One Blood (45 page)

Jhonnette’s torso hung precariously over the wooden banister. The man tried once again to finish what he’d started, but then let her body crumple back to the floorboards. He didn’t even watch her fall back, his focus intent on the human soup below.

“
Don’t even think about doing anything foolish, now,” Moses said. “Come on. Sit down. Let’s talk things out.”

“
There’s nothing left to talk about, Moses.”

“
How do you know my name?” Moses blurted, remembering how the man had called him Tabs.

The man leaned against the railing and sighed. “You know me, Moses. You knew the first moment you saw me. But I imagine that your faith won’t permit you to believe what your mind already knows.”

“
What are you talking about?”

“
Isn’t your religion built around an unseen mystical figure no one can prove exists? Well look at me, Moses. I exist. Believe in me.”

Moses stared at the man incredulously. The man even spoke in Malcolm’s cadence.

“
I know you haven’t seen me without the eye-patch in a while…”

“
This is impossible!” Moses proclaimed, eyes wide with fear. “How?”

“
I told you there were things at play here you wouldn’t understand. You remember that?”

Moses stared open-mouthed, finally seeing his old friend behind this new mask. “Malc? This…this is a…a miracle.”

“
If that’s how you need to think of it.”

Moses’ mixture of confusion and elation was palpable. Questions swirled in his mind.

“
You’re probably wondering why I saved you,” Malcolm said. “The funny thing is, I’m wondering the same thing. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.”

“
You had something to do with this disaster, didn’t you?”

Malcolm met Moses’ accusatory gaze. “And if I did? It doesn’t matter anymore. Duty has denied me from reaching my destiny, yet again.”

“
What destiny? I thought you came to Angola because this was where you were most needed.”

“
I believed so, too,” Malcolm exhaled. “And I see now that my beliefs have led me astray.”

“
Belief is a choice, Malc,” Moses replied. “No one forced you down this path. Belief is an excuse people use to justify their actions. But we have to rise above our past.”

“
Rise above?” Malcolm asked. “I’m supposed to rise above the Middle Passage? How many of our brothers and sisters are covering the bottom of the Atlantic? What about the brutality? They killed off an entire generation, Tabs. An entire generation, gone, so they could cut us off from our ancestry, our languages, our religions, our home. We were beaten into submission. Dehumanized. Humiliated repeatedly. How many of our women were assaulted, mentally and physically? How many of our men became the strange fruit coloring the sadistic orchards of the South? I was a soldier. I bled for this nation! I killed for this nation! And what awaited me upon my return? Injustice? Inequality? Assassination of my leaders? Am I supposed to just let go of the hopelessness? The fear? The self-loathing? At least I stood up. At least I stood for something! And you…you expect me to forget!”

Stinging tears bubbled in Moses’ eyes as he relived the collective history of Africans in America. He felt every physical, spiritual and psychological wound deeply, remembering every indignation and humiliation. Through his tears he finally said, “I never expected you to forget, Malc. I haven’t forgotten—”

“
Haven’t you?”

“
No, I haven’t. But at some point you must forgive, right?”

“
Forgiveness is so passive. Our people don’t need to forgive anyone. Our people need action. A movement. And I gave them that.”

“
All you did was sink to their level,” Moses admonished. “All you did was kill, terrorize our terrorists, and end up a slave again. Nothing you’ve done has changed anything. Not one foolish act.”

Veins bulged in Malcolm’s temples. “What do you know about sacrifice? You’ve been a follower all your life. You have no point of view worth exploring. It’s almost like Walter’s weak spirit took over your body when he perished in that fire.”

“
Well, looks like you’ve sunk to a new low this time, Malc, even for you. It took me awhile to come to grips with the truth, but I’m done denying it. I know you had a part in Walter’s death. I just don’t know why.”

“
Why, why, why,” Malcolm mocked. “See, that’s your whole problem, Tabs. You always get lost in the why. Why doesn’t matter. Nothing matters anymore.”

“
Tell me the truth, Malc. It’s time.”

Malcolm stared at him. “You know what? I’d do it all over. Because after Walter was gone, those were the best years of my life. Raising a family. Walter didn’t deserve Juanita. He was weak. Not the man to lead our people. Not the man to have a beautiful woman like that at his side.”

Moses thought of the dreams he’d been having and Juanita’s warning. “Juanita never forgave herself for leaving Walter.”

A single tear escaped Malcolm’s eye. He caught it in his palm and examined it like an exotic insect. “Walter betrayed her.”

“
So you killed him.”

“
No. But I wanted to. Randy Lafitte took care of that for me.”

Comprehension dawned on Moses. “So Lafitte assassinated Walter? Why am I just learning this now? And what does she have to do with all this?” Moses pointed to Jhonnette. Then it hit him. “She’s your daughter, isn’t she?”

“
Yes,” Malcolm replied, turning away. “A long time ago, her mother and I came upon a way to solve our financial problems by using a young boy’s hatred for his father to convince him we had the power to resurrect a family curse.”

“
But your plan backfired,” Moses replied. “Lafitte never paid up, did he?”

Malcolm shook his head.

“
So what does that have to do with Walter’s assassination?”

“
Up until this moment, I always believed them to be unrelated. But now I see that Desiree and I created a domino effect that has led us here.”

“
A domino effect?”

“
Yes. Lafitte was the catalyst. Everything starts with him and his desire to kill his father. From there, his ambition only grew. He learned how to deal with people standing in his way.”

“
By killing them.”

“
Exactly.”

“
But what about you, Malc? You were there the day of Walter’s assassination. You were inside the office. But you didn’t save him. How was that Lafitte’s doing?”

“
Juanita was in so much pain after she found out about Walter’s cheating,” Malcolm continued, ignoring Moses’ question. “I needed to comfort her. She was a devoted wife, so I had to deceive her. And once I’d had her, I knew I would do anything to keep her.”

“
What do you mean, ‘once you’d had her’?” Moses demanded.

Malcolm was silent.

Moses looked at Malcolm’s new form and gooseflesh broke out all over his body. “Did you,” Moses began, not believing the words coming out of his mouth. “Did you take over Walter’s body and lay with Juanita?”

Malcolm turned around to face Moses. “Yes. And it is quite possible that Lincoln was conceived the night of our union.”

Moses believed everything happened for a reason, but the cruelty and depth of this betrayal rocked him to his core. Nothing made sense to him anymore. Nothing except the hatred rising underneath his skin.

Because of Malcolm’s obsession with Juanita, Walter lost his life. Cause and effect? Malcolm was going to learn about cause and effect. Rage poured out of Moses in waves. He charged at Malcolm with both hands outstretched. As his hands connected with Malcolm’s sternum, he shoved with all his might. Malcolm pin-wheeled backward over the railing, somehow managing to grab on to the banister with his left hand.

Moses stared down at Malcolm in his new incarnation. His fog of rage cleared long enough for him to realize he couldn’t take the man’s life, even though he deserved to perish. Moses leaned over the railing and offered his hand.

Malcolm smiled up at Moses and said, “We can’t outrun the past, Tabs.” Then he let go.

“
Malcolm!” Moses screamed as Malcolm somersaulted down into the murky floodwaters below. He stretched over the railing, but it was too late. Malcolm’s body disappeared beneath the surface.

* * * * *

Chapter Eighty-Two

Lake City, LA

Randy was pleased with himself. Since he put on the hood, he’d been quite productive for someone with a bullet hole in his neck. He was tying up the loose ends very nicely–the first of which had been the cop. After shooting him in the back and watching him fall into the lake, Randy came back inside to find the black bastard with his daughter.

If he’d had more time he would have killed the boy. As it was, he left him bound and gagged in the living room and retired Karen to her bedroom, making a mental note to personally inspect her feminine parts later to make sure there’d been no tampering. Then he moved the cop’s car.

Another vehicle pulled into the driveway. Randy cut the lights and found a place where he could see, but not be seen. What he saw made him drunk with bloodlust.

Lincoln Baker was carrying his wife’s corpse toward the house.

Not only had his son’s killer kidnapped Karen, he had murdered Coral as well? The man’s gall was dizzying. To think, Randy had nearly ended his own life–believing the situation unsalvageable. No wonder Joseph had called him weak. Randy visualized the headlines he’d narrowly avoided:
Louisiana Governor Commits Suicide After Murdering Wife and Child
.

Tears welled in his eyes at the very idea, but Randy contained his emotions. This was not the time. His second chance at redemption was here and he did not intend to let this opportunity go to waste. Randy couldn’t believe his luck—that jungle monkey Baker had walked right into his own funeral. Randy felt a smug sense of satisfaction as he pressed the gun to the back of Baker’s head. It took all his strength to resist pulling the trigger.

No, not yet. Everything has to be right.

Randy experienced a moment of confused disappointment when he realized Coral was still alive. She was just going to get in the way, as usual. But he’d have to deal with her later; it was time to get on with the show.

Randy turned the power back on. The first thing he saw after his eyes adjusted to the brilliant light was his father’s portrait above the fireplace. He stared into his father’s stern blue eyes and for the first time in his life, he felt his father’s approval.

Kristopher should have been here for this.

But because of the bastard sitting on the floor before him, he wasn’t. Striding across the great room, Randy projected all his rage, loss, and anger toward Lincoln Baker.

* * * * *

Lincoln had escaped from life in prison, near death collisions and shoot-outs, but he could not avoid Lafitte’s trap. As soon as he felt that gun nuzzling the back of his skull, he knew his run of good fortune had dried up. Soon after, he was tied up and gagged, sitting on the floor in an enormous dark room.

The wind screamed and howled. Lincoln tried to free his hands from the plastic cuffs Lafitte shackled him with, praying for an inch of daylight, any smidgen of hope in which he could wedge his fingers to manifest a positive outcome.

Moses had always said,
“We may not control what happens to us in this life, but we do control how we respond to what happens.”
Well, this was Lincoln’s moment of truth. It was up to him to make the best of a bad situation.

The room lit up like an epiphany. Bright light poured down from the most beautiful chandelier Lincoln had ever seen. He sensed he was not alone in the room and turned to see Brandon, unconscious but alive, tied up in the corner. An overwhelming surge of joy overtook him.

His captor’s rapid approach quickly squelched Lincoln’s gratitude. The hurricane pressed and coiled itself around the mansion, as Lafitte moved toward him. Lincoln’s teeth ached with the storm’s vibrations. He heard the distinct sound of stretching glass. Soon the myriad of windows surrounding them would explode inward like a legion of poison-tipped arrows, if the groaning roof didn’t peel off first leaving them exposed to the elements. That might be the sliver of opportunity he was looking for—the only chance he might get to save Brandon.

Randy’s nightmarish face swam toward him. The man looked terrible. His eyes were so bloodshot Lincoln could barely find the iris beneath the veins. The left side of his once handsome face sagged as if the muscles had simply quit. His lips were blackened and chapped and he licked them with what appeared to be the green tongue of a snake.

So we finally meet. Face to face.

Despite what Jhonnette had told him, he still couldn’t believe the man was his father.

“
It’s time,” the ghoul said, pointing above them.

Fear transformed to adrenaline as he followed Randy’s gesture and saw the noose hanging high above his head.

* * * * *