by Lori Johnson
Afterward, she tried to sleep through her guilt. But later in the night she experienced a nightmare. She dreamed of Dante and death. She reached out for his ghostly image, only to have him frown and shake his head in much the manner of the pup, Sheba, before floating beyond Aliesha’s reach. In the dream she ran after the image only to see it float backward and descend into what looked like a river. She awakened in the throes of a violent shudder, on the verge of a scream and drenched in sweat.
The next morning, after feeding the dog and preparing their coffee, a quiet and pensive Javiel joined her at the small table in his breakfast nook. They studied their separate sections of the newspaper and drank their coffee in silence. When he finally lifted his gaze to hers, she noticed that his eyes were larger and sadder than she’d ever seen them before.
“You’ve been seeing someone, haven’t you?” he asked.
She nodded and sighed. “Yes.”
“Must be serious. You called his name a couple of times in your sleep. Dante, right?”
“Yes,” she said again.
Javiel clenched his hands and closed his eyes. “So why in the hell weren’t you out driving around in his neighborhood last night? Why’d you stop by here?”
She looked Javiel, longing to tell him something other than the truth. “Because . . . I didn’t know where else to go. I don’t know where Dante is. And I needed . . . I needed to be held.”
Javiel’s eyes snapped open and he leaned toward her with his face fixed into a snarl. “So, in other words, last night with you and me—that was just about convenience? I was, what? The fucking substitute? I’m be damned if my mother wasn’t right about you.” He rose up abruptly, knocking over his chair in the process. Before he left the room, he looked down at her with his eyes aglow and his chest heaving. In a coarse, raspy whisper, he said, “You really ought to count your blessings. Because for the record, if I were a murderer, you wouldn’t have woke up this morning.”
She sat at the table alone and finished her coffee. She even thought about washing up the dishes before leaving, but ultimately decided that would be pushing it and possibly him too close to the brink. Next to his unfinished cup of coffee, she placed the house key he had yet to request she return. She paused long enough to kneel, give Sheba a parting pet, and whisper, “Take care of him, okay?” into the pup’s ear before she grabbed her purse and went out to her car.
While driving home, she checked her phone for messages. To her surprise there’d been several, one from Tamara, one from the department’s secretary, one from Mrs. Phillips, and a bunch from Monica demanding that she answer “the damn phone.” When Aliesha arrived home and checked her landline, she found more of the same, some of every darn body had called except the one person from whom she really wanted to hear.
Since she didn’t feel up to speaking with any of the others, she took a long, hot shower before downing a couple of sleeping pills, crawling into her king-sized bed, and drawing the covers up over her head. Her actions didn’t stop the phone from ringing, though. Monica called several times and on the answering machine left messages imploring as to why Aliesha hadn’t bothered returning any of her previous calls, asking why she insisted on acting so damn silly, and telling Aliesha how she’d stopped by her house on Friday night with the intent of offering an apology, only to discover her gone.
Finally, around midday, when she heard Pat’s voice on the answering machine asking, “Aliesha, are you all right? Monica just called and said something about us needing to come by your place and do some sort of intervention?” Aliesha rolled over and snatched up the phone.
“Hey, Pat, do me a favor? Call Monica and tell her I’m fine. I’m just tired and I need some rest. Tell her I’ll call her later. Okay?”
Aliesha hoped to put off speaking with Monica for as long as possible, if only because she knew she’d have to address the embarrassing subject of just how it was she’d ended up in Javiel’s bed again. Given Monica’s undeniable affection for her boyfriend’s cousin, the matter might even spark another round of angry words between them.
After silencing her answering machine, unplugging her landline, and placing her cell phone on mute, Aliesha hunkered back beneath the covers and drifted in and out of sleep for the better part of the day. At one point, she thought she heard a car drive up outside the house. If anyone, she figured, it would be Monica arriving to chew her out some more about her behavior over the last couple of days. So she didn’t even bother to get up and peek out the window, like she would have at any other time. She waited until after dark before rising to take care of all the necessary bodily functions, including the appeasement of the persistent gnawing in her belly.
She dumped a can of soup into a pot and placed it on the stove to simmer before plugging back in and switching back on all of the phone equipment she’d shut down prior to her siesta. The light indicator on both phones immediately lit up, letting her know she’d received even more calls. Instead of checking any of them, she fixed herself cheese and crackers and a tall glass of Coke with several handfuls of crushed ice to accompany her chunky beef and veggie soup. She plopped down with her meal in front of the television. For hours on end, she sat and channel surfed while picking over the food, sipping the Coke, and trying to will herself into a state of not giving a damn about anything, which she considered highly preferable to incessantly dwelling on Dante’s whereabouts or the additional damage she’d no doubt done to Javiel’s ego.
When the phone rang at 9:30 PM or so, rather than expend the energy required to pick it up, she again let the answering machine do the honors and listened while Monica launched into a tirade. “Okay, I’ve had about as much of this shit as I’m gonna take. Aliesha Eaton, if you don’t answer this phone or call me back within the next five minutes, the next number I dial will be the police.”
Knowing Monica might make good on the threat and not wanting the unnecessary hassle of having to reassure the men in blue or any of her nosy neighbors, Aliesha groaned and scrambled for the phone. “Why is your solution to every problem calling the damn police?”
“Well, it certainly gets your attention every time, now, doesn’t it?” Monica snapped back. “Oh, apology accepted, by the way.”
Aliesha sighed. “I am sorry about going into attack mode on you.”
“I know,” Monica said. “But it’s not like I didn’t goad you into it. I’m sorry, too. So now that we’re back on speaking terms again, just where in the heck were you when I came by there last night? Don’t tell me your invisible man finally materialized and whisked you off for some hot, romantic evening and threw in a couple of hours’ worth of make-up sex to make it all worth your while?”
“If only,” Aliesha said.
“You had me more than a little worried, you know. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you lose your composure to that extent. So what happened? You weren’t holed up in there hitting the bottle so hard you couldn’t come to the door, were you?”
“No, actually I-I spent the night at Javiel’s.”
“Aliesha, tell me you didn’t.”
“I didn’t mean to, but yeah, I did.”
“You know, I’d hate to think what kind of craziness your little, fast behind would be pulling if you weren’t running up to that church every Sunday.”
“You mind sparing me the lecture? I feel bad enough as it is.”
“Fine. I’m about five minutes away from your place anyway. You can finish filling me in when I get there.”
Hell, Aliesha thought. That’s exactly what I’d been hoping to avoid. She rose, unlocked the door, and started tidying. A few minutes later she heard Monica pull up and park.
“It’s open,” she called out when she heard the doorbell chime. “What?” she asked when her friend stepped inside with an odd look on her face. “Please don’t start harping on what a horrible wretch you think I am.”
Monica shook her head. “No, I was just wondering about the mess on your porch. You have a hissy fit and decide to wo
rk out your frustrations by tearing up some stuff?”
Aliesha frowned, walked over, and stepped outside the door. A pile of debris decorated a wide area of her porch near the bushes. She peered down at it for a moment, then started poking through and turning over the material, only to find herself springing upright as if suddenly bitten by an unseen predator. She put a hand to her mouth and took a couple of steps back.
Monica rushed to her side. “What’s wrong?! What is it?”
“Javiel’s portrait of me,” Aliesha said. “At least that’s what it was before it got sliced and hacked to pieces.”
CHAPTER 31
“What’s his number?” Monica said after they’d cleaned up the mess and gone back inside.
“Why?” Aliesha asked.
“Why the hell you think? So I can call and ask if he’s lost his damn mind.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea. Why not just let me handle it?”
“Oh, no! I’ve seen your way of handling things. And let me tell you, it’s obviously NOT working!” Monica punched a couple of buttons on her cell phone and shouted into the receiver. “Hey, what’s Javiel’s number? I just need to speak with him, is all. Yeah, thanks. I’ll call you back later.”
With a look of complete outrage, Monica punched in another series of numbers, then with the phone to her ear she walked out of the room, into another, and slammed the door behind her. Even so, Aliesha could still hear some of the more colorful and heated sentiments Monica had taken upon herself to share with Javiel. After a few minutes, she reappeared, looking drained and somewhat perplexed. She held the phone out to Aliesha and said, “I think you want to hear this.”
Aliesha waved her hands and shook her head. “You know what? I really don’t.”
Monica thrust the phone toward her again. “He’s insisting it wasn’t him. And it sounds to me like he’s telling the truth.”
Aliesha snatched the phone from Monica, and while leaving the room to chew out Javiel in private, she heard the doorbell chime. Before she finished vacating the area, she paused and motioned for her friend to see to the visitor. “Listen, Javiel,” she said upon entering her junk room and bracing herself against a wall. “I’m sorry about last night. What I did was inexcusable and incredibly selfish, but in all honesty, I didn’t come out there looking to hurt you.”
“I know,” he said. “I owe you an apology, too, Aliesha, especially about the way I acted and some of the things I said before you left. Are you all right?”
“No, if you want to know the truth. I’m pissed and more than just a little shaken after having seen what you did to the painting. What would ever possess you to do something so awful?”
“That wasn’t me, Aliesha. I mean, I did bring it by and drop it off at your front door, right after you left this morning. But I didn’t destroy it. The painting was in perfect condition when I saw it last.”
“Yeah, right, Javiel. Who else would feel compelled to do something like rip the entire face and head off the painting?”
“How about this Dante guy you’ve been seeing? Could be you don’t know him as well as you think you do.”
“What?!” she said. “Do you seriously think—”
Before she could finish, Monica burst into the room and said, “Hang up, you’ve got company.”
Aliesha glared and spit a terse “Do you mind?! Tell who ever it is I’ll be out as soon as I’m finished here.”
Monica walked over, seized the phone, and clicked it off. “You’re finished.”
Stunned, Aliesha said, “Okay, now it’s my turn to ask, have you lost your ever-loving mind?!”
“Not yet,” Monica said. “But if I keep fooling with your ass, I’m sure it’s only a matter of time.”
“This sure as hell better be important,” Aliesha said as she followed Monica from the room.
“Well, I’ll let you be the final judge of that,” Monica said. “But you’d best prepare yourself. Your visitors have come bearing some not-so-great news about your former flame . . . Kenneth.”
On reentering her living room, Aliesha was shocked to see Kenneth’s daughter, Rihanna, and Barbara Phillips, neither of whom she’d ever expect to turn up unannounced on her doorstep at such an hour, unless . . . unless something unthinkably horrible had occurred. “What’s going on?” she said in a voice drifting toward hysteria. “Oh, dear God, no! Please don’t tell me something’s happened to—”
Mrs. Phillips rushed to Aliesha’s side and said, “Calm yourself, child. Everything is going to be just fine.” With Monica’s assistance, the older woman steadied a shaking and visibly distraught Aliesha and guided her to the couch. “Give Rihanna a chance to explain before you go getting yourself all worked up,” Mrs. Phillips said on seating herself beside Aliesha and clutching one of her hands.
Rihanna, whose bloodshot eyes and puffy face did little to appease Aliesha’s alarm, said, “Forgive me for upsetting you like this, Professor Eaton. I wouldn’t have disturbed you at all tonight had my father not insisted I give you this along with his sincerest apologies.”
Aliesha immediately recognized the article in Rihanna’s outstretched hands as canvas, the kind commonly used by artists. Upon taking the ragged and torn material and carefully unfolding it, Aliesha once again found herself gazing upon Javiel’s masterful depiction of her lovely face and her God-given crown. She looked from Rihanna to Barbara Phillips and back to Rihanna again. “Are you trying to tell me Kenneth did this?”
Rihanna nodded and dabbed tissue to her runny nose and eyes. Mrs. Phillips placed a reassuring hand on Aliesha’s back and said, “It seems as if our dear Kenneth was picked up and charged with a DUI earlier today. From what I understand, last night, there was some sort of big falling out between him and his new lady-friend. During the course of trying to drink his sorrows away, he got the not-so-bright idea to come by your place.”
“In case you didn’t know,” Rihanna said, somewhat regaining her composure, “my father is still very much in love with you, Professor Eaton. He told me that the argument he got into with Donna was about you.”
“Is he okay?” Aliesha asked, suddenly feeling both guilty and partially responsible. “Are the authorities still holding him?”
“He was released a little while ago on his own recognizance. And given the circumstances, he’s as well as can be expected. Just a little embarrassed and incredibly remorseful for all of the pain and aggravation he’s caused everyone.”
An angry Monica, who’d been seated on an arm of the sofa steaming and growing redder with each passing second, said, “So what the hell was the point of all of this?!” She leaned over and seized the sliced and torn piece of canvas from Aliesha’s possession. “He didn’t just destroy the painting—from the looks of things, he took a freaking knife and ripped her whole damn face off. What kind of love is that?”
“Would you calm down,” Aliesha said.
Monica’s face grew even redder. “No, I will not! And where the hell were you that you didn’t hear or notice any of this foolishness happening on your front porch? You’ve got one nut dumping paintings at your front door and another stopping by to hack and slash ’em up!”
Aliesha closed her eyes and shook her head. “I don’t know. I was probably asleep. After I got in this morning, I showered, took some sleep medication, and spent most of the day pretty much under the covers and out of it.”
“I hope you won’t hold this against him,” Rihanna said, sounding defensive. “I’ve never known my father to behave like this. He said all he wanted was to see you, but when he noticed the painting something came over him.”
“Yeah,” Monica mumbled. “Something commonly known as a jealous rage.”
Rihanna, who appeared on the verge of a fresh round of tears, said, “He was jealous, yes, and most definitely intoxicated. But I know my dad and I’m pretty sure his intent wasn’t to hurt or scare you, Professor Eaton. According to him, all he wanted was to keep a little piece of you for himsel
f.”
“Hah!” Monica interjected again. “If I’m not mistaken Ted Bundy held the exact same sentiments about his victims.”
“Monica, please,” Aliesha said, issuing her friend a heated glare before turning back to Rihanna. “Is there anything I can do?”
Before Kenneth’s daughter could reply, Barbara Phillips stood up and said, “You mean, besides pray for him?”
Before Rihanna and Barbara Phillips left the house that night, the older woman pulled Aliesha aside and enveloped her in a long, tight embrace. Upon releasing her, Barbara looked Aliesha in the eyes and in a soft but stern voice said, “You can’t save him. I know a part of you wants to try. But getting himself together is something Kenneth has to do on his own. You hear me? By himself.”
Aliesha nodded. “I know, you’re right. I just can’t help but feel like I contributed in some way to the less-than-admirable behavior he’s demonstrated here of late.”
“Well, don’t! I’ve known Kenneth every since he joined the church as a young man, back in the 70s. Even though there was more than a ten-year age difference between us, I was close to his wife, Annie, too. This may surprise you, but I think a lot of the drinking and carrying on Kenneth’s been doing is more about Annie than it is about you. I suspect he’s still grieving her passing, yes, even after all these years. That’s not to say what the two of you had wasn’t real, it just wasn’t as solid as it could have been.”
A sad smile creased Aliesha’s lips. “Not exactly the truth I wanted to hear, but I appreciate it, nonetheless.”
While she managed to read a couple of chapters from a textbook she’d assigned one of her classes, and jot a few notes for an upcoming lecture, she spent most of Sunday like she had Saturday—dozing, piddling around, and fielding phone calls. Monica made it her business to check in every couple of hours, just to make sure Aliesha was all right, and later in the day she and her cousin Gabe insisted on bringing Aliesha dinner and keeping her company well into the evening. Even Jesus called to let her know that he wasn’t choosing sides and if she needed him, she could call.