by Dave Welch
She persisted to damage me with her stern look.
I burst into tears, bellowing from the depths of my soul.
Crumbling to the floor, I balled up against the wall. I could feel her standing over me with a face of dominating pity.
“Did I miss something here?” Woods asked from afar.
I couldn’t speak for crying.
“Derrick?” She whispered. “What the hell’s going on here, Derrick? I just landed not too long ago, and I called my mom, Derrick. She was at the house eating prunes. Derrick.”
She stood over me fiercely. Then she rushed into the morgue only to come to an abrupt stop. She glared at the coroner’s table, and there laid a lifeless, covered body.
“Who is that?” She blurted.
I crawled in, slowly to my feet as Canieya began to tear up.
“Who is that?” She repeated.
I traveled lightly beside her, crying as I approached the table.
“Na, na…man. Who is that?” She groaned with a trembling voice.
I stood on the opposite side of the table to face my viewers. I lifted the white sheet and folded it back to display the horrific re-run. I looked on to Bookie’s corpse without flinching as my tears diminished from anger.
Canieya glared with skepticism for a moment. Then the crying began. She worked and struggled hard to conceal it. Her eyes started shuffling everywhere. She was devastated, and I could tell without even looking at her. She grabbed her mouth as she stumbled up to the table. She gagged as the tears rolled down her elegant face. She rubbed her hand through Bookie’s hair, colliding with the oversized head wound.
She shook like crazy as her fingers tripped through the disfigured gashes.
I gripped the crown of Bookie’s head, turning the wound towards Canieya.
She dropped lifelessly to the floor, bending over as if she had been fatally stabbed.
Just then, the two agents exited the morgue. I stood still, gazing, almost completely separated from life. Finally, I turned Bookie’s head straight. My eye started twitching, and my finger tapped against the edge of the coroner’s table.
I was pissed.
Canieya screamed to the top of her lungs, rolling uncontrollably on the floor.
Now, Canieya crazy. I told yawl already. Something wrong with her.
And in her defense, I may have caused some of this crazy.
But this was a pain that no mom should have to endure. In all, I guess it would be safe to say that I kind of expected this reaction.
“WWwhhhyyyy! WHhhhYYYyy! God!! No!” she yelled in agony. Then the yelling stopped, and I was still out of the moment.
She stood to her feet only to see me…the loser, standing in complete grief. It was all my fault.
She spat in my face.
I didn't shudder.
“You did this. You!” she stated.
“Damn you, Crane!” she shouted as she stopped crying.
Guilt had won, and flawlessly.
She stepped closer to me. And at this point, I couldn’t look at her.
I stood steadfast and void of all emotion.
She jacked me up by the collar, shaking me like a rag doll.
She shouted obscenities to the highest of levels as I fell back into a stainless-steel chair.
I was so drained from crying and utterly mortified by the image that would not cease in the branding of this demonic day.
Canieya had been swinging on me the whole time I was gripping my mistake.
She head-butted me in the face, breaking my nose.
She punched and slapped me to a bloody slush.
“Fuck Crane! Damn YOU! Fuck you to hell, Crane! I hate your guts! Fuck Crane! FUuuccckkk!” she screamed.
I sat lifeless as if Canieya wasn’t even there. All I could see was his face when she insisted on the delivery of her destructive punching.
I couldn’t feel anything.
“Fucking Crane! Destroying everything, everywhere you go! Damn, I hate you!” she bellowed.
She continued her attack as the agents barged into the morgue.
“Whoa! Heyy!” Woods shouted as they rushed over to get her.
They grabbed her by the arms and lifted her into the air.
Bish!
She kicked me dead in the jaw with those big steel thigh high boots.
Blood spewed from my mouth as she shouted.
“Fuck you, Crane! Fuck You! Let me go! Let me go! Damn it! I’m gonna kill you, Crane! You’re about to join her!”
“Fuck You!” She screamed as she squabbled in mid-air.
She then grabbed one of the agents by his coat collar.
She flipped him over her shoulder.
He slammed into the wall.
“Aaaaggghhhh!” He hollered.
Agent Woods released Canieya, throwing his hands up in the air as if he were under arrest.
Canieya whirled around, looking at me in a complete rage.
I just stared at Bookie with my bloody, bruised face.
Canieya was breathing heavily while Agent Woods backed away with his hands still up.
The other agent wallowed on the floor before clambering up on his feet. He stood slowly, slumping over with his hands on his knees. He posted up against the wall panting for air. And then everyone stared at me as I sat without a soul.
Canieya started to pull her hair out.
“Aaaaaggggghhhhhhhh!” She screamed.
I could hear the follicles plucking from her scalp as the hairy strands drifted to the floor.
“What the fuck happened, Crane?” She cursed.
“Crane?” Agent Woods interjected.
“Wait… Arlo Crane?” Lockley wondered as both agents peeked at each other.
“Shut the fuck up!” boomed Canieya as she snapped over to the agent.
“Crane’s mine. You understand me! Don’t you fucking touch him!” She ordered, pointing with authority.
The agents glared with confusion.
“Agreed?” She screamed.
“Yes,” they replied as she turned back to me, huffing.
She finally settled down.
She walked up to me and sat in my lap, facing me with her hands on her hips.
“Talk,” she whispered.
I sat speechless.
“Talk, Crane…” She begged as she began to tear up.
The tears dropped from her face. She wiped them away roughly, as if she didn’t want to cry.
Her overwhelming smell zapped me back to life, and only then did I indulge her with the informative bits of agonizing news.
As the moments passed in my explanation, the morgue grew colder (almost as cold as this union).
I stood to my feet, holding Canieya up in my arms. She wrapped her legs around me as she sobbed away in the loft of my shoulder. I walked over to Bookie’s corpse as the two agents stood in an uncomfortable state. Evidently, they didn't know what was going on.
I did.
I caught myself staring at my innocent daughter’s body.
“I never forget a face,” I mumbled as Canieya glared at Bookie.
I held her up, steady with one hand.
She grabbed me by the collar, pulling herself closer to my ear.
“You find him, Crane. You… You’re responsible,” she whispered while climbing out of my arms and standing firm.
I had yet to look in her face. Because I couldn’t stop looking at Bookie.
Suddenly, Canieya snatched me by the chin, turning my face to her eyes of fury.
“I’ve taken another promotion, Crane. The agents and I are looking for a man worse than you,” she mentioned.
“Oh yeah… What does he look like?” I asked with a dark tone.
A feeling had come over me. I couldn’t explain it. But when I looked into her eyes, she let go of my chin.
“I don’t know yet,” she stammered, humbling herself from my grisly facial expression. “I’m headed to a briefing now.”
She stepped closer to me and t
ook in a deep breath, engulfing my mannish sense of odor. She, in turn, smelled just as seductive. How could we resist each other with all that hot loving we used to make? Just the thought of us chemically colliding in the science of romance would only establish a scene of public nudity.
Then, the walls fell like a drawbridge over a moat.
We kissed fiercely and passionately, even with my bloody disfigured face. It was like we had never kissed before. It was a deep kiss of sloppy tongues digging to reach each other’s uvula.
“Euw.” Lockley screeched.
She pushed me back gently.
“Find him, Crane.” She uttered, caressing my chest. She rubbed her hand over my abs, and then she grasped me by my belt buckle. Then, she turned away unwillingly with her head down.
This was her way of apologizing.
I knew I wasn’t going to see her again, so my eyes traveled up and down her breathtaking body. I had to capture my final glimpse of heaven and hell, perfectly integrated.
Oh, you already know I grabbed her ass.
It was so soft and fluffy. I knew she was mine cause she didn’t even turn around to acknowledge me. Hell, it was almost like she expected it.
She stopped in front of the other agents and hissed with her hands on her hips.
“Not a word…” She demanded.
The agents nodded as she left the room. Then, they scowled in shock as they finally came to grips with who I really was. I just stood there plainly, bleeding profusely by the face. It fell in clumps, tainting the white sheet that covered my only daughter.
I glanced to see Agent Woods shaking his head in sorrow.
“I’m sorry for your loss, Crane,” he whispered.
Sighing with grief, he and Agent Lockley exited the morgue, leaving me amongst this cold and tragic fate.
The sound of the door hydraulics and the calming air conditioning unit filled my ears. Then, I saw a hand grasp the edge of the door, right before they fully shut. It was Canieya.
She stood motionless (for a moment) staring at me from the doorway.
I looked up from Bookie’s corpse only to make direct eye contact with her. The confirmation was definitive and well mastered as she glared into my pulverized face of gloom.
And man, my demandable eyes screamed over the silence as Canieya slowly released the door.
She walked away, howling in tears.
… The morgue doors secured…
A Discovery Foundation
Bookie’s funeral was saddening. My friends and neighbors all attended. Everyone was there except Canieya. Knowing her, she was probably somewhere, dangling from somebody’s balcony. I didn’t even bother to call. I was too wrapped up in me and my lust for vengeance.
I got with a few goons, and we warred against the system, turning over every rock and every stone.
I kicked in a lot of doors and got shot twice doing that.
One time, I saw a guy that looked like that wretched sleazeball, but it wasn’t him. A cat like me shot his car up anyway just for favoring my antagonist.
Then I kept getting word of some guy sneaking bombs in and out of prisons. I thought of turning myself in to see if any of the guys I put away had been in cahoots with his punk ass. But none of my insiders came up with anything.
Next, I started robbing banks, just to burn their money. Then I was hijacking city buses only to find the police ignoring me. Maybe it was because of all the explosions going off over the city.
What the fuck, man! What kind of a world is this?
I was literally throwing myself to the dogs.
I couldn’t travel like I wanted to because my instincts told me otherwise. But I just knew he was still here…somewhere. It was just that my depression started to wear me out. I began to slow down.
I wasn’t eating right. Shit, I don’t even think I was eating at all. The only reason I kept waking up in the morning was because that nightmare kept jolting my spirit’s spark plug. I couldn’t ignore the call. My desire attempted to drive me. My motivation wanted to strengthen me. But the fact of no progress killed me.
I had reached my end. I was so lost in stupefaction. I felt obsolete… like the first computer. You know the one with that green text and the black background?
I really wanted to die.
It was only a few minutes into the morning of my awakening when I made a personal decree. If I didn’t find Bookie’s killer by the end of November, I was going to kill myself.
November 1st
This was the day that I met a man by the name of Quincy Harmon or Father Harmon. He’s a Catholic following some kind of priesthood. He lived in a huge cathedral.
It was gorgeous on the inside, with walls and ceilings filled with elaborate paintings. The floors were always spotless, and the plush pews were overall comfy. The lighting about this massive cathedral was dim and very calming on the eyes.
Now I don’t get into all that, you know… religion stuff. I’m just not that big on it. But I needed to vent. I needed some answers. I don’t know how I ended up in the cathedral. Well, yes I do. I just happened to be passing by one day, and I saw a bunch of ladies rushing off in there. I followed them in, thinking it was a nightclub or something. After stepping foot into the cathedral, I came face to face with Father Harmon. He was standing just on the other side of the doors.
Father Harmon’s a cool guy with a gust of energy, a spryness about him that would make the average middle-aged man jealous. He had taken care of himself throughout his years as a human. He’s one of those older guys with a six-pack. He told me that he had just turned 57, but I think he meant 75.
Quincy’s also very bright and full of wisdom.
He stands a few inches taller than me. His skin’s wrinkle-free. He has a big nose, an odd-shaped head, and sharp piercing eyes that compel you to tell the truth. He has all of his teeth. And what's really odd is that Father Harmon has all of his hair without a single gray strand. Still, after meeting with him on several occasions, I found the old Father to be a friend.
Quincy is very big on outer space galaxies, aliens and the afterlife. I think he needs to change his belief standards. Maybe Scientology would be more fitting for the old geezer.
“We’re all the same, Derrick. The only thing that changes with extreme certainty is the organism- through the process of evolution. The fact that an organism may start out in one form and develop into another, is an undeniable transformation. We are all living proof of such a supposition.
Do you think Darwin would have ignored the signs if they had been put right in his face? No! Of course not.
As society continues to emerge, so does the chemical makeup of the human brain. Yet areas of the human brain are not readily accessible to man. They have been locked away because most humans wouldn’t wield the powers of the brain appropriately,” he explained as I sat in the dark confession booth next to him.
“Derrick, I have met with you several times now, and all I am getting is a lot of anger, sadness and hatred. I want to help you, Derrick, but I can’t bring your daughter back. However, I can assist you in finding peace within yourself. Only you can forgive yourself,” said the wise clergy.
I had been sitting in silence for a while. I couldn’t believe that I hadn’t found this scumbag yet. But peace within myself was deemed viable. Besides, Father Harmon had been doing everything in his power to extricate me from my vengeful thoughts.
“But back to this brain power stuff. Here, I’ll prove it to you,” said Quincy. “There’s a guy that plays for the Giants. He stays upstate. He and I are pretty good friends.”
“How does this help me?”
“Let me explain. This guy is said to be, and I believe he is, the fastest thing on Earth. I believe this man has more access to his brain. And I want you to meet him,” he announced.
“How fast is the fastest man? Don’t answer that,” he said.
I wasn’t really paying him any attention because my mindset was hell-bent on revenge. I wondered if thi
s football player may have been my daughter’s killer.
“C’mon Derrick. Don’t you like football?”
“No,” I firmly answered.
“How fast do you think this guy is?”
“UUUUgghhhh… man. I don’t know.”
“Don’t answer that either, then. I tell you what… How about I take you to meet him? And if you’re not impressed with this phenomenon, I will pray that God will give you clearance and forgive you for the act of suicide. Then, hopefully, this social acquaintance will free you from these suicidal thoughts and start the process of inner peace,” he insisted.
Obviously, this was a dumbass deal.
Clearance? I don’t need no damn clearance for self-destruction. What the hell!
But I did give myself until the end of the month. I also had grown a bit interested in this speed demon. Plus, I had nothing else to lose. Maybe I’ll be able to do a bit of investigating on my way there. Hell, what if I see him? I pondered this a million times in my waking hours. I was yet motivated. Not because of the Speedster, but because of the likelihood of me spotting my adversary.
“All right…” I muttered.
“Ha! I knew you’d say that!” The clergy shouted.
“Time’s up,” he beamed as he stepped out of the booth slamming the confession window at the same time.
I sat in disgust because Father Harmon and his wisdom showered over me again. But my intentions, my true intentions, kept me fueled. That was my only reason for accepting this stupid invite.
I heard my confession booth door opening.
“You coming out?” he barked.
A soft light riddled through the dusty fragments floating into the confession booth as he cracked the door. Quincy stood in front of me holding the door open with a huge smile on his face.
“Let’s meet here around six in the morning,” he said.
I finally got up to exit the booth. This damn depressing state conflicted me beyond reasoning.
“Man, that’s too early,” I claimed with my negative poison.
“What else you got to do? Hey, I’ll buy breakfast. Huh?” He reasoned.
I stood still glaring into his face as he continued to smile, holding that Bible of his. With a gutter face, I dropped my head and walked off in a nasty dismissive pace.