by Autumn Sand
“Do you fully understand what it will mean to take his life? I need you to fully understand what you are doing before you do it. Vengeance will be yours, one way or another.”
“He took everything from me.” The agony in her voice consumes all who hear. “He has tied me down, beat and raped me repeatedly. He defecated on my body and then on my spirit. I was made to crawl on the floor and beg him to take me.” With each word, she slashes the knife through the air, cutting away a piece of the past like it was a chunk of his flesh.
“I won’t stop you from killing him. It is within your right to do it.” The Bishop sobs, a sign the drugs are wearing off. “You need to know what will be taken away from you when you take this life.”
I’ve taken many, I would know. “Their eyes are the first thing you see at night. Sometimes, you’ll wake up in the middle of the night with their eyes staring back at you through the darkness.” I walk around her soon-to-be victim and towards her. “Watching them fight for air as they slowly die, you see when the blood finally stops flowing.”
I point to the veins in his neck and then walk behind her, wrapping a hand around her waist. Leaning into her, I push her hair to the side and whisper in her ear. “Some say the person’s spirit goes into the one who claimed their life. I’ve never been one to subscribe to that notion. Some say a piece of your soul dies when you take a life. Well, that notion I do believe because it does change you, in ways I can’t describe. But when you can look a man in the face while you plunge a knife into him and watch him take his last breath, baby, that shit becomes a part of you. The two of you will be joined in this life forever.”
I take the hand holding the knife and guide her closer to him. “I’m here, holding you. I’ll be the strength behind the death blow if you want.”
I can feel her trembling in my arms. Slowly, she turns to face me and I see it in her eyes. She can’t do it.
“I want him to die for everything he has done.” She cries into my shoulder, and I stroke her soft, red hair.
“There is another way.” She lifts her head and looks at me.
“How?” Her eyes plead with me to offer her a better solution.
I cup her face with my hands and look deep into her emerald green eyes. “Take from him the thing that hurt you the most.”
Her face contorts and then she understands what I mean. I let her go and walk to the back of her rapist, holding his arms behind him. She looks at me for approval and my smile is her answer. She doesn’t cut the fabric of his pants; instead, she savagely rips the knife through the material, clearly cutting through part of his anatomy. He screams out in blood-curdling pain.
She kneels before him again, and reaches inside the now open pants, finding the weapon that was used against her. With a scream of vengeance, she cuts it away and holds it in her bloodied hand. The Bishop’s cries are weak and hoarse.
The knife clatters to the floor as she uses her now free hand to open his mouth.
“Fuck yourself,” she says as she shoves his organ in his mouth.
I let go of his arms, as the fight has left him. He will bleed out over the next few hours, no longer a threat to her in her dreams. She knows she has slain her own dragons and that is all she needed to become whole again.
I walk over to her with my handkerchief in hand and begin the process of cleaning her myself. Her dress is stained with his blood and it angers me he has tainted her with it. Angrily, I rip the buttons of her dress and pull it off of her, tossing it at his feet.
Her pale skin seems almost translucent under the dining room lights and she has never seemed more alive. Her eyes are alight with a new life I haven’t seen before. Silently, she weeps, but I know they’re not tears of sorrow. She is letting go of her past. I kiss her gently on the lips only for her to devour my mouth. Her hands snatch at my jacket, tearing it away from me before she searches for the quickest way to get to my flesh. I know the feeling—I need her just as bad as she needs me.
I also know I must let her take the lead; she needs to control this. She wants to fuck me of her own free will and in front of the man who has taken so much from her. She is reclaiming her life. That will be her final message to him.
Even by my own standards, this is some sick shit, to fuck your woman in front of a dying man, but no one said we were a normal couple.
With my shirt now off, she works on undoing my pants while backing up to the table. I take a seat on top as she frees me for her to take. And that is what she will do—she will take from me until she can’t take anymore. There is something primal between us in this moment, and niceties be damned. She pushes me down until my back hits the table. The silverware I’m laying on top of, forgotten. With her thong already removed and discarded somewhere, she mounts me in one push. We both exhale loudly, and my dick twitches inside of her, hungry for her pussy.
She licks her lips lasciviously and lets out a growl before she begins to move. With one hand on my stomach and the other behind her, she finds her rhythm on top of me. I am, for the most part, her throne, and she crowns herself queen of my body, mind, and soul. She speeds up her pace, and I decide to help give her the momentum she needs. My hands go to her waist and I piston my hips up, reaching deeper, deeper, and yet ever so deeper inside of her till I feel every inch of her.
Her panting becomes louder as does my own. We sound like animals making love in the wild, and in this moment, that is what we are…animals in the wild. The odor of our sex mixed with the scent of the Bishop’s blood is intoxicating and not for the faint of heart.
I feel her walls tightening around my dick and I know she is close—her release will come on the heels of my own. My fingers grip tighter to her hips, I don’t want this feeling to ever go away. I want to die inside of her and be reborn through her.
Her orgasm wracks through her body like a bulldozer, and her nails scratch my chest, leaving a trail. I hiss out my release as my dick releases the last of its juices inside of her.
Just as quickly as her orgasm hits her, so do her tears. She collapses into my arms and wails for the child that was lost. Not the child that was born of her body but the little girl she once was. I hold her like this for what seems like hours but in actuality is mere minutes.
Lifting her in my arms, I decide to take her to my room. I pad out of the dining room to the sound of the Bishop choking on his own organ.
I wept in Raymond’s arms last night, like I’ve never cried before. The tears were plenty and my sorrow immense. Not sorrow over what I’d done, but for everything else. I allowed the Bishop to control so much of my life even when I was no longer in Florida. My past controlled so much of who I was, and now with him gone, I no longer know who I am. What is my purpose in life? The realization hit me hard and fast, and now I am lost.
Raymond never let go of me last night and even now, as I wake, I’m still in his arms. Somehow, he knew what I needed last night was silence, to be lost in my thoughts and to grieve the loss of me.
“You’re okay?” His voice is a low rumble.
Startled, I sit up to see his eyes wide open. “Did I wake you?”
He leans up and gives me a quick kiss on the lips. I want him again but I also have so many questions. “No, I didn’t sleep. Wanted to make sure you were okay.” The last word comes out unsure, like it’s foreign to him, or perhaps the feeling of making sure someone is okay is what’s unusual.
My mouth drops open. At times, he can be cold and aloof but at the rarest moments, he shows me how much he cares. Like right now. Him bringing me the Bishop for me to exact vengeance—that is how his mind works, an eye for an eye. That wasn’t his act of love for me, that was the mind of a killer at work. The true act of love was him holding me in his arms and not going to sleep, to make sure I was okay. That was, and is, real love. But he has made it clear, time and time again, that there is no room for love in his life. So where does that leave me?
“Wh-what about the body?” I take the coward’s way out and push off what I’m
sure I already know the answer to.
“By now, Chicken has the dining room back in order again. He might’ve replaced the furniture as well.” He yawns heartily and rises, his abs flexing in the sunlight drifting into the room from the open curtains.
Then another thought hits me. “My mother!” I screech, my hand flying to my mouth.
He walks towards the bathroom and stretches again. “We need to get ready. The plane is waiting for us.”
Plane? “Where are we going?” I ask as I stumble into the bathroom behind him.
He’s already in the shower. “We’re going to Florida.”
The air leaves my lungs. “Florida?”
I reach for the wall to lean on before I collapse. He pushes the shower door open, beckoning me to join him. “Come on. You know how much I like it when you shower with me.”
Breathe, one, two, three. Exhale, one, two, three. “Raymond.”
He doesn’t respond, just continues to look at me, willing me to join him.
My feet feel like they are planted in quicksand and I am about to be lost forever.
“No harm has been brought to your mother. Now, come to me.” He is no longer asking, but commands me, snapping me back into the here and now.
The sound of his voice pulls me to him and into his waiting arms inside. “Why Florida?”
Bishop wasn’t my only unfinished business.
He kisses the top of my head. “We’ll be back in New York this evening.”
Leaning my head back to look up at him, I ask, “What about…” I can’t bring myself to ask about my son. The question hovers over us in the shower and I’ve yet to come to grips with a brand-new reality of life that has begun.
“Shh, one step at a time. After you speak to your mother, you’ll know what you need to do. I promise the answers will come to you.” I want to ask him how he knows. How can he be sure when I know I am unsure of everything? But my mind lays somewhere between exhausted and being befuddled. So again, I take the coward’s way out and remain silent.
Raymond washes every inch of my body. All sins from yesterday go down the drain and into the sewer to be forgotten, along with all the other shit in my life.
“Tallie.”
Leaning on his chest, I feel the rumble of my name from his lips.
Too tired to talk, I nod my acknowledgment.
“Look at me,” he commands and I willingly obey. His eyes darken when he looks at me, somehow clearing the confusion in my head. “You’re stronger than you really know. Don’t let what happened yesterday haunt you. Don’t carry that shit with you. If you need to scream, do it. You need to hit something, hit me. I can take whatever you send my way.”
“But what about Florida? What am I going to do there?” More tears fall down my face, enough to fill a well, mixing with the drops of water spilling from the shower head.
“Florida has your mother and your son. To finish this chapter in your life, you need to resolve both. I’ll leave it to you on how.” His face flickers with concern but it quickly disappears.
“And then what?” I lean in closer to him, needing his warmth because I am suddenly feeling cold, like someone walked over my grave.
“One step at a time.” He reaches behind me and turns off the shower. “Come on, you have business to attend to.”
And just like that, he has shut down the conversation and left me in the abyss.
The gate to the Bishop’s estate opens and our limousine drives down the long, tree-lined pathway, up to the house. Ten years ago, I walked out of these gates, and promised myself I would only come back for one reason. Today, I’m here, once again, unsure if I’ll be able to keep that promise I made all those years ago.
Anxiety bubbles through me as I stroke the package sitting next to me, almost obsessively.
“It’s all right, no one can hurt you in there,” he reassures me.
I stroke the package harder.
What he doesn’t realize is that simply being here is hurting me more than he’ll truly understand. This giant mansion is my version of the House of Hell. There was never peace or happiness in this house. Every brick is a reminder of my torment and pain. Pain inflicted by not only the Bishop but my mother as well.
“Tallie?” Raymond says, pulling me from my thoughts.
“S-sorry. I didn’t realize we had stopped,” I mumble, placing my hand in Chicken’s as he helps me out of the car.
The black iron on the doors are done in a design of crosses and cherubs. The gold doorknobs have the Bishop’s initials, along with his holy insignia he had designed for him. My knees knock together as we take each step leading us closer.
Chicken rings the doorbell and it is soon answered. Monica, the manager of the house, opens the door. Her gaze lands on me and she smiles.
“Good Lord, Tallie? Is that you?” Her smile is wide and her arms are inviting. She takes me into her arms and squeezes me tight against her chest. “Lord, child, I prayed for your return every day. God is good, he has brought you home.” She holds me at arm’s length. “You need to eat, honey. You’re nothing but bones. I’ll get you a plate of food now.”
She wraps an arm around my shoulder and we walk inside the house. Monica was the only one who tried to help me when I was here. Though I don’t think she understood the extent of my abuse, she had an idea of it. She is the one who helped me escape.
“The Bishop is out of town and your momma is off on church business,” she rattles on, not acknowledging Chicken nor Raymond behind us as we walk through the foyer.
“Moni.” Using the nickname I used to call her makes her smile brighter, and she stops. “I’d like for you to meet my friends.”
She turns around. “Oh Jesus, I’m so sorry. I didn’t see y’all when my eyes saw this little girl here. How y’all doing?”
Raymond shakes her extended hand. “Good to meet you.”
“Moni, this is Raymond. Ray, this is Moni,” I say. “And this is Chicken.”
“We’ve met before. You came down here a few times to meet with the Bishop.”
I turn to look at Raymond who, of course, keeps a poker face. I never did ask how he got the Bishop to New York, but now I have my answer.
“Yes, that is correct,” Chicken answers, another person who is good at keeping secrets. I look at both men with my mouth wide open. Raymond walks behind me and places his hands around my waist as I turn my attention back to my oldest friend.
“Moni, you were saying about my mother?”
“Oh yes, she is out on church business. She should be back before long. Junior is upstairs doing his Bible study homework the Bishop gave him before he left yesterday.” She points to the ceiling.
My son is upstairs. A hurting heart pounds in my chest and a dull ache flows through my veins. What am I to do?
“Moni, if you don’t mind, we’re starving. Can we trouble you for something to eat while Tallie has a moment with Junior?” Raymond asks.
“Yes, of course.” Moni’s face flickers with concern.
She looks at me for a moment, as if she is trying to read what is going on in my mind. I want to tell her I’m confused and don’t know what to do. But instead, I say, “Moni, I’ll just be a moment. Want to give him a quick hello.”
Moni’s head lifts in the direction of where Junior’s room sits. She swallows hard, her eyes brimming with tears. “Yes, it’s time for you to see your son.”
Her words, words I never thought she knew, shatter me.
“Moni?” I walk towards her.
How did she know? How long has she known?
“Go, see him now. I’ll get his bags ready. She’ll be back any minute.” Her voice is urgent but her eyes say, I’ll explain later.
I knew she was right; I knew time was of the essence. But I’m afraid…I’m afraid of my son.
Raymond turns me around to look at him. “You don’t have to tell him now.”
“I can’t do this.” My body trembles and suddenly, I want to go back to New York.
I want to pretend everything is normal. But I know that’s not my answer. My answer is in a ten-year-old boy upstairs.
“You can. Chicken and I will be downstairs.” His words give me the courage I need and I slowly turn to walk towards the stairs that will lead me to my salvation.
Each step I take draws me closer to him, and I remember when he was growing inside of me. Instinctively, my hand goes to my stomach and rubs it. I pause midway and look down below. Chicken and Moni are gone but Raymond stands below, watching over me. Without saying a word, he urges me forward. My past rushes into me like a football player making a tackle and I hold on to the railing for support as I take the last few steps.
I saw his room only once and I remember it like it was yesterday. It was decorated in blue with biblical figures on the wallpaper. Even then, he was being groomed to take over the church. Giving birth to him was one of the most painful experiences of my life, but not because of the labor pains. It was because, for every push, I knew I would come face-to-face with a product of the man who raped me. A child I wasn’t meant to love.
At least, that’s what I thought at that time.
Immediately after his birth, he was handed to my mother, who became his mother. She and the Bishop walked out of the room, leaving me to drown in my sins. And that’s what I did. I drowned to the point of despair and was only sinking deeper into it. The Bishop and my mother, not knowing what to do with me, sent me to a clinic.
But it wasn’t your ordinary clinic. It was one run by the church. Bishop’s control over me tightened and my grasp on my sanity lost its battle. He and my mother told the doctors stories of my fits of rage, and that they were afraid my jealousy over their baby would cause me to harm him.
Ha, harm my own child?
But the doctors weren’t aware Junior was my child. That is, except for one. The one who was present for Junior’s birth. The same doctor who had Junior’s birth certificate made to read that my mother was Junior’s birth mother, making me his sister in the eyes of the law.