The kidꞌs resemblance to Deacon was uncanny. Shania touched Lydia’s face. The child didn’t belong to her at all. Lydia’s skin was light in comparison to Shania’s dark brown. People often believed Shania was Lydia’s babysitter or nanny which ticked her off. You wouldn’t think people’s racism was so strong that they couldn’t tell her biracial baby belonged to her too. Irritating.
“Come on, string bean. Let’s go.” Shania grabbed Lydia to her as they entered the interior.
The bell on the door jingled, and a blast of cool air soothed them. Shania wiped her brow. Georgia was hot. She studied the store area. A greaser-looking white boy stood behind the register. He glanced their way but kept watching TV. He didn’t bother to say “hello” or act like they were in his store.
There’s so much more for me to worry about than a rude redneck, but this is what I’ve always hated about the South. Humpf.
Shania cleared her throat and picked up a basket.
Lydia started to drop in snacks. They walked to the goodies aisle with the sweet, salty, and crunchy stuff. Shania loved chocolate and chips. Her hands still shook, and her stomach rolled, but what the heck. Lydia grabbed those old sour worms that made your head explode upon tasting. Shania chucked them into the basket.
“Really? That stuff is toxic.” Shania groaned.
“It’s go-o-d.” Lydia danced down the rest of the aisle.
“Go get us a couple of pops and some water.” Shania bent down to pick up a bag of chips when her vision turned green, blurring. Adinkra symbols assaulted the gas station windows. Her head pounded, as if someone wanted to come inside; a voice, too far away and faint to hear clearly, but the tone was powerful and certain.
The voice of her warrior hummed inside her ears. Call forth your war swords!
Her body instinctively knew—danger. An awareness in the pit of her belly. Her hands burned again with the need to hold the hilt of a sword…no…two swords, in each hand. Shania dropped the basket, straightening up in slow motion as she skimmed the shopping area. Things were frighteningly quiet with only the sound of the redneck’s TV going.
“Lyd. Come here.” She waved to her child. Lydia bolted by her side.
Her head swam in panic. Another message came clear. Hide!
Shania glanced to see if she could get back into her car quickly, but the voice told her to run into the bathroom. She took off, pulling Lydia behind her. Shania barreled into the swinging door and locked it behind them. She surveyed the restroom. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Her shoulders deflated.
“We’re trapped,” she mumbled in disbelief.
Dammit! How are we going to get out of here?
Dread drummed. She shook like a caged mouse.
“Don’t worry,” Lydia said calmly. “I know what to do.” She closed her eyes and her body hummed with a golden aura. Her ponytails lifted with an electric charge, and a warm rush of air surrounded them.
“They can’t get us now,” Lydia assured her.
Shania’s eyes widened as her jaw dropped open. So many events had happened, she didn’t know if this was real or her imagination. Before she could ponder more about her daughter’s abilities, the door to the women’s restroom crashed open. Two huge biker dudes stood in the doorway, blood dripping from the chains they dragged.
Shania grabbed Lydia deeper into the restroom stall. She gulped as she tried to make herself smaller. This couldn’t be happening! The bikers kicked open the other tiny stall, bashing the wall, looking for them. The chains bounced back when they made contact with Lydia’s protective bubble. One of the biker’s reached out, but his meaty hand slid through. The bikers couldn’t see them, even though they were right on top of them. Shania’s stomach hammered. A part of her wanted to fight, but the sane part told her to remain hidden. So she took the passive route, closed her eyes, and prayed her grandmother’s Psalm 23, begging the Lord to protect them.
In that moment, she thought about Deacon. Would she ever see him again? His face blazed in her mind.
Her heart opened. Her mind buzzed. She could feel Deacon all around her.
We need help. Her thoughts connected with his. They are going to kill us.
It seemed as if they connected on a deeper spiritual level, but she couldn’t explain it. She knew if she had to die, she wanted to see the man she loved one more time.
Deacon took the cookies and went into the office workroom to grab himself a cup of coffee. Ouch! The platter stung his hand. Weird. He walked over and tossed the whole tray in the garbage. Stacey was sweet, but those cookies made him want to yark. Poor thing. Maybe he could set her up with one of his friends. She needed someone like Jay.
Deacon poured himself a cup of coffee. Whew, he was wiped out. The last few nights, he’d been on edge. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but his emotions were unusually sad, grieving, but no one he knew had died. He couldn’t get a grip. Rashad walked into the kitchenette.
“What’s up? You been looking like shit lately.” Rashad gave him an appraising glare.
Deacon didn’t want to sound like a punk and tell his godbrother he was torn up inside.
“I’m cool. Just didn’t sleep last night.”
“Bro, you been illin’ for a week.” Rashad showed concern.
Rashad was the only person from his past he’d kept up with. The two of them did everything together. They graduated from the same high school, went to the same college, and got their first jobs together. Rashad had his back. He’d even been the best man at his wedding. Well, he stood by his side when Shania never showed.
“We need to go out. Meet some girlies and have a good time...” Rashad kept talking.
Deacon studied Rashad’s face, but another version of Rashad reached toward Deacon from a different time and place.
“You’re my brother. I’d go to Valhalla to fight for your life.” The other version of Rashad’s voice turned into a muffled whisper as he withdrew.
Deacon’s peripheral vision shook, and sweat beaded up on his forehead. Spots formed in front of his eyes, flashing, clearing into a supernatural amber-colored haze. His awareness opened, and he was able to perceive what others could not. Deacon’s mind bolted elsewhere. A woman needed his help.
These scattered episodes happened to him, but never in the middle of the day. Similar to the vision that told him to wear his bulletproof vest this morning. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.
Deacon’s hands shook. He couldn’t stop himself from dropping his coffee mug. He crumbled to his knees then toppled over. The last image before he blanked out was of the cookie platter. Was billowing smoke rising from the garbage can?
Shania clutched her glowing child, crushed her eyes shut and kept praying. It was all too much until, finally, the banging and bashing stopped. She opened her eyes. Poor Lydia’s shoulders slumped. Sweat beaded on the child’s forehead. Her baby was beginning to look exhausted. They must get back to the car. Shania released her child and put her fingers to her lips.
“Can you release the bubble?” she whispered.
“Yes.” Lydia strained to get the words out. The power radiating from her daughter stopped, and the girl fell back into her arms. Shania’s shoulders tensed. The bikers could probably see them now, she was sure.
“Can you run?” Shania would carry her baby on her back if she had to.
“I can make it.” Lydia’s tiny voice sounded weak, but her eyes illuminated, shimmering opal, like a mini warrior.
Shania grabbed her hand and they exited the ladiesꞌ restroom, quickly. When they reached the checkout area, pools of blood were everywhere. Lord, have mercy!
The poor clerk’s body lay mangled, unrecognizable. Shania grabbed Lydia’s face and shielded her from the gruesome sight. Her heart pounded in her ears.
She heard a mantra inside her mind. I believe in life!
Shania moved them faster, stepping over broken displays, torn-up cartons, and blood smears. Theyꞌd almost made it to the door. Thor’s barks grew louder from the
SUV.
Lydia fainted. Her body fell over and hit the ground.
The strain had been too much. Shania picked up her baby girl, kicked open the door and bolted toward the car. She never ran so fast in her life. She toggled between holding her baby and unlocking the door. She hopped in, gently cradling her child while placing her in the other seat. She slammed the door shut.
Lydia woke up. Thank God!
Thor’s growls turned ravenous. He bashed his head on the window, itching to protect them.
Shit. She dropped the keys.
“Come on, Mama; we’ve got to get out of here,” Lydia said weakly, but was able to lock the doors, looking around with wide violet eyes. Shania got the keys in the ignition and turned, but her car wouldn’t start. She cranked it again.
Boom!
One of the bikers hit the back of her car with a chain. They all lurched forward.
Shit! Shit! Shit! What am I gonna do now? Shania froze in horror. Out of nowhere, road-rage brother was in front with the deadly bikers at each window.
“Payback time, bitch!” he snarled.
They were going to split open her SUV until they got what they wanted. Shania’s hands trembled as she cranked the ignition again.
“Get my phone!” she yelled, her voice cracking in terror.
Sweet Jesus! Will 911 get here in time?
CHAPTER TWELVE
Deacon
Deacon came back, staring at the ceiling. The room spun. A voice spiked.
They’re going to kill us! She needed his help.
Where are you? Deacon responded, urgently.
Too many. We won’t survive. The words trailed. I’ve always loved you. I’m sorry.
Her scent assaulted him. His body shook in remembrance. Deacon breathed her in. After all these years, he’d never forgotten her.
Revelation! Shania—she was in serious danger.
Deacon’s mind split as if being hit by a sledgehammer. The connection fizzled.
Where are you? he screamed within his mind. Beads of sweat peppered his forehead. He opened his heart again, but she was gone. Images of what could be flashed through his mind. He opened his eyes.
She needs your protection.
“D, you all right?” Rashad frowned down at him.
Was he still on the floor? He played this cool. He moved quick, trying to hop up, stumbling.
“Buckshot...” Deacon shrugged.
“Let’s go to the hospital. Maybe you’ve got a broken rib.” Rashad helped him sit down.
Deacon’s muscles tightened. His head exploded.
Help us! Shania’s shrill voice cried.
He shook uncontrollably. That’s it! He’d finally lost it. Insanity!
“N-no hospital,” Deacon stuttered, stood, falling into the chair. He rubbed his neck.
Rashad’s image split and the other one spoke to him. You need to go to her!
Deacon rubbed his eyes. Rashad’s image blurred. Go now!
Deacon’s body trembled. His adrenaline spiked. His mind filled with the strongest premonition he’d ever received. He knew exactly where he needed to be. As direct as a GPS. Shania was in trouble. Now, he needed Rashad’s help. Would his friend think he was crazy?
“I-I need you to ride with me,” Deacon stammered, gripping the side of the chair until his knuckles turned white.
“All right, let me get my gear and we can roll.” Rashad studied him. “But if you don’t get better, I’m taking you in.”
Deacon nodded. He knew this looked strange, but he had to follow his gut. He had to get to her.
Deacon bolted to his desk, found his keys, grabbed his stun gun and sprinted toward the elevator. Thankfully, his buddy was already waiting. They rode the elevator down in silence. Deacon studied himself in the reflection. Exhaustion. His chest ached from the buckshot. Didn’t this bucket of bolts move faster? He pounded the buttons.
“That’s not gonna make it move.” Rashad resembled a sage.
The elevator opened to the main floor filled with chaos. EMTs and security were everywhere. Deacon’s shoulders deflated. Would he be able to get out of here? They stepped out of the elevator.
Rashad grabbed one of the onlookers. “What happened?”
“Jay collapsed. They think he had a heart attack. But no one’s sure. The man won’t stop screaming though. He keeps calling for a girl named Stacey.”
Deacon’s ears perked up. Stacey? The need to get to Shania pushed him. He didn’t have time for this.
He tapped Rashad on the arm. “C’mon, let’s head out the side.”
A dizzying wave of fear hit him again. He had to move—now.
Deacon barreled through the side exit and found his ride. He hopped in, smashing the keys into the ignition. Rashad slid into the seat, closing the door. Deacon skidded out of the parking lot. He drove out on the main road. Eleven a.m. traffic wasn’t as bad in Marietta as rush hour, but it could be problematic in a hurry. Deacon used a heavy foot on the accelerator and skipped a few lanes to get over quickly.
Shania stopped cranking the vehicle. Tears streamed down her face. We’re gonna die!
Adinkra symbols assaulted the windows.
The goddess cried. Call forth your war swords! Fight!
Wham! Chains smashed the back of the SUV.
“Bitch, we’re coming for you now!” Road-rage brother smiled, baring his elongated teeth, his cold sore morphing into puss-filled lesions like the manager at the hotel.
“Leave us alone!” she hollered.
His eyes flashed between dark brown and red until the evil rouge became permanent. Road-rage brother’s hands morphed into meaty fists with claws as he bashed on her hood. Shania’s hands shook, but she thumbed 9-1-1.
At Lydia’s window, a linebacker-sized biker wearing dark glasses and sporting a blood-filled beard, probably from the dead gas station attendant, lifted his set of chains and bashed the window.
Her baby girl’s eyes clouded white. Lydia touched the window, and the beast’s body lifted off the ground, smashing into the gas pump. He tried to move, but her baby held him captive with her stare.
“What’s your emergency?” The operator’s voice sounded country calm in the middle of so much turmoil.
“Please help us,” Shania yelled. “We’re surrounded by a group of men trying to kill us. They have chains!”
“What’s your location?”
Oh dear God! They’ll be in here soon!
“I can’t hold him,” Lydia screamed. Her eyes turned back to normal, and sweat poured down her tiny forehead.
Bam! The freed biker fractured the window, splintering it into pieces.
“We’re off Highway 75 at exit 149.” Shania’s voice cracked, shrilling. Wham!
Another reverberation at the trunk’s hatch made the phone drop from her hand. The other biker smashed his fist into her window.
Thor bared his teeth, growling.
The operator’s voice withdrew into the background.
Shania held her breath, grabbing a wide-eyed Lydia. Shania’s vision turned green. War drums rumbled. Her hands burned with ferocity.
Call FORTH your war swords!
The Adinkra symbols swarmed the interior of the car. Women warriors holding spears, huge shields, and machete-like swords paraded in front of her eyes. They tapped their shields and spears on the ground while chanting. Some began to do an Adzogbo war dance, elegant movements of their arms, tapping and hopping with the lead foot.
“Rise up!” they cried. “Become who you were meant to be!”
The warriors cry filled her soul.
No. No. No. She shook her head, trying to focus. This was not the time for crazy dreams to cloud her judgment.
Shania’s true self tried to show, but her disbelief allowed the darkness to eclipse her strength, reaching its tentacles from the pit of her stomach, and instead of the warrior she was meant to be, she became the victim of the domestic violence Corbin created, smashing her fist into her mouth in a fit of un
controllable whimpering.
Deacon’s mind laser-focused on the road. He bit down on his lip in possessed determination. He had to get to Shania quickly. A small part of his mind told him he’d lost it. What if he got to this place and Shania wasn’t there? What if he’d finally gone over the edge? He needed some serious therapy, but deep inside, the internal connection with Shania blazed, moving him forward. He sensed Shania loved him and needed him.
“D. Slow down, man...” Rashad settled back. “Where we headed?”
Deacon punched the gas harder. He bolted in and out of lanes on 285 like he was playing a video game. When he made it to the Highway 75 turnoff, there was some backup. He rode the service lane among the rubble. Horns blared as he cut people off. He had to get there faster. He knew if he were too slow, something bad would happen.
He was able to get over into the far lane, where he ground the accelerator to the floor.
He must’ve been doing a hundred when Rashad finally said, “You trying to kill us?”
Deacon glanced over at Rashad, but he was too far gone in his premonition. Rashad’s image blurred into the alternate one. Get there faster!
Deacon punched it. Moving faster. Before he knew it, he was down the road and off on an exit that was at least an hour away from Marietta.
Deacon slowed down. Rashad took a deep breath. Deaconꞌs mind’s eye zeroed in on a place. Was it an out-of-the-way gas station? He turned on the main road and into the gas station. Deacon’s heart pounded in his ears. He put his car in park.
Rashad muttered, “What the hell?”
Two big bikers and a brother in a suit bashed an SUV with a woman, child, and dog inside. Poor things screamed and cried. The men weren’t letting up, and they were already bloody.
Deacon didn’t have time to think. He pulled out his stun gun, kicked his car door open and raced after the one closest to the driver.
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