A Dead Man Speaks

by Lisa Jones Johnson

  Clive’s other voice whispered, “Kill her. Kill her. You hate her. Kill her!” Clive tightened his grasp around her neck, draining the color from her face. He was choking his mother, harder and harder, she’d stopped fighting back. Her eyes closed. She was struggling to breathe.

  Coughing and choking in the blackness, he suddenly stopped himself. Looking at his mother and then down at his hands in horror. It was like he finally understood—the same darkness that had surrounded her was in him. And it was eating him up just as it had twisted and worked itself into her.

  “I’m not like you, Ma,” he said shakily.

  He stumbled away from her weakly. I couldn’t see his face at all because of the blackness around him. I could barely hear him say, “I’m not like you…I do know what it is to love somebody and to be loved. They loved me. Monique loved me and Laurel loved me, and I loved them. Even after everything between us, they still loved me, because they…” and then he stopped, like he knew why he was where he was and…what had really held him back. “They forgave me…Oh God, they forgave me.”

  The voices, the twisted angry part of Clive screeched louder, “It’s a lie. It’s all a lie. They didn’t forgive you. They all hated you. They were lying.” The darkness within Clive knotted itself around every part of his body.

  I could see Clive gathering all of his strength to break free, screaming, “You’re wrong. You’re all wrong. They both forgave me. They should’ve hated me. They could’ve after everything I did, but they didn’t…instead…they forgave. They forgave me.”

  He was trying to push the darkness away from him. Trembling and shaking, exhausted, but determined to pull the words out from his soul. “Now I understand what Daddy meant. He tried to get me to understand all those years ago. He asked me to forgive you, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. And that’s what’s been holding me back all these years. The hate I had for you and who I was, is what kept me from forgiving and moving on with my life. It kept me from getting over all the pain. It was always the hate. And Daddy was right. I had the power. I could’ve let go. But I didn’t want to. That’s why I could never get to him, ’cause Daddy only had love…like Laurel and Monique. They let go of all the pain I’d caused them, and they forgave me…I understand. I finally understand…It’s so clear now.”

  He hesitated, then slowly and deliberately said, “I forgive you, Ma. I forgive you…I understand now and I forgive you.”

  Slowly the darkness started lifting. I could see tears rolling down his face as he said softly, “I forgive you, Ma. I forgive you.” Little starbursts of light were starting to eat away at the dark cloud. I could tell that Clive was getting stronger and stronger each time he said, “I forgive you.”

  The starbursts of light ate deeper and deeper into the cloud, dissolving the anger and hatred, pushing it away until Clive was covered completely in light. His face was radiant, and the darkness was gone completely from him. For the first time since all this craziness started, Clive looked at peace.

  “I don’t need yo’ pity,” his mother screamed. “Who is you to forgive me? You is nothin’ but a bastard chile that nobody loves. Nobody, so keep it and get away from me. Get away… Ariel, Ariel, come to Nana Ariel!!!”

  Clive’s mother started running out of the room, yelling angrily, “You ain’t takin’ her from me. You ain’t!” Something stopped her. She was rolling on the ground, doubled over in pain. I realized it was all of the hatred inside of her that had turned itself outward. Coiling itself around her neck and her chest, squeezing tighter and tighter. Until she was screaming in pain. I heard her neck snap in two. A huge tremor went through her body. And she was still. I ran over to her, but I knew before I got there that she was dead.

  The room was quiet now. Clive was gone. I don’t know how much time had passed. Thoughts were swirling around in me, and I could barely lift my head. The only sound was the soft padding of small feet. I could feel someone tugging insistently at the bottom of my coat. Looking down, I could see Ariel’s scared eyes as she said, “Is Nana asleep?” As I picked her up gently, I heard a key turn in the lock. I looked up and met Monique’s stare.

  “Mama!” Ariel jumped out of my arms and raced toward her mother. Before Monique could say anything, I brushed past her quickly, avoiding John Lanier’s accusatory glance and saying, “I’ll call an ambulance.”

  * * *

  The next day I turned in my resignation. I knew that what had gone on was just for my eyes, so I didn’t say anything when I gave the captain my file on the case. I implied that he might want to look into Haven and Simmons, but he just said, “I don’t think so, Greene. I’m just gonna throw this one in the unsolved pile. And it’s a good thing you decided to quit, ’cause after the way you fucked this one up, your career was over anyway.”

  Instead of being angry. I felt at peace. Because I knew that I had found out the truth. And I knew the captain was wrong, dead wrong, ’cause my career was just starting. Maybe not there, but somewhere else where I could be the kinda cop I’d always meant to be, the one who cared about the underdog and didn’t give a damn if it ruffled some feathers to find out the truth, ’cause that’s all that really mattered in the end. The truth.

  I couldn’t help remembering the reason I became a cop twenty years ago. I kept remembering my mother’s voice telling me to help people, that’s what our family’s about, she told me as she died. And I knew that I’d kept my promise to her and to my grandfather and everybody else who’d died with their principles—’cause I’d helped Clive know the truth and escape from that place of darkness and hate and despair.

  If I could keep on doin’ that for other poor guys like him that the system didn’t give a damn about enough to keep on digging for the truth, then my life was worth living. I didn’t care if the captain or anybody else there knew or not, ’cause I knew, and Clive knew, and that’s all that really mattered to me.

  There was one other thing—Margie. I had a feeling that me being there at the end with Clive had been for a reason, and I couldn’t put my head in the sand and pretend there was nothin’ I had to do before I could be free, too. So I went to see her, ’cause that was the only way to try and make things right again.

  “Well, hello…”

  She opened the door, but not quite wide enough for me to come in, so I asked, “D’ya mind if I come in for a sec?”

  She didn’t say anything, just stood aside and let me in. I kinda plopped down on the couch. Knowing this wasn’t gonna be easy, but I had to do it. I had to for me. “Margie, a lotta shit has happened the past coupla days—”

  She cut me off, “I already heard. I know you resigned and I…know it’s probably not a great time for you.”

  Normally I woulda been pissed from the pity in her voice, but it wasn’t about that anymore. “That’s not what I wanted to tell ya…’cause truth is, I’m glad I’m gone. I shoulda left a long time ago.”

  She raised one eyebrow like she didn’t really believe me.

  “Truth is, Margie, I came here ’cause I’ve been a real s.o.b to you—not just recently, but for a while. I know I was a selfish shit not to have married you when you wanted and when I could’ve, and I’m sorry. I know it can’t bring back the lost years. But I am really sorry. And I just wondered…well if you could, maybe…just maybe…forgive me…”

  I don’t know what I expected her to say. I guess just something. But she didn’t say nothin’. She just got up and went into the bedroom. I was sitting there wondering if she was trying to give me the ultimate brush off and whether I should try and save whatever little bit of pride I had by leaving before she kicked me out when she came back and handed me a piece of paper.

  “Open it.”

  I opened it, and then kinda caught myself, ’cause it was a letter I’d written her when we first started dating: “Margie, I’m not much of a writer, but I wanted to let you know that you make me feel like nothin’ else in the world matters except us. That nothin’ else in the world could make me sa
d or mad as long as you’re in my corner, rooting for me…Love Always, Bob.”

  She leaned against the wall. “I just kept hoping that the old Bob who wrote me those words would come back into my life. Instead, you kept getting farther and farther away. Then one day I realized it wasn’t really about me, it was about you and your own demons.”

  She came over and sat on the edge of the sofa. “I can forgive you, Bob. But can you forgive yourself?”

  Suddenly it all made sense, about Clive and me, and his mother and my dad…and all the anger and self-hate I’d had, and why I’d pushed Margie away. And now it was like I could hear Clive whispering to me, “You can do it, Bob…I did it…You can do it…”

  And I looked at myself from the inside out, and for the first time I saw myself. I saw the man I’d always tried to be, the good and the bad. I saw my dad. As he was. The good and the bad. A frustrated man who’d never really liked himself or the lot that life had handed him. I realized that I’d been so afraid of being like him, that I had become him. And I couldn’t forgive myself. I knew that was the key, forgiving myself. It wasn’t going to be easy, but I had to start right now really trying to forgive me. I pulled Margie on the couch next to me and just held her saying, “Thank you.”

  Sitting there with her, remembering what we’d been to each other, I couldn’t help wondering if this was the beginning or the end for us. “What d’ya think, can we try it again?” She looked at me, like for the first time she didn’t know. So she didn’t say anything, she just smiled.

  “Is that a no or a yes?”

  She hesitated. “It’s a maybe.” She musta seen the disappointment on my face. I was never good at hiding my feelings. She kissed me on my forehead the way she used to and said, “But a strong maybe.” I knew the old Margie was back and life was lookin’ real good. At last.

  I felt like I was ready to start all over, so I packed up my shit and got ready to leave New York. Once I got settled, Margie promised to follow me, and this time we’d do it right. I planned to load up my car and head west to start a new life, finally at peace with myself. I didn’t even need to bring my bottle of Jack, ’cause I’d found the answers, and they were inside of me. For the first time I felt good about myself and where I was going.

  As I was putting the last things in the car, I thought about Clive. I never really got to say goodbye or thank you or anything. As I thought of him, I could feel his presence the way I used to in the beginning. And I knew he was there. But I could really see him for the first time. He walked up to me, closer and closer until, I could feel the light coming from him, covering me. I looked down at my hand, and I realized that it wasn’t shaking anymore, and I felt light and at peace like it was me glowing at the same time as him. I heard him say…

  “What are you going to do now?”

  The words in my head said, “I don’t know. I’m just happy to get myself back, to feel good about me again. It’s been a long time…” I looked at him, and I could see that all his pain was gone. I realized it was gone from me, too. “I got you to thank for that…”

  He nodded and smiled. “Thank you, Bob Greene…for not giving up on me…”

  I wanted to say more, but I could see that he was starting to fade, like he was walking away but slowly. He squeezed my hand. I looked down my hand was glowing the way he’d been, and he said, “We’re brothers, and we’ll meet again.”

  I nodded yes. I knew what he meant. ’cause when you live each other’s lives the way we had, part of him was in me and part of me was in him, and in the end you are family. And nothin’ can ever take that away.

  * * *

  Clive

  It’s like the dream again. Except that I’m dead, so I can’t be dreaming. But I feel like it because I’m floating. I see Daddy in the distance, and he’s holding out his hand to me, but this time nothing’s holding me back. I run to him. And he puts his arm around me.

  I’m ten years old again, and Daddy says, “How’s my, little Clive?”

  And everything is finally okay.

  About the Author

  Lisa Jones Johnson is a television executive in Los Angeles. Earlier in her career she worked as a screenwriter and originally began as a corporate attorney in New York on Wall Street. She has always been fascinated with the thin veil between this life and the next and thus the inspiration for her novel. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband and infant son. She may be reached at adeadmanspeaks@yahoo.com or www.adeadmanspeaks.com.