His mind took the turn it always did when thinking about the past. Sweat ran down his face as he rolled over and banged the ancient heat register. He then pulled his stained T-shirt from over his head, and threw it on the floor with the rest of his discarded clothing. The little room was always too hot or too cold.
“Esther . . . ,” he repeated obsessively. His vision of all the things he could do to her, to make her pay, swam through his head. Every year since the divorce he fell deeper into poverty, and his anger and rage grew.
“You shouldn’t have left me, Esther,” he groused as he turned the bottle up to his lips, and then swore when he realized the bottle was empty. He tossed it into the corner and stared into empty space. As he lay back with his arms behind his head, his arm serpent tattoo faded in and out, illuminated periodically by the neon cross from the building across the street.
Mindless, he swung his arms, fighting invisible demons. His head exploded in small, tiny shards as he held on and tried not to go over the edge. He could feel small licks of pain swirling all around him, and Esther’s name reverberated in his mind. In exhaustion, he soon felt himself letting go as he drifted into total darkness.
The small window continued to shine periodic glimpses of light through the torn shade. As his eyes followed the light, they landed on the old building across the street, with its neon cross and the words “Jesus Saves” flickering brightly below it.
Imp Two stood against the wall clapping in glee. “The thoughts you sent were brilliant. He blames everyone for his problems. I love this guy.”
Imp One stood over Roger’s bed looking for flaws in his plan. “He is simple, but his drug and alcohol abuse make him unreliable.”
“Look at him . . . Even full grown demons would find him ugly.” Imp Two climbed onto the bed and lay across from Roger, making faces at him.
Imp One watched irritated with Imp Two’s antics. This is who he was assigned to work with, and The Leader expected brilliance! “You are a nitwit. You are a pea brain. You are an imbecile,” he hissed.
Imp Two jumped from the bed. “But . . . I thought we were getting along so well. The Leader hates us both. We can be a team; Batman and Robin, the Lone Ranger and Tonto.”
Imp One spoke as he slithered through the wall. “Beauty and the Beast. Beast, visit our ace in the hole, Monica. We need her on board. This plan cannot fail.”
Imp Two frowned. “I wouldn’t be the beast, you would be the beast. I am beautiful.”
Imp Two’s feelings were hurt, and he slithered out the wall opposite Imp One. He lifted into the air, his anger not derailing his assignment. He was still headed south to Monica, and her ultimate destruction.
Monica stretched and looked at the clock. She sauntered into the bathroom, trailing her see-through, chiffon peignoir behind her. Her milk chocolate skin glowed from its life of pampering, and its supple silkiness was satin to the touch, comparable to the ribbon along a newborn baby’s blanket. Her luxurious mane of dark hair flowed like the Congo River in the deepest jungle of Africa, and it dipped and waved, ending midway down her back. She bent forward, shook her hair, and twisted and pinned the tresses atop her head. She was vain about her hair. It was a part of her heritage from her Jamaican Pentecostal great-grandmother. It had never been cut, only trimmed. Once, during a cancer campaign, Briggs had suggested she cut it. She quaked with resentment just thinking about it. “He’s such a fool.”
As she stepped into the shower, a pale hand closed over her upper arm. “Hey, you sneaking out on me, again?” a cultured Southern voice asked.
“Sugar, it’s two in the morning. How does it look me creeping in at all hours of the night?” she reached, pulling shower gel from the shelf.
Randall took it from her and squeezed some onto a sponge. “I care about you. It’s late, he’s not in town; stay. Please, Monica. You just told me you may be moving out of town for a while. I love you. How am I supposed to handle that?”
He threw down the sponge and grabbed her around her waist. He turned them toward the mirror that was fogged by the shower’s hot water. He wiped the mirror clear. Revealed was a couple whose faces touched as their eyes showed passion never before experienced by either of them. Nothing else mattered; not race, their marriages, or their backgrounds. The love they felt they found was all that mattered to them.
“Randall, I told you, I stalled him. I demanded an expensive place to live. Believe me, with his tight pockets that will take a while. In the meantime, you need to handle the problems in your own life. Namely, your wife and children.”
She rubbed her hand down the side of his face to minimize her scolding. His was a handsome face, aristocratic in its bearing. He was a man of means, and it showed.
Randall caressed Monica’s hand and held it to his lips. His lips trailed over her face and down her neck, where he slowly kissed on her bare shoulder. His hands traveled over her as he pulled her closer. “Enough talk,” he growled.
Monica’s eyes drifted shut as they backed out of the room and fell onto the king-size bed. The running shower’s steam joined the combustible heat the couple made as heinous dark shadows danced in frenzied orchestration against the backdrop of a fading night.
Chapter Thirteen
Briggs was home. His time with Mother Reed was well spent. He was feeling unburdened, his yoke destroyed of past indiscretions. He wanted to talk to Monica, guilt free. He phoned her, but she didn’t pick up.
Briggs left her a voice mail. “Hi, baby, it’s around ten o’clock. Sorry, I missed you. I just wanted to hear your voice. Call me. I love you, bye.”
After his shower, Briggs placed his cell phone next to his pillow and lay down. He knew he had early-morning meetings, but he didn’t want to miss Monica’s call.
Light streamed through a crack in Briggs’s bedroom curtains, his hand fumbled around in an effort to locate the ringing phone. He clutched the cell and flipped it open. “Hello?” he asked groggily.
“Hello, hello,” came the resounding answer.
“Monica? What time is it?” he asked as he sat up in his bed and pulled back the cover.
“I don’t know. It’s early,” she said defensively.
“I’m sorry, honey. I looked for you to call me last night, that’s all.” Briggs struggled to get up.
Monica’s voice cracked across the airwaves. “So . . . do you want to talk to me or not? I’ve been so alone lately that I needed to get out of the house. I went to the movies. Do you mind?”
Briggs didn’t like the direction of the conversation. His heart moved to redirect it. “Sweetheart, I want to talk to you. Last night, I had a powerful time with God. All due to one of our Love Zion members. Wait ’til you meet her; she’s so anointed.”
Monica smacked her lips into the phone. “Her? I’m here alone and you’re off spending time with female members of the church? You know in my modeling days I was always the belle of the ball; now I’m just the ball and chain.”
“You could never be anyone’s ball and chain. Monica, she’s eighty years old, and you know me better than that. Come on, honey, let’s not fight. There’s been too much of that. Did you get my message? I miss you,” Briggs said turning on the charm.
Monica huffed. “Since when?”
Briggs turned up the heat. “Every day, sweetheart. Think you can arrange to come up for the weekend? We can do something fun, just the two of us.”
Monica resisted being agreeable. “No, Briggs, I can’t just leave things here to come there and hold your hand. I’m busy packing and trying to find the right replacements on all the committees I chair.”
Briggs was wearing himself out just to have a decent phone conversation. “I understand you’re busy. It was just a suggestion, but if we’re ever going to turn our marriage around, it will take the two of us to do it.”
“Everything is not on your schedule, Briggs. Work on you. Oh yeah, have a blessed day.” Monica slammed down the phone.
Briggs scratched the morning new gro
wth on his chin, slammed the pillow with his fist, and flopped back down on the bed. “What did I say?”
Monica looked down at the phone. “Blast it!”
She leaned back in the kitchen chair and considered her options. Randall had been insistent last night about bringing her home and meeting her today to pick up her car. In a moment of weakness, she had agreed, and now she worried about someone seeing them together. It was bad enough that she had to walk down to the corner to meet him. She had the added dilemma of how to hide one of the most powerful movers and shakers in Atlanta. And, people still recognized her, even though they had the nerve to walk right up to her and ask her where she’d been—as though she owed the little nobodies an answer. Now, Briggs was changing their dynamics and being nice. It made her feel guilty and nervous.
She needed to remain cautious. After their first couple of meetings in public, Randall had moved them into a lavish suite at the Ritz Carlton. He was a man of style, and she appreciated the way he treated her. She always arrived and left separately. Except for yesterday, their system worked.
She nibbled on her finger. She hadn’t prayed since Briggs left. When he wasn’t watching her, she did what she wanted to. Monica grimaced. She asked herself the questions: What if God is real? Will I be punished for my sins?
When she first met Briggs, he was all busted up over some little girl who had left him high and dry in college. The boy was fronting like he wasn’t all torn up. But his drunken monologues were all about some chick named Esther. They were never about God.
He was fun, wild, and fine as could be though. She knew his background. She knew he was a world renown televangelist’s son, and he came from money. His father’s television appearances, movies, books, and tapes had made him wealthy. It was only reasonable to think the son inherited what the father had acquired. At the time, she needed him, or someone like him. She was no longer a teenager, and her constant tantrums and diva attitude had worn thin on the modeling circuit, and her contracts were drying up. All she had left when she met Briggs was her make-believe industry buzz. She saw he was feeling all the attention he got when she was on his arm, so she played it to the max. When she told Briggs she was pregnant, she thought he would do the right thing. When he didn’t, she got so mad, she’d slashed the tires to his Honda Accord and broke out his windows. Fool never did realize it was her getting revenge.
Two months later he came running to her apartment asking if he could talk to her about their baby. She was so angry that she told him she had gotten an abortion. His dejected face was all she needed to set her in a good mood. If he wasn’t marrying her, a little money to keep her and a baby in her preferred lifestyle was just not making it.
Besides, she had never been pregnant in the first place.
Chapter Fourteen
Mother Reed and Esther sat in her kitchen finishing their cake. Esther looked good; her face fresh and glowing, her makeup impeccable, and the pale pink jogging suit was lovely on her, accentuating the positive features in her figure and camouflaging the negative.
Esther smiled in appreciation and said with her mouth half full of cake, “Ummm, so good . . . how’ve you been?”
“Oh, baby, Mother’s been fine.”
Esther licked her fingers. “Anywhere you’d like to go today? I don’t have to be at church until four o’clock, so we have time.”
Mother Reed’s smile widened. It was just like Esther to be so attentive. “No, baby, but it would be great if we could sit and play a game of Scrabble.”
Esther flicked her hand in the air. “So you can beat me, like I stole something again?”
“Now, don’t be a spoilsport. Look over in the buffet cabinet and bring the game here. It’s time to teach a young lady some manners.”
Esther left the room and was quick to return. As she set up the game, Mother Reed put on her bifocals and rubbed her hands together. She loved keeping her brain agile. “Esther, have you found that special young man yet?”
“No, ma’am. But you’ll be glad to know that I finally opened my heart to the possibilities of having someone. I’ve even done a little daydreaming.”
“All God needs is a willing heart. Don’t worry, he’s coming soon,” Mother Reed said as she placed letters on the Scrabble board spelling out her first word. She looked up at Esther through her lowered lids. “You remember I was close to your grandmother?”
“Yes.” Esther was searching out her word on the game board.
“Good, God-fearing woman. Me and my Anthony, her and your grandfather, we used to have some good times together.” Mother Reed was fond of those memories.
“That’s nice,” Esther squinted focusing on the game board.
Mother Reed pushed the game board aside for a moment. “When you were little you hated your name. Do you remember that?”
Esther sat back looking skyward. “Yes, it was old-fashioned. I wanted a cute name like the other girls.”
“Do you remember what your grandmother told you?” Mother Reed rubbed Esther’s hand to make sure she was listening.
Esther’s face creased with concentration. “Something about my purpose and how I would have authority over darkness.”
Esther’s grandmother passed when she was ten years old, and she was so spiritual toward the end that half the time, Esther didn’t understand what she was talking about. She remembered that after some people visited, her grandmother shook her fist at the shadows on the walls and rebuked them. Then the house seemed to get real light. She would mumble about people not living right and spirits being left in her house.
“Your grandmama was a wise woman. Ooh, I miss that girl. When your mama was pregnant with you, she wasn’t in the church. We called it backsliding then. Your grandmama and I began to pray and fast for her and your daddy to come back to the Lord. Baby, it was during all this praying that your grandmama prophesied your birth and that you would be named Esther.”
“I do know the story of Esther in the Bible.”
“Did you understand that scripture says Esther won the favor of everyone who saw her? Baby, there is power in favor. This was a woman of faith, courage, loyalty, and obedience. She could have used her favor for her own good, but she used it for the good of her people. She’s your namesake; there’s a reason you are in social services and a reason you are so active in the ministry.”
Esther nodded. “Yeah, most of the time, I love my job.”
“That’s not why I’m telling you all this, chile,” she said, somewhat exasperated.
“I’m listening,” Esther said in a rush.
Mother Reed tapped her. “Hear me good, little girl.”
Esther felt a sense of anticipation.
A commanding voice floated out of Mother Reed’s small frame. “The time is coming when the Esther in you will rise. You have been positioned for such a time as this. You will be raised up as an instrument of God to avert the destruction of the church and its work. Thus said the Lord.”
Mother Reed noted Esther’s look of uncertainty. She smiled and pulled the board game back. “Let’s finish this game, daughter. I know that ya have things to do. I do so ’preciate ya time,” Mother Reed knew that when the time came, Esther would remember what she said. She had planted the seed; God would see to the increase. She just wanted to be there to help guide Esther through the crucial moments.
Briggs was reading when he saw a pale flash of pink pass by. He went into the hallway as Esther entered Reverend Gregory’s office. He told himself he was headed down there because he needed to remind him of something, not to see Esther. As he entered, the Reverend and Esther were already in conversation.
“So you see, it’s going to be important not to miss the deadline on both of these buildings,” Esther said.
Reverend Gregory held out a piece of paper. “Our problems are deeper than that; look at this letter.”
Esther read over its contents. She looked up flabbergasted and noticed Briggs standing in the doorway. She acknowledged him with a
nod before she began a rant against the writers of the letter. “We are in violation of zoning laws? We went through all the proper procedures to get the transition house opened. They can’t do this,” she exploded.
“They can, and they have. What an awful time for me to be leaving town.” Reverend Gregory looked up and waved Briggs over. “Come on in, Briggs. We have a hornet’s nest dropping into our laps.”
“What’s happened?” he asked. Esther handed him the letter to read.
“Can you call the mayor’s office and ask for a meeting?” Esther paced agitated by the news.
“I did call him. This is the week of the gang summit and he’s out, but they promised to let him know when he checks in that I need to speak with him.”
Esther whipped around in the small space. “And you’re leaving at the end of next week?”
Reverend Gregory wiped the perspiration off his balding head. “I have to. On top of everything else, the doctors called and we really need to be with Jeanette right now.”
Esther stopped and touched the reverend in compassion. “We’re praying for her.”
“Sir, I won’t let you down. Leave this with Esther and me,” Briggs said. “I pray that your faith faileth not. God is not going to let the adversary take something as vital as our transition program. Those families need decent housing. It brings them the opportunity for a new life. Whatever force is coming against it, it will fail.” Briggs prophesied with fervor.
“Speak life, son, speak life,” Reverend Gregory raised his hand in solidarity.
Esther clapped. “Here, here.” She applauded Briggs determination to take charge and steer them into clear water. “I sit on boards with people who may help. I’ll make some calls. I thought when we held all the open community forums, that we had addressed all of their concerns about that ‘element’ moving into their neighborhood. This zoning problem is just a way to keep certain people out. I see it every day at work.”
The Devil Made Me Do It Page 10
