by Tracy Brown
Throughout the night, the guards heard Misa crying herself to sleep, chanting “Shane” again and again, each gut-wrenching wail slicing the air around her like a sword.
* * *
Camille sat perched in the window seat in her upstairs bedroom, gazing out at the softly falling snow. She loved snowy days, loved the silent calm that accompanied the icy flakes as they drifted from the sky. There was a need for that kind of peace in her life these days. Everything in her world had gone horribly wrong.
Camille had been unable to come up with the money to bail her sister out, and she felt helpless. Everything of intrinsic value—the house, the cars, the artwork, their stock portfolio—was all in Frankie’s name. Camille owned nothing but the clothes on her back and those items hanging in her massive closet. Even the jewelry she thought she owned had been insured in Frankie’s name. Once again, her husband wasn’t taking her calls, and what little money remained in their joint accounts was barely enough to cover the bills. Frankie had withdrawn the bulk of the funds the morning of Misa’s arrest.
In the three days since then, the public scrutiny had been nonstop. Neighbors drove by Camille’s home at all hours of the day and night. News crews returned nightly to the scene of Staten Island’s most scandalous crime in years, leaving Camille a virtual prisoner in her opulent home. Still too spooked to venture into her kitchen, she had been ordering food from local eateries and relying on Toya to swing by each night and bring in her mail and drop off incidentals. Camille had been holed up in her huge bedroom day after day, trying to come up with a mere hundred thousand dollars in assets to get her sister out on bail.
After Misa’s court appearance, their mother Lily had visited with Shane and found him to be withdrawn, but still happy to see his “Gamma.” She had noticed that he was sucking his thumb now and seemed less energetic than usual. But he was being well taken care of, and for that Lily was grateful. Louis had shared with her the physician’s report he’d been given after having Shane examined. The doctor had confirmed that Shane had been sodomized, and the department of social services had been called. Lily had been dismayed to learn that Misa had been too preoccupied with Baron in the days that Shane was left in Steven’s care to notice something was amiss. Reading the doctor’s report, it had broken Lily’s heart to imagine Shane being abused. The precious three-year-old fell asleep on her lap toward the end of her visit and she laid him down in his bed before going home for the night. Lily had thanked Louis for stepping up and taking good care of his son when Shane needed him most, and asked him to try to understand that Misa wasn’t the only one at fault for what had taken place. Surely, she had never expected anything like this would ever happen to her child.
Camille hated thinking of her sister left to languish on Rikers Island. Even harder to accept was the fact that the only thing standing between Misa and her freedom was money. Five hundred thousand dollars in cash or one hundred thousand in assets—Camille couldn’t believe that she was having such a hard time coming up with that. The trouble was, she’d been blind enough to think that Frankie would never abandon her this way. All but one of her credit cards had been suspended. Their joint accounts had been wiped nearly clean, leaving her with a little over seven thousand dollars in liquidity.
She was embarrassed. During the course of their marriage, Camille and Frankie had blown a hundred grand like it was nothing on countless occasions over the years. Frankie loved to gamble and Camille loved to shop. So, she knew that it wasn’t about the money. Frankie was holding out on her on purpose. Camille understood Frankie’s stance. Part of her didn’t blame her husband for what he was doing. She was only angry with herself for never listening to Toya or to her own intuition telling her to put away money for a rainy day. She had never anticipated this, though. Never in her wildest dreams.
Her telephone rang and she didn’t even bother to glance in its direction. She knew that it was some reporter wanting an exclusive. She cracked the window open and caught a few snowflakes in the palm of her hand, watching them disappear into her skin, and wishing she could disappear just that easily.
* * *
Toya stared at the computer screen absentmindedly. She had been working harder than usual lately. But working in real estate during what was beginning to look like a recession was proving to be a challenge for her financially. In an attempt to turn a greater profit, she was putting in longer hours and doing her best to bring in new clients. Her long hours were also a thinly veiled attempt to avoid talking to either one of her parents.
Toya’s father had apparently made amends with all the members of her family except for her. Over the course of the past several weeks, Nate had reached out to her siblings one by one and apologized sincerely for the pain he’d caused them. It had been her mother, Jeanie, who had given Toya’s contact information to her father. That was an unforgivable offense in Toya’s opinion, and she hadn’t spoken to her mother in days. Her brothers had called and admitted to Toya that they’d been reluctant to reconcile with Nate, as well. He had, after all, been a terrible father to all of them.
“But, he’s dying, Toya,” her favorite brother Derrick had said. “It don’t make no sense being mad at a ghost.”
“I shouldn’t have to let him off the hook for all the shit he did just because he’s on his deathbed. You reap what you sow. Whatever happened to that?”
Derrick had sighed then. “Toya, I know he was a fucked-up father,” he said. “But he wasn’t always that way. He wasn’t always a bully. Don’t just think about the bad things. You have to remember the good stuff, too. He used to take us to Coney Island every summer … before he got strung out. We would ride the Cyclone, eat cotton candy, play games. Remember that? He used to play with us, laugh with us and he was fun. We used to love him once upon a time. Don’t forget that.”
Toya was thinking about that now as she stared blankly at her computer. She blinked finally, then ran her hand lightly across her face. She picked up her purse and opened up her wallet. There, she found the piece of paper on which Derrick had scribbled her father’s cell phone number when he met her for breakfast a few days earlier. She snickered at the notion that Nate’s bitch ass had a cell phone. He had come a long way.
She dialed the number, and took a deep breath as she listened to the ringing. She heard Nate answer, “Hello?” His raspy voice made her skin crawl, and she hung up, tossing her phone aside as if it were contaminated.
“Fuck that nigga,” she said aloud to herself. She wasn’t scared of ghosts anyway.
* * *
Baron was having his bed linens changed when Gillian arrived to visit him. The nurses had assembled at his bedside and drawn the curtain closed around them as they bathed him and changed his dressings and bedsheets. As Gillian peered into the room, his mother, Celia Parker-Nobles, approached and greeted Gillian with a smile.
“Gillian,” she said. “Good to see you again.” Celia had noticed in the weeks since Baron’s shooting that Gillian rarely visited her half brother. Gesturing toward the drawn curtain, she rolled her eyes. “His favorite part of the day,” she quipped. “Sponge bath.”
Gillian chuckled. She had always enjoyed Celia. Despite the fact that Baron’s mother and Gillian’s mother were archrivals, Celia had always exuded an air of class and sophistication that was hard not to admire.
“All done!” the perky, big-breasted brunette nurse announced with a smile, pulling the curtains back.
As the nurses filed out, Celia approached her son’s bedside and rubbed his arm lovingly. “Gillian’s here to see you.”
Baron turned toward the door as much as he was able to and saw his lovely baby sister entering the room with a lone GET WELL balloon in her hand.
“Hello, big brother,” she said with a smile that, to Baron, seemed forced.
“Hi,” he said, smiling back. “I thought you forgot about me in here.”
Gillian added the balloon to the others lining the far wall of his room. She stood at the foot of her
brother’s bed and shook her head. “I could never forget about you, Baron,” she said.
Gillian also couldn’t forget he was the reason her beloved father was dead. She looked at Baron all bandaged up and broken and wasn’t fully satisfied. She knew that he was hurt, that he had suffered terribly as a result of the shooting, and that he, too, had lost his father on that fateful night. But, she wanted him to feel the loss the way that she felt it; even more—to suffer the way that their father had as he lay dying from bullets meant for his son.
“Thank you for the balloon,” Baron said, snapping her out of her reverie.
She shrugged. It had been a halfhearted gesture. “You’re welcome.” She noticed that Celia was flipping through television channels to find something Baron might like to watch. “I’m sure you heard about what happened to Frankie’s brother.”
Baron nodded. “I heard about it, but I don’t understand why I had to hear it from Tremaine,” he said. “You’re my sister. You could have come and told me yourself.”
Gillian wanted to rip out his fucking catheter. The nerve of him! “Baron, it’s not like you could do anything about it. Why would I rush to tell you? You can’t even walk, so it’s not like you can help investigate,” she spat. She saw the wounded expression on her brother’s face and saw Celia’s body tense up. Gillian sighed. “I’m dealing with a lot, you know? I’m still not over Daddy being gone, for one thing.”
Celia didn’t turn from the television, but she was damn sure all ears. She heard the venom in Gillian’s voice and it confirmed what she’d suspected ever since Baron had woken up from his coma. Gillian blamed Baron somehow for their father’s death. Celia had to find a way to get her son to tell her the truth about the circumstances of Doug Nobles’s death.
Gillian continued. “And now your little girlfriend or plaything or whatever she is … she killed Frankie’s brother. I’m sure you can understand if I have more things on my mind these days than just you.”
“I’m just saying,” Baron replied, looking her in the eye. “I’m still your brother, Gillian.” Baron’s tone had an underlying message and Gillian looked at the floor, convicted.
Celia spoke up. “Gillian, can you tell me exactly what happened at Frankie’s house that night?” Celia’s face showed genuine concern. “I’ve met Steven many times over the years. And I’ve gotten to know Misa, as well, since Baron’s been hospitalized. I can’t imagine how the two of them came to this.”
Gillian pulled up a chair and told them what she knew: that Misa had accused Steven of the unthinkable and then killed him and surrendered to the police willingly. Both Baron and his mother hung on her every word while pondering whether or not Steven had the makings of a pedophile. Finally, Baron asked, “Do you believe Steven did it?”
Gillian stared at her brother silently before answering. “We’ll never know now, will we? Thanks to Misa.”
She clenched her jaw at the realization that Baron and his little bitch had wreaked havoc on Frankie and Gillian’s lives in the past few weeks. She wondered whether it was irony or destiny. Gillian hadn’t bothered to mention that Camille was apparently pregnant with Frankie’s child. She was still trying to wrap her mind around that fact and was secretly hoping that Camille was lying in a desperate attempt to hold on to her husband.
“Misa’s bail is five hundred thousand cash or a hundred grand bond.” Gillian smirked. “She’s been locked up at Rikers for days because Camille doesn’t have any money of her own to bail her sister out.”
Celia didn’t appreciate the smug expression on Gillian’s face as she spoke of Camille’s personal business. Celia knew how it felt to be left alone by a man who got bored of his marriage, since her own husband Doug Nobles had done the same when he left her for Gillian’s mother. Unlike Camille, Celia had been smart financially, but she sympathized with both Camille and Misa just the same. “Please extend my condolences to Frankie,” Celia said. “And let me know when the funeral services are being held. I’d like to attend since I’ve always loved Frankie.”
Gillian nodded. “I will.” She rose to leave and looked at Baron. “I have to go. But I’ll be back to see you before the end of the week.” She squeezed her brother’s hand and waved farewell to Celia before slipping out of the room, her heels clicking down the hall as she walked.
Celia sat beside her son’s bed and held his hand in hers. She shook her head. “This is all so much to take in at once,” she said, referring to both recent shootings. “Misa never seemed like the type to kill someone in cold blood that way. I wonder if Gillian has all the facts straight.”
Baron was thinking about it. Misa had a feisty side to her, one he’d seen when their rough sex got rougher than usual on more than one occasion. But she had never given him any indication that she was capable of murder. Thinking back on the brutal way he’d treated her in the past, he thanked God that she hadn’t unleashed her murderous wrath on him instead. He’d certainly given her reasons to do so. He felt sorry for her then, sorry for what he’d done to her, and wondered if his poor treatment of her had somehow contributed to her coming undone.
“If Misa killed him for the reason Gillian said she did,” Baron stated, shaking his head slowly, “then he deserved it. And if it was my son, I would’ve done the same thing.”
Celia nodded in agreement. “To molest a little baby…”
They both thought about it and shuddered.
Baron’s conscience continued to tug at him. His mother had told him how day after day Misa had held vigil at his bedside while he lay comatose. He wondered why she had done that, since he hadn’t always been so nice to her. But he was grateful that he hadn’t been alone while he fought for his life. It comforted him somehow to know that someone had held his hand while his future hung in the balance. When Baron had finally awakened, it was Misa’s face he’d seen first and her tears that he’d felt fall on his face as she realized that he was going to make it. He felt a sense of gratitude as well as a sense of guilt for how he’d treated her in the past. Lately, with him lying vulnerable in the hospital while his shooter was still on the loose, Baron had been thinking about death more than ever. He’d been trying to come to grips with the inevitable and wondering if he was doomed to burn in hell. It occurred to him that he was in a position to help Misa and perhaps nudge himself toward the pearly gates when his time came.
“I want to bail her out,” he told his mother.
Celia looked at Baron to see if he was serious. She could see that he was and she was surprised. “Really? That’s a lot of money, Baron.”
He nodded. “I know, but I want to do it. We can’t leave her in there—in Rikers! She’s not built for that.”
Celia agreed. Misa was a little thing and certainly wasn’t tough enough to hold her own amid New York’s City’s worst female criminals. “I’ll call Camille.”
* * *
Camille and Lily stood and waited as Misa was finally brought through the heavy door followed by a large corrections officer. Camille had to resist the urge to gasp as she looked at her sister. It had only been five days and already Misa’s body looked frail, her face sunken. She had been stripped of her beautiful weave and her hair appeared barely brushed, pulled back into a messy bun. Misa’s facial expression was blank, bearing no smile or hint thereof. Still, Lily looked at her daughter and managed to still see her natural beauty. She noticed that Misa’s head hung low and her eyes were downcast as she approached them. Lily walked toward her daughter, meeting her halfway, and pulled her into her arms. She placed her hand on the bottom of Misa’s chin and inched it upward, forcing her to look into her mother’s eyes. Lily smiled at Misa.
“I love you,” she said. “And everything is gonna be all right.” She pulled Misa close and hugged her tightly. Misa dissolved into sobs and Camille came and joined in a group hug. Together, the women wept, overjoyed that Misa was finally coming home where she belonged.
Finally, they pulled apart and Lily glanced around. “Let’s get the h
ell out of here before these idiots change their minds about letting you out.” She took both of her daughters by the hand and led them out the prison doors.
Once they got to Camille’s Range Rover and climbed inside, Misa finally exhaled. She couldn’t believe she was out of jail—for the time being at least—and she couldn’t wait to get the chance to see her son again. Teresa Rourke was suddenly representing her again, and had come that day to ensure that bail was posted and that Misa was immediately released. Teresa had explained that Misa wouldn’t be able to see Shane until a hearing was held in family court regarding visitation. Misa couldn’t wait to have her day in court so that she could see her baby again. She prayed that Louis wouldn’t make it too hard for her.
She looked at her sister. “How did you find the money to bail me out?” she asked. “And who is paying that high-priced lawyer, Camille? I know Frankie isn’t giving you any money.” Misa hated being a burden financially or otherwise to her sister, especially under the circumstances. Misa knew that Camille and Frankie’s marriage had been on the rocks for some time. But she still felt guilty for having driven what was sure to be the final nail in that coffin by killing Steven.
Camille sighed and gave her mother a sidelong glance. Lily had been questioning her as well, wondering the same thing. But Baron had sworn Camille to secrecy, demanding that she not reveal that he’d given her the means to bail Misa out. The last thing he wanted was for Frankie and Gillian to completely cut him off when he was most vulnerable. So Celia had arranged to have the big house in which Baron lived put up as collateral. The house was still in Celia’s name and was worth close to two million dollars. It was enough to get Misa out and secure Teresa Rourke as her attorney. Celia brought the deed to Camille’s home under cover of night, and Teresa had gone to bail Misa out, while Camille and her mother waited in the vestibule. No one knew the true source of the bail money except Camille, Celia, and Baron himself.
