Trouble's Always Watching Volume 1: Volume 1 (The Trouble Series)

by Courtney Smith

  He pointed at the furniture before a fierce grip ensnared the bewildered teenager's arm.

  “I caught you, boy!” The teenager looked up at his father with expanding eyes and pled, “I got no idea what he talkin' 'bout.”

  “Lying won’t do you any good 'cause I'm a judge, and what I say goes,” retorted Emerald Eckels as he stroked his beard with his free arm, indignantly.

  “What is the problem?” inquired the concerned teenager’s father.

  “Your very ill-mannered son tore the top half of my outhouse off while I was still using it!” shouted Judge Eckels.

  “How long ago was that?” asked the father with a confused expression.

  “It was less than twenty minutes ago!” shouted the man with a flushed-red face.

  “Well, I know for a fact that my boy was not the one that was responsible for the act because he was with me the whole time,” defended the adolescent’s father.

  “Your boy fits the description, and he's comin' wit' me,” growled Judge Eckels. Two, uniformed men with badges, batons, and pistols walked behind the belligerent man before he finished speaking.

  “Judge Eckels, is this Negro giving you any trouble?” asked one of the police officers as the other slowly placed his hand above the gun in his holster.

  “I believe you have shown up in exactly the right place at the right time,” commended Emerald Eckels.

  “This boy was involved in the partial destruction of my outhouse, and this man refuses to allow me to take him into custody to be punished for his crime.”

  “I c'n tell ya dat the boy was wit’ me da whole time, and we c'n ver'fy it wit' da store owners dat I have just left,” suggested the young pedestrian’s father.

  “Alright, let’s go,” commanded Judge Eckels. Both Judge Eckels and the man walked along with his son in the path of the teenager’s alibi with the police officers following, closely. They entered another shop with a similar atmosphere. A man with silver hair, bad posture, milky skin, and a mole on his right cheek grunted as he painfully lifted his arthritic head and stared at his visitors.

  “Good evening, Judas,” greeted Judge Eckels with a wave toward the man.

  “Hello, Judge Eckels,” hacked Mr. Creed.

  “How 're da wife an' kids?”

  “The missus is fine; she always make my hem'rrhoids flare up wit'out much effort, and da kids 're all goin' to th' other side of th' country fo' college, probably ta get 'way from me,” blurted Mr. Creed. Judge Eckels winked in a manner no one else noticed except for Mr. Creed as he asked him a question:

  “Did you happen to see this man in here with his son?” asked Judge Eckels as he pointed toward the man.

  “I saw the man and his—,” choked Mr. Creed as Judge Eckels subtly shook his head.

  “Wait uh minute, I saw a boy dat looked kinda like him come in by himself at another time, but I didn’t see anyone with him,” lied Mr. Creed as he looked into the judge’s eyes, awaiting approval. The judge subtly nodded his head with delight at Mr. Creed.

  “I don’t believe this! How can you fail to see me and my son together in here this evening?” questioned the concerned father.

  “The man gave his testimony, and you were wrong, sir,” reiterated Judge Eckels.

  “Your son is coming with us!” asserted one of the police officers.

  “No, he is not because I know that he has not done anything wrong,” protested the father. The uniformed men grabbed each of the adolescent's arms before the angry father knocked the judge out of the way and dashed toward one of the police officers. The officers immediately released the boy, pushed the incompliant man on the floor, and started swinging their batons upon the undeserving man. The protective father was overwhelmed as the officers continuously struck him. The concerned adolescent rushed to help his father, and but the obese judge and the shop owner breathed heavily and nearly fell over upon hanging onto the boy's arms. The teenager, like his father, struggled vainly as injustice restrained them against their wills.

  The officers lowered their batons when they saw the man was lying completely still with his eyes closed as his chest moved up and down. The officers grabbed the unconscious man's legs and dragged him on the ground to the police station. A thin, dark-skinned observer was around the corner, peering through the window and watching events with details like a closed-circuit camera. He started to walk away until he noticed something that made him twitch his fingers and sweat: the thin, ebony juvenile believed no one saw him until the adolescent, whose father had been arrested, was staring directly into his eyes from inside the shop. He was not certain if the son noticed him until adolescent rushed through the door and ran toward him after the shop owner and judge released him.

  I need ta hide quick befo' dat angry boy kill me! The skinny, mischievous adolescent quickly ran and dashed into an alley between two buildings. He crouched on the other side of a trash can and waited for his pursuer to pass. He crouched and shuddered as he listened to any footsteps or rustling, but his ears were immersed in silence. He quietly rose to his feet and glanced once behind him, slowly exhaled, and turned to see his pursuer standing directly in front of him. A deep frown, angry scowl, and tears rolled down the son's face with clenched fists.

  “I should smash yo’ head against the wall and watch yo’ brains fly out of your skull, but you’re not even worth the effort! You should know that you have made an enemy of André (my father) and Eric La Feat. I see the guilt in yo' eyes! I know you did somthin' dat man blamin’ on me an' my father! You are comin' wit me, or you gone die!” threatened the son. He grabbed the boy's arm before the son was startled by his screaming father. The captive boy broke free and sprinted away.

  "I gone kill you if I ever see you again!!" yelled the father's son.

  * * *

  Trouble stood up and walked toward the father and son with his head hung low.

  “I know that there ain’t nothin’ I can do to make up for the grief that I caused you. But if it’s worth anything, I finally learn't da devastation dat I caused yo’ family an’ the extent to which I inflicted pain upon you,” acknowledged the regretful teenager as a clear drop of fluid rolled down his cheek. Both André and Eric exchanged puzzled glances with each other upon seeing the person they knew as a delinquent express some regret for his participation in their suffering. Trouble turned around and began walking; however, a hand of compassion touched his shoulder. The astonished individual turned around to see a surprisingly ingratiating Eric La Feat and a sympathetic father.

  “We know 'bout yo' parents’ deaths, and I'm just moved dat ya have da character ta help us in yo' own pain,” replied André La Feat.

  “The experience gave me some thangs ta think about and reflec’ upon. I just wan’ to do what I can to halfway compe’sate fo’ tha pain dat I caused you.”

  “Well son, I am sorry ‘bout yo’ parents death, and despite how gruesome the transgression, everyone deserves a second chance,” forgave André La Feat. Trouble approached Eric La Feat.

  “I know what I did was wrong, and I'm very sorry. I don’t expect ya to forgive me, knowin' that I's responsible fo' yo' father’s undeserved treatment and imprisonment.”

  “Well, I can’t hate cha, forever. I gotta save some fo' dese people dat don't pay enough ta live afta all dis work,” replied Eric as he kicked a rock on the soil. Trouble picked up his hoe and drove it through the soil like a shark's fin through water. A small group of trees concealed a pair of curious eyes watching the three sharecroppers very closely from the shadows.

  An alabaster man with a thin frame, staunch demeanor, and light-red hair plowed into the ground with the assistance of his ox and drove his beast with full force. Bobby Joe Mason glanced across a couple of plantations to see a teenager driving a plow without an ox moving at blinding speeds and fell backwards. The man literally had to strain his neck to keep up with the movement. His mouth fell open, and his eyes seemed stuck upon the figure. He works very hard fo' someone dat’s supposed ta be
dead; I’ll have ta pull th' rope tighter nex' time.

  Dust rose around Trouble's sandals as he walked down the dirty trail. The sun's orange glow illuminated the sharecropper's back while he watched the same light settle upon the peaceful-looking, sharply lined plantations. He recalled seeing his father digging through the same soil he walked through. I know dat I did 't always make ya proud, but I hope dat today was da exception, Pa. Trouble smiled with all he had accomplished. I was able to turn enemies into frien's and help in ways dey coul' never by demselves nearly as quick. T'day was uh good day! His steps became lighter and careful as he approached the Stevensons’ residence to rest in his temporary, hostile home for the evening. But dis might be uh long night!

  His overalls brushed golden grass aside with each step. The pedestrian inhaled deeply upon sighting the grayish-brown, wooden shack, which clashed with the landscape of the surrounding background like a bright board floating in a dark sea.

  Dorothy Stevenson hurriedly rushed toward him with peeled eyes and a deep frown. The indifferent guest looked up and spoke, “What seems ta be da problem?”

  “The problem is you nothin’ but uh lazy, mischievous miscr’ant that wanders off when work supposed ta be done! You not good fo’ anythang! You is evil! You is the spawn of the Devil! You a delinquent, and you brang nothin’ but heartache and misery to da people you ‘round!” shouted Dorothy Stevenson as she pointed and waved her finger in his face.

  “Is dat all? I thought I was mo’ notorious than that,” replied Trouble, flatly. Both Dorothy and Reynaldo Stevenson looked at the boy with wide eyes and open mouths. Reynaldo charged toward the antagonistic individual as he screamed.

  “I know you not disrespectin' my mama like that!” The heavy-set boy swung wildly at the slim, jet-black boy. The blows were thrown, but the only thing the fists made contact with was the still air of the Louisiana atmosphere.

  The thin adolescent tossed his hoe on the ground and teased the assailant as a child dangling a string in front of an active kitten. Reynaldo tried to at least graze Trouble with one last blow, but he fell on the soil and gasped for breath from fatigue.

  “You know, Reynaldo. You might wanna go on a diet ‘fore you start tryna fight someone,” taunted Trouble. Dorothy Stevenson ran and grabbed the unwanted guest’s hoe and made a frenzied dash for her son’s tormentor. She swung much more uncontrollably than her son, and the extremely agile teenager avoided her attempts to harm him more easily. The skinny, antagonist aggravated Dorothy Stevenson in a similar way as he did her son. She swung at Trouble's head one last time before an indignant voice interrupted the motion: “What da hell is goin' on 'round here!”

  Everybody looked up to see a large, man with skin like coffee and all of his muscles flexed holding a hoe in his right arm, very tightly. His lips were curled, and his eyes looked like they were gates holding back the flames of eternal rage. Reverend Anthony Stevenson glared at his family with peeled eyes and shifted his glance to Trouble. The reverend’s wife trembled and dropped the hoe with shaky hands as she slowly turned to see her husband’s fiercely indignant expression.

  "Daddy, ya know talkin’ like dat will get ya sent to Hell," volunteered Reynaldo.

  "I'll repent, later! Right now, I want answers!" shouted Reverend Stevenson.

  “Trouble is nothin’ but a lazy, tar-black sloth that disappears when work suppose ta be done!” shouted Dorothy Stevenson. “He been gone nearly all day, and Reynaldo had to do most of the work by himself!”

  “Yeah, you evil bas-!” whimpered Reynaldo as his parents simultaneously gave him threatening glances. Trouble shrugged his shoulders and embraced the inevitable. I ain't eva gone satisfy dem! I ain't even sure God could! Reverend Stevenson slowly walked toward the mildly annoyed teenager and spoke:

  “Trouble! I taken ya in my home, and all ya done is disrespect my family! I treat ya like ‘nother son, and ya treat my family an’ I like Judas betrayin’ Jesus!” Reynaldo and Dorothy Stevenson quietly smirked as tears formed in the exasperated guest’s eyes. I just can't win! Trouble slowly looked up and saw the Reverend was winking at him as he continued his act of berating him. The adolescent almost cracked a smile and nearly forgot he was playing a role. He walked off of the property as Reynaldo and Dorothy Stevenson jumped and clapped, wildly.

  “I am not gone ta let an ill-mannered boy walk ‘way from me when I am reprimandin’ him!” shouted Reverend Stevenson as he charged after him. Reverend Stevenson grabbed the back of the thin boy’s clothes and walked with him at a really fast pace.

  “I’m takin’ you to tha authorities, right now, you lil, evil, triflin’ heathen!” screamed Reverend Stevenson. Reverend Stevenson glared out of the side of his eye to see both his son and his wife entering the cabin for the evening. He changed his tone and stopped the charade.

  “Trouble, I was watchin’ you the whole day as I worked in different areas of the plantation. I saw everythang and even heard some o’ da conversations that ya had with different people, today. You done everythin' right and den some. You do not deserve the way my family has treated you, and I am going to do some subtle things to Reynaldo to punish him. I saw the fight between you and my son, and I am very proud and impressed with the way you were able to avoid the blows without responding with any of your own.

  It was obvious that you could have seriously hurt Reynaldo, and you would have been in your right to defend yourself. My family does not like you, but that doesn’t mean I‘m gone be your enemy. I saw the way you worked on my portion of the plantation, and you did much of the work that I would have been working on for a couple of weeks. I saw the way you worked on the land of Jacob Jenson, André La Feat, and others.

  I know that Gene and Monica would be proud to see how diligent and recently well mannered they son has become because I’m very proud of you, but I cannot let my family know that. My family’ll probably never ‘cept you. I’m acting like this toward you because my wife gives me a hard time when I disagree with her, and she makes it difficult for me to…make the cot tremble. Trouble, although I know that you have been treated unfairly, you have ta take into account that you did some really bad things and caused people ta get hurt.

  You know that people ten’ ta ‘member the bad things that someone may have done more than the good an’ rumors ten’ ta spread as well. Anyway, I’m gone take you to da church, and you c’n stay there for the present time.” They walked casually along the dusty road, and enjoyed each other’s company on the way.

  “Reverend Stevenson, I really ‘preciate you takin’ me into yo’ home ‘til I have a place to reside despite yo’ family’s dislike of me,” expressed Trouble.

  “You mo’ than welcome. You were actually there when I needed ya tha most. I was ‘bout ta step down from tha pulpit ‘fore you gave me that divine message,” replied Reverend Stevenson. They walked for a couple of hours despite how close their destination was from the house. They approached a familiar plot of dead grass, surrounding a brown, two-story building. Reverend Stevenson grabbed the rusty chain upon the old, wooden door. The lock fell upon the porch, and the doors swung open. The pair slowly entered, together.

  Reverend Stevenson closed and locked the doors behind him before crossing the fields on his way home. Trouble dashed up the stairs to the bell tower of the church. He stood in the balcony beneath the massive bell overlooking several plantations. The sun stretched the last of its orange bands across the fields and plains. They barely illuminated the outskirts of the Stevenson’s cabin along with a burnt patch of land that used to be his parent's home.

  His eyes viewed the expanse of the land until his awareness became a mere memory. Trouble slumped near the badly splintered wall of the balcony, and the weight of his consciousness became too much to bear. His awareness gradually slipped away with the fading light of the sun.

  * * *

  Trouble found himself standing in the center of the church, alone. A quick glance through the windows revealed nothing but everlasting darkness.
An eerie, white glow emanating from the ceiling’s crack was the only light throughout the whole building. The bewildered boy turned around in a complete circle to see nothing but darkness. The same light faded from the ceiling and came through the eaves of the doors.

  Trouble began walking toward the door. He walked for nearly two minutes before he realized he had not reached it yet. He gradually walked a little faster only to see the door was the same distance from his starting point. The boy began chasing it only to find it stretched until it was farther away than the horizon of the sky. What all dis mean? Blackness consumed the whole area.

  The eerie light suddenly cast its presence upon the involuntary spectator's head and became fainter until his body and his shadow were the only things visible. Plumes of dark, thick, black smoke rose from the ground.

  An uncomfortably familiar, frightening feeling suddenly manifested itself. The isolated individual trembled with sweat pouring out of him like a fountain. His hands became stiff upon realizing his captor from Hell was visiting him. He attempted to run, but his feet were completely immobile. An abysmal face stared at the young man. The dark face suddenly expanded and absorbed the teenager into greater darkness.

  Trouble felt the cold, metallic scales of his captor wrapping around him like a boa constrictor. His muscles ached and fatigued with each exhalation he took. His breath escaped into large, abysmal nostrils with each of the creature's inhalations. The captive's skin burned as he felt it's boulder-sized, flaming-red eyes glaring at him. His shallow breath grazed his sweaty, stiff limbs. The beast's presence paralyzed him.