“I have, and I’m in,” YaYa answered.
After all that she had been gifted, her allegiance to the game was a small price to pay. Zya had not only saved her life, but made it worth living again. YaYa felt forever indebted. She only hoped that she could carry the weight that Zya was placing on her shoulders. She was a far cry from a hustler. Moving product had been Indie’s forte, but she was about to step into the big leagues, and she was diving headfirst.
She was about to walk through the door to the streets knowing full well that it would lock behind her. Yes, Zya was trying to sell her on the money and the power, but YaYa knew that she was leaving out the ills of the trade. Zya neglected to mention that playing the game at such an elite level trapped you. There were only two ways out—prison or death. YaYa had witnessed this with her own eyes. Every day that she was with Indie she could see that he had surpassed the point of thinking hustling was cool. He wanted out. He wanted true freedom, freedom to spend his money without scrutiny, freedom to exist without the guilt from knowing that he fed poison to his own people. He wanted to exit the game, but he had been initiated, and there was no easy way to quit when so many people relied on you.
YaYa knew that she was stepping into a game that may swallow her whole, but she didn’t see an alternative. She was going all in regardless. YaYa felt as if she had no choice. Retirement didn’t exist for a woman of Zya’s stature, and soon YaYa was about to be her equal.
“If I’m going to do this, I need my own people around me . . . people that I trust. I need Indie and my daughter. I need my own circle,” YaYa said.
“Understood. I will give you all the time you need to continue to heal and to get yourself together, and when you’re ready, I will present you to my people. My soldiers will be at your disposal. Whatever and whoever you need brought to you, they’ll take care of it,” Zya said.
Leah lay on the operating table, her head covered in a cloth cap and her hands clasped over her stomach as she nervously wrung her fingers together. The surgical team surrounded her, dressed in blue scrubs and facemasks, waiting for the procedure to begin. Her reconstruction would take eight hours, and everyone was ready to begin the long, grueling process.
Dr. Maroni entered the sterile room, holding her gloved hands in the air, palms out, as she slipped into a paper operating apron.
“The big day has finally arrived. Are you ready?” she asked, overly confident as she looked down at Leah.
“Yes. I just want to look like YaYa,” she whispered.
Dr. Maroni frowned and paused. “Excuse me?”
Leah shook her head and smiled uncomfortably, realizing that she had slipped up. “I just want to look like myself again is all,” she corrected.
Dr. Maroni nodded unsurely and glanced at the anesthesiologist that was present.
“YaYa, I want you to say your ABCs for me, okay?”
Leah nodded.
“Begin,” Dr. Maroni said. She looked at the anesthesiologist. “Put her under,” she instructed.
The drug that was slipped into her IV was potent enough to put out a horse, and Leah fell into unconsciousness before she could get to G.
“Place the picture directly in front of me. Hold it up at all times,” she said to an intern. A picture of YaYa was removed from the chart and held up, and Dr. Maroni stared at it. She memorized every feature, every unique quirk about YaYa’s face, to ensure that she did her best to recreate it.
“Ten blade,” she requested.
The surgical tool was placed in her open palm, and she turned her focus to Leah. She frowned then glanced back at the picture.
“Her bone structure shouldn’t be different,” she whispered.
Dr. Maroni studied Leah intently. To the average eye, it was quite simple for Leah to change her identity, but Dr. Maroni was far from average. She studied faces every day, knew bone structure, was an expert at identifying and creating specific facial characteristics. She hesitated, and the other doctors in the room looked at her with concern.
“Is there something wrong?” Dr. Fannigan asked.
“The girl lying on this table is not the same girl in this picture,” Dr. Maroni said.
“What?” Dr. Fannigan answered, flabbergasted.
Dr. Maroni put down her blade and nodded for Fannigan to follow her out of the room. Once they were out of earshot of the residents and interns, she snatched off her mask.
“Open her file. Are there any distinguishing birthmarks, scars, anything that can prove that we are operating on Disaya Morgan?” Dr. Maroni asked.
“Of course we are. I’ve been treating this patient for over a month! I think I’d know,” Dr. Fannigan answered.
“Would you?” Dr. Maroni asked. “Her medical history hasn’t been reviewed. That over-fucking-crowded state of New York hasn’t sent it yet. All we have to go off of is her word. She’s a victim of a fire. She’s unrecognizable, but she claims to be Disaya Morgan.” She held up the picture of YaYa. “We know for a fact that this is a picture of Ms. Morgan. Why are the cheekbones different, the distance between the eyes wider, the ear size different? I would put my career on the line and say that girl in there is lying about who she is. How could you have missed this?”
Dr. Fannigan looked bewildered as he stared through the glass and looked on to the surgical floor.
“I will not give her someone else’s face!” Dr. Maroni protested. “If she’s not Disaya Morgan, then who the hell is she?”
Dr. Fannigan pinched the bridge of his nose and stepped closer to Dr. Maroni. “Are you sure?” he asked.
Dr. Fannigan looked perplexed as he went over the time he had spent with his patient. In all his years of experience, he had never missed such an important detail.
“I’m positive, Fannigan,” she barked. “How did this get past you, and why is she pretending to be someone she’s not?” Dr. Maroni shook her head and snatched off the sterilizing cap that covered her hair. “I’m calling the police. You can explain this to the family that’s waiting out there for Disaya Morgan to come out of surgery.”
Indie sat in cargo shorts and a white fitted V-neck shirt, waiting, worrying, and praying for everything to go as planned with YaYa’s surgery. He hadn’t even been able to speak to her before she went in. All he could do was hope that everything went according to plan.
He came alone. He didn’t want company. This was something that he had to deal with by himself.
It hadn’t even been an hour yet, and he was already going crazy. How will she look afterward? he thought. When he saw Dr. Fannigan approach him, he stood up eagerly. He checked his watch.
“I have something to tell you,” Dr. Fannigan said. “Please have a seat.”
Indie’s heart sank. “Is she alive?”
“Please, Mr. Perkins, sit down,” the doctor said.
Indie took a seat and leaned over so that his elbows rested on his knees and his hands were in a steeple beneath his chin.
“Just tell me straight up,” Indie said as he bit his inner jaw to stop his tears from forming. “Just say it.”
“The woman in the operating room. We have reason to believe that she is not your Disaya,” Dr. Fannigan informed.
Indie frowned in utter confusion. “What do you mean that’s not my Disaya? Don’t talk in circles, Doc. Tell me what it is you have to say,” he said seriously as his heart thundered in his chest and his stomach went hollow. He could feel the impending news before the doctor even revealed it. He had felt it all along.
“It’s not Disaya Morgan. We don’t know who she is, but we are certain that it’s not Ms. Morgan,” Dr. Fannigan revealed.
The words set a blaze inside of Indie that could be seen through his smoky eyes. “What the fuck you just say to me?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Perkins,” Dr. Fannigan said sincerely.
“It’s Leah,” Indie whispered. “It’s been Leah the whole time.” It was then that Indie realized just how twisted and demented Leah truly was. At first he had m
arked her as jealous, as out of control, but to keep up a charade this large Indie knew that she had to be out of her mind.
Indie stood to his feet as rage surged through him. The pieces to the puzzle suddenly began to fit together as he contemplated how different he had thought YaYa was being. He couldn’t feel her, couldn’t love her, because it wasn’t her.
“How could I not know?” he asked himself as guilt plagued him.
“None of us knew, Mr. Perkins,” Dr. Fannigan replied. “The records had not yet come from New York. We had no blood type, no medical history to compare her to. We only had her word to go by.”
Indie was so irate that he couldn’t contain himself as he punched the wall with his bare hand repeatedly. His hand erupted in pain as his knuckles busted open and he slid down the wall, overwhelmed by it all. He beat his chest with his fist as if he were trying to knock out the pain.
He went through the moments that he had spent trying to break through to the person lying in that bed. I talked to her, I loved her, I looked into her—
Indie’s thoughts stopped instantly as his anger overwhelmed him. He buried his face in his hands as he realized, I never saw her eyes. She never let me look into her eyes. Those eyes would have told me the truth.
“Oh no,” he whispered. “No, no,” he said.
Dr. Fannigan stood over him and knelt down beside him. Indie looked up at him with red, grieving eyes.
“She’s dead, isn’t she?” he asked, already knowing the answer. “If Leah’s inside that operating room, then YaYa is the one that the coroner took away.”
Dr. Fannigan nodded grimly. “I’m afraid so.”
This revelation cut through him like a thousand knives as he lowered his head. His anger melted into grief as he thought of the love of his life buried somewhere, coldly forgotten. No one had acknowledged her passing. There had been no flowers, no choir singing. No loved ones to say their good-byes. His beloved YaYa had just been forgotten, and the fact that he had let it happen would eat away at his soul. Guilt sank into his heart as he thought of how badly he had failed YaYa.
“Where is her body?” Indie asked.
“I’m not sure. You can check with the city morgue. Any unclaimed corpses—”
“Don’t call her that,” Indie snapped. He stood slowly to his feet, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to regain his composure.
Dr. Fannigan shifted uncomfortably, realizing that he was being inconsiderate with his choice of words. “Any unclaimed loved ones are either buried or cremated by the city morgue.”
Tears burned his eyes as he thought of the love of his life lying stiff and cold on some metal slab. He had to turn away from the doctor to gather himself. He didn’t know what to feel. Sadness, anger, guilt, remorse—all of these things consumed him.
Indie squared his shoulders, turning back to face the doctor. Indie stood toe to toe with him as he leaned into the white man slightly. What he was about to say didn’t need to be overheard.
“I’ve got fifty grand that says you’ll make sure she doesn’t get up from that table,” he proposed.
Dr. Fannigan’s eyes opened wide and he looked around nervously as if Indie had shouted his offer from the rooftop. He cleared his throat. “As tempting as that sounds, I cannot do that. My colleague has already contacted the authorities. They will be here shortly. The patient is under sedation, and we will leave her that way until they get here. I’m sorry,” Dr. Fannigan expressed. He couldn’t imagine Indie’s grief.
Indie stormed out of the hospital. His chest was so constricted he could barely breathe. He had missed all the signs . . . ignored all the clues that the woman lying in the hospital wasn’t who she said she was.
That’s why I couldn’t feel her, he thought. Things hadn’t been the same. Their connection had been lost ever since the fire, and now he knew why.
His heart yearned for Disaya in the worst way. In that moment, all he wanted was to go to home to a woman, his woman, and feel her soft hands rubbing his tensions away. Their relationship had been tumultuous, but when they were good, they were so good. They were imperfectly perfect together. He would do anything to see YaYa’s face again.
What would he tell their child when she asked for her mother? Indie wasn’t prepared for this. The game had thrown a lot of harsh realities his way, but this blow was the hardest yet. YaYa had been his everything, and now without her he had nothing. Indie felt empty. He was a man who had lost a woman, and he would never be the same.
He was never one to lose his cool, but he could feel himself coming undone. His jaw twitched as he ground the back of his teeth. There was no way that he could allow Leah to leave that hospital alive. She had taken a life that was dear to Indie, so now it was time for her life to be taken in return.
The hospital would be crawling with federal agents in no time, so he knew that he wouldn’t be able to touch her as long as she was under their watch. He would wait. He would stalk her situation until he found the perfect opportunity to deliver her karma.
Beep . . . Beep . . . Beep.
The steady tone of the heart monitor echoed throughout the room as Leah opened her eyes. Everything around her was covered in a powder white fog as her mind tried to shake the effects of the drug. She was groggy and weak as her head rolled to the side.
“Hmmm,” she moaned. She shivered uncontrollably, a side effect of being put under in extensive surgery.
It doesn’t hurt. I don’t feel any pain, she thought in surprise as she wondered if the surgery was a success. She lifted her left arm to feel her face, but when she met the resistance of the handcuffs, she froze. She pulled her arm up again, only to have it stop as the handcuffs restrained her movement. She looked down and finally saw the shiny bracelet that bound her wrist. She pulled on it, yanked it roughly as she gritted her teeth in fury.
The door to the recovery room opened, and Federal Agent Norris entered.
“Who are you? Where is my doctor?” she asked. The question was pointless because she already knew the answer. She had been caught.
“Leah Richards, you are under arrest for the kidnapping of Skylar Perkins, the murder of Nanzi—”
It was all she heard before she erupted. Like a volcano, her anger bubbled over. “No! No! You’ve made a mistake! My name is Disaya Morgan! Where is my doctor? No!” she cried.
The sincerity in her voice made Agent Norris cringe. It was clear that Leah was disturbed. No sane person would ever do the things that she had done. The crimes that she had committed and the extent to which she carried her lies were nothing short of evil. She didn’t care about anyone or anything. No one was exempt from her tyranny.
He Mirandized her, and then leaned over to whisper in her ear. “I’m going to make sure the judge puts you under the jail for what you did,” he threatened.
A uniformed officer stepped inside the room, and Norris stood. “Keep her under close surveillance. Do not remove those cuffs under any circumstance. As soon as she is coherent and the anesthetic wears off, we’re transporting her to county.”
Leah was irate as she lay chained like an animal. She reached up to touch her face with her free hand. “You muthafuckas fix my face! I can’t stay like this! I can’t be like this! Fix my fucking face! My name is Disaya Morgan!” she sobbed. “I just want to be Disaya Morgan!”
Chapter 6
Dark clouds covered the gray sky as Indie rode alone in the black stretch limousine. A small caravan of cars followed as they headed to YaYa’s memorial service. It was small with no fanfare. No ghetto pomp and circumstance. Indie had no body to bury, but he wanted to bury her memory and show respect for his lost love. The driver stopped in front of the small church house, and Indie waited for his door to be opened before he stepped out. He buttoned his Armani suit jacket and headed inside.
Chase, Trina, Miesha, and Sydney attended. His parents, Elaine and Bill, were also there along with his daughter, Skylar. Buchanan Slim was on parole and had to rush back to New York before his p
arole officer realized that he had left the state, so his presence was nonexistent. Despite his absence, there was enough love in the room to fill the entire church.
A large picture of YaYa sat at the front of the church, surrounded by many floral arrangements. His stomach was an empty pit as he solemnly took his seat in the front row. He took his daughter into his arms.
“I’m sorry, son,” Bill said. He was the first one to speak to Indie all day. Everyone knew how much Indie had loved YaYa, and no one knew exactly what to say to make things right. Tension was at an all-time high, and everyone held their tongues. This was a heavy burden to bear, and no one could help him. He had to come to terms with YaYa’s death on his own.
“Me too, Pops, me too,” he responded. The tone of his voice was distant as he stared into the eyes of the photo. He had always been the epitome of strength, but this event had changed the course of his life. It had broken him down. He had so many regrets, but life had no do-overs. This loss couldn’t be erased. There was no rewind button, and he was just trying his best to deal.
The pastor of the church kept it short at Indie’s request and prayed for YaYa’s soul. They each rose and spoke about their fond memories of her before they departed, going their separate ways.
“You sure you want to be by yourself right now, homie? You looked real fucked up over this. I’m no good on the mushy shit, but I can pour some Louis with you and kick back to get your mind off of everything,” Chase offered.
Indie shook his head and patted Chase on the back. “Go home, fam. Sky is going back to New York with her grandparents. I need some time alone to get my head together. I’m good,” he assured.
Chase only half believed him as he watched Indie get back into the Town Car and pull away.
Indie didn’t let his tears fall until he was alone, and only one tear was able to sneak from his eyes before he hardened himself to the point of nothingness. If he opened the flood gates and allowed the dam to break, there would be no stopping his emotions . . . no space between zero and ten. If he drowned in his own sadness, then he would also open himself to the rage that he felt, and the streets would bleed.
Green Eyed Monster Page 5