollins said. He looked at Officer Perkins and smiled.
“We didn’t expect you to say anything else. Fortunately for us, we came prepared for such a response,” Officer Perkins responded.
He wasn’t that much shorter than Office Hollins, and his erect stance gave him a few more inches than he appeared to have. Unlike Officer Hollins, Officer Perkins was dressed in his police blues. He had a scar above his left eye that ran through the center of his eyebrow. It began at just about the middle of the side of his forehead and ended very close to his eye. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt that a childhood accident had left him a permanent scarface, rather than assume a misfit had gotten the best of him.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked with a puzzled expression on my face.
“If you know Ms. Amherst, or her whereabouts, you make sure she gets that. Oh, and if you somehow cross paths with Jasmine Mitchigan…” Officer Hollins paused. He removed another paper from the inside of his jacket. “You make sure she gets this, too.”
“I don’t know anyone named Jasmine, with either last name,” I professed. “I’m Colleen Parker. So, unless you have something with that name on it, you’ve already taken up enough of my time.”
I nodded and began to close the door.
“Just a minute,” Officer Hollins said with an evil smile. “You’re in luck, Ms. Parker. It looks like we had all bases covered. Here’s one with that name on it. Apparently, all three of you have been summoned. The three of you can have a gathering and decide which one is going to show up.”
“Now, it’s supposed to be a beautiful day, Ms. Parker,” Officer Perkins added.
He smiled and looked up into the clear, majestic blue sky.
“You make sure you get out and enjoy.”
I closed the door without bidding either of them a good day. How was I supposed to think about enjoying this day when I couldn’t even clear my head long enough to wrap my mind or thoughts around which one of my schemes had caught up with me. The officers didn’t exactly look like strangers, but as hard as I tried, I couldn’t place their faces or that scar on Officer Perkins’ face in a place, time, or scheme. I was sure if I thought long enough, it would eventually come to me. I did, but nothing. I needed to clear my mind. A glass of Semillon or Riesling wasn’t going to accomplish that. A run, which I had not planned on, might bring me the clarity I needed to try and figure out what the hell was happening. I’ve tried to forget about the life that Jasmine Amherst or Jasmine Mitchigan lived. Could it be that both had made a u-turn to annihilate the life that I, Colleen Leslie Parker, was enjoying?
I walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and pulled a decanter filled with freshly squeezed orange juice. I poured a glass full and stood with my back leaned against my light colored Giallo Vicenza granite counter. I took a sip from the glass. What the hell was that about? I thought I had left you two bitches behind, I thought, cursing the names I’d claimed in the past.
“What the fuck,” I responded loudly, startled at the accusation printed in bold, black letters. “Insurance Fraud?”
I knew this shit wasn’t happening. I placed the empty glass on the counter, then folded the paper and placed it in the pocket on my robe. I needed to make a few phone calls. I left the kitchen and began walking towards the stairs. As I passed the front door, the bell rang.
I pulled the door open.
“I told you before, I don’t…” I paused, astonished by the image standing in front of me. “You’re out?”
“Good behavior,” he said, joking, but I saw nothing funny in him being here. “I thought after ten years you’d be happy to see me. I’ve waited to see that look on your face.”
He pointed directly at me.
“You’re supposed to go somewhere you’re wanted when you get out of jail. You’re not wanted or welcomed here,” I said, and attempted to close the door.
“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”
He had extended his hand, stopping me from closing the door all the way. I forgot how strong he was, and it was obvious he had been hitting the weights in the yard at the Dade Correctional Institution. His shoulders were larger than I remembered them to be, though I had tried to put any image of him out of my mind. His time in jail had done wonders for his golden-brown complexion. It looked brighter and smoother than I remembered. His Indian red hair was neatly cut and lay against his head. He looked more like he had just walked off the set for a magazine shoot.
“How did you find me?”
Omar Duval, the man I once loved, the flesh I now hated, stood in front of me. He had the look of revenge in his eyes. The look on my face definitely wasn’t one of happiness to see him. If you asked me now, I would be ashamed to admit I was once Ms. Colleen Duval. It’s harder to believe I was in love with this man.
“What do you think I’ve been doing with my time, twiddling my thumbs, looking at bars I couldn’t squeeze through or staring at walls I couldn’t get over?”
“What you did with your years in prison wasn’t something that kept me awake at night. It didn’t concern me one bit.”
“But, Colleen, it should.” He inched closer towards me. “Ten years is a long time to plot, and figure out a way to execute.”
He pushed the door open and invited himself in. I watched him walk past me as if my house was his home.
“You still haven’t told me how you found where I live.”
“You know I make friends everywhere I go. You’d be surprised what convicts are willing to do for a bar of soap and two cigarettes.”
I closed the door and then stood, still staring at him.
“What do you want, Omar?”
I didn’t want an explanation. I really just wanted him out. I was expecting to see him again, but I wasn’t expecting to see him this soon. These ten years went by faster than I thought they would. Watching him being led out of the courtroom was the last time I’d seen Omar. Before then he was the man I had just separated from. Now he was the man who had raped my son, standing in my house as if I had just extended
an invitation for him to sit and break bread.
“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here? Correct me if I’m wrong, but we don’t have any unfinished business.”
“Wrong.” He looked around the room. “Aren’t you going to offer me some tea or coffee? Decaf will be fine…black. I’m sure you still remember how I liked it.”
“Those gestures are reserved for guests in this house and the people who live here. You are neither.”
In his attempt to prove my statement false, he lifted the legs of his pants and sat with his legs crossed and revealed a pair of dark brown calfskin Hardin Panel lace-ups. Johnston and Murphy had always been his favorite. He sat erect, as if he were entering a business negotiation.
If I could have left one eye in the living room with Omar, I would. I was afraid to leave him sitting there by himself, but I was more worried about discussing anything with him in nothing but my robe covering my nakedness.
“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable…or not,” I said, excusing myself and making my way to the stairs.
One step after the next, I kept my eyes on him, sizing him up, wondering what the hell this man had up his sleeves. Showing up here like he did, I knew he had to be up to something, and it wouldn’t be long before he was laying his dirty cards on the table.
“Did you give the boys my letters?!” he yelled.
His question stopped me in my dress. I rounded the corner from the bedroom and was making my way back downstairs, pulling my t-shirt over my head and down over my chest. When I looked up, he was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at me. His gaze frightened me. I continued my descent, a little slower than before, walking closer to the left rail, since he was standing to the right. When I walked past him, and was a few steps away from him, I remembered I hadn’t answered his question.
“You’ve already hurt one of my sons,” I said, walking back closer to him. “Did you really think I was going to allow you to hurt either of them again?”
Patrick’s face flashed before me, and I could see the pain in my son’s eyes as he revealed his secret he had held for years. I didn’t question him. I held him close, wishing I had been there to rescue him. After his revelation, I reached for my cell phone and dialed my lawyer friend Mya Wallace.
“Your sons?” he laughed.
“Speaking of your sons, how are they anyway? It’s been a long time.”
“Not long enough,” I said, as if I were speaking to myself.
“What was that?”
“Give it up, Omar.”
“What? You’re gonna stand there and act like you haven’t hurt him either?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I needed that cup of coffee Omar had asked about earlier. He was messing up my morning routine, which had already gone awry with another unexpected visit from the officers earlier. Spending time with this rapist, this ex-con wasn’t on my agenda. I stood behind the round countertop. He walked closely behind me. I could feel his hot breath on the back on my neck. He stopped and pulled a chair from under the kitchen table and sat with his chest against the back of the black leather as if he had just pulled up to a bar.
“Did you tell him about his mother, yet?”
“I’m his mother.”
He laughed.
“You’ve been practicing that delivery. Such conviction,” he teased. “I meant his real mother. Did you tell him you killed his parents yet?”
“Get the fuck…”
“You have blood on your hands, Colleen. What do you think Patrick will say when he finds out that blood belongs to his parents?”
“Get the hell out of my house,” I screamed. “I’m the only parent he’s known and acknowledges,” I continued, pointing to the center of my chest with my index finger.
“Of course you are. You made certain of that, didn’t you?”
“Me? You have some nerve. The only other parent he knew fucked him like a twenty-dollar hooker, God knows how many times. No, Omar, you made sure of that. You think you have nothing to do with the despise he carries in his heart for you?”
“Still?”
His intrepid response caused me pause. He’s always had that attitude, as if anything he did could be easily swept under the rug and everyone could go on with their lives as if nothing happened. You thought ten years in prison would cause him to see the error in his ways, but all it did was make him a more arrogant bastard with the guts to show up here expecting to be put on a goddamn pedestal.
“I hope that’s not your way of telling me you came here looking for forgiveness.”
“Did you tell him about his parents?” Omar repeated.
He walked closer to me as if he were making sure I’d heard him.
I wanted to spit in his face. I was looking at this man and, still, I was trying to be a lady. The longer he stood there, the hotter my blood boiled. Everything I’d ever felt for him had been replaced with hate. He saw this despicable look on my face that had lasted since the moment I opened the door.
“You know damn well Kiel and Lexi’s death was an accident.”
My anger was adamant.
“I don’t know shit.”
“And I’ve raised him since birth.”
“You were guilted into raising him. What fucking choice did you have?”
“Me? Guilted? You don’t know what you’re talking about. I’ve loved that boy since the day he was born.”
“Bullshit!” he yelled, and even though I was standing only a few feet from him, he startled me.
“Only thing you’ve done since the day he was born was lie to him. You didn’t even expect him to live. You planned the same fate for him that you planned for his mother. You didn’t have a motherfucking choice but to take care of him. What else where you supposed do after you’ve killed your only sister? I just don’t know why you haven’t told him.”
“It’s time for you to go.”
I stood with my back to him, staring out the kitchen window. I was certain Omar was pulling this accusation of out his ass.
“It doesn’t work like that.”
“What the hell did they do to you in that place?”
I turned and stood with my back against the front of the kitchen sink and stared at him. I was nervous. He was a stranger to me, and after ten years, I no longer knew what he was capable of. I folded my arms across my chest and pondered my next thought.
“Did it take you all ten years to concoct this bullshit-ass story?”
“Why don’t we let Patrick decide whose story is bullshit?”
“Yes, why don’t we? You have to get close to him first. Remember, you’re not just a rapist, Omar. You’re his rapist. And he’s no longer the ten-year-old boy you raped. You think he’s going to stand there and listen to you tell him the only mother he’s ever known isn’t really his mother? Good luck with that.”
“I’ve never depended on luck for anything. And I don’t think I’ll be starting anytime soon.” He walked closer to me and stood with his hands on either side of me, trapping me. His palms were pressed against the counter top. We stood with silence and tension between us. There was devil in his eyes.
“Something tells me you’ll need that luck for yourself when Patrick hears what you’ve done.”
I removed myself from his uncomfortable closeness and began walking towards the front door. I had entertained his visit, his conversation long enough. I stood with the door opened and waited for his exit.
He stood and gazed at me with an acidic grin on his face.
“Your move,” he said, as if we had just begun a game of chess.
He motioned to kiss me, and naturally I turned my face to avoid the feel of any part of him against my skin.
“Be sure to let Patrick know I’m out, if I don’t find him first. I’m sure it won’t be hard.”
He walked down the steps, and then turned.
“Oh, and Colleen…,” he paused. “How’s your mother?”
I closed the door
on him and his question. I had no interest in anything else he had to say. I watched his image disappear in the distance through the frosted glass. What a way to start my day. I walked back upstairs to the bedroom and frantically searched for my cell phone. I guess Omar’s visit had me a little more flustered than I thought. I looked in a few places before I remembered I had left it in the back pocket of the fitted jeans I had worn to have drinks with Mya and Crystal the night before. It was late when I got home, and I was tired, so the pants had been tossed at the foot of the bed.
I removed the phone and dialed Patrick’s number, but immediately reached his voicemail.
“Rick, this is your mother. Please call me when you get this message.”
I ended the call and tossed the phone on the bed. I knew Omar well enough to know whatever he had brewing in that fucked-up mind of his, it wouldn’t be long before he would put his plan into action. Whatever game he planned on playing, I had to make sure I was one step ahead of him.
Chapter 10
Taylor…
I’m Calling You
Privacy was the last thing I was going to trust in my sister’s house. I didn’t need Nessa walking in on another conversation, just as she had done earlier when she had walked in on my exchange with Dillon in the kitchen, and then later when she walked in on me talking to myself. I was going to tell Nessa what happened, but I hadn’t quite figured out how. I’m not sure if I should be worried about whether or not my sister would believe me, but that’s what most worried me. Nessa isn’t always the most levelheaded person, and I knew the longer I waited the deeper the hole I was digging for myself.
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