Saved and SAINTified (71 page)

The loud knocking at the door didn’t stop him. The muffled,
“Sir, are you okay?” didn’t either.

After a few moments, he composed himself, though he continued to pant. He caught his image in the fingerprint smudged mirror
—he was drenched in sweat. His hair, now rivulets of dark, droopy spirals, made him look as if he’d been caught in a torrential rain storm. His head throbbed, an unbelievable pain. He rubbed his temple and grimaced, continuing to lean against the wall, wanting the pain that pounded his skull to just disappear.

“Yes, I’m fine
,” he managed to say to the stewardess through the closed cabinet door. “Just needed to take my medicine,” he called out—and to him, it was God’s honest truth.

****

Xenia felt him pull out of her, slowly—and what surprised her most was the evidence of his arrival. She gingerly reached between her legs, experiencing a mixture of confusion and delight, and then, she felt … the familiar warmth.

“
Saint, are you still there?” she whispered.

Yeah, baby
, just need to catch my breath is all.

“You’re
... inside of me.”

****

He hesitated, bewildered as he ran her words through his mind, trying to decode them. Then, it hit him. He came, but saw no semen. He didn’t give it much thought during the moment—the orgasm and ejaculation made him almost black out from pure bliss. That, married to the worse headache of his natural life, should have had him lose consciousness. The life force left his body, but truly, it was gone, just the same as when he would physically make love to her.

He looked down at his now semi-flaccid penis, and
noted the moistness on it.
My baby’s love juice.
He was simultaneously amused and in awe. His body ached as if he’d been working out for twenty-four hours with no break, but his energy level was through the roof. She’d given him what he needed. He went from an empty tank to double full—and he had her to thank for it. As he stood and washed his hands, he could feel her drifting away. She was tired, so very tired....

S
he’d be okay in a few hours, but for now, she needed her rest.

Xenia
, baby, I’m leaving now, okay?

“Don’t leave me
, baby,” she murmured, half asleep.

Saint
smiled. “I’ll be with you. I just want you to get some sleep ... and thank you for tonight.” He waited until he felt her drift farther away, now in the zone of complete tranquility. No doubt, it would be a rest she much needed and hadn’t experienced in quite some time. Despite the stress she was under, it would give her some peace, at least for a few hours.

He dried his hands and headed back to his seat. Yawning, he stretched his arms and tried to go to sleep
as well, even though he was beyond pumped up. He waved to the stewardess and requested another glass of wine to assist him. When it came, he sipped from the glass until his eyes grew heavier. Saint fell into a dream.

He was six years old and on
Charlotte Street in the south Bronx. Buildings were burning around him, right down to the ground, and the sound of earsplitting police sirens and screeching fire engines blared in the distance, their rotating lights lighting up the urban streets like pre-lit Christmas trees. Dark birds and bats flew side by side, in a frenzy above him. He felt shielded, protected, even though the delipitated, abandoned buildings seemed to tower haphazardly, alive with menace.

Burning bricks fell, almost crushing him as they slammed
on the concrete, opening the Earth and leaving jagged splits under his tiny, dirty sneaker covered feet. He ran and ran, unable to get away as the night sky seemed to be falling, bringing more bricks, hell-kissed torrential storms and splintered debris begging for a piece of his flesh to slice clean open.

Then he felt something. Bomb was holding his left hand protectively, and running right alongside him. The Puerto Rican was sixteen again
—looking down at Little Pharaoh. He smiled and winked. His bell bottom jeans swayed as he leapt around murky puddles. His chains rattled and his homemade tattoos seemed to glow bright red while he held tight to Saint’s little hand, never letting go. He was protected, and no matter how many burning cinder blocks, planks and falling wreckage came crashing in his direction, Bomb had him and gave him what he needed—for now, he was safe.

****

“Something doesn’t feel right.” Lawrence leaned over the kitchen island, peered up at the clock on the wall and shook his head.

“I know.”
Jagger paced back and forth, his gun strapped around his back. “Are you ready?”

“I have to be.”
Lawrence shook his head. “I feel the vitality. I was around the man, but the energy here is different, thick and gruesome. It’s not Nizsm.”

“I agree. No use in us calling the police, either
. They can’t stop this and anyway, they’ll just send more. This guy has an army of a family and people to do his dirty work. Depending on who is coming, the officers could end up dead. It will never end if we don’t take the bull by the horns. We have to settle this now.”

Saint
’s father sat at the table, nursing a cup of hot coffee. “You’re right. It’s not him. I know Nizsm’s energy all too well. He has sent someone. I told Saint it was a trap.” He shook his head and rolled his eyes in anger. “I told him not to go. As usual, he didn’t heed my warning.” His hands trembled.

“
Well, he has done what he felt he had to, Mr. Aknaten, to protect his family.” Jagger sighed. “I’m ready to take out whoever it is. I’m focusing on them right now.”

“I definitely hope so
because that’s what we’ll have to do. We can’t leave anyone that man sends, alive. Saint is going toe to toe with the worse of them all. We wouldn’t be able to defeat Nizsm; he is too powerful, too strong. I can’t believe it has come to this.”

The old man glanced at the clock; it was almost three in the morning.

“Are the children still with Beset?” Jagger asked, his energy scattered as he got his game face ready.

Lawrence
nodded. “Yes.”

“
Lawrence, it is really brave of you to be here. I’m proud of you,” Jagger said.

Lawrence
smiled down at the ground while he thrust his hands in his pockets. “Some things are worth fighting for. This isn’t just about Saint. It is bigger than him. This is about all of us.” He looked around the room. “The very people we came from, our ancestors—
our
family, too—they fought for us, and we need to be brave enough to fight for them.” He sighed and rubbed his face.

Just then, Hassani, Dakarai and Beset, all hand in hand, came down the steps and into the kitchen. The old woman’s tired face said it all.

“Men, these children have something they wish to share with you...”

****

Hassani stepped forward, his bare feet soft against the cool, white floor. He swallowed and scratched his scalp, nervousness taking over his little body as he looked at the scowl on Jagger’s face.

“I had a dream
,” he began.

His grandfather looked at him and smiled weakly. “Yes, Hassani. What was it about?”

“Two tall men came to our house. I couldn’t understand what they were sayin’.” He looked down at the floor then back up. “They want to hurt me ... and Mommy ... and DayDay ... and Isis.”

“Can dey
see uh story?” Dakarai interrupted, his youthful, slightly raspy voice like his mother’s, breaking the solemnness.

“Day Day, what?” Hassani asked
, perplexed.

“They tryna
see a story but they can’t read me!” he said with conviction. “I can read them, dough. I see everything they say ’nd do,” he piped up.

Lawrence and
Jagger looked at each other, their mouths dropping open. Lawrence walked up to Dakarai and bent on one knee, touching the little boy’s shoulder.

“What did you
see, Dakarai?”

“I can see them but they can’t see me.” He smiled happily, repeating his chant.

Lawrence looked at the older brother. “Hassani, can you see them?”

He shook his head, feeling a bit defeated and jealous of Dakarai.
Lawrence looked back at Dakarai.

“Dakarai, what are they doing right now?”

“Gettin’ outta a car,” he said hoarsely as he rubbed his sleepy eyes. “Uh black car ... long.”

“It’s a limo,”
Jagger whispered. “The bastards are arriving in style.”

“They’re mean.” Dakarai’s eyes watered as he drowsed.

Lawrence grabbed and hugged the little boy tightly. “Don’t you worry about a thing. We’ll take care of them. They don’t know you can see their thoughts, Dakarai. They’ve somehow blocked all of us, but we can still feel their energy. Thank you for the information.”

“Is Daddy gonna die?” Hassani asked, a
fat tear streaming down his face.

Jagger
stepped toward the children. “Why would you think that?”

“’Cause a man standin’ in
sand was in my dream and he said he was gonna kill my daddy. He smiled when he said it. He must be a bully, just like Eric...”

****

Saint repeatedly looked down at his Rolex and resolved himself to the situation. He wasn’t sure if this meant he was ready to die right at that moment, or it was just plain stupidity on his part, but he’d arrived—and there was no going back. Where he sat, the scent of heated medicinal oils stung his nostrils. The whites of his eyes began to change. He reached up to his face and rubbed his forehead as the all-too-familiar burning sensation singed his irises. He winced when purple vapor wafted from between his slightly parted lips.

Nizsm
crossed his arms in the poorly lit, sparsely decorated banquet room that seemed fit for a cage match. The windows were barred and the dungeonesque feel was chilling to the bone. Only a small window and the walls appeared to be made of dark cobblestone. It looked like a set for a horror film and Saint understood that someone always died in horror flicks, especially the gory ones.

“So, what? I’m just going to sit here and keep looking at you?”
Saint broke the silence as he crossed his ankles and scowled. “Why do you have to drag this shit out? We both know why I’m here.”

“Yes, for transitional training
,” Nizsm replied stoically, his face expressionless, yet Saint could see the evil demon’s body tense.

Saint
rolled his eyes and cracked his knuckles. He sat forward and slowly shook his head, his eyes slightly hooded. “Jesus Christ, Nizsm. You
really
do believe I’m stupid.”

“No, you’ve proven that to not be true
.” He smirked. “I do, however, believe you to be foolhardy.”

“And what would you have done in my position?”

“The exact same thing you did.”

“I know
, so foolhardy or not, it is what it is.”

More minutes passed as the men sat across from each other.

“And since we are being candid, I did actually deliberate on possibly training you for transition. It did come into my scope of thoughts.” Nizsm clasped his hands together and peered at Saint, as if he were a strange specimen.

“And obviously that internal battle was short
-lived. You resorted right back to the person you’re accustomed to being; your pride wins again.”

“
Saint, you’ve not heard a word I said. I warned you. We could have come to an agreement possibly and worse of all, you didn’t heed my advice so now you will suffer the consequences.”

“I told you when I left here the last time, that I wasn’t killing my daughter. I never said anything different.”

“You know what you did! You hid the baby, pretended she was dead! Lies! All lies!”

“I didn’t owe you
an explanation. I didn’t owe you shit! You don’t deserve a play by play. That’s
my
family!” Saint pointed to his chest as his voice shook and temper flared.

“Now, I know you understand that your act of bravery, though well
-intentioned, will lead to your death this evening. It took me quite a long time to calm myself down but now,” Nizsm smiled, “I’m perfectly content.”

“I’m sure you are,
Nizsm, I’m sure that you
believe
you are, that is...”

“I have a question.”

“Yes, what is it?”

“You seem rather alert. I can smell your energy
—you are enthused. That is rather strange, considering the circumstances. I take that as cockiness. It will make this all the more enjoyable.”

“No, that isn’t what it is. We’ll get to that later though.”

“There will be no later. I hope you kissed your wife and children goodbye, Saint.”