“Keisha…”
She stopped me before I could continue. Stepping closer to me, she revealed her truest feelings. Her words were no surprise. “Me, my mother and Brian, it was always the three of us; until you came into the picture. I wanted to tell her about Brian. My big brother is gone. He was like a father to me. But you took him away when y’all got married. And now you’re trying to take my mother. I ain’t having it.”
“Brian was taken from all of us.” My voice didn’t spew anger, but she knew I wasn’t having it either.
Her eyes darted around the lobby, and her body language toned down.
“I’m leaving now. We’re leaving the house at nine o’clock on Friday morning if you would like to ride with us. I hope you do. I know you don’t like me, but I don’t have anything against you.”
She didn’t respond. But, I felt the need to tell her what was on my heart. “I love you.”
I knew not to make any physical contact, even though I wanted to hug her. As I walked out of the door, I felt her eyes following me.
As Pastor Smith wrapped up the eulogy, I laid my head on Vanessa’s shoulder. She stroked my cheek and brought me out of my mental fog with a simple question. “Are you alright?”
I answered her with a shrug.
Trying not to focus on Brian’s casket, I looked around the pews and as inconspicuous as they tried to be, I noticed the detectives and the undercover police officers. Is this my new normal?
Police officers and detectives asked me question after question. It seemed that I was able to remember more in my dreams than when they questioned me; waking up drenched in sweat, screaming Brian’s name, Tracy and Vanessa running into my room holding me, praying with me, helping me to get back to sleep.
Keisha’s scream brought me out of my daze. “My brother.” She tried to run to Brian’s casket as the pallbearers began to carry it out of the church. Someone, whom I assumed was her boyfriend, held her back. I prayed that she didn’t fall because we would’ve seen everything under her short skirt. She finally relented and laid in his arms. The sadness that filled her moaning was heart-wrenching.
I was sad, too, but right now probably more mad, no beyond mad. I wanted that fool caught. He’d taken my life away, my love away from me. I’d never find that unconditional love again. I didn’t care what we needed to do, Brian’s murderer would be caught and have his day in court.
Chapter 6
“M.J., don't slam cousin Lachelle's screen door like that.” Brian's cousin Karen screamed as one of her twin sons ran from the kitchen into the backyard.
“Chelle, just say the word, and I'll throw these ninjas out.” Tracy non-whispered to me. She was the epitome of my 'ride or die chick'; I was Louise to her Thelma. We had been friends since Marcus Jones was teasing me in the fourth grade at Our Lady of Eternal Peace Elementary School and she blackened his eye. Even though we’d just met, she said she couldn’t stand him and was waiting for a reason to whack him.
I had recently moved to Anacostia with my foster mother and father, who eventually adopted me. Since I didn’t have any sisters or brothers, Tracy became family.
Before I could respond, she almost dived to save one of my favorite floor lamps from crashing after the other twin bumped into it. Tracy dashed behind him, grabbing the back of his shirt. All I saw were his little legs running in the air. A chuckle escaped my mouth for the first time in days.
Since the day of Brian’s murder, all I wanted to do was to curl up in my bed and die, too. But, I didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for me.
Vanessa needed to catch the red-eye back to L.A. tonight. My line sister was an up and coming actress, trying her best to become the next Taraji P. Henson. She’d majored in acting when we were at Howard University, minoring in musical theatre. My girl could ‘sang.’ Although she was the quintessential valley girl, she’d created a t-shirt that read, ‘Yes, I’m Black. Yes, it’s my hair. And no, don’t touch’. Even as her straight, black hair adorned her flawless brown skin, Tracy often called Vanessa a ‘blond.’
Vanessa grew up attending the most prestigious private schools, and her parents paid full freight. Her family owned a chain of fried chicken fast food joints in L.A.
Standing at the counter in the kitchen, overlooking my dining room, I noticed Vanessa making small talk with my church family, so many of them huddled in the den watching TV. The way they looked at her, I could tell some seemed to recognize her, but couldn’t place from where.
Sister Maxine eventually placed where she had seen Vanessa. “You were one of the victims in the TV show Criminal Minds, weren’t you?” She didn’t even give Vanessa a chance to answer before she asked for Vanessa’s autograph.
“I’m not really famous.” Vanessa said.
“You’re famous to me.” Sister Maxine said as she pulled a napkin and pen from her purse and pushed both in Vanessa’s face.
Vanessa obliged, and of course, they took a selfie.
As the talk show Ellen went off, I heard the early evening news coming on. My knees buckled when I saw Brian’s face on the screen, causing me to drop a plate in the sink.
Every eye turned to me, and Brother Dwight shouted.
“Turn off the TV!”
“No.” I said, though my voice wasn’t as loud as his. “Leave it on.” Now, all eyes turned away from me, and we focused on the television. The reporter stood on the corner of 11th and H Streets in Northeast.
“I’m Shamari Stone, and I’m standing outside of Ben’s Chili Bowl in N.E. where a man was gunned down last week rushing to the aid of a woman in an apparent domestic dispute. His funeral was held today.”
The camera spanned the restaurant as children jumped in hoping for their five seconds of fame.
Shamari continued. “Police are asking that anyone who knows this man, Jeffrey Bryant, to come forward as he is a person of interest in this case. Again if you see this man, please contact the Metropolitan Police Department.”
Person of interest. Pacing the kitchen from the breakfast nook to the stove, I thought I said, “A person of interest,” in my head, but when everyone’s eyes turned to me, I knew I hadn’t.
That was him. I’d never forget that face.
Sister Maxine pushed her tray table to the side and walked into the kitchen. As she reached to hug me, I was fixated on the TV because to my surprise the Chief of Police exited the restaurant.
Shamari hurried over to get an update. “Chief Thomas, have there been any breaks in the case? What’s the current status of the investigation?”
“Shamari, as we reported, Jeffrey Bryant is a person of interest in this case. We’d like to talk to him. If anyone provides information that leads to the conviction of a suspect, there is a ten thousand dollar reward.”
“Thank you, Chief Thomas.”
The Chief of Police nodded and made his way through the people to his car.
Shamari continued. “We now know that there is a ten thousand dollar reward for any information leading to a conviction in this case. I’m Shamari Stone with NBC-4 news.”
The city had a lot at stake to ensure that the gentrified areas were safe. I understood that. But, who put up the reward money? I knew the city didn’t put up that much money for the death of a black man. No one had said anything to me about requesting donations for a reward; not the coaches, not the school, not the Men’s fellowship at church.
“Sister Lachelle.” Brother Dwight called out. “Did you know about the reward money?” He was one of the men closest to Brian at church. He was also a veteran of the Metropolitan D.C. Police Department.
I shook my head. “I have no idea who posted it.”
Brother Dwight walked over to the kitchen where Sister Maxine and I were standing. I knew that he wanted to speak with me with more privacy. Sister Maxine must’ve sensed it, too. She filled her plate with chicken wings and rejoined the other church members in the den.
Turning to look back to ensure that no one was listening, he whispered.
“You know that I’m doing everything I can to get information on the investigation. I can tell you that the woman Brian protected, told the investigators who he was but that she didn’t know where he was hiding.”
I’d like to think that if I were in her shoes, I would’ve told them everything I knew; where he hung out, who his running buddies were, anything to help bring closure to the family of the man who’d saved my life.
Brother Dwight’s next comment brought me back to our conversation. “Sister Lachelle, we’re determined to bring that fool in, dead or alive.”
Dead or alive. No, I wanted to see him alive. The man that took my life away from me, I wanted to see him.
“I hope he’s brought in alive. I want him to go to trial and sit in jail for as long as he can for killing Brian. Death would be too easy, too quick.”
As Brother Dwight nodded, the reward money stayed on my mind. It seemed that someone had a vested interest in the capture of Brian’s murderer. But, who?
Chapter 7
Tracy stayed with me for a few days. At a certain point, I wanted to be alone. If my mama was still here, she’d take care of me like I was a baby. If my daddy were still alive, he’d be out on the streets asking people what they knew about Brian’s murder. I knew that Tracy and Vanessa cared for me and I guessed after a few days, I was finally ready to talk. But, first I needed to eat.
As I walked down the steps, I noticed the wilted, funeral flowers, sad and lifeless. How appropriate. Then I walked into the kitchen and opened the refrigerator. I couldn’t believe all of the food that was still here, even though the funeral was five days ago. The baby had to eat; I kept reminding myself. The paper plates that piled up on my nightstand betrayed my normal, spotless home. Cleaning would wait.
As I struggled to open the living room window to let some fresh air in, I saw Tracy’s car swerve around the corner to park outside of my house. I stood there watching as she slammed the car door and marched up the steps.
Growing up, when I saw this level of seriousness on Tracy’s face, I knew there was a problem; a problem that she was gonna solve. She had never been a big girl. Her five-foot-three, one-hundred and twenty-five-pound frame often put people at ease. But, that girl could fight, and she was a bully. It was her way of telling the world ‘don’t let the light skin and small package fool you.’
Not only was she like this with women, but with men, too. I think she scared most of them away. And for those men who liked a good fight, she combatted them with her tongue. Fighting was her life; the source of her anger was her absentee father.
I didn’t let her knock on the door; I opened it before she could. Tracy crossed the threshold, stopped, looked me up and down, and continued walking into the living room. If I couldn’t detect her attitude, her rolling eyes and the sound of her heels hitting the floor gave it away. She dropped her keys into her Michael Kors bag. “I’m glad you’re alive, but you look terrible.”
Tracy gave tough love. The only thing I could do was chuckle. My stained gray sweatpants, mismatched socks and one of Brian’s wife beaters, which still smelled like him, hung over my shoulders.
“Thanks, I love you too.” Even though she had already walked past me, I held the door open wider and pretended I was inviting her in with an extension of my arm.
She kicked her shoes off, a sign that she wasn’t leaving anytime soon. “You know we’ve been calling and calling. You didn’t have to do this alone. A short text would’ve been nice.”
I closed the door. Plopping down on the couch, I tapped the cushion next to me and motioned for Tracy to sit down. I knew by the arch in her eyebrows that she suspected something.
She sat down and reached her arms out to me. “I didn’t want to come in here fussing, but we were worried. You know that West Coast friend of yours had been texting and calling me. I played nice because I knew she was your second best friend after me. I told her to give you a few days. But then you weren’t taking my calls either.”
“What would you say if I told you that I was pregnant?”
If her eyes could, they would’ve popped out of their sockets. She answered me emphasizing each word. “I’d say that you’ve been sitting in here trippin’.”
Stretching my legs out on the ottoman, I leaned my head back and closed my eyes. When I opened them, Tracy was staring at me.
“You’re serious.” She asked, but it was more of a statement. Nervous energy told me to pull the straps of Brian’s undershirt up onto my shoulders. I couldn’t believe I was discussing this pregnancy with anyone other than him. “Yes, and I’m scared.”
Tracy sat up and leaned closer to me. “Did Brian know?”
The memories of that day came flooding back. Through the tears I responded. “He knew. The doctor confirmed it for us that morning.”
She knew the morning I was talking about.
Worry lines formed on Tracy’s forehead and compassion poured from her eyes. “Oh Chelle, I’m sorry. Why didn’t you tell me?”
In the back of my head, I heard Diana Ross singing Good Morning Heartache. My mother played that like it was her fight song. They say depression is hereditary, but I’m adopted. I guess spirits didn’t concern themselves with DNA.
“I can give you excuse after excuse. But, you know what depression does to me. I just wanted to isolate myself.”
The silence that ensued was loud. After a minute Tracy and I were able to discuss the events of July 1, 1993, the day Christian was born…still.
“Lachelle.” Tracy knew to whisper in this moment. The fog in my head didn’t allow me to open my eyes, but I recognized my best friend’s voice.
“Lachelle.”
I nodded, this time so she’d know that I wasn’t asleep. “I saw your mother in the hallway.”
Translation: I know what happened to the baby.
Fighting sedation, I won the battle. In a blink, my eyes adjusted to the light filtering through the blinds. “Please close them.” Sun equated to happiness. There was nothing happy here.
After cooperating, she dragged a chair and pulled it beside my hospital bed. Tracy held my hand and her warmth cascaded through my body.
“Are you in pain?”
Pain. I guess it depended on what kind of pain. I didn’t feel anything. I wiggled my toes and moved my fingers; no physical pain. But, how long would I have to get over the emotional pain of not taking my baby home?
A tear rolled down my face. “No, just groggy.”
Once I found out that I was pregnant, it took a while before I could wrap my head around having a baby right after I graduated from high school; talk about an unplanned pregnancy. But, as he grew inside of me, so did my love for him.
Tracy loved him, too. She was gonna be his Godmother. She’d purchased his first pair of Jordan’s and the cutest little Nike shirt and shorts.
“Who else did you see?” I asked wondering if John possessed some sort of superpower that could transport him here within hours.
“I saw Mrs. Braxton out there huddled up with a nurse, looking like she was signing some papers, talking ‘bout, ‘you almost messed this up.’”
Almost messed this up. What did that mean?
That’s when I felt a punch in my stomach. Was this the pain coming to the surface? Like the sudden burst of a blackhead, tears erupted. They flowed and flowed; Tracy wiped each one.
As the tears flowed down our faces at the memory, Tracy asked, “Can you go through that again?”
I knew what she meant, although she’d never say it. ‘Are you sure you should have this baby’ was what she was thinking.
Etching my index finger into the dust on the coffee table, I said, “Brian and I had the same discussion, before…”
“You know I’m here for you, regardless of your decision.” “I know, I’m gonna listen to God and see what He tells me to do. I believe that I already know His answer, but I’m in serious listening mode.”
“Okay, we’ll leave the conversation there for today. But, don�
��t do anything without telling me.”
“Never,” I told her.
Jumping up to get her bag, Tracy pulled out her Mac. After situating herself on the couch, she opened it up to show me flyers that she started.
“What is it that you Christians say, ‘Faith without works is dead,’ right?”
“Stop it. You’re a Christian.”
“Well, I’m not one of those churchy folks, going around talking all holier than thou. If you ask one of the girls in the shop how is she doing, you always get some type of churchy response, ‘blessed and highly favored,’ ‘too blessed to be stressed.’ Chica, please.”
I couldn’t help but contemplate on Tracy’s Christian comment. Could you be a Christian and have anger toward God? Did my depression lead to this anger or vice versa? How could God love me and take away my earthly joy?
“Earth to Lachelle,” Tracy summoned me out of my head.
“I started these flyers so that we could post them around the area and on social media to help track that fool down.”
That hadn’t even occurred to me. If she could do it, then I could assist.
“Let’s do this. I’m ready to walk back into the world. Let me grab my superwoman cape.”
“You don’t need it; you have me. Just like always.”
Chapter 8
Breathe. Just breathe.
The cameras, the microphones…this was a lot. People called me an introvert. I was quiet, but never shy; they were two different things. While other kids were always loud, and voicing their opinions about what they would and wouldn’t do, I kept most of my thoughts in my head. But, when asked to do something that others might feel uncomfortable doing, I stepped up to the plate.
Danielle Banks, a church member and one of the local broadcast journalists, reached out to me about doing an interview, to spread the word that Brian’s murderer had not been caught and about the $10,000 reward. Someone knew where he was; helping him to hide.
I sat and watched as the production team staged my living room.
Carrying my favorite vase with both hands, Tracy asked, “Can the flowers fit in here?”
Faith Alone Page 4
