Betrayed (32 page)

All Brenda could do was stare with glazed eyes. Without saying a word, her tear ducts filled and coursed over her lids and dropped wherever they fell, like the rushing waters of Niagara Falls. Brenda grabbed Asia and pulled her into her bosom, holding her in a tight embrace as if that would cause the hurt and pain to go away.

“Hello,” said the voice from below.

Brenda pulled back and looked into Asia's eyes, pleading with her silently…that the information she just delivered was all a mistake.

“Police officers,” Asia whimpered, “they want to talk with you. I'll stay here until you come back.”

Wracked with pain, Brenda looked at her daughter and then turned and walked slowly down the stairs. Her soul was ripped apart, and now she had to face the men who would confirm everything Asia had said.

Now at the bottom of the stairs, Brenda continued her slow walk through the foyer and to the large double doors that stood ajar. Stone-faced, she pulled her robe tightly around her and faced the two officers that looked about as unhappy to be on her front porch as she was to see them. She waved them into the foyer, closed the door, and listened.

“Mrs. Christianson?” the officer asked.

“Yes.” She didn't recognize the two officers.

“I'm Officer Lacy and this is Officer Carter. Umm, I guess you're already aware that we're the bearers of not-so-good news.”

Brenda was in a daze, looking well beyond where the officers stood.

“What happened? What happened to Victor?” she finally asked in a low monotone voice, directing her question at Lacy.

“Ma'am, a couple on their way home from church found Mr. Christianson bleeding and non-responsive near a set of railroad tracks in east Durham. He was probably already dead. Someone shot him, and when EMS arrived, he was pronounced dead. Looks as if he may have been dumped at that location.”

Brenda cringed and hunched up her shoulders. A sudden chill rolled through her like an unexpected avalanche that made her tighten her grip on her body. A dull sadness shone in her eyes, but the tears refused to drop anymore.

“Thank you, Officer Lacy.”

“We're sorry for your loss, ma'am. The body…uh, uh Mr. Christianson's body, was taken to Duke University Medical Center. If you need anything, please let us know.”

With downcast eyes, Brenda held the door open as the officers left. She watched as they retreated and ambled down the walkway, got in their patrol car, and drove away.
Dead
! It wasn't possible that Victor had departed this life without her getting her last say. Good and bad memories joined together as she fought back tears sifting through the last twenty years of her and Victor's life.

Brenda closed the door and sighed. She shook her head. “It can't be true; he's still alive. No, he isn't dead.”

“Mother?”

Brenda walked through the foyer and stood at the base of the stairs and stared up at Asia. “He's dead, Asia. Your father is dead.”

Asia stood at the top of the stairs, rocking back and forth. “I hate Nikki.”

S
heila stumbled into her office and plopped down at her desk anchored by the weight of the devastating news that found its way into her mailbox on yesterday. Unable to rid herself of the funk that engulfed her like a cyclone that swooped her up into its inner core, she continued to sit, unmoved by the ringing of the phone or the voices of her co-workers who drifted past, offering a word of salutation. They were invisible to her, as the dread of her ill-fated disease ate at her like cancer.

She pulled her head from the sand and looked up as the noise from the object landing on the counter disturbed her daydream. Fresh spring flowers—lilies, iris, carnations in purples, pinks, and bright yellow—stuck in a beautiful vase full of water met her eyes as a middle-aged, white gentleman dressed in a khaki short-sleeved shirt, his hair parted and slicked to the side, stood behind them.

“I'm looking for a Sheila Atkins,” the delivery man said, his hand still clutched around the neck of the vase, poised to pick it up in the event there was a need to do so in order that he might take them to their rightful owner.

“I'm Sheila,” she said half-heartedly. “I wonder who sent me flowers?” she asked absently, reaching for the card that was stuck on the plastic pitchfork in the midst of the beautiful arrangement.

“They must be from someone special,” the deliveryman said. Taking a look at Sheila, he continued, “And I can see why.”

Sheila offered the gentleman a smile—her first for the day, however,
after plucking the card and reading Jamal's name, tears jumped from her eyes. How was she going to tell Jamal about the curse that had been placed on her?

“Sheila, girl, I know you're not just letting the phone ring,” Phyllis said as she strolled up to Sheila's desk. “Has Victor shown up yet?”

“If he knows what's good for his dog ass, he'd do better to never show up here again. Anyway, the feds took all of his electronic equipment; I believe he's in worse trouble with them than he is with me.”

“Don't let him off the hook. Sheila, you should have seen you in action yesterday. Crazy girl gone wild. You were waving that gun at Victor like it was going to be his last day on earth. It would've been great if he could've gotten a few bullets in his behind, but you had him going, girl.”

“It's kind of funny, now that I sit back and think about it. You know what, Phyllis? I'm so glad I didn't kill him. As mad as I was and how intent I had been on seeing his sorry ass suffer, I couldn't do it.”

“You need that condo paid for another month or two before he throws you and Jamal out.” Phyllis laughed out loud.

“Phyllis, it had nothing to do with Victor paying for anything. Shoot, I'm not sure Jamal and I will even get married now that I've been sentenced with…” Sheila looked around to see if anyone was listening and then whispered, “With HIV.” She sighed. “I'm not in love with Victor; in fact, I don't want another thing from him. My life has been shortened, and I'd rather spend what time I have left on this earth fighting this disease than sitting in a jail cell, while Victor eats dirt.”

“That's the spirit, girl. You've got a fighting chance to win this thing, Sheila. There are medicines that can prolong your life.
Look at Magic Johnson. He found out he was HIV positive in 1991; it's been almost seventeen years and the man is still alive and has built an empire since then.”

Sheila smiled. “Thanks for the pep talk, Phyllis. I can always count on you to turn my negative self into a positive one.”

“Hey, did you guys here about Christianson?” Phil Murray, one of the admission's counselors asked, walking toward Sheila's desk.

“What about Christianson?” Phyllis asked.

“What happened, Phil?” Sheila asked, her face full of worry.

“He's dead,” Phil said.

“No!” Sheila shouted, bringing her hands to her face.

“Somebody hosed his body with bullets,” Phil continued. They found him late last night near some railroad tracks in Durham.”

Sheila and Phyllis stood still, panic striking their bodies. Neither of the ladies moved, until Sheila began to shake her head.

“Dead? I don't believe it,” Sheila stammered. “Anyway, how do you know?”

“It was announced on the radio.”

Phyllis put the tips of her fingers in her mouth and began to gnaw on her fingernails. Sheila found her seat and plopped in it for the second time that morning. Only seconds ago, she and Phyllis had talked about Victor and what he deserved for what he'd done to her, but never had she considered their venting would turn out to be the real thing.

Scared eyes looked from Phyllis to Phil. “Are you absolutely sure?” Sheila wanted to know. “How did it happen? When did he die?”

“Calm down, Sheila,” Phil said. “I know you're upset. Everyone knows that you and Mr. Christianson have a connection.”

Phyllis grinned and turned her head away, trying to control the laughter that threatened to push its way outward, but it wasn't funny to Sheila. The affair she had with Victor was kept under
tight wraps or so she thought. The only person who knew anything about her tryst was Phyllis. Sheila's eyes narrowed.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Sheila barked, her eyes bulging from their sockets.

“It's okay, Sheila. The only folks you need to worry about having your story is the
National Inquirer
; they do pay good money for a tidbit.”

Laughter erupted from Phyllis but she quieted when Sheila gave her the evil look.

“Dead,” Sheila said again as if the idea was foreign and absurd, dismissing Phil's innuendo. Hell, hadn't she fired a few shots at Victor less than twenty-four hours ago? But he ran from the house and Phil said he was found by some railroad tracks in Durham, which meant he was found somewhere other than at her place. Sheila breathed a sigh of relief, but she couldn't shake the coldness that ran through her body. The news made her shiver.

October 14, 2008

Hell's gate has burst wide open. I don't know if my scribble can articulate the week's events in as colorful a prose as it played out. My worst fears have been realized, but I feel that I may be responsible.

I don't even know where to begin. My mind is knotted up in so many places that even as I write, my thinking isn't clear. The one thing I can safely jot down is that my daughter, Afrika, will be all right, although we're not sure if her paralysis is temporary or permanent.

My loving and adoring husband came home from Germany to be with me during Afrika's illness. I believe Iraq and Afghanistan have twisted his mind. While Raphael will stop at nothing to take care of his family and keep us safe, his irrational behavior has been upsetting. He's like a lie detector analyzing pulses scoring those things in the negative that are questionable to him because they don't sit right in his mind's eye.

Poor John was dissected from head to toe when he came to visit Afrika at the hospital. Instead of Raf taking John's visit as it was, Raf acted as if I was trying to hide something from him…that I might have been attempting to renew a relationship with John.

Let me hold that thought a moment and think about what I just wrote. I may be the one writing more into this and may be blaming my husband falsely. Because truth be told, I was probably using John as a crutch, and yes, it was good to have someone near to help me go through
this ordeal with Victor, even if he was an old flame that stirred up some emotions and caused an inner turmoil. But if the tables were turned, I don't think I'd be too receptive of an old flame of Raphael's coming into my daughter's hospital room.

Confusion, that's what this is. This Victor crap…this secret that has been so destructive. I can't believe I went and blurted it out to Brenda. I didn't do it to hurt her; she had to know because Victor has been ruthless in his efforts to get rid of Afrika and me. My baby was almost killed, but by the grace of God, she's still alive. But all of these events have made one confession after another burst at the seams. Lord, I didn't want Raphael to find out that he wasn't Afrika's biological father the way he did. Of course, if I could have kept the secret forever, I would have taken it to my grave.

I guess Brenda owed me…blurted the truth for all of God's children to hear, crashing down on the ears of the innocent who are now broken and hurt. Damn. Now Raf hates me, hates Victor and what my deception has caused him, although he hasn't come out and said it to my face. Instead he's acting out because his heart has been bruised, betrayed. But I know that man still loves me because he wouldn't have taken my car and went looking for Victor half-cocked. He's a warrior, Army All You Can Be, a take-no-prisoners kind of man. And I believe Victor would have been a dead man if Raf had found him.

However, the truth is Victor snared him first. I have to give it to Victor. His survival skills almost measure up to Raf's. But I hope the police find that sorry-ass gutless wonder soon and get him off the street so he can't cause any more pain. He could have killed my husband tonight.

Thank God Raf got away from Victor. I had to call on faithful John to help me get my husband out of harm's way. I love them both—John, who will always be dear to my heart because he was the first man that I thought that I could absolutely marry, and Raphael, the man I love
unconditionally and will go the ends of the earth for…my absolute soul mate.

I'm going to close now. I think I hear Raf moving around upstairs. It's eight-thirty in the morning. I couldn't sleep. I've been up since six, pondering the mess that I'm in. Didn't even go back to the hospital last night because we were a mess after picking up Raf from that woman's house in the middle of nowhere. God help me; help us.

Mimi Bailey

Hearing footsteps on the stairs, Mimi rushed from the chair she was sitting in and threw the journal in the drawer. She went to the stove and picked up the black tea kettle that matched the other appliances in the kitchen just as Raphael entered.

“Want some coffee?” Mimi asked in a sweet, soft voice.

Raphael paused and roamed the length of her as she stood in her soft pink thick cotton robe that covered a thin, white cotton gown and Mimi's best assets. “Instant coffee; I'd love some. I see you weren't able to sleep this morning.”

“No,” Mimi said in a slow breath. “I'm…I'm so overwhelmed with all that has happened in the last few days.”

Raphael took a seat at the black marble table. He waited while Mimi placed the coffee crystals in the cup, add the hot water, stirred it, and brought it to him. He gently clutched her hand as she put the coffee down. “Why don't you sit down so we can talk about it?”