Hero (8 page)

Chapter Twelve

Adelle awoke slowly, becoming aware that it was morning in gradual stages: the position of the sun as it shone through the open blinds of her room; the sound of cars outside; of the morning talk shows coming from the television in the living room. Other things slowly filtered in as she wove in and out of slowly dawning consciousness; the woozy, stoned feeling she felt throughout much of the past two days was wearing off; she was feeling more aware of herself and her surroundings.

And she was focused.

Adelle looked at the clock on the bureau by her bed. It read ten thirty-five. Some talk show was on the TV and Adelle tried to remember what day it was. Talk shows only came on weekdays, which meant…

The sound of purposeful footsteps coming toward her room brought a feeling of impending doom as time seemed to slow down for her.

Natsinet emerged in her doorway, that evil look on her face.  Dressed in a clean white nurse’s uniform, she looked like something out of a nightmare. She was carrying a metal tray, which she set down on the edge of the bed.

“Good morning, Mrs. Smith! So good to see you again!”

The nightmare of the past week still fresh on her mind, Natsinet tried to move away from the nurse and only succeeded in rocking back a few inches into her pillow.

Natsinet laughed.

“Well, looky you! You moved three whole inches! See, we are making progress!”

Stacked on the tray was the stun gun, what looked to be a cattle prod, and a butane grill lighter. Natsinet ran her fingers along the instruments, as if debating which one to choose.

“So…” Her face had a look that Adelle usually associated with cats who were anticipating playing with the field mouse they’d just caught, “Ready to get back into your therapy again?”

No, not this, not this, I was supposed to see Tonya this weekend, please not this
…

Her therapy session that day was the longest by far.

Or so it felt.

*      *      *

It didn’t take much to reduce the old woman to a quivering lump of flesh.

Time seemed to spring forward quickly for Natsinet the first few days of that week. She didn’t think it would be that way, but then she supposed the saying “Time flies when you’re having fun” had some validity to it. It certainly flew by for her. Of course, it was probably agonizingly long for Adelle Smith as it should be. Worthless sack of shit wasn’t worth anything anyway, so why bother even working at trying to maintain the old woman’s quality of life. Natsinet had spent the weekend trying to convince herself to feel some guilt over what she was doing to the old woman, and as much as she tried she honestly couldn’t find it in herself to feel guilty. She knew that most people would think she was a monster for abusing the woman, but Natsinet didn’t care. For the first time in her life, Natsinet didn’t care about what people thought of her. She was doing what she wanted, what made her feel good. No one else would understand. They were incapable of understanding. They hadn’t lived her life. She knew that from her interview with her supervisor at Hospice Nursing. Racist old cracker woman. If it weren’t for the fact that she needed this job, Natsinet would have bitch-slapped that old fossil the day of her interview. Unfortunately, she couldn’t lose the chance at this job and she was fortunate to have it now. She couldn’t lose it, and she
wasn’t
 going to lose it. In fact, her abuse of Adelle Smith would go unrecorded. Natsinet had it all figured out.

The fact that Rachael didn’t suspect a thing was heavily in her favor. Natsinet had things set up so that if Rachael discovered that she was abusing Adelle, it would be easy to dismiss as simple accidents.
Were those marks on Adelle’s arms and legs burns
? Not at all, she just got a little too much sun when I left the drapes open one afternoon—it was such a nice day!
Were those rug burns? Scrapes?
Well, yes, but Natsinet was trying to help Adelle regain use of her legs again. She fell, yes, but it was an accident.
And what about Adelle’s accusation that you beat her, shot her multiple times with a stun gun, and dragged her across the floor
? I would never cause deliberate harm to one of my charges. My record is impeccable. See for yourself.

And they would do so and see that, yes, her record
was
 impeccable. Her superiors at Philadelphia General had put in a high recommendation for her to Hospice Nursing, and her teachers all had kind words for her. She had a spotless record.

So what had caused her to not only humiliate, but treat this woman—this patient—like something less than human?

Because she
was
 less than human.

Natsinet was in the kitchen making herself a light lunch, a sandwich and a small salad, as these thoughts flew through her mind. She had to admit to herself what was becoming obvious. As a whole, she didn’t care for Black people. Yes, her father was from an African nation, and yes she was often forced to check off the box marked “African American” in employment and government forms when the disbelieving clerk raised an eyebrow at her first choice, which was always Caucasian. She would get that look.
You don’t look White to me
. Then she would be forced to explain her mixed heritage, after which the clerk or whoever it was she’d handed the form to would say,
You can’t check that box if you’re of mixed race. You’re going to have to check the African American box.
 And then Natsinet would be forced to check that box, regretting that she was being forced to relegate herself to those who were responsible for the majority of crime in this country, who whined and complained the loudest, who demanded they be handed every damn thing and not work for it, who’d ruined her life. She didn’t like the fact that the last time she tried to buy a car she saw a chunky White salesman whisper something to a colleague, who quickly raced into the rear of the showroom; moments later the classic rock music that was playing over the showroom’s speakers changed to rap and the chunky White salesman was going out of his way to speak a sort of fake street argot to her. She was so mad she made him work at trying to get a sale out of her for three hours before she finally said, “Thanks, but no thanks,” and walked out.

So yes, she didn’t care much for Black people because of the bad impression they left on her. Even Black comedians made a career out of exploiting the stereotypes. Sure, there were Black people who had risen above those stereotypes, who had made something of themselves. But in her experience she could count all those she’d known personally on both hands. Most of the Black people she’d had to deal with in school were lazy and not interested in learning anything, and most of the ones she’d dealt with as patients in the ER were even worse.

Natsinet ate her lunch quickly, watching the Jerry Springer show. Sure enough, the guests on the show illustrated her point. A pair of skinny Black guys in baggy clothes talking trash about their women who were as wide as houses, bragging about how much hooch they got on the side and, no Jerry, that ain’t my baby because she’s just whoring around on the side too, you know I’m sayin’? It was really hard to follow the argument that followed due to the yelling and screaming, the accusations flying back and forth. Natsinet shook her head. It was bad enough for corporate America to exploit the ignorant and downtrodden like that, but it was even worse as a so-called African American to buy into it and allow yourself to be exploited, made fun of, jeered at, to prove to the world that, yes, you are just another ignorant, dumb nigger. And worse, those ignorant dumb niggers clung to the heels of Black leaders like her charge, Adelle Smith, and continued to stay dumb and ignorant and talk like they had not ventured beyond the fifth grade. With that kind of progress what good were people like Adelle Smith?

Martin Luther King, Jr. had proclaimed that he had a dream that one day society would not judge his children by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. Judging by the content of the characters of most Black people, they were judged accordingly. They were worthless then, they are worthless now. She wished she could drain every ounce of Black blood out of her body. She’d have to settle for draining it from Adelle Smith.

When she was finished with her lunch Natsinet carried her dishes to the kitchen, placed them in the sink, and went into the bedroom to check on her charge.

The smell hit her immediately. Three days of not airing out the room had made the smell of feces and urine settle in like it owned the place. She’d have to air the room out soon if she didn’t want it settling into the bedsheets and carpet. Natsinet glanced in disgust at her unconscious patient lying amid a pool of filth and checked her pulse. It was steady. She glanced at the clock on the bureau and her eyes passed over a notepad left there. She almost looked away but was drawn to two words scrawled on the top sheet.

My guns
.

Natsinet picked up the pad. No doubt, the shaky handwriting was Adelle’s.

According to Rachael’s notes, Tonya Brown had dropped by Saturday and Sunday and spent a considerable amount of time at the apartment. Rachael indicated that the few times Adelle was conscious she was very groggy and tried to communicate with Tonya but had been unable to. Tonya had been a little upset at that. Natsinet’s rage flared as she realized that the tranquilizers she’d slipped into Adelle’s prescription bottle hadn’t been a high enough dose to knock her out for most of the time. It was quickly apparent to her that Adelle had been trying to tell her daughter that she had weapons in the house, that she needed to have access to them.

Did Tonya understand the meaning of this message?

Natsinet set the notepad down and began her search. She rummaged through the dresser drawers, rooting under clothing, coming up with nothing. She checked in and around Adelle’s bed then turned her attention to the closet and quickly found what she was looking for.

The shoebox she brought down was heavy. She opened it and lifted a black handgun from where it lay nestled in a towel. Natsinet didn’t know much about guns, only that you pointed them and pulled the trigger and if you hit your target a hole was put in it. She set the box down and turned the gun over. She had no idea what caliber it might be, but correctly guessed it was some kind of semi-automatic. With some fumbling, making sure she kept the barrel pointed away from her, she got the clip ejected. It was full. The chamber was empty. With some experimenting she was able to figure out that the safety was engaged.

Natsinet flicked the safety off and pointed the gun at Adelle Smith’s sleeping form, sighting down the barrel of the gun. She lined up the sites on the top of the gun until they were level, the site at the end of the barrel lined up perfectly with Adelle’s head. She pulled the trigger and the hammer fell on an empty chamber with a loud “Click!”

Natsinet glared at Adelle’s still sleeping form. And as her anger ebbed a plan began to formulate.

Chapter Thirteen

Adelle Smith awoke with a start. Her hand flew to her throat. She’d had a dream that she was being strangled. She looked around her room, reassuring herself that it was just a dream while taking in deep breaths to calm her heart rate.

The room smelled horrible, and there was a burning itch centered in the small of her back now. Definitely a bedsore. Maybe several. Her left side ached and her entire body throbbed from the contortions her muscles had been put through while the stun gun and the cattle prod had dumped agonizing currents of electricity into her body.

She was relaxed now, the dream forgotten, reality once again impressing itself upon her with far more urgency and intensity than any nightmare ever could. And for the first time she realized she was naked.

Naked and lying in her own filth.

And Natsinet was standing at the foot of the bed, that evil look on her face again.

Please, no,
 Adelle thought, not even knowing why she silently begged the nurse to not torture her anymore. She was just going to do it anyway.

“We’re going to start a new therapy technique,” Natsinet said. She was leaning forward, her features impassive. No emotion in her eyes. “It’s very similar to the therapy we’ve been engaging in but this one is…well, not only less painful but a little more…how shall I say?
Invasive
.”

Natsinet held up her right hand and Adelle saw with mind numbing horror that she was holding a black pistol. Adelle recognized it immediately. It was her Sig Sauer nine millimeter, the one she kept stashed in her magazine rack. Tonya was supposed to have—

“Did you know that gun crimes in this country, in this part of the city, stem from criminals that break into homes only to use weapons like this against their owners? Ironic isn’t it?” Natsinet raised the Sig. “Most of the guns used in the commission of a crime are stolen from people like you.”

She wouldn’t dare shoot me
, Adelle thought, her mind racing.
She wouldn’t dare!

“Let’s get you tied down.” Setting the gun down on the bureau, Natsinet tied Adelle’s right side to the bed rest and then bound both legs to the lower part of the bed. Adelle struggled and was able to muster a loud “Waaahhhh!” sound.

“Shut up!” A hard slap to the face cut off her feeble attempt at a cry for help.

When Natsinet was finished she resumed her position at the foot of the bed.

 “Once again, this is very similar to the therapy we’ve worked on before. Only there’s a big difference this time.”

As she spoke, Natsinet pulled Adelle’s right leg away from her prone and lame left leg. With her groin exposed, Adelle felt more vulnerable than ever.

“As you can see, I didn’t tie you down that tight. You have room to move. In fact, you have room to scrunch yourself back a good five, maybe ten inches. If you do that, you can use your right leg to maneuver yourself out of this rope I’ve got strapping you down and if you get that far, we can call it a day. How’s that sound?”

Adelle’s heart was racing. Somehow, she knew that what Natsinet had in store was going to be worse than all of her other so-called therapies combined.

Natsinet retrieved the Sig from the bureau, brandishing it coyly.

“I found this and the other gun in the closet. You’re one mean old lady, Mrs. Smith. How many times you ever had to use one of these?”

If I could get my hands on my nine now I’d empty the thing in your head!

“Of course, if I lived in this shithole you call a home, I’d be armed with one of these too. In fact, I’d carry it everywhere I went in this neighborhood. You got some mean-looking motherfuckers that live in this neighborhood, Mrs. Smith. A bunch of them have been hanging out across the street from your building. Oh, I got them pegged, just like I got you pegged first time I saw you. Bunch of grown men wasting the day hanging around doing nothing when they should be out there doing something with their lives. They’re probably the local pimps and drug dealers, aren’t they Mrs. Smith?”

She’s talking about Mike Simmons and his crew,
 Adelle thought. She knew the streets had claimed Mike but whenever she saw him she still tried to steer him in the right direction. She had the feeling Mike appreciated and respected that gesture; for as long as she’d lived in this neighborhood she’d never been the victim of a crime, nor had her apartment been broken into. She tried to look after Mike and his crew and they looked after her.

“I bet you know exactly what they do and you don’t do shit about it,” Natsinet continued. Adelle realized that Natsinet was on one of her psychotic rants again. The thought of how this was going to end up made her heart race faster. “So much for being a community activist and being a big ‘ol Civil Rights leader, trying to save your people from the streets. You didn’t save those thugs from shit!”

There you go generalizing again
, Adelle thought.
What if they weren’t thugs and were just guys from the neighborhood hanging out? You’d still brush them under the same rug because that’s how you see all of us. As thugs.

“Anyway, you shouldn’t have guns in your house, Mrs. Smith, because low-lifes like the guys outside are liable to break in here, beat, rob and rape you and then kill you with this thing and then use it to commit other crimes.” Natsinet’s left hand began massaging her clitoris and Adelle recoiled from the touch.

My God! What the hell is she doin’ now?

“So we’re going to up our therapy a bit so we can get you back in shape again. That way you’ll be physically fit to deal with the lowlifes outside. So here’s how we’re going to do it.” Natsinet’s index and middle finger worked their way into her dry vagina. “I’m going to slowly insert the barrel of this gun up your old shriveled up vagina and you have to get away. If you can get away—”

“Naaaaaaooooohhhhhh!” Adelle yelled, the muscles of her neck straining as she exerted all her strength in trying to get away. Her right side felt the straps and rope give way slightly, but her left side was still sluggish to respond.

“—then you’ll be able avoid me pulling the trigger. Now if— ”

“Aaaaaaaauuuuuughhhh!” The sore at the small of her lower back screamed in pain along with the various brush burns along various parts of her body as she tried to avoid Natsinet’s fingers.

Natsinet moved the barrel of the gun forward, close to the lips of her clitoris. “—I
do
 pull the trigger, well then I’m willing to bet the police will believe me when I tell them those guys across the street broke in here, knocked me out and did this to you. I bet they got police records a mile long.”

“Naaaaoooghhhhh!” Adelle was yelling
no
 and it was being articulated the best way she could under the circumstances. Her heart was beating so fast, her breathing was coming on so quick, that she felt light-headed.

No, no, please don’t do this, oh God, I can’t breathe
—

“So just try to keep this gun from invading your vagina by moving your body back five, maybe ten inches and you’ll be fine.”

A sudden burst of adrenaline poured into Adelle’s system and she pushed herself back, momentarily avoiding Natsinet’s probing fingers. She felt herself swoon. Her breath was coming in harsh, heavy pants. Once again, she felt Natsinet’s fingers probe at her clitoris and she felt the cold steel of the Sig Sauer’s barrel begin to force its way inside her.

“
Naaaaaaooooohhhhhhh
!” Adelle yelled, her throat searing in pain at the intensity of the scream. She felt hot, feverish, like she was going to pass out.

Natsinet was on the bed, working the barrel of the gun further inside her. Adelle saw that the nurse’s finger was on the trigger.

Then there was a sudden hot burst of pain exploding inside her as the barrel tore into the soft, dry tissue of her vagina. Adelle’s muscles, already overworked and still sore from the past two weeks, refused to move. Adelle screamed again, her vision clouding in darkness as she fought to catch her breath.

And then Natsinet grinned and pulled the trigger.

And the darkness consumed Adelle and took her down.

*      *      *

The pain woke her up.

She came to suddenly, taking in a great lungful of air, eyes flying open. Natsinet was still at the foot of the bed, grinning that evil grin of hers. Her private parts were on fire.

She saw that in her panic she’d soiled the bed again.

The suddenness of everything, the over-exertion of her muscles, her nervous system, her emotions, sent her stomach roiling. She leaned forward and threw up, the vomit spattering in her lap and pooling at the sides of her thighs, stinging the healing burns along her flesh.

“Oh, you
didn’t
 throw up!” Natsinet said.

Adelle’s stomach clenched in on itself. She threw up again, unable to control herself.

“You fucking
bitch
!” Natsinet was standing at the side of her bed now, on her left side. “The goddamn gun wasn’t even loaded!”

Adelle struggled to catch her breath. Her head was still swooning and she could feel her heart racing.
Please don’t let this send me into another stroke or
—
God forbid
—
a heart attack
!

“
Goddammit
!”

Adelle caught a glimpse of Natsinet out the corner of her eye as she raised her hand over her head and brought it down. Time seemed to slow to a crawl for a brief moment as Adelle realized the nurse was holding the gun by the barrel. She tried to throw herself forward, tried to get out of the way, but the grip of the gun caught her hard on the back of the head, this time sending her into a much deeper pool of darkness.

But not so deep that she was unable to hear the sound of keys unlocking the front door to her apartment, nor hear the door open and a voice call out, “Natsinet, you there?”