Hush

by Amaleka McCall

  Deidre ignored the sparks flying and the damage she had inflicted on the television. Her mind racing, she ran up the creaking wooden stairs to the second floor of the cottage she had been staying at for the last three days. Reaching the top landing of the staircase, she bolted into the master bedroom. Panting for breath, she began frantically stuffing rubber banded stacks of money into a large Louis Vuitton duffel bag.

  She looked down at the expensive brown and beige bag, and she felt her heart sink. The bag had been a gift from Chastity and the girls. A long row of Gucci, Manolo Blahnik and Jimmy Choo shoes peeked out from under the bed. Platinum and diamond jewelry sparkled from the dresser top. All had been gifts—tokens of appreciation for a job well done. Deidre couldn’t help but think about the good times she’d had with the crew. All of the shopping trips, parties, vacations, and just the girl talk in general. Deidre felt sick thinking about how everything had played out. She thought about how perfectly she had fit in with the F.A.B.

  Being the product of a mixed relationship—a half African-American and Irish mother, and a half African-American and Dominican father, Deidre never seemed to fit in with any one group growing up.

  For the African-American girls, she was too light and too cute because her hair was wavy and long. They hated her and let her know it every day.

  For the white Irish girls, just knowing she was part Black meant automatic exclusion. Besides, she wasn’t loose and nasty enough to hang with them. They’d all started giving blowjobs at thirteen.

  For the Dominicans, well, they couldn’t really talk because she looked more Hispanic than most of them, but she didn’t speak Spanish well enough to fit in.

  Exasperated, Deidre flopped down on the bed, snapping out of the past. Where the hell am I going? What the hell am I? Whose side am I on? Confusion over her duplicitous loyalties mounted, and suddenly a sharp pain invaded her abdomen and she felt nauseous. Hand over mouth, Deidre ran toward the bathroom, but didn’t make it in time. Warm vomit spewed between her fingers and ran down her forearms. Her nerve endings stood on end as she hunched over the old-fashioned porcelain sink and let the contents of her stomach empty into the basin. I have to pull myself together and get out of here, Deidre told herself, turning on the faucet to wet her face.

  As she finished washing her face and cleaning up her mess, she heard several loud knocks on the cedar wood cottage door. The sound jolted her. Eyes wide, she listened intently.

  “Bang! Bang!” Then a pause, and another “Bang!” The knocks were an all too familiar sound. They all had been trained to knock that way as a code for backup. They were conducting a raid like she was a common criminal.

  “Shit!” she whispered, her survival skills catching her around the throat. “How did they find me?” Deidre muttered, her heart racing painfully against her sternum. She’d been taught to get out of situations like this. Looking up at the bathroom window, she contemplated climbing out, but her expertise told her that they probably had snipers surrounding the building. Deidre was now the enemy. The sounds grew louder and closer. “Fuck!” she exclaimed through clenched teeth. Her hands shook uncontrollably. Deidre knew that the information she held would surely cost her her life. It’s all over now, she thought to herself. There was no where to go. However, Deidre didn’t plan on going out without a fight.

  She inched slowly over toward the bathroom door and locked it. She remembered that she kept her spare weapon hidden inside the Kotex box under the bathroom sink. She reached for the handles of the cabinet under the sink. Before she could retrieve the .357 Sig Sauer, her favorite gun, she heard footsteps and familiar voices thundering up the stairs toward her location. Instinctively, she got low to the ground, just as she had been trained to do, seeking cover as bullets whistled above her head and lodged themselves into the wood panels of the bathroom walls. She balled up into a turtle position, using her back as her shell. Glass rained down on her body, littering her hair, and shattering on her arched back. It was time to give up. If she didn’t surrender, the undercover recovery team would surely kill her. In the eyes of the same people she worked for, she was just like the criminals they’d hunted together. What set her apart was that she held too many secrets to live.

  Deidre stood up and raised her hands above her head as the door splintered open. “Aponte, it’s over. You need to come with us!” Ricky voice yelled over the chaos.

  Deidre looked into the eyes of the man to whom she had once professed her love. Just then she caught a glimpse of

  R.J. behind him. They were working together this entire time! The thoughts raced through her mind. “R.J.?” she whispered, staring into her brother’s eyes. She knew the jig was up, but still far from over. She tried to think quickly, but the next few seconds seemed to move in Matrix-like slow motion for her.

  Ricky, her boss and former lover, moved aside to let her see R.J. before he killed her. He wanted her to know she’d been set up. Ricky, dressed in all black stood before her like the Grim Reaper. “Stay back! Stay back! The suspect is armed!” he yelled to the other rogue agents behind him, never once taking his eyes off of Deidre. He wouldn’t allow any of the backup anywhere near his location, and Deidre knew just why that was.

  “Ricky, don’t do it!!” she screamed, throwing her hands up in defense. “I’m not going to do it,” Ricky said, looking over at R.J. who aimed his gun at the center of Deidre’s chest. “Ricky, I’m an agent just like you!” Deidre screamed.

  “Drop your weapon!” Ricky yelled deceitfully, drowning out her feeble attempts to elicit help from the other agents on the scene.

  Deidra had no idea that all of the agents were a part of the plot on her life. She was unarmed; she never had the chance to retrieve her gun from her hiding place. Immediately, she knew what he had in store for her. She squeezed her eyes together, causing the tears that had built up to leak from the corners.

  Suddenly, “Boom! Boom! Boom!” R.J.’s gun sounded, hitting the intended target. The bullets burned through Deidre’s skin.

  “R.J. you’re my brother . . .” she gasped as she stumbled backwards from the powerful shots, hitting her head on the edge of the old fashioned lion claw bathtub her mother and father had bathed her in as a child. Her body convulsed as blood spilled from her mouth and ran down her face onto the cold floor. “Thump . . . Thump . . . Thump ...Th...” Deidre could both feel and hear her heart beating its last beats. Slowly, the sound began to fade, and the pressure in her chest began to ease. Deidre gurgled for air, as her life began to flash before her eyes.

  Ricky walked over to Deidre and stood over her. Looking into her dilated pupils, he smirked. “A traitor, just like your father,” he said.

  “What is she talking about, I’m her brother?” R.J. asked, confused.

  “You are her brother. Ramon, Junior. Your father was a piece of shit that had two families. I made him leave New York and leave your family behind. When I killed him, he begged like a bitch for his life, just like your mother did when I fucked her and then hung her like the spick bitch she was,” Ricky said calmly, blowing a ring of cigar smoke in R.J.’s face.

  “You motherfucker!” R.J. screamed, rushing towards Ricky.

  “Bang! Bang! Bang!” Three shots rang out, and R.J.’s body lurched forward, dropping to the floor.

  “Good shot!” Ricky complimented.

  “Thanks,” Ferguson accepted.

  “We did it,” Ricky said smiling, as Ferguson led him to the trunk full of money.

  “Yep. Now, what are we going to do about all these bodies?” she asked.

  “Don’t ever doubt me. I’m the greatest,” Ricky said, smirking. He ordered the other agents on his dirty team to take all of the money out of the cottage. They made the scene look like a murder-suicide, and they left. As far as Ricky was concerned, he’d gotten away with murder, over and over again.

  VOLUME 23: THE FUNERAL

  “Knock! Knock!” Pause. “Knock!”

  Cassandra groggily looked over at the alarm clock s
itting on her nightstand. The large red digital numbers read 5:00

  a.m. She had been startled out of her sleep by the knocks on the door.

  “Knock! Knock!” Pause. “Knock!” There they were again.

  “Deidre?” she mumbled softly as she fumbled with her comforter, trying to rush out of bed. “This girl and her FBI knock. She is a trip. Must’ve forgotten her keys again. It’s pretty early for a visit,” Cassandra said aloud as she tied the sash on her red and gold silk kimono. She was excited to see her daughter, who she hadn’t seen in weeks. “I’m coming . . . your Mama’s coming!” Cassandra yelled in response to the knocking again. She scooted toward the sounds with a large smile on her face. Cassandra wanted to make things right between herself and Deidre after their last meeting.

  She reached the last step, and peering through the small triangle panes of glass on her custom-made door, she could see clearly that it was not her baby girl, Deidre on the other side. Instead, she saw two men, one white and one black, both wearing black suits. Cassandra became weak in the knees. Suddenly, the trip to the door seemed like it was taking hours, and the door seemed to move further and further away. This scene was all too familiar for her. A feeling of dread washed over her, and the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. Barely able to twist the doorknob, she pulled back the door.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Aponte. I’m Special Agent Harp, and this is Special Agent Rollens. May we come in and speak with you?” the white guy said.

  Cassandra could not find the words to answer him. She stepped aside allowing them to enter.

  “Mrs. Aponte, I’m afraid we have bad news,” Agent Harp continued, not wanting to waste time.

  Cassandra felt her legs about to give out and her heart raced wildly. The agent’s mouth seemed to be moving in slow motion as he uttered the words, “Your daughter has been killed.” He spoke softly.

  Cassandra put her hands over her mouth as the words slowly rolled off of the agent’s tongue. Moving her head from left to right, she still could not speak. Shock was choking her and had her at a lost for words. All she could think of was her baby girl. She pictured Deidre’s beautiful face, and she could even smell the scent of Ralph, Deidre’s favorite perfume.

  Then, reality began to quickly set in on her. “No! No! Not my baby! Not my Deidre! She was all I had left! No!” She screamed, bending over and clutching her chest in great agony.

  “Ma’am, please sit down,” Agent Rollens said.

  It was too late. Cassandra had fainted.

  Cassandra sat on the side of her bed, with a pounding headache. She had not gotten any sleep or eaten a solid meal since she received the news. She looked over at her black dress draped across her vanity seat, and became sick to her stomach. Reaching for the bottle of sedatives on her nightstand, she noticed the light on her answering machine flashing. She had been ignoring all callers. She grabbed the bottle and threw three pills down her throat, chasing them down with her “Easy Jesus”. The pills alone wouldn’t put her to sleep. She had built up a tolerance to them, but they would dull the pain that permeated her heart.

  Cassandra pulled it together and slid into her dress. Placing a pair of dark black shades over her swollen and red-rimmed eyes, she stumbled down the stairs and out of the house.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Aponte,” said the agent standing in front of the black Lincoln Town Car. The Bureau had been very attentive. They had made all of Deidre’s funeral arrangements, and they also had someone outside of the Aponte home twenty-four hours a day.

  “Good morning,” Cassandra mumbled as she climbed into the car. Hands shaking, she lit a cigarette, put it to her chapped red lips and inhaled. She’d begun smoking again, after quitting over ten years ago. She stared blankly out of the window as the driver put the car in drive and pulled out of the driveway. Visions of Deidre as a baby danced in Cassandra’s mind, and her tears flowed freely.

  “We’re here, Mrs. Aponte,” the driver announced, snapping Cassandra out of her trance.

  Opening her eyes, she never uttered a word as she slid across the cold leather seats, and prepared to exit the car. She bit into the side of her cheek when she noticed Ricky Blum standing in front of a huddle of microphones with, black, green, and orange foam covers displaying each television station’s logo. He was giving a statement to the throngs of hungry news reporters that had invaded Deidre’s funeral service.

  Cassandra definitely wanted to talk to Ricky. She knew this was not the time, but she’d gone over the questions in her mind a million times. She wanted to know what really happened to her daughter, and one way or another, she was going to find out. She refused to let the media coverage about the circumstances surrounding Deidre’s death sway her belief. She would never be convinced that her daughter had traded her dignity to become a notorious drug dealer and murderer.

  As soon as Cassandra stepped foot on the pavement, the reporters turned from Ricky and surged toward her. She lowered her head, and with the help of the agents assigned to her, she forced her way through the crowd, ignoring questions such as:

  “Mrs. Aponte, is it true your daughter turned her back on the Bureau and became a loyal member of the notorious

  F.A.B. crew?” “Did your daughter ever contact you while she was undercover?” And, “Did your daughter fire at her colleagues in an attempt to get away with a million dollars in drug money?”

  Tears streamed freely down Cassandra’s face. Just thinking about how the media was portraying her little girl was heart wrenching. “Don’t worry, baby girl! I’m gonna set the record straight, even if it’s the last thing I ever do!” Cassandra whispered, lifting her head up and looking at her daughter’s casket as she entered the Christ Fellowship Baptist Church.

  The day after the funeral, Cassandra sat at her kitchen table, barely able to drink a cup of tea. She hadn’t eaten or left the house since she’d found out about her Deidre’s death, except to attend the service. Cassandra prepared the tea to prime her stomach for the high dose of sedatives and E&J she was about to consume. She eased her chapped lips onto the rim of her tea cup and sipped slowly.

  Suddenly, the doorbell interrupted her self-pity party. She looked up, deciding that she wouldn’t answer it. It’s probably somebody concerned about me, she reasoned. Besides, her house was a mess; dirty dishes spilled out of the sink; the garbage was piled high, not to mention she hadn’t bathed herself.

  “Bing-bong!” The bell sounded again. “Go away!” Cassandra grumbled refusing to move. The bell rang again with more urgency. “Bing-bong! Bing-bong!” “Go away!” Cassandra yelled again, louder this time.

  “I have a package for a Mrs. Cassandra Aponte!” the postal delivery guy yelled through the door. Cassandra ignored him. “This is the third delivery attempt, and there is no return address,” he yelled.

  “Leave it at the door!” Cassandra replied.

  “Ma’am, this is a ‘sign only’ delivery,” the guy yelled back, growing frustrated.

  Cassandra finally stood up, her head pounding as she padded over to the door. Cracking it slightly she stuck her hand out for the electronic signature board. She scribbled her name, and pushed it back towards the guy.

  “Here you go, ma’am,” he said, hoisting a large box and shoving it in her direction.

  Feeling weak, Cassandra grabbed a total of three boxes, but could barely hold on to them. She let them drop at her feet. “What the hell is all this?” she grumbled, finally looking down at the package slips. She immediately recognized her daughter’s handwriting. Her heart began racing and tears immediately welled up in her eyes. “Deidre?” she whispered as she tore at the tape on one of the boxes. She was too weak to make a difference, so she rushed into the kitchen for a knife. Cutting at the tape, the box immediately flapped open. Inside, the first thing Cassandra noticed was a letter:

  Dear Mom,

  I know you must be wondering what this is all about, and I’m sorry if you haven’t heard from me. I’m not sure if I’ll be able to tell you
the story, so I’ve sent you my journals. Start with Volume 1, and read all the way to the end for all of the “answers”.

  I love you, and I know now that me and Daddy never meant to hurt you.

  Love Always, Your baby girl, Deidre

  Cassandra clutched at her chest, her heart was braking all over again. She could feel it stinging inside of her chest, and the pain went all the way down to her stomach. The pounding in her head was superseded by the pain she felt. The tears flowed freely as she opened up the first book, “Volume

  1: The Call”. She read aloud as her tears smudged the first word on the page.

  THE LAST VOLUME: NOTHING TO LIVE FOR

  Cassandra sat across from Chastity, separated by the thick unbreakable glass. Chastity looked through the glass at the strange woman, and picked up the telephone receiver. Cassandra did the same. “Hello Chastity,” Cassandra spoke first.

  “Who the fuck is you?” Chastity growled. When she heard she had a visitor, she was secretly hoping it would be her brother.

  “You don’t know me, but I know lots about you,” Cassandra continued, unfazed by Chastity’s rude comment.

  “Well, you better say something and quick,” Chastity remarked, acting as if she had somewhere else to be. She still couldn’t shake her bossy attitude.

  “I knew your mother and your father, and you knew my daughter,” Cassandra said.

  Chastity raised her eyebrows at Cassandra’s words. “Knew my mother and father?” she asked quietly.

  “Yes. Chastity, you see, my husband, Ramon, was your father,” Cassandra started.

  Chastity jumped right in. “Look. Who the fuck are you, lady!” she whispered harshly, gritting her teeth. She was getting pissed.

  “This is my daughter, and she is your sister,” Cassandra got straight to the point, placing a photograph of Deidre up to the glass.