The Last Sunday

by Terry E. Hill

  Percy was weak from her steady barrage of logic, pleading, and now scripture. He couldn’t find the strength to resist her anymore. “What are you planning on doing about it?”

  She removed the space between them and held the weary man in her arms. “Don’t worry about that, Percy. The less you know about what I’m going to do, the better it will be for you.”

  Percy melted in her arms. He clutched her for his life amid the Chinese debris, the strewn plates, and the toppled water glasses.

  “Leave her to me, Percy. I’ve decided to put an end to this whole horrible situation. Trust me, baby. I won’t allow her to destroy anyone else’s life.”

  Chapter 8

  Gideon and Danny walked hand in hand along the shore at Playa del Rey. Gentle waves washed up to their feet, forming rippling lines in the sand as the water receded. It was just after seven in the morning. The beach was deserted except for the occasional jogger with a dog in tow and a random squawking seagull searching for sand crabs the waters had deposited on the shore. Whenever the occasional jogger approached, their hands would gently part and the two men would transform themselves into colleagues, or possibly brothers, simply enjoying the morning air together. When the joggers were far enough in the distance, their hands would join again, converting them back into the lovers they had become.

  “I’m going to interview the members of the board of trustees again,” Gideon said as the two walked barefoot in the sand. “I feel like I only scratched the surface with them. Scarlett Shackelford in particular. I think she knows a lot more than she’s saying.”

  “What do you mean?” Danny asked innocently.

  “She used to be Hezekiah’s personal secretary. I’d like to know why she left. There’s something there. I can feel it. Did Hezekiah ever mention her to you?”

  “Only once,” Danny replied. “He was telling me something about his daughter, Jasmine. I can’t remember what it was. And then he said something about Scarlett’s daughter. Something about how cute she was and that he envied her father for having such a lovely little girl. It was a bit strange at the time, but I didn’t give it much thought until you mentioned it just now. Do you think it means anything?”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll see if I can get some answers out of Scarlett. What was his relationship like with Jasmine? Did he ever discuss it with you?”

  “He loved Jasmine. He always worried about her. He thought she hung with the wrong type of friends. Apparently, she liked to party, but he was always so busy, he couldn’t keep track of her. He complained that Samantha showed very little interest in her. He once told me she treated Jasmine like an object that she put on display whenever a scene called for it. He always regretted that she had been raised, for the most part, by nannies and house staff.”

  “Did you ever go to his house?”

  Danny hesitated before he responded. He, in fact, had been to the Cleaveland estate on one occasion. Hezekiah and Danny had been seeing each other for six months. Samantha was in Washington with Jasmine, accepting an award for her work on women’s issues around the world.

  “I want you to see my house, Danny,” Hezekiah had said out of the blue while the two lay twisted and tangled in each other’s arms one afternoon after they had made love in Danny’s bed.

  “I’d like to see it sometime, but it’s not necessary. How would you explain me to your staff?”

  “I don’t have to explain anything to my staff. I’m the lord of the manor,” Hezekiah had said jokingly. “There’s always someone coming and going. They won’t give you a second thought.”

  “Wouldn’t it make you uncomfortable having your lover in your wife’s house?”

  “Maybe a little. But it would be worth it for you to see where I live. I can’t explain it, but it’s important to me that you see that part of my life. My home is a part of who I am, and I want you to know every part of me. I also want you to come to my church one day. I sometimes search the faces in the audience, hoping I will see you there.”

  “I understand, Hezekiah. That means a lot to me.”

  “Good! It’s settled,” Hezekiah said, sitting upright in the bed. “Let’s go to the house now.”

  “Now?”

  “Yes, now. Samantha and Jasmine are in D.C. Etta is probably out running errands. The groundskeepers are most likely done for the day. Now is a perfect time.”

  After much persuading, Danny agreed to follow Hezekiah in his car to the estate.

  As Danny walked on the beach with Gideon, he remembered how he felt when he first entered the house.

  Danny had driven his blue 1998 Toyota Corolla behind Hezekiah’s silver Mercedes from the West Adams District to the heights of Bel Air. The wrought-iron gates slid open at the sight of Hezekiah’s car. Hezekiah gave the guard in the gatehouse a thumbs-up and pointed to Danny’s car behind him. The guard nodded cautiously as Danny passed through the gates.

  The house was like none Danny had ever seen. The double doors swung open as soon as they had parked their cars, and Etta Washington was standing in the threshold, in her usual black dress and white apron. Danny could see a hint of surprise on Hezekiah’s face when he saw her. Hezekiah braced himself and opened Danny’s car door. Side by side, the two men ascended the stairs to the main entrance.

  “Hello, Etta,” Hezekiah called out as they approached the entrance to the house. “This is my associate and friend Michael Thomas. Michael, this is our housekeeper, Etta.”

  “Welcome home, Pastor Cleaveland,” Etta said warmly. “Hello, Mr. Thomas. Welcome to the Cleaveland estate. Will you be staying for dinner?”

  “No,” Danny blurted. “I mean, I—”

  “Thank you, Etta,” Hezekiah interrupted. “Yes, Mr. Thomas will be joining us for dinner.”

  Etta looked on approvingly as the two men entered the house. There’s something . . . almost lighter about Pastor Cleaveland in the presence of that young man, she silently noted.

  The opulent exterior of the house was mirrored in its interior. Sunlight poured through a skylight in the two-story foyer and coated the massive oval-shaped room in a yellow glow. Double living room and dining room doors were to the right and to the left. A round marble table that held a massive floral arrangement sat in the center of the room, and on each side symmetrical stairways caressed the curved walls and climbed to a second-floor landing that overlooked the room. Black wrought-iron banisters provided a stark contrast in the bright room.

  Directly ahead hung the first of two Picassos in the Cleaveland home. The painting was in the center of the foyer’s rear wall. The dreaming woman’s hands rested suggestively in her lap. Her head was slightly tilted to the right, and her closed eyes hinted of erotic sweet dreams. Parts of her deconstructed face provided a glimpse of the thoughts that seemed to give her such serene pleasure.

  Antique furniture and European art were masterfully displayed throughout. A well- thought-out furniture arrangement composed of wingback chairs, marble- and glass-topped tea tables, and satin-swathed couches created the optimum setting to impress and entertain the rich, the pious, and the famous. Crystal chandeliers and Lalique vases sparkled throughout, and plush pastel carpets softened the hard edges of each room. A cold, sleek black baby grand piano rested in front of a wall of glass that overlooked the grounds and a shimmering cobalt-blue swimming pool.

  Hezekiah escorted Danny through what seemed like an endless chain of rooms, each more beautiful than the one before, pointing out trinkets, paintings, and books that marked significant events in his life.

  “You see that Bible on the coffee table,” Hezekiah said in the living room. “It’s a first edition sixteen eleven King James Pulpit Bible. There are less than two hundred of them in the world. It was a gift to us from Pope John Paul II.”

  “I’m not sure if I even want to know the story behind that,” Danny said, pointing to a painting, Picasso’s Les Demoiselles d’Avignon, which hung over a fireplace that was almost the size of his bedroom in the West Adams District.
The five women’s faces resembled primitive tribal masks, and the jagged edges of their pink flesh formed sharp angles that pointed in every direction.

  Hezekiah was almost embarrassed when he responded, “I bought that for Samantha on our eleventh anniversary. She insisted on it.”

  An oil painting of Hezekiah and Samantha was on the opposite wall. Their faces countered the seductive and horrifying image of Picasso’s five women across the room. Hezekiah’s and Samantha’s smiles in the painting absorbed the light that streamed through the room’s many windows.

  Danny remembered the uneasiness he had felt amid such opulence and wealth. The house didn’t reflect the Hezekiah he had come to love. He hadn’t seen him reflected anywhere in the home’s sixty thousand square feet. After that day, they never discussed the house again and Danny never went back.

  “I have been there once,” Danny finally said to Gideon as they walked hand in hand along the beach. The warmth of the morning sun had slowly replaced the cool ocean mist.

  “What did you think?” Gideon asked cautiously.

  “I’ve never seen anything like it. It was magnificent, but . . .”

  “But what?”

  “It wasn’t Hezekiah. It was all Samantha. You could feel her in every room. I felt sorry for him when I saw him in that house. It was almost like he was a piece of furniture or a painting.”

  “You mean he seemed out of place?”

  “I think he hated it,” Danny said, looking at the horizon. “Behind the expensive suits and that television smile, Hezekiah was a very humble man. In a lot of ways he was like a little boy. He was playful and passionate, and he really cared deeply about people. He sometimes told me about problems people in his congregation were facing, and I could see in his face how much it affected him.”

  “I never knew that about him.”

  “I don’t think anyone knew it. I don’t think he fully realized how deeply he cared about others until we met. He told me once that I helped him see who he really was. I understand it now, because he did the same thing for me.”

  Gideon placed his arm around Danny’s shoulder. He could see the conversation was making Danny uncomfortable. “I’m sorry. I’m being insensitive. I know how much you loved him. I just hope one day you’ll be able to love me as much. He sounds like a wonderful person who also loved you very deeply, and I’m grateful to him for that.”

  “There’s no need to apologize,” Danny said, nestling under Gideon’s shoulder. “It actually helps me to talk about it.”

  “He was very lucky to have found you. People go their entire lives and never have what you two shared. This might sound selfish, but I can’t help but think that if it was not for him, I would have never met you, and that frightens me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because the thought of not having you in my life scares me.”

  “But a few weeks ago you didn’t even know I existed, and you were doing just fine.”

  “That’s the thing. I thought I was doing fine, and then you came along and showed me how empty my life was. The thought of living that way for the rest of my life absolutely frightens me. Knowing that I spent so many years chasing my career and never really connecting with another person is very sad.”

  “You’ve never been in love?”

  “Infatuated, yes. In lust, maybe. But I can’t say that I’ve ever been in love. Certainly not in the way I feel about you.”

  The two men walked in silence. The range of their feelings ebbed and flowed with the tide. More locals began to trickle onto the sands, causing them to replace their intimate touches with a more respectable distance.

  “Danny?” Gideon finally said. “Do you think you could ever love me the way you loved Hezekiah?”

  There was no response. A dog barking in the distance punctuated the quiet. The gentle rushing waves pounded like thunder in Gideon’s ears, and the calls of the distant seagulls sent a screeching chill up his spine.

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked you that,” Gideon said bashfully. “I’m a reporter. I can’t help my—”

  Danny gently placed a finger against Gideon’s lips before the last word could escape and said, “I think I already do.”

  Samantha held the gun with the skill and intention of a trained assassin. The room was dark and smoky, and shards of light pierced through the crevices in the boarded-up windows. A ceiling fan whirled in slow motion, causing smoke to plume from the floor to the ceiling and then back down to the cold cement.

  Samantha’s arms were fully extended, with the gun aimed at a target that was just out of view.

  “Don’t do it!” Hattie sputtered in the grip of a fitful sleep. “Please, Samantha, don’t do it.”

  A patchwork quilt made from the remnants of her life lay in a heap at her feet. She clutched a pillow to her chest, as if shielding herself from the bullet in Samantha’s gun. It was 3:12 a.m. Hattie hadn’t fallen asleep until 2:00 a.m. A cup of chamomile tea, the crackling voice of a radio evangelist calling for fire to rain down from heaven on evildoers, and the second chapter of Acts had finally coaxed her into a blissful sleep. But the peace and safety of slumber had not lasted.

  Samantha took a deliberate step forward. Multiple layers of the sheer black fabric of her dress fluttered and waved from a wind that engulfed the room. Her intentions were clear to Hattie even under the veil of sleep. Samantha took another step forward.

  Hattie thrashed her head from side to side on the bed, freeing her gray-streaked hair from tightly clamped bobby pins and plastic rollers. Her feet kicked and flailed, as if she were fighting to keep Samantha at bay.

  “No!” was her muddled cry. “I won’t let you do it again!”

  Samantha was oblivious to her entreaties. The louder Hattie cried, the closer Samantha came to her target. The harder she thrashed and kicked, the more deliberately Samantha moved.

  Hattie craned her neck in the bed to see who Samantha had in her sights. She could feel the presence of a man. Was it Gideon? Or maybe the man Hezekiah had pleaded with her to protect. Her body twisted from side to side, but the figure was just beyond her view.

  “Stop, Samantha! You can’t keep doing this. God, please don’t let her do it again.”

  Samantha continued slow and steady toward her prey. As she moved, the wind blew harder, causing her dress to whip and snap in the gusts.

  And then Hattie saw him. A young man standing vulnerable under Samantha’s icy gaze, with the gun aimed directly at his head. His face was as clear as if he were standing in the room with Hattie. “Danny!” Hattie shrieked. Even in sleep she knew his name. She knew it as sure as she knew her own. She also knew, and did not question, that this was the man whom her pastor loved so deeply.

  Hattie lay flat on her back. Her neck arched toward the headboard. She frantically began pounding the mattress with her clutched fists. “No!” she yelled into her dark room. “No!” She slammed her fists into the bed. “No, no, no, no, no!”

  A loud blast from the gun pierced through her dream. She could see sparks coming from the barrel. Behind the flash she saw the dark eyes of Samantha Cleaveland staring defiantly at her. The sight caused Hattie to burst violently from the dream. She bolted upright in the bed. Her forehead was covered in perspiration. Gray hairs pointed in every direction, and plastic curlers lay strewn across the mattress. Hattie cried fitfully as she struggled to free herself from the nightmare. She fixed her eyes on the oval vanity mirror on the opposite wall and saw her shaking, disheveled reflection. The nightgown drooped over one shoulder, and her fingers shook as she clutched her gaping mouth.

  “Don’t let this happen again, Lord. Why are you testing me? I can’t let it happen again.”

  “I gave you her head on a platter, and you treated her like she was made of porcelain.”

  “I couldn’t accuse her of a cover-up on national television. She had just lost her husband. The public would have demanded my head, not hers.”

  “Bullshit. The public loves that ki
nd of scandal, and you know it. Admit it, Gideon. You’re afraid of her.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Gideon said incredulously. “Timing is everything with a story like this. As for her husband’s death, Samantha Cleaveland is one of the most popular public figures in the country. No reporter wants to be perceived as attacking a grieving widow, especially not one like Samantha.”

  Gideon and Cynthia sat facing each other in the lobby of the oceanfront hotel. They could see throngs of summer revelers taking full advantage of the afternoon heat from their vantage point in the bay window overlooking the Santa Monica boardwalk. Scantily clad joggers, souvenir-toting tourists, and sticky-fingered children juggling cotton candy and snow cones formed a mob of fun seekers and sunseekers.

  Gideon would never admit to Cynthia that he agreed with everything she accused him of. He had kicked himself many times after the interview he conducted with Samantha in her home only weeks earlier.

  He had had her in his sights on that day in her living room. Vulnerable, with his lights and cameras pointed at her and exposing every pore.

  Gideon recalled the fateful interview that had caused him to question his ability as an investigative reporter.

  “Tonight we are honored to have a woman who, until recently, was one half of a couple that for years has captivated the hearts of people around the world,” he had said, looking directly into the camera. “Her recent tragedy rocked the religious world to its core. Please welcome Pastor Samantha Cleaveland. Good evening, Pastor Cleaveland, and thank you for inviting us into your lovely home.”

  He recalled how Samantha had magically transformed into a bigger-than-life character when the camera was rolling. Her skin captured the light around her and sent it back into the room brighter than it had come.

  “Thank you, Gideon. It’s my pleasure, and welcome to my home,” she had said graciously.