Murder, Mayhem & a Fine Man

by Claudia Mair Burney

  Good sons in the present tense. Does he know they’re dead? Or does he think I don’t know?

  I tried to smile. It must have worked. He returned a dingy grin and moved close enough to touch me, but didn’t.

  “It just kind of went from there,” I added before he could ask me more about the dead man. I decided to take an incredible risk—one that could hurt more than just myself. “I met Susan, too,” I said. I realized she could be somewhere in the house, but I wanted the attention away from Jonathan Vogel.

  He raised an eyebrow. “And what did she tell you about me?”

  “That she loves you.” Honestly, between my lungs and rapid heartbeat…

  “She said that?” He looked surprised.

  “Yes.” I tried to keep my teeth from chattering.

  You can do this, Bell.

  “Anything else?”

  “That seemed to be her focus. We didn’t talk much.”

  He nodded and seemed to consider what I’d said. He scooted closer still and placed his hand on my knee.

  I looked into his crazy, Charles Manson-like eyes.

  “I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t know you would return,” he said. “I am a man of revelation knowledge.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “You have been hurt, and it is hard for you to trust. You go through the motions, building a shell around yourself in order to insulate yourself from the world.”

  I let him go on.

  “You want to be loved so badly, Amanda, yet you sabotage yourself.”

  The depressing thing was he was right. “You think so?”

  “I’ll bet you choose men who are unavailable. I’ll bet you believe you’re in love right now with a man who won’t have you.”

  What? Do I have a big sign on my forehead that says “I love unavailable Jazz”? It unnerved me that this man could read me so well. I thought about what Jazz had told me. My eyes. Too expressive. They tell all. God help me.

  He droned on, but I refused to let him draw me in. I knew the kind of parlor tricks manipulators like him use to gain power. Yes, he’d changed. He was touched by evil when I saw him before—now he seemed to have made a deal with the devil, and the devil rewarded him. He still didn’t have numbers, though. His group was small, and this could benefit me or hurt me. Small meant I could possibly get away easier, because there were fewer people who would be obstacles in my flight. On the other hand, small meant he was less visible. He could hide more easily, and it could take authorities forever to find me. In either case, he posed a threat to me, especially while he was high. Methamphetamines can cause a person to turn violent or even psychotic at any time. Only God knew when the time bomb—now rubbing my thigh—would detonate.

  At that moment, I again became keenly aware of the beads Jazz had given me—beads he’d touched in his own prayers. I could picture him speaking tenderly to God.

  Our Father which art in heaven.

  My trembling hand went to my neck. Gabriel couldn’t see that I was touching the beads underneath the fabric of my blouse. God, I’m scared. Protect me.

  Gabriel drew circles on my thigh with his index finger. “You will never want for anything. You are mine. All that is mine, I will give to you.”

  Liar. Your father is the devil and the father of lies. God, help me.

  Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, in earth as it is in heaven.

  “You are a beautiful woman, Amanda. You came here because you belong to me.”

  My hand crept up a bit to touch another bead. I shuddered at his words. You belong to me. That—and calling me Dog—had been Adam’s constant refrain.

  Give us this day our daily bread.

  “Why are you touching your neck?”

  I pulled my hand away from the beads. I didn’t want him to take them. I remained mute. Where was I in the prayer?

  But deliver us from evil.

  No, that wasn’t where I had left off.

  But deliver us from evil.

  “You belong to me, beloved,” he said.

  I don’t belong to you. I belong to Christ. But deliver us from evil.

  “I am your God. Beside me there is none.”

  I belong to Christ. But deliver us from evil.

  “Renounce the man you love. Renounce all. Come to me.”

  Deliver us.

  “That man. Your family. Your few friends. They will never love you like I will.”

  Carly was right. I’d stopped living. My miniature world consisted of a few friends and my family. That’s all. Oh, God, if you get me out of here, I’ll open my heart. I’ll expand my world.

  I could feel the garnet beads warm against my neck—beads his mother had made with love. Again, I touched them, my fingers now where Jazz’s had been in supplication.

  Deliver us.

  He took my hand away from my neck and held it. “Renounce all, and come to me.” I couldn’t speak. My lungs felt on fire, and my mouth felt full of cotton.

  Dear Jesus, deliver us.

  Gabriel laughed, an evil, tinny sound, then hissed in a voice taut with anger, “Don’t be foolish. Do as I say.”

  Deliver us. Jazz. Me. Everyone—the few they are—who love me. Deliver us from evil.

  He growled, “You are mine.”

  My pleas to God became more desperate. Deliver us from evil.

  “I am your God. You belong to me.”

  I shook my head and prayed aloud, “For thine is the kingdom, and the power, and the glory, forever. Amen.”

  “I am your—”

  “No!” I screamed.

  His façade of kindness vanished. His face contorted into a devilish grin. He slapped me across my mouth so hard that my entire face went numb. I tasted my own blood.

  I’ve always loved the free-form prayers I’ve prayed most of my life. I couldn’t understand why others enjoyed fixed prayers when God was so very present. You could just express yourself—creatively, spontaneously—in any given moment.

  I tasted the sharp metallic tang of blood inside my mouth and I began to understand how those classic prayers offer a quiet assurance. They did not change, and God was just as present in them. One prayer anchored me now in the mercy of God, since my own words failed me. I was empty, save for the prayer that Jesus taught his disciples.

  I curled into myself. Like Rocky in his catatonic state, I gave myself wholly to God. The Lord’s Prayer became all I knew.

  Finally, the last thing I remember saying—“I belong to Jesus Christ.”

  Chapter

  Twenty-six

  FUZZY . DARK .

  My eyes fluttered. My vision blurred, then cleared a bit. The room was dark. I tried to lift my head from the futon. It ached. My whole body ached.

  No, worse than that; my whole body felt trampled, inflamed, and throbbing.

  Had he beaten me?

  Sticky, warm liquid pooled under my head. I put my fingers to it and looked. Blood. Copious amounts of blood. Further investigation led to the wound—a deep gash on my head. I tried to sit up, but a wave of dizziness thrust me back onto the ruined futon.

  Ruined with my blood.

  The thought felt odd, displaced, as though distant from me.

  I lay there knowing I needed medical attention but unable to do anything about it. In a motion slowed by agonizing pain in every muscle, I pressed my jacket against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding.

  My pants lay crumpled in a heap on the floor just out of reach. I checked my underwear. Although twisted and bunched, it was in the right place. But that tender, private area throbbed with pain.

  He hadn’t removed my blouse. Some of the buttons had been ripped off, yet the precious prayer beads remained hidden.

  “Thank you, Jesus.”

  After touching the beads reverently, I crawled over to my pants and struggled to put them back on. Trembling, I wondered, What did he do to me? Yet, I didn’t really want to know the answer. The potential truth scared me to the core of my being.
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  That fear put me on high alert—I knew I had to get out of there. I looked for a way of escape. Bars on the windows, locks on the heavy door, and I didn’t have a key.

  Dear Jesus, help me escape.

  I chastised myself. I guess I didn’t do a good enough job of emptying myself of preconceptions to play the role I’d hoped to play. Maybe there was nothing I could have done. Elisa was right. I shouldn’t have come. I curled into a ball on the futon, wondering if I would die here like this—dizzy, bleeding, and half conscious.

  The food had been knocked off the basket and was scattered on the floor.

  Don’t eat, I remembered Elisa saying.

  I rubbed my eyes and touched the beads at my neck. The garnet stones felt warm against my skin. My thoughts were hazy, but I could still pray.

  Our Father.

  My head seemed to echo the words, Father, Father, Father…Abba. But I couldn’t remember the other words.

  Forever, and deliver us…After this manner therefore, pray ye, forever. Thy kingdom come. I want to see my baby, Lord. Thy kingdom…Forever, baby girl.

  Tears flowed down my cheeks. I wasn’t sure why I was crying, or what my fractured prayer petitioned God for.

  The lock on the door clicked. The door squealed as it opened. I squinted at the light. A woman holding a small flashlight. Pretty little brown girl with green eyes.

  Elija? Elisha? No, her name is Elisa.

  Deliver us.

  She lowered the light and scooped me into her small arms. “I’m going to clean you up. He’ll come to you today. First you must fear him. Then you must love him.”

  “No.”

  “Shhh. You can’t fight him.”

  “Please let me call someone. Please, Elisa. I can help us.”

  “You can’t do that. If he finds out, he’ll kill us both. You belong to him. He will show you his love completely when he comes to you today.” She hesitated. “You’ll get used to it. You might even like it sometimes.”

  “Please. Please let me call someone.”

  “It’s no use. Surrender to him.”

  She was terrified of him. I couldn’t reason with her. “Elisa, he beat me because I love my family and friends.”

  “You can love none but him. Don’t you understand? It’s over for you. It’s over for me.”

  “Then let me say good-bye to just one person. Please. I love him. Just let me say good-bye. You can listen to everything I say.”

  “I can’t do that. I have to clean you up for when he comes to you later today.”

  “I’m hurt. I may be dying. Please let me say good-bye to the man I love. Please, Elisa.”

  Several minutes passed while she considered my request. She held on to me, stroking my hair. “They’re asleep. Be quiet. I’ll let you call him, but I have to make sure you don’t try to call anyone else. If Father finds out…”

  “Thank you.” I hoped the Lord had touched her heart, encouraging her to help me in spite of her instincts to do otherwise.

  “Save your strength.”

  She shifted her body and helped me get to my feet. She supported me, helping me creep down the hall with all the stealth we could manage to the ER—the Elvis room.

  “You have to be very quiet. He’s drunk and high and with Beryl. If she hears you, she’ll tell and he’ll kill us both.”

  “Okay,” I whispered.

  “You can’t call the police. If the police come, we won’t get out of here alive. We’ve practiced it many times.”

  “Okay,” I said. I understood. The police would bring on the apocalypse.

  Oh, God, what do I do?

  Call the police.

  I could hear Jazz’s voice in my head the day he’d shown up at my door when my phone was off the hook, “I am the police.”

  Call Jazz.

  I blinked my eyes, trying to bring his number back to memory. I had only a small window of opportunity. I couldn’t let Elisa know I was calling a cop. She was unpredictable and could turn foe as quickly as she had turned friend.

  God, help me remember.

  One. Three. One. Three. I paused. What was that number? I strained to recall. After all, I’d called his cell phone three times last night.

  One-three-one-three. I couldn’t remember any more than that. But the Detroit police homicide phone number—I’d called there many times for my job.

  Please, God. Help me remember.

  I blinked my eyes. Numbers came to my consciousness, and I pressed the digits quickly before they faded. I was growing weaker.

  A man answered on the first ring, and dear God, it was Jazz. He barked, “Brown,” into the receiver.

  “Jazz?”

  “Bell, where are you?” His voice sounded soft, entreating. Hearing him triggered a well of tears. “I’ve been worried sick all night,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep, so I came to work to try to see if I could figure out who this Gabriel guy is.”

  I had to word this very carefully. God have mercy. “I have a bad connection, Jazz. Can you hear me?”

  “You sound strange. Are you okay?”

  “I have a bad connection. Can you hear me?”

  “Yes, I can hear you, but you sound…” He paused as understanding dawned. “Are you safe?”

  “That’s better. I’m calling to say good-bye.”

  He was quiet for a moment. “Can they hear what I’m saying?”

  “No, but you should talk soft. I have a really bad head hurt. I mean, headache.”

  I could hear him muffle the phone and say, “Get a trace on this line.”

  Back on the line, he cooed into my ear, “I’ll find you. I’ll know your exact location in moments.”

  “Do you remember when we talked about the kind of man I’m looking for? I told you all about him.”

  “You found Gabriel?”

  Think, Bell. Don’t let her know what you’re doing. “It was Rocky getting here, but I found him. He’s everything I thought he would be, and more.”

  “Lord, have mercy.”

  “Very soon, I’m going to belong to him completely.”

  “You think he’s going to try to rape you?”

  “Yes, and then my life will be his.”

  “He’s going to kill you?”

  “I know it with all my heart.”

  “No, baby. I’m coming for you.”

  “It’s over for us. I wanted to say good-bye.”

  “It’s not over. We haven’t even gotten started.”

  “Good-bye, Jazzy. You tell everybody I said good-bye. You know who to tell.”

  “Nothing to tell, because I’m coming for you, so help me God. I’m on my way. I’m bringing the troops with me.”

  Elisa was getting impatient.

  “Go easy, Jazz. Okay?”

  “I hear you. They won’t know what hit ’em.”

  “You really are one of the good ones. Thank you for a minute of your time, Jazzy. You know what I’m saying?”

  I just wanted to be in love for a minute.

  “Do one thing for me,” he said. “Stay alive.”

  I hung up the phone. I felt faint; my knees buckled.

  “Let’s get you to the bathroom. I have to clean this mess before he sees it. Hurry,” Elisa said.

  I didn’t answer. I didn’t have the strength to. She would have to drag me.

  Chapter

  Twenty-seven

  ELISA PROPPED ME against a table.

  “Hang on,” she whispered.

  I literally hung on to the table. “I’m praying for you, Elisa. To my God, not to Gabriel.”

  She nodded. “My grandmother is a Christian.”

  “Mine was, too. I’ll bet they’re both interceding—praying for us right now.”

  On earth as it is in heaven.

  Elisa checked the hallway, then practically dragged me to the bathroom. She drew a bath while I rested against the wall. I didn’t know how I would make it into the tub, let alone out of the house, alive.

  Sh
e unbuttoned my blouse. I didn’t have the energy to protect my beads. When she saw them, she grazed her finger across them, reverently. Her eyes looked as though she’d been transported to a faraway place. “Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner,” Elisa said.

  The Jesus prayer. I didn’t know how she knew it, but I suspected it had something to do with that grandmother of hers.

  She undressed me, leaving the beads around my neck. With her help, I clambered into the bathtub. The water was warm and soothing. I leaned back against the tiles, still cool to the touch, and closed my eyes as the water washed over me. A washcloth in Elisa’s tender hand cleansed me of blood, yet everywhere she touched felt like an open wound.

  I tried to speak to her, but I felt so weak. I wished I could say something that would minister to her as she so aptly served me. I decided to leave that to Jesus. My job was to stay alive.

  “What time is it?”

  “It’s five A.M.”

  I coughed again, feeling sicker than ever. “We have to get out of here, Elisa.”

  She pulled up the stopper in the tub. The bloody water swirled down the drain. I kneeled in the tub as Elisa toweled me off and then dressed me in a white cotton sheath. She wadded up the towel and tossed it in a basket.

  “The police are coming for me.”

  “What?”

  “The police. They’re coming. We have to leave.”

  I watched as understanding dawned on her face. “Oh, my God,” she said, and I don’t think she was talking about Gabriel. She turned to look at me, puzzled. “Who did you call?”

  “My friend. I called my friend.”

  “Did he…but you didn’t…I heard everything you said.”

  “You have the keys, Elisa. Get us out of here.”

  “I can’t leave him.”

  “Yes, you can. I promise you it will be okay.”

  She looked torn. Tears sprang to her eyes. “I don’t know what to do.”

  “Help me. Get us out of here. I promise I will help you.”

  “If the police come, they’re going to wake up. He’ll offer us the sacrament, and we’ll all go with him to paradise. We’ve practiced it so many times. I have to go with him.”