Latter Rain

by Vanessa Miller

  Part Two

  O Lord, you have searched me and know me.

  You know my sitting down and my rising up;

  you understand my thoughts afar off. You com-

  prehend my path and my lying down, and are

  acquainted with all my ways. For there is not

  a word on my tongue, but behold O Lord, you

  know it altogether. You have hedged me behind

  and before, and laid your hand upon me. Such

  knowledge is too wonderful for me; it is high,

  I cannot attain it. Where can I go from your

  Spirit? Or where can I flee from your presence?

  If I ascend into heaven, you are there; if I make

  my bed in hell, behold, you are there.

  Psalm 139: 1–8

  22

  Isaac raced into the emergency room at Grand View Hospital. Eyes darting to and fro, searching out someone, anyone with answers. A nurse tried to walk past him. Isaac grabbed her arm. “Do you know anything about my son—his mother?”

  “Excuse me?” she asked while retrieving her arm from his grasp.

  His eyes were wild. Thrusting his hand through his hair he tried again. “My son and his mother were shot last night. Nina Lewis and Donavan Walker.”

  “Oh, yes.” She pointed to an open door to the left of the emergency room. “You might want to wait in there with the rest of the family. Dr. Hamilton and Dr. Kym have just finished surgery. They’ll be in to see you in just a moment.”

  What family? He was their only family.

  Walking into the small room, Isaac was greeted by Michael and Char Edwards. Michael was an elder at Nina’s church and the brother of Nina’s best friend, Elizabeth Underwood.

  “Isaac, thank God you made it,” Elder Edwards said while clasping a hand to his shoulder.

  “What happened, Mike?” Isaac asked.

  He squeezed Isaac’s shoulder. “We only have bits and pieces of what happened. Donavan was running home. Before he could get in the house Nina stopped him and was yelling at him. The next thing the neighbors knew, some guy started shooting at them.”

  “It’s all my fault. Oh, God. It’s all my fault, Charles said.

  Isaac turned to see Charles Douglas III seated in one of the leather chairs in the center of the room. His hands were over his bowed head. Brushing Elder Edwards’s hand from his shoulder, Isaac stalked over to Charles. “What do you mean, this is all your fault?”

  Keith walked into the small room and tossed the keys to Isaac. “The car is on the second floor in the garage.”

  Isaac grabbed his keys then turned back to Charles. A look of unmistakable misery covered Charles’s face. Isaac pulled him out of the chair by his collar. “What did you do?”

  Keith and Michael grabbed Isaac and pulled him away. “Come on, man. Don’t do this in here,” Keith begged.

  “What did you do?” Isaac demanded of Charles while trying to get free.

  Crumpling back in his seat, Charles cried out. “Oh, God, why?”

  “Charles thinks this young punk he’s prosecuting shot Nina and Donavan,” Michael replied as he and Keith released Isaac.

  Isaac sat down. He expelled an exasperated breath. “Why would this guy want to kill Nina and Donavan?”

  Desperately, Charles tried to pull himself together. He wiped his eyes and calmed himself as he told the group, “Mickey Jones is a sick little criminal who needs the electric chair. He’s been sending me death threats since the hearing. Charles lifted his hands to God and rolled his eyes upward while shaking his head. “I stopped going by Nina’s house so they would be safe from that animal.”

  If Isaac wasn’t sitting, he would have fallen down. Charles was accusing Mickey of this brutal attack. His Mickey, from way back when? No way was something like this possible. No way Mickey would destroy his family.

  Keith and Isaac’s eyes locked. Silently, they were both saying, no way. It couldn’t happen. Not in a million years would Mickey Jones do something like this to Isaac.

  Leaning forward, Isaac told Charles, “I think you’re wrong on this one, Counselor. Mickey didn’t do this.”

  “Do you know him?”

  “Yeah,” Isaac answered defensively. “And the Mickey I know wouldn’t do nothing like this.”

  “Really?” Charles stood and grabbed the file he’d left on the table. “I suppose the Mickey you know wouldn’t do anything like this either, huh?” He showed Isaac pictures of a bruised and battered woman lying in a hospital bed. “He beat her with a bat. We’ve got a warrant out for his arrest, but we haven’t found him yet.”

  Isaac’s insides turned. He thought of the day Mickey met him outside the prison. When he got released from prison, the last thing he wanted to do was run into a hustler. But Mickey was there anyway.

  Isaac remembered the look of desperation in Mickey’s eyes. He remembered thinking that Mickey needed his help. But Isaac wanted nothing to do with the world he’d come from. The day he chose to leave with Bishop Sumler, he also chose to leave his past behind. Or had he? Was it his refusal to deal with Mickey’s pain that brought tragedy to his doorstep five years later?

  Dr. Hamilton stepped into the waiting room and stifled Isaac’s pondering. “Okay, who is the next of kin?”

  Isaac and Charles both stood.

  Dr. Hamilton looked to Charles first. “How are you related?”

  “She’s my fiancé.”

  “And you?” he asked Isaac.

  “Donavan is my son and Nina will be my wife.”

  Charles let out a frustrated blow and rolled his eyes. Isaac ignored him. “Look, Doc, can you tell us something? What’s going on?”

  “I just completed surgery on Nina Lewis. She had two abdominal wounds and one shoulder wound. She’ll be laid up for quite awhile, but she’ll survive.”

  Shouts and cheers of relief swept through the room. Isaac turned back to Dr. Hamilton. “What else?”

  “What do you mean?”

  Isaac stared him down. “I see it on your face. There’s something you’re not telling us.”

  Dr. Hamilton shook his head. “There is more, but I need to discuss it with my patient first. All right?”

  “All right, Doc. What about my son?”

  Dr. Kym had impeccable timing. No good news, but impeccable timing nonetheless. Walking in the room just as Isaac asked about Donavan, he said, “Well, I pulled two bullets out of the young man. I can’t tell you anymore than that right now. If he lives through the night—”

  “What are you talking about?” Isaac yelled at the doctor.

  Dr. Kym lifted his hand. “Sir, I’m sorry, but the boy is very weak.”

  “Can I see my son?”

  “We’ve got him hooked up to a respirator. He’s not looking very go—”

  Dr. Hamilton put his hand on Dr. Kym’s shoulder. “Let the man see his son, Kym.”

  “Follow me,” Dr. Kym told Isaac.

  The angels in heaven stood betwixt and between. Swords drawn, waiting on God to release them for battle. Demonic forces were waging war against Isaac and his family. He had withstood blow after blow, but Isaac’s resolve was weakening.

  Davison, Isaac’s angel, had walked through the fire with Isaac for seven years now; since the day he first bowed his knee to God in prison. He’d helped him get through trial after trial. But his charge was getting weary. “Come on, Isaac, pray!”

  Pacing the streets of gold in the outer court, Davison was spooling for a fight. Knocking some demon heads together would make him feel a lot better. This thing has gone on far too long. His charge had been under attack from the moment he bowed his knees to Jesus. The demonic spirits of lust, anger and unforgiveness constantly plagued him.

  Aaron, the captain of the angels, put his hand on Davison’s shoulder.“Be patient. The saints of God will start praying.”

  Davison shook his head. “He can’t take much more, Captain. These attacks have been too constant in his life.”

>   “He’s come too far. He will not forsake the Lord,” Aaron assured him.

  A look of uncertainty crossed Davison’s face. “What if Donavan does not make it?”

  “The saints will pray. The almighty God will make a way. His will be done.” Aaron patted Davison’s shoulder and walked away.

  23

  Rage.

  Maddening fury.

  Isaac’s fists clenched, jaws tightened, as he stood over his son. His only son was in a coma. Tubes were everywhere. His son couldn’t breathe on his own. The respirator was pumping life into him. Without it, Donavan would ...

  “Don’t you die on me,” Isaac commanded. “Do you hear me, Donavan? Don’t you give up!”

  Flashbacks of being in hell and seeing his son tortured assaulted his being. He picked up Donavan’s hand and lightly squeezed it. “You’re not going to open your eyes in hell, Donavan. I won’t allow it.” A bold declaration for one who, at that moment, refused to pray.

  He’d brought his Bible to read to his son, but he wasn’t going to do that. Not after seeing the shape his son was in. He was mad at God. Mad at Jesus. Mad at the twelve elders who bowed before the throne, distracting God. Mad at the four beasts who cried holy, holy, holy! Mad at the angels who obviously couldn’t fight, nor protect nobody worth spit.

  Slamming his Bible on the nightstand next to his son’s bed, Isaac remembered the doctor’s words: “If he lives through the night.”

  He put his hands to the side of his head to stop the violent shaking. He couldn’t take much more. “Lord, I’m about to lose my mind.”

  He snuck down the hall to check on Nina. She seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Her arm was in a sling. He walked over to the bed and touched her bruised and puffy face. She was still beautiful to him. Still meant the world to him. He shoved his fist in his mouth to keep from yelling out.

  His family had been attacked in the worst way, and he was supposed to stand around praying, waiting, and hoping? Forget that. He had prayed that his family would never come against tragedy, but tragedy had come.

  Rubbing his chin, Isaac pondered this nightmare while walking back to Donavan’s room. They still had a good seven hours worth of daylight before nightfall. His son was a fighter, a survivor. Today, Isaac would sit here and watch his son fight for his life. Tomorrow, he would find out exactly who was tired of living.

  “Isaac, some guy out here wants to talk with you. He looks pretty shook up,” Keith told him.

  Isaac almost told Keith to send him away. He’d slept in the chair next to Donavan’s bed. His back ached, shoulders needed a good rub down. One close call happened with the monitor going flat, but Donavan made it through the night.

  He didn’t want to be disturbed. He wanted coffee, and lots of it. But something in his gut nudged him forward. “Where is he?”

  “He’s in the waiting room.”

  Elizabeth Underwood was also in the waiting room when Isaac walked in. Elizabeth ran to him and embraced him. “How are you holding up? she whispered in his ear.

  He embraced her back. “Not too good.”

  “Yeah, I know.” She softly rubbed his back, then they released each other.

  “Never thought I’d be here for them,” Isaac added.

  The young man seated in the back of the room stood up. He held out his hand for Isaac. Isaac stared at it. “I—I’m Mark Smith. I’m a friend of your son’s.”

  “Aren’t you a little old to hang around Donavan?”

  Mark smiled. “Actually, I’m a friend of JC’s, or at least I used to be. Donavan hung around JC. That’s how we met.”

  Isaac wanted him to cut to the chase already. “What can I do for you?”

  Mark looked over at Charles and then back to Isaac. “Can we talk in private?”

  He told Elizabeth that he would talk to her later, then turned back to Mark. “Come on out here.” Isaac walked into an empty room on the opposite side of their waiting area. “What’s up?”

  Mark wrung his hands. “Sir, I’m real sorry for what happened to Donavan, but I think I know who did it.”

  “How would you know that?”

  “’Cause it has to be the same guy that killed Baby Dee and JC. According to JC, some dude named Lou ratted us out to Mickey Jones.”

  Again, someone was accusing Mickey. Isaac’s stomach turned, like it did when he was ten years old and his grandmother had told him five of the neighborhood kids came to her complaining about Isaac taking their lunch money—“Everybody ain’t gon’ tell the same lie,” his grandmother had said when Isaac denied bullying the kids. Mickey was guilty.

  “Why do you think Mickey did this?”

  “’Cause the four of us robbed him a couple weeks ago.”

  Isaac’s brow went up. “The four of who?”

  “JC, Baby Dee, Donavan and myself. We robbed one of Mickey’s crack houses. Word on the street was, he didn’t take it so well.”

  “I told Donavan not to hang around that JC. I knew nothing good would come out of it. Looking at the boy’s mama and daddy, a fool could see that JC wasn’t gon’ be nothing.” Balling his fist, Isaac pounded on the wall. What was Donavan thinking? What would an eleven-year-old need with money so bad he’d steal to get it? But even as he asked the question, he remembered stealing from a grocery store when he was Donavan’s age. “Why does it always come back around?” he asked the walls, wind, and the air. No one answered. He turned back on Mark. “How did you manage to stay alive?”

  “I went back to college. You know, got out of Dodge,” Mark told him before grief covered his face. “But JC was my best friend. We go way back.”

  Isaac shook his head. “Why would grown men use a kid to rob somebody?”

  Again Mark said, “Sir, I’m sorry. I should have never gone to JC with my financial problems. Now my best friend is dead and your son is fighting for his life.” Mark slumped down in the chair against the wall and cried out. “Oh, God, forgive me. Please.”

  Isaac turned cold eyes on Mark. God had better forgive him, ’cause he never would. Isaac wasn’t about to forgive Mickey or JC’s hell rotting behind either. Storming out of the room, Isaac had but one thought on his mind. Find Mickey and make him pay.

  “Hey, where are you going?” Keith asked when he saw Isaac heading down the corridor.

  “I’ve got some business to take care of. I’ll be back.”

  Keith caught up with him. “Pastor McKinley is on his way back out here. We’re going to have a prayer vigil for Nina and Donavan.”

  Was Keith crazy? Had he lost his mind? Isaac’s woman—or at least she should have been his woman—and son were laid up in the hospital because somebody he had once fed shot them. And they wanted to pray. He wasn’t taking this one on bended knee. “You go pray. I’ve got things to do.”

  Keith grabbed his friend’s shoulder. “I know that look, Isaac. Don’t do this.”

  Isaac didn’t answer.

  “I’m coming with you.”

  Isaac punched the down button for the elevator. “I don’t want you to miss your prayer meeting. I can handle my business alone.”

  “I’m going.”

  They rode in the car in silence. Keith praying, Isaac plotting. West Dayton hadn’t changed much, except that now his son had been gunned down on its mean streets. Isaac had tried to leave the violence behind him. Tried to do the right thing. But just like Apostle Paul, whenever Isaac tried to do good, evil followed him. He didn’t know how to shake it, and was tired of trying. The Godfather was right, every time you try to get out, some sucka pulls you back in.

  By the time they pulled in front of Lou’s shack, Isaac had turned like a dog back to his vomit. He banged on Lou’s door like the rent man with an eviction notice. “I know you’re in there, Lou. Don’t make me knock this door down.”

  “Hold on. What’s the emergency?” Lou said from within the house.

  Keith stood back.

  Lou opened the door and Isaac grabbed him by his throat. “You know what
it is, and don’t play me.”

  “Isaac, my man. It’s good to see you,” Lou said, the best he could with a hand clenching his throat.

  Breathing mean, mad dog air in Lou’s face, Isaac asked through clenched teeth, “Why didn’t you tell me what was going on, Lou?”

  “It’s not my fault, Isaac. I didn’t tell Mickey that Donavan had a part in the robbery. How was I supposed to know he’d find out?”

  Isaac pushed Lou away from him. “Where is he?”

  Lou shook his head. “He’s gone crazy, Isaac. That boy thinks he’s king of the hill around here. He’s killing everything in sight.”

  “Where is he?” Isaac demanded, slamming Lou against the wall.

  Lou raised his hands. “Calm down, man. The police have been looking for Mickey because of what he did to his girlfriend, so he’s been moving from place to place. The last I heard, he was holding up in one of his crack houses.”

  Isaac released him again. “You still got my stuff? Years ago, when Isaac got sent up, Lou went to his house and collected all his weapons. For safe keeping, he told Isaac.

  “You know I do.” He went into his basement and came back up with a huge box. When he opened it, one would have thought it was Fourth of July all over again. There were enough arsenals to blow up a city.

  “Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Isaac said as he reached in and grabbed his holster. “Come back to Daddy, baby.”

  Keith started sweating. “Isaac, think about what you’re doing.”

  Fastening the holster, Isaac ignored Keith. He rummaged through the box.

  “We should go back to the hospital and join that prayer group. We need to be praying for Donavan, Nina and Mickey.”

  Isaac found what he was looking for. Cold eyes turned to Keith. Cold and dangerous. “Look man, this is who I am. Now, if Mickey is stupid enough to throw rocks at me, I’m not going to bow down and pray for him.” His lip curled as he shoved his Glock in the holster. “I’m gon kill him.”

  Grabbing another gun and strapping it to his right ankle he told Keith, “You might want to run on back to the hospital. ’Cause this is where things get bloody.”