The Million Dollar Demise

by RM Johnson

As he approached the car, he saw Nathaniel crying in the passenger seat, slapping his little palms against the glass. Freddy ran around the front of the car, grabbed the driver’s-side door handle, and flung the door open.

  “Joni, what’s wrong? What happened?”

  Big dark sunglasses hung on Joni’s face as she looked up at him. Freddy could see the redness and the swelling from the fresh bruises around the shades.

  “Joni, no,” Freddy said, shaking his head. “Please don’t tell me that man put his hands on you again.”

  A tear ran down her puffy, swollen cheek.

  “Take the glasses off, Joni.”

  Joni shook her head, sobbing softly. “Joni!” Freddy yelled. “Take off the fucking glasses!”

  Joni crossed her arms, holding herself, leaning away from Freddy.

  “I’m sorry, baby. Please,” Freddy said, softening his tone. “I need to see.”

  Joni slowly pulled the glasses from her eyes to reveal the horrible beating she had taken. Both her eyes were swollen and bruised. Her left eye was practically swollen shut. Her lips were puffy and bloodstained, as well as her nose.

  All Freddy could imagine was Sam, as big as he was, standing over Joni, slamming his fists into this poor girl’s face over and over again. How could he do that? Freddy thought, his heart aching. Freddy hated to be forced into this corner again, but there would be hell to pay for this. He gently reached into the car and helped Joni out of it. She cringed and moaned a bit. He walked her around to the other side of the car, opened the door for Nathaniel, and then walked both Joni and Nathaniel up the steps and into the house.

  43

  Nate sat in one of the living room chairs, an end table lamp dimly lit beside him. The rest of the house was dark.

  His cell phone sat in his lap. He had just hung up after a phone call with his brother.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Tim had asked him.

  “Yeah. Fine.”

  “You have something there to eat? I could bring something by.”

  “No. I had Abbey stop by the grocery store before dropping me off,” Nate lied. “I’m good.”

  “And company? I could come by. You know your nephew is dying to see you. And I could bring Layla. Don’t you want to—”

  “Tell you the truth, it’d be too much right now, Tim. But I appreciate it,” Nate said. He sat there in the chair, wearing slacks, socks, house slippers, and a white collared shirt, a white T-shirt underneath. He stared blankly at the space before him.

  “You gonna be ready to take her tomorrow?” Tim asked. “It’s no rush, though. She can stay here for as long as you need her to.”

  “I’ll be fine. Everything is in place,” Nate lied again.

  He had spoken to Mrs. Weatherly today. She apologized profusely, but said she was unable to come back to work for him. He had no one to replace her on such short notice, but he needed to see Layla again. He missed the little girl and was surprised by how much she had grown on him in the short time she had lived there at the house. Without his son and without Monica, Nate thought he’d go crazy before long in that house by himself.

  “Yeah, bring her by tomorrow.”

  Nate looked down at his cell phone now. He picked it up, scrolled through the menu, and punched the button to dial Freddy Ford. The phone rang only once, as it had previously done the several times Nate tried calling this number.

  “Leave one,” Freddy’s voice on the voice mail message demanded.

  Nate hated that message after hearing it for something like the tenth time.

  “You have my son. Bring him back to me, or tell me where you are. I’ll come get him, and … and … I won’t even tell the police. Just give me back my son.”

  Nate disconnected the call.

  He stood from the chair. It was approaching ten P.M. He wasn’t sleepy. His stomach growled. There was nothing he could do. There was no food, and he simply was not in the mood to drive himself to the store, or even wait on delivery.

  He could go up to his office, search online for any information that would help find Freddy, but he had already done that for hours today. Besides, Abbey was much better at it than he was, and he knew she was working diligently somewhere that very moment.

  Nate had reached over to turn off the lamp when he was startled by the ring of the doorbell. He froze, wondering who it could be. The last time he answered the door … Nate shook the thought. He cautiously walked to the door, wrapped his hand around the knob, placed his face close to the door.

  “Who is it?” His voice was tentative.

  “I’m sorry to come by at this hour,” Nate heard a woman say through the door. “It’s Daphanie.”

  Fifteen minutes later, Nate sat with Daphanie at his dining room table. He was eating a turkey sandwich she had made him with mayo, lettuce, and tomato.

  When he had opened the door, her arms had been filled with three bags of groceries.

  “I wasn’t sure. But just in case you hadn’t gone shopping,” she had said, smiling.

  Now, after finishing the first half of the sandwich, Nate took three huge gulps from the glass of orange juice, then looked up at Daphanie, who was sitting in the chair adjacent to him, smiling.

  “How did you know I was home?”

  “When I came to visit you, one of the nurses told me you checked yourself out. Why did you do it? You sure you’re okay?”

  “There are things I need to take care of.”

  “Okay.”

  “You didn’t have to bring me food like this.”

  “I didn’t? All you had in your fridge were condiments. What were you going to have, a ketchup-and-mustard milkshake?”

  Nate cracked a smile. “I guess. I really appreciate it, but . . ” he began, the smile no longer on his face. “This still doesn’t change—”

  “Nate,” Daphanie said, stopping him. “When I told you I loved you, did you believe me?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s because it was true. You made a decision about who you want to be with. But when you get gunned down in your home, do you think I stop caring about you?”

  Looking down at his food, Nate said, “No.”

  “I respect your decision, and I’ll honor it. But I’m not going to lie and say I don’t still care about you. You’ve been hurt, and if you need help, you know I’m here for you. You know that, don’t you?”

  Nate looked up, nodded his head.

  “I need you to know I’m not doing any of this to try to win you back. I just want to be here for you. As a matter of fact, I happen to be on vacation for a while, so …”

  Nate sighed. So far he had kept Daphanie in the dark. Yes, she had asked who had put him in the hospital, but she didn’t push any further when he told her he simply didn’t know. Nate was in need right now. He didn’t want to have to rush to find someone he trusted to care for Layla, or any of his other matters in the home. Knowing him the way she did, Daphanie was completely aware of that. He wasn’t sure if Daphanie was telling him the truth about respecting the decision he had made in choosing Monica, but Nate hadn’t known Daphanie to ever lie to him, so he felt he could trust her now. He wouldn’t disclose everything, but there was some information she’d have to know, if he was to allow her to help him.

  “As a matter of fact,” Nate finally said, “I’m expecting someone tomorrow, and right now I don’t think I’ll be able to take care of her by myself. Can you help me?”

  Daphanie smiled. “Of course I can.”

  44

  Joni sat behind the wheel of her car, near tears. Nathaniel lay in the backseat sleeping. It was approaching ten P.M., and it had long been dark.

  “Joni,” Freddy said from the passenger side of the car. “You gotta take me to him.”

  “Why?” Joni said. “What are you gonna do to him?”

  “Do you really care? Look what he did to your face. Do you see?” Freddy said, jerking the rearview mirror over to show Joni her reflection. She glanced up at herself for a moment,
then looked away.

  “I don’t care what happens to him. I care what happens to you. You got a temper, Freddy. I ain’t forget that.”

  “Start the car, Joni. We’re going over there, and I’m letting this motherfucker know that he can’t put his hands on you no more, that he can’t bring his ass around your house no more.”

  “And why can’t he do that, Freddy?” Joni said, wiping at her eyes.

  It took Freddy a moment to say it.

  “Because you my girl now.”

  —

  Joni didn’t know about the gun nestled in the back of the waistband of Freddy’s jeans. He hoped he didn’t have to use it, but he wouldn’t hesitate for a second if he needed to. When Joni pulled the Celica up in front of Sam’s place, Freddy was happy to see it was a small wooden shotgun house in the middle of nowhere. There was enough distance between his house and the next, blocks away, that a gunshot probably wouldn’t be heard.

  “What are you gonna do, Freddy?”

  “Talk to him,” Freddy said, staring up at the house through his window. “Talk to him is all.” He turned to Joni. “Wait out here in the car with Nathaniel, you hear me? No matter what you hear, don’t come in. And if I ain’t out in—”

  “What do you mean, if you ain’t out?”

  “If I ain’t out in ten minutes, then leave.”

  “Freddy, I ain’t—”

  “Drive off! You hear me?”

  “Yes,” Joni said.

  Freddy leaned over, kissed Joni on the lips, then climbed out of the car. He lifted his seat, reached back, and grabbed the baseball bat he had found in Joni’s basement from off the backseat floor.

  “What is that for?” Joni said, seeing the bat for the first time.

  “Just in case,” Freddy said, closing the door.

  He carried the bat close to his leg, trying his best to hide it. Lights were on in the front room of the small house. On the rotting wood porch, Freddy heard a TV playing loudly. Freddy knocked on the door. When there was no answer, he banged much harder three times with the side of his fist. Moments later, Sam was opening the door.

  Before he could swing it open all the way, Freddy kicked it, forcing Sam to stumble backward, tripping over his feet and falling to his back.

  He was carrying a gun. From the floor, he looked to be trying to aim it at Freddy. Freddy rushed over to him, swung the bat, clubbing Sam’s hand, knocking the gun away.

  Sam cried out in pain, but the sound was nothing compared to the shriek he made, when Freddy whirled the bat over his head and brought it down in an angry chopping motion across Sam’s left shin.

  Freddy heard the loud crack when he made contact. He swung the bat again, breaking the other leg. He threw the bat aside, straddled Sam, and started pummeling his face with his fist.

  “Fucking hit my girl!” Freddy said, feeling his knuckles open up against one of Sam’s teeth. “Motherfucker!” Freddy yelled, bashing his fists against the man’s blood-covered face six more times.

  When Freddy was finished, Sam barely moved. His eyelids were only slightly open, but Freddy saw the man’s eyes following him as he climbed off Sam’s body, walked over, and grabbed Sam’s gun. Freddy stood over him again, his feet on either side of the beaten man’s shoulders. The gun was pointed between his eyes.

  “She told you to leave her alone,” Freddy said, the gun shaking in his hand. “Give me one fucking reason why I shouldn’t kill you right now.”

  “Pluh … pluh … please,” Sam said softly, blood spilling from his lips. “I’ll never do it again.”

  Freddy believed him. But that didn’t mean the man shouldn’t die. He needed to be held accountable for his fucked-up actions, just like Mr. Kenny did. But Freddy was trying to stop his killing. The cop had had to die because he might have tried to bring Freddy in. This fool posed no real threat to him.

  “I ever see you again,” Freddy said, bending over and placing the barrel of the gun flush against the man’s forehead, “I swear I’ll kill you. Understand?”

  Sam nodded.

  Freddy stepped over the man, stuck Sam’s gun in the waistband of his jeans with his own piece. He walked out of the house, down to Joni’s car, and climbed in. Blood covered both his fists and stained his forearms.

  “Freddy! What did you do?” Joni practically screamed.

  “I took care of that shit. Now drive, please.”

  45

  Lewis sat in the passenger seat of Daphanie’s car, looking out at the one-story white laboratory building. Layla was in his lap.

  “Daddy, where’s this?”

  “It’s nowhere, baby,” Lewis said, hating to have to lie to her.

  He hated everything about what was going on at this moment. But he was thankful to Daphanie. She called this morning and told Lewis she had a surprise for him. “Tell me where you live, and I’ll pick you up,” she said, and soon showed up with Layla. After hugging and kissing his daughter, Lewis stopped to ask Daphanie how she had done it.

  Daphanie told him everything. “I love Nate, but it’s wrong for him to stop you from seeing your daughter,” she added.

  Lewis was overjoyed to finally be reunited with Layla, but sad as well. “She might not even be mine,” Lewis sadly admitted. “I’m gonna have to get a paternity test.”

  “I know someone at a lab downtown. She’ll get you in and out the same day,” Daphanie said, after agreeing he needed to do it.

  But now, Layla in his lap, Lewis asked, “Why do we have to go in there?”

  Daphanie pulled her key from the ignition. “What are you talking about?”

  “I have my daughter,” Lewis said softly. “I talked to the other man. I know the aunt and the grandmother don’t want her. So, I don’t need proof. I have her now. I can just keep her.”

  “No,” Daphanie said. “You can’t. Nate trusted me with her. I come back without her, then what?”

  “Then you tell him her father has her.”

  “Then everything is ruined. He’ll know I know you. He’ll never trust me, and I’ll never get what I want.”

  Lewis looked at Layla, kissed her on the forehead.

  “I’d be sorry about that. But …”

  “I see,” Daphanie said. “You do that, and you’ll be no better than your friend. You’d be just like him, on the run. You would be on the street, constantly looking over your shoulder. Is that any way to raise that little girl?”

  “No,” Lewis agreed sadly.

  “Do this the right way, please. Let’s just go in there and take the test,” Daphanie said. “Everything will come back the way you know it will, and then you can do this the legal way.”

  An hour after the lab tech stuck what looked like a long Q-tip in Lewis’s and Layla’s mouths, taking a DNA sample from both, Lewis, Layla, and Daphanie continued sitting in the waiting room. Lewis stood from his chair for the tenth time.

  “I thought you said you knew these people. What’s taking them so long?”

  “It takes time, Lewis. Just calm down and relax.”

  “Calm down and relax,” Layla mimicked, sitting in the chair between them.

  She was flipping through the pages of a Glamour magazine.

  “Yeah, do what she says,” Daphanie said, smiling.

  “I can’t,” Lewis said, sitting again. “What if she’s not—”

  “Stop it. We’ll find out in a few minutes.”

  “Mr. Waters,” Daphanie’s friend, a tall woman wearing a lab coat, said from behind the counter.

  Lewis stood, staring down at Daphanie. “Go over there and get the results. I don’t wanna go.”

  “Lewis,” Daphanie said, standing.

  “Please. Just get them, alright? I’ll be right here.”

  “Okay,” Daphanie said. She walked over to the counter. Lewis saw her receive an envelope from the woman. The two ladies laughed a little, and Lewis heard Daphanie say, “Thanks, girl. I’ll talk to you later.”

  When she came back, Lewis said, “So?”<
br />
  “What do you mean, so? They’re in the envelope. You have to open it to find out. You want to do that now?”

  Lewis lowered himself back into his chair. “Yes.”

  Daphanie held out the results to him.

  “No, you do it,” Lewis said.

  Daphanie opened the envelope, reached in, and was about to pull out the results when Lewis snatched the envelope from her.

  “No! Not now. Not here.” He scooped Layla up in his arms and said, “Let’s go.”

  In the car, Lewis sat, Layla in his arms again, the envelope on the dashboard. He stared at it.

  “I’m going to start the car now,” Daphanie said. “You ready to go?”

  “I don’t know why I’m tripping about this,” Lewis said. “I know what the results gonna be. Layla is mine,” he said confidently. “I know she is.” He turned Layla in his lap to face him. “You my daughter, right? You my little girl?”

  “Yes, Daddy. I’m your little girl,” Layla said.

  “That’s what I’m talking about,” Lewis said, kissing his daughter again. “That’s all I need to know.” Lewis grabbed the envelope and passed it to Daphanie. “Go on open that up, and tell me what I already know.”

  “Now, that’s how I like to hear you talk.”

  As Daphanie opened the envelope and pulled the results page out, Lewis held tight to Layla. Yes, he felt confident, but he squeezed her anyway, closed his eyes, and prayed as hard as he could that Layla was his.

  With his eyes still closed, his daughter pressed so close to him, he could practically feel her heart beating. Daphanie said, “Okay, let me see, let me see,” as she looked over the results.

  There was a pause—a moment of silence—but still Lewis didn’t open his eyes, just prayed harder. Then he heard Daphanie’s voice. It was soft, and sadder than a moment ago.

  “God,” Daphanie said. “I’m so sorry, Lewis, but this says she’s not yours.”

  46

  Nate had been sitting by Monica’s bedside, holding her hand as he watched television.

  He turned to her. “I spoke to those damn worthless detectives today. They said they still haven’t found anything. They said that Ford must’ve left the state like I suspected. What else is new? But they feel he must know someone, that he must be holed up somewhere, because no one has seen him.”