by N'Tyse
“I . . . I . . . I don’t know. Just tell me, Vincent,” I pleaded. “Please don’t hurt me.”
Just then, we heard a loud bang on my door, and seconds later my bedroom was surrounded by armed police officers, all dressed in black and pointing their weapons directly at Vincent. He looked around as the cops swarmed around him and then back over at me.
“Put the gun down nice and easy, sir,” one of the officers instructed, trying to calm him. “Look, this doesn’t have to get any uglier than it already is. Just do as I say and put the gun down,” he ordered again after noticing Vincent’s hesitation.
Vincent continued to watch me as if he and I were still the only ones in the room. “Please, Vincent,” I heard my lips beg. “I’m sorry.”
Vincent just stood there, as if he was deaf and paralyzed. Then he started to speak.
“When I was five years old, my father would come into my room late at night, while my mother was asleep. ‘You awake, Vincent boy?’ he would ask me. I would close my eyes tighter, because I already knew what he had come for. Hell, he did it almost every other night. He’d pull my quilt back, slide under there with me, and say he was gonna tell me a bedtime story about a son and his father. He would tell me that a son and his father shared a special bond. And that a son should do whatever a father asked of him when he asked it. If he didn’t, he’d be punished. And if he told a soul, the bond would be broken.” I saw tears roll down his face, and then he started to cry. “Do you know what my secret is, Rene?”
I looked straight into Vincent’s sad eyes and began crying with him. “Yes, Vincent,” I said with a sympathetic look. “Yes, I know your secret. He molested you.”
He nodded his head, tears streaming down his face like rain. “Rene, I’m sorry.” He looked over at the man he had just shot, then at the team of cops, and finally back over at me. “I just wanted you to feel how much hurt and pain I’m in. I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he confessed. “Please believe me, Rene. I only wanted for you to be happy. It didn’t have to come to this. You should have just been honest with me from the start.”
As I sat there listening to Vincent pour out his heart to me, I began to feel regret for every lie I had told. I was responsible for everything that had happened tonight, as well as anything that was about to happen. I silently agreed with Vincent that if I had of been honest, it wouldn’t have come down to this. I suddenly felt that I loved him. That ounce of feeling that I had in my heart for him had awakened.
“Take care of our baby, Rene. And don’t tell her about her daddy.” Before I knew it, he was raising the gun to his temple.
“No!” one of the policemen yelled.
Vincent pulled the trigger, and he fell right next to the rapist’s lifeless body. Blood splattered in every direction. I was traumatized. My legs were shaking uncontrollably, and so were my hands. One of the officers ran over to me, lifted me up from the floor.
“Here, let’s put this around you.” He wrapped his jacket around me and walked me out of the room and away from the crime scene.
For about two hours my apartment building was filled with crime-scene detectives and reporters, all of whom I was too shaken up to speak to regarding the shootings.
“Now tell me what happened from start to finish,” one of the officers asked me over again.
A female detective had been called out to the scene, but I had refused to say a word to her. “I’m not getting anything out of her,” she told the officer who was questioning me now. She walked off, unsatisfied that she had not been able to get a response from me and thus break the case.
I remained quiet. I couldn’t believe everything that had just taken place. I felt like I had been dreaming and the whole thing was a terrible nightmare. But it wasn’t. I watched as they carried out Vincent’s body. Tears came running down my face once again. This is all a misunderstanding, I tried to convince myself, knowing it was really all my fault. I buried my face in my hands. Vincent had killed himself because of me. I was the reason.
I looked up when one of the officers said, “I’ve seen this guy here before. Yeah, he used to steal cars and break into homes. I’ve booked him a few times. I think they called him June Bug. Hell, come to think of it, he lived right across the street.”
“Must’ve been a lover’s quarrel,” another officer chimed in.
I gasped. It couldn’t be. I stood up and was able to identify the man who had raped me as his mask had been removed. Indeed, it was June Bug from across the street, his eyes still wide open, as dead as could be. That muthafucka!
They zipped up the bag he was in and rolled him down the steps. That son of a bitch had raped me.
“He raped me,” I cried aloud.
The female detective who had been sent in to talk to me rushed back over in my direction.
What the hell does she want with me now?
“Miss Brown, I just want to ask you one more question. Do you know a Cassandra Janene Ross?”
I nodded my head. Damn. Was she that blind? Our picture, as wide as the wall, hung over the fireplace mantel.
“Do you know if she’s working for Aundrey Stackson, now going by the name of James Hill?”
I shook my head. I didn’t know what she was talking about. And what the hell did any of that have to do with what had happened to me here tonight? All I knew was that Sand did have a friend by the name of James, but I couldn’t be certain of his last name.
“I’m not sure about that.”
“Well, Miss Brown, it seems that your girlfriend is involved with and working for Stackson, who the FBI has been investigating for several years. He’s wanted on numerous charges. This is a dangerous man we’re talking about here. If this unfolds the way that I am sure it will, you may not be able to see your girlfriend for a long, long time. So are you sure you are unaware of her social dealings with Mr. Stackson?”
Did this damn woman not hear me? “I don’t know of him,” I said louder than I had intended.
She smiled. “Okay, Miss Brown. Here is my card, and when you are ready to talk to me about what went on tonight, you can reach me. I also wrote down my cell number.” I took the card. “You might want to take a look outside before you go out there.” She smiled and nodded her head, gesturing for me to take a peek out the blinds.
I walked over to the living room window and glanced down at the large crowd that had assembled. Camera crews were everywhere, along with the inhabitants of the entire apartment complex it seemed. The morning sun was up, and everyone was out trying to see what was going on. I quickly closed the blinds. It definitely wasn’t safe to go out there.
She saw the expression on my face. “I can get you out of here easily if you take a ride with me downtown.” I looked out the window again. “Straight to the hospital and then down to the station,” she offered.
God knows I didn’t want my face plastered all over the television.
“They’re on live,” I heard somebody say.
The female detective walked over, flipped on my television, and there it was.
“We are live here at the scene where two bodies are being carried out of this South Dallas apartment. This homicide-suicide has everyone in awe as they try to piece together what happened here today. Both shootings were witnessed by a young woman who was raped and beaten before these fatal incidents occurred. She told police that one of the two men had somehow gained unauthorized access to her apartment earlier this morning. One of the victims was someone she was involved with. Investigators are working hard to determine the motive for this bizarre attack and are getting little help from the witness involved. We are waiting for more details as they become available. Until then, keep it tuned here. This is Veronica Bradley with Network Four. Back to you, Shannon.”
This was déjà vu. I felt like I had been through this whole thing before. I couldn’t believe it. I started crying again. Where was Sand? I looked up at the woman detective, who was watching my every move. She handed me a brown paper bag.
&nbs
p; “Go in the bathroom and change,” she said.
I looked in the bag and saw a pair of joggers, a T-shirt, a wig, and some shades. I had no choice. I went into the bathroom, emptied the bag of its contents, and tried to change my appearance as much as I could. After I slipped on the hideous blond wig, my look changed drastically. I was in full disguise. I didn’t even know who I was.
When I came out of the bathroom, the detective was talking to one of the forensic guys working the crime scene. After she spotted me, she waved me over to join them.
“Rene, we need to talk.” She raised a ziplock bag, and inside was a small gold hoop earring and a small black tape. “Does this belong to you?”
I shook my head no.
Hours later I was down at the police station, being asked all kinds of questions, like I was a suspect. They had me all hemmed in, in a small-ass room, waiting for someone else to come in and ask me the same damn questions that the first detective had asked. I had my hands folded, and I was leaned back in my seat, waiting impatiently for them to finish this nonsense so that I could leave.
The room was freezing cold, and other than the armed security guard and I, it held no life or warmth. Just a tiny, confined space designed to make people go crazy so that they could tell all they knew. I looked over to my left, at the officer that was watching me closely. This was the kind of shit that I had seen on television. I had never thought it would happen to me. I wished they would hurry the hell up so I could go somewhere, anywhere, and take a shower. I’d bathe in the Trinity River if they’d let me go right now. That was how desperately I needed to wash that asshole’s funk juice off of me. The odor taunted my nostrils, and every time I inhaled, I felt the urge to vomit.
I was startled when a tall, young white boy, entered the room. He had on a gray suit, with a crisp white shirt underneath. He walked over, unfolded the brown fold-up chair, then took a seat beside me. He placed his briefcase before him and began shuffling through several folders.
“How you doing there? I’m Detective Rockwall.”
I looked up at him with an attitude.
He went on. “I know you’ve already spoken with Detective Lochardt, but I wanted to go over a few more things with you. They brought me in here to fill in because I’m also working on the Turner case, and at this point, we see a connection.”
“What Turner case?”
He retrieved a thick brown folder from the bottom of his pile. It was stuffed with so many papers that they slid out as soon as he opened it. “If you know any of these people that I am about to show you, I need to know.”
I didn’t understand why I was being interrogated. I was the damn victim here, and here they were, treating me like this.
He pulled out a five-by-seven mug shot. “Do you happen to know him?” I picked up the picture and looked at it carefully.
“Never seen him,” I said.
“Okay.” He took the picture out of my hand and laid it to the side, facedown. “What about this picture?”
I glanced at it the same way I had the first one. “Never seen her, either.”
“Last but not least.” He waved another photo in my face.
“Oh my God.”
“What, Miss Brown? Do you recognize the person in the picture?”
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I covered my mouth with my hands. “That’s . . . that’s my girlfriend.”
The detective pulled the picture away and stood up from his seat. “Miss Brown, do you know how much trouble your girlfriend is in right now?”
I shook my head.
“Let’s just say enough trouble where she may never see daylight again.”
I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. This man had to be putting me on. What the fuck was he talking about? I still wasn’t sure.
“What is all this about?” I asked.
“We were able to retrieve a few good prints from your apartment. We entered them into our database and found a match. We can place your girlfriend at the murder scene of Jasmine Keshawn Turner, the nineteen-year-old woman killed in her Fort Worth home.”
I was in shock. My eyes widened, and my body grew stiff. What was he implying? This couldn’t be happening.
He saw the look in my eyes. “I know this seems a little unreal, but we have hard proof and a witness who says she saw your girlfriend visit Ms. Turner on more than one occasion. We also have obtained phone records of inbound and outbound calls placed between Cassandra and Jasmine. We were also able to get a statement from a friend of Jasmine’s that says she witnessed phone arguments between the two on several occasions.”
“What!”
“With the evidence that I have now, it’s enough to go after her.”
I looked at him as if to ask, “Are you kidding me?” There was just no way in hell. I bit down on my lip to keep from crying. Murder, I kept repeating in my head. He had said he had enough evidence to pin Sand with murder. “But . . .” Oh hell, what is coming now?
He looked over at the guard and then leaned in toward me and practically whispered, “After reviewing the case and seeing that your girlfriend has no previous record and basically a clean slate, I found it kind of hard to believe myself. So that’s when I decided to dig a little deeper. We followed Cassandra for a couple of days, and nothing she did was out of habit, except for one thing. She purchased a nine-millimeter pistol.”
My eyes grew even wider. Sand ain’t never had a gun. Hell nah. He didn’t have his facts straight. I had to speak up. “Sand don’t even like guns,” I protested.
“Well, that may be true, but I was able to get a copy of the receipt and a tape from the surveillance camera from the store where she purchased it.”
“Oh my God,” I replied in disbelief.
“I know this sounds like a lot to take in right now, but what I need from you is to think back to anyone she may know who would want to frame her, because as of right now she is a prime suspect.” He handed me a sheet of clean notebook paper. I looked at the blank sheet but was not able to think of any names, because I didn’t know any of her friends. Sand had never introduced me to anyone. He waited.
I finally spoke. “Detective Rockwall, I can’t help you.” Although it seemed like he was a decent cop and it sounded like he was on our side, the truth was, I didn’t have a clue who Sand’s friends were and where she hung out. I really didn’t know anything about her. Everything was a secret. Plus, I hadn’t had time to keep up with what was going on in Sand’s life, because I had been too busy trying to hide the mess going on in mine.
“Okay. I’m just going to have to use my outside sources. You find somewhere to stay for the next few nights. I don’t think it’s safe for you to go back home.” He looked very sincere.
“Okay. Can I go now?”
He handed me a card and wrote in his cell and his direct office number. “If you hear from Sand or if you can remember anything, I need you to give me a call. It’s best you deal with me and only me.”
I took the card and slipped it into my wallet. “Okay.”
I stood up and walked out. As soon as I turned the corner, I pulled out my cell and dialed Shun’s number. I couldn’t wait to hear from my friend again. She answered on the first ring.
“Hello. This is Miss Shun. And who is this interrupting my Popeyes chicken dinner?”
“Shun!” I cried. “I need you to come get me.”
“Rene?”
“Yes. I’m at the downtown police station.”
“What! Don’t worry. I’ll be right there. Hang tight.”
“Okay,” I said, relieved.
I waited outside the headquarters, on a hard cement bench, in the nippy wind, watching people entering and leaving the station. Sand was in some deep shit, and I needed to find her. I tried calling her cell again. Still no answer. I kept trying.
About forty-five minutes later Shun made it to the station. I stood up quickly when I heard her loud-ass muffler screaming. She was in that old-ass faded blue Cutlass that one of her bab
y daddies had left her with. I walked toward the car and then tried to get in on the passenger side.
“Unlock the door,” I yelled through the glass.
She put her eyeglasses on and then rolled down the window. “Rene?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Open the door. It’s cold out here.
She unlocked the door hesitantly, and I hopped in. She stared at me with a confused look on her face, acting like she ain’t never seen nobody in a blond-ass, crooked wig before.
“Girl, I almost didn’t know who you was, sitting on that bench in that white girl wig, looking like a Harry Hines two-dollar hooker. I was just saying to myself, ‘That’s one bold-ass hooker to be tricking right in front of the police station.’” Shun was laughing her head off at me and the way the blond wig had tilted itself to the side of my head. She saw that I was in no mood for jokes and quickly erased the funny face. “Aw, what’s wrong, baby? You don’t look too good. What happened to you?” She touched my forehead with the back of her hand, checking for a temperature.
I couldn’t hold them back any longer. The more I tried, the more I felt a migraine coming on. I broke down in tears. Shun pulled into a fast-food parking lot a few blocks up from the station and stopped the car. She turned off the ignition and faced me.
“What’s wrong, Rene? Talk to me.”
I raised my head up and pulled off the ridiculous wig. “Shun, he’s dead,” I said in a muffled voice.
“Who’s dead?”
I got quiet for a moment. Then I said, “Vincent.”
She looked at me with surprise and doubt in her eyes. “What!”
I continued to cry, somehow managing to tell her everything that had happened. She couldn’t believe it her damn self.
“June Bug raped you?”
I nodded my head, too embarrassed and humiliated to tell her the whole truth behind it. And for some horrible reason, I felt like I had brought it all on myself.
Shun was in shock. She leaned over to hug me. “I’m sorry, Rene. I should have been there for you.” She squeezed me tighter. “I’m so sorry, baby.” She brushed my hair with her hands, gently rubbed the side of my face with the tips of her fingers, and calmed me. It was the softest touch a female could offer. Then out of nowhere, she leaned in a little bit more, lifted my chin, and before I could blink, her lips were softly touching mine.
