by Joy, E. n.
Even Sinners STILL Have Souls
karen Williams
inko
brandi Johnson
Introduction by kiki swinson
Edited By e. n. Joy
SMASHWORDS Edition
Published by End of the Rainbow Projects
P.O. Box 298238
Columbus, OH 43229
Hayden’s Song ©Copyright 2011 by Brandi Johnson
Counterfeit Hope ©Copyright 2011 by Iniko
He’s With Me ©Copyright 2011 by Karen Williams
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the publisher, except for brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN: 0-9706726-6-7
First Printing June 2011
Printed in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places and incidents is entirely coincidental.
Submit Orders to:
End of the Rainbow Projects
P.O. Box 298238
Columbus, OH 43229
614-806-6204
Library of Congress Control Number: 2011934085
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
I’d like to thank every author who said “No” to doing this “Sinners Series” project. I’d like to thank every author who said “Yes.”
DEDICATIONS
This project is dedicated to O’Domie Allmane Wellington
Of Youngstown, Ohio
November 27, 1979 to December 4, 2010
Rest In Heaven.
This book is dedicated to the four most important people in my life; My daughter, Adara, for being that light that shines in my life. My mother, Evangeline Haynes, and my sister, Crystal Haynes, for their continuous support and belief in me. My boyfriend, Terry Graham, for the quiet, powerful way you love me.
-KAREN WILLIAMS
This story is dedicated to the victims of any form of abuse. To the ones that have survived and to encourage the ones who will survive.
-BRANDI JOHNSON
This story is dedicated to all the hustlas under God
-INIKO
Sinner with A Past-Sinner With A Future
Intro by KiKi Swinson
Hayden’s Song by Brandi Johnson
Counterfeit Hope by Iniko
He’s With Me by Karen Williams
“Born Sinners” a poem by Charles Alexander
"I know that I was a great sinner, and that Christ is a great Savior."
-John Newton, author of the hymn, “Amazing Grace”
“Sinner with a Past-Sinner With a Future”
By KiKi Swinson
I am a national bestselling author of over fourteen novels that includes the very popular Wifey series, so I definitely have my finger on the pulse of this literary industry. I live in a beautiful home. I drive a late model Lexus and I even have a nice nest egg in the bank. I have a modest wardrobe with some red carpet worthy pieces. And let’s not even begin to talk about my shoe game. From the outside looking in, I have what the average starving author desiring to enter the book game might want. But little do they know, they might be holding that one thing that I desire most; a relationship with God.
Even though I write urban fiction with massive scenes of sex, drugs and killing, God continues to remind me from time to time that this may be what I am writing now, but one day very soon, I will tap into another genre, specifically Christian fiction. God has even allowed some devastating situations to fall in my lap so I would have no other choice but to come to Him in prayer. I may not seem like it, but I am a child of God. I love the Lord and I know that I cannot do anything without His help.
I may not have that personal relationship with God that some people do, but I know a thing or two about Him. I know first hand that He is an absolute deliverer and a restorer. See, I’ve done five years in a Federal prison. I was once in a six-year abusive relationship that started a couple of months after I was released in 1996. In 2001, God delivered me from the hands of my ex-boyfriend and sent me a good husband a couple of years after that. I can’t say why God loves me the way He does, but I can say that no matter what decisions I made in my past, He showed me mercy and was gracious enough to bring me out of harm’s way.
Right now, I am going through an ugly lawsuit from someone who wants to make it so that I won’t be able to publish another urban fiction novel; get this-using my own God given name. But guess what? By the time you will have read this introduction, I have faith that my God will have already brought me through it. When everything is said and done, I am going to come out of this situation without a blemish in sight. But while I am going through it, I continue to lean on His word that says, “No weapon formed against me shall prosper.” Isaiah 54:17. God’s word is true and it never comes back void. Never!
If you are going through a tough time in life, just go to God. He will make your crooked way straight. If you have ever picked up any of my writings, then you’ve been privy to a part of my life, as I write semi-biographical novels. I’ve either seen someone going through harsh realities that the world throws our way, or I’ve experienced similar situations on my own, and then decide to write about it. I figured my life experiences as well as others could help both me and my readers. Because sometimes just penning a part of my life in the stories is a form of release.
I haven’t met any of my readers that haven’t told me that they couldn’t relate to my stories. They have also said that my stories have helped them deal with the situations in their own lives. So, whether I decide to stay in urban fiction or cross over to Christian fiction, I know deep down in my heart that my books will be instrumental in someone’s life. And once I’ve achieved that, I’ve done my job, no matter what the genre.
Many people ask me what inspired me to write in the first place? My answer to them was and will continue to be “my children.” I am a convicted felon, so the odds of me landing a well-paying job to support me and my family are 1 in 1,000,000. Who wants to live off food stamps and a $7 an hour salary? I know for some people, it’s not an option. But for me, I’m not allowing it to be an option. So, my goal in life is to continue to look to God in these trying times and allow Him to direct me along my path. I will always be humble, no matter how successful I become. And I will always be generous to those in need of my help.
I want to thank everyone who has ever supported me and encouraged me to continue to put out those page-turning books. Because without you and God, you wouldn’t be reading this introduction to Even Sinners Still Have Souls. Now sit back and enjoy the pages you are about to read. It’s gonna be food for the soul!
I love you!
Sincerely,
Kiki Swinson
Hayden’s Song
By Brandi Johnson
Chapter One
At the tender age of eight, I was molested at the hands of one of my mother's many boyfriends. To make it so bad, he was the only one I learned to love and trust out of all of ’em. He was my protector, or so I thought. The sad part about the entire situation are the memories of that hot, sunny day in June that still lingers in my mind as if it were only yesterday.
"Look, Daddy.” His name was John, but Daddy was the name I was forced to call him; the name I was forced to call all of them. Not Uncle, but Daddy. “Look at my new dress," I ran into my parents’ room and said to show off the new dress I was wearing. The door had been closed, but I burst in anyway.
"Turn around and let me see, Princess," John said, gesturing me to turn in circles. I remembe
r turning around gracefully and then taking a bow, feeling like a real princess. After all, with all those ruffles and lace that covered the dress, what little girl wouldn’t have felt like a princess?
"Where yo' momma at?" he asked. Instead of just admiring the frilly white dress, he recklessly eyeballed my undeveloped frame.
"She's gone to the store wit' Miss Lydia," I replied. Then my attention turned toward the television, the place where I was hearing “grown up sounds.” Moaning and groaning sounds is what they were. It didn’t take me long to figure out that John had been watching a dirty movie.
"Well, uh,” he stammered as his gaze went from me to the television, then back to me.
I had to admit, I was engrossed in what I was seeing on the television screen. What kid wouldn’t have been? I think that’s what made John want to see just how far my interest was piqued in what the two naked grown-ups on television were doing.
“Come up here in the bed wit' Daddy and watch TV," John said while patting the spot next to him on the bed. It was Momma’s side of the bed.
Not thinking anything of it, I climbed up onto the metal-framed bed and sat beside him.
"Get up here," he said, pointing to his lap that revealed a protruding lump through his boxers.
It was nothing unusual for me to take a seat in his lap, but I noticed that every time I did, there was always something sticking me in my backside. I never understood until I got older why he would never sit still when he held me.
After I climbed up on his lap, John reached over and grabbed a glass of red Kool-Aid off the nightstand and put it to his mouth. It was real hot that day, so the ice cold glass had condensation running down the sides.
I watched as he took a drink, wanting so badly to ask for some, but couldn't because I was only allowed to drink water. Momma said sugar made me too hyper.
"You want some, Hayden?" he asked me with a knowing look in his eyes. He knew my momma’s rules for me.
"Not allowed to have sugar," I answered, disappointed.
"We won't tell ya momma. It'll be our little secret, okay?" he said with a wicked grin on his face.
"Okay," I smiled happily.
"But first you gotta take off that pretty, new dress of yours so you won't spill anything on it. You don’t want your momma to get mad at you do you? Then she’ll know our secret; that I gave you Kool-Aid. And you don’t want us both to get in trouble do you?"
I shook my head. “Okay,” I said without hesitation.
He sat the glass back on the nightstand while I lifted both my arms up so he could pull the dress over my head. Afterwards, John handed me the glass and I finished off the rest of the cold beverage. I grabbed a piece of ice with my tongue and then handed him the glass back."
"Now, it's our little secret, remember?" he reminded me as he placed the glass back on the nightstand.
I shook my head as I sucked on the ice cube. Before I saw it coming, John's hand rubbed across my flat chest. He began touching my little nothings like I had seen him and other men touch my mother. At first I thought it was okay, until he slid his hand into my Wonder Woman Underoos. He tried to keep me from squirming as he attempted to stick his finger inside of me, which hurt like something I’d never felt before. I wouldn't sit still, so it didn't last long, but I still didn't feel right after he got up and walked to the bathroom. He had a serious look on his face when he returned to the bedroom.
"You bet’ not tell ya momma either or I'll kill her. You hear me?" John said harshly as I lay in my momma's bed shaking and bleeding. “If I kill her, then you’ll be left with me, and I can do what I want to do with you.”
Scared that he might take the only somebody that loved me away, I agreed to keep my mouth shut. I never told anyone other than this man called God that I’d heard my mother talk about before. From what I’d heard, He was supposed to be this great, almighty protector, but when I told Him about John, He didn't do anything about it. I began believing my mother was making the man up; that He wasn’t real, just like the boogie man.
Once John was certain that I wasn’t going to tell, he began molesting me on a regular basis for the next several years, although he didn't have actual intercourse with me until I was fifteen. His excuse was that he wanted to show me how to make love so I would know what to do when I got a boyfriend. After the first time John invaded my privacy, I was never the same. I acted out in a way that no one could imagine. My grades went from straight A's to F's. I stayed fighting and I didn't listen to anything my mother said, because I felt it was her fault for not protecting me from this monster.
My mom sent me to numerous psychologists, but that was a waste of my time and her money. What I look like spilling my problems out to these crazy white folks? They weren't gon' do nothin' but remove me from my home, and what would that solve? People were constantly telling my mother that she needed to pray, therefore, my mother was constantly telling me that I needed to pray too.
“For what?” I used to ask her. Why would I pray to someone I can't see? I would be better off praying to the wall; at least it was right in front of my face. My mother would just shake her head in disgust and tell me that I better watch my mouth or God would take care of me in the worst way. I wanted to laugh and tell her that God couldn't do nothing no worse than what John was doing to me.
Needless to say, I stayed in and out of juvenile detention. The last time I was there the judge told my mother if I came before him one more time, I would be sent up until I was eighteen. It goes without saying that his words scared me. So I tried my hardest to stay out of trouble. I avoided fighting and managed to bring all my grades back up to where they should have been in the first place. My mother was even proud of me. My world was taking a turn for the better, until I got knocked down by life, once again.
Chapter Two
I was out shopping for an outfit for my best friend, Tashonna Murphy's coming home party. She had just been released from juvenile after doing a two-year bid for carrying a concealed weapon in a school facility. Some girls had been picking on her, so Tashonna brought a gun to school and threatened to shoot 'em if they didn't leave her alone. One of the girls told the principal that she had a gun in her locker. After doing a thorough search, the gun was found in Tashonna's book bag. Judge Hilliard, the juvenile judge, shipped her to Scioto for two years and she had to do every bit of her sentence. Ever since that Columbine incident, the system was taking this gun thing in schools very seriously.
Her mother, Ms. Murphy, had called my mother and asked if I could come to the party. Since I was behaving so well and doing good in school, my mother agreed to allow me to attend. But she agreed under one circumstance; that the party be chaperoned by an adult. Ms. Murphy assured my mother that it would be, so I was allowed to go. I was so excited. I missed having Tashonna around to laugh with and talk to. We had communicated through cards and letters for the past two years, but it just wasn't the same.
It turned out that on the day Tashonna was to be released from juvie, her mother had a bus trip planned to the Greektown Casino in Detroit. So instead of canceling the party, she had her eighteen-year old identical twin nephews, Jarvis and Javon, chaperoning the party.
The night was going by smoothly. We all sat around laughing, talking and listening to music. My life felt normal for once, and I had nothing to worry about. My soul was at ease for the first time in a long time.
I watched as Jarvis filled a bunch of plastic cups up with some sort of blue punch. He winked at me when he caught me staring, making me feel all warm and giddy on the inside. I’d had one of the biggest crushes on Jarvis ever since the first time I laid eyes on him, and I think he knew it. Shoot, what girl in her right mind wouldn’t be diggin’ on this dude? Jarvis and his twin brother reminded me of Morris Chestnut. They were both dark as chocolate with soft, wavy hair and a smile that sent chills up my spine.
Even though Jarvis and Javon were identical, their personalities were not the same. Jarvis was laid back and very mild-mannered
while Javon was sort of a roughneck and always stayed in trouble. Jarvis had girls lined up for miles trying to get at him. He liked the kind of girls that Momma called 'fast'. I knew I couldn't compete with the girls that he had throwing themselves at him. Tashonna told me that he had girls taking care of his every need, which at eighteen, consisted of two things; sex and money. I guess he could count me out then, 'cause the only thing a sixteen-year-old girl in tenth grade like me had to offer him was friendship.
"Come and get it," Jarvis said, passing the liquid filled cups out to everyone at the party.
I giggled as I made my way over to him to get my cup. Jarvis smiled at me as he handed me mine.
"What is this?" I asked. "It kinda looks like Windex," I joked.
"Taste it," he replied.
I put the cup up to my lips and took a small sip. It was sweet, but a little too strong for my taste.
"You like it?" Jarvis asked me.
"It's all right," I replied nonchalantly, as if I was a pro at getting my drink on; a connoisseur of some type.
"I might need to add a little more Sprite."
I watched as Jarvis poured the two liter of pop into the punch bowel and stirred it up.
