BOMAW 7-9

by Mercedes Keyes

  "There's nothing left to say." She returned.

  Oscar smiled. So you are home. "Please, Bea...please...come on. Can't hurt to talk."

  "I'm not going to change my mind. I've paid my own rent."

  "I know. But—how much longer can you go on doing that? Let me in. I'm not leaving until you let me in. Until we talk, then I'll go, after we talk—if—if, that is, you're still wanting me to."

  He heard the chain slide back on the door and then the tumble of the deadbolt, stepping back, she opened the door and let him in. Oscar stepped inside, and because it was the first time, he looked around in wonder. For all the money he had given her, he expected anything but what he saw. There was no blatant, or overt furnishings, gaudy or otherwise. What he saw, was a room dominated by pictures of her boys. One of them, his. They were all over the walls, almost everywhere you looked. Her furniture was clean, but beige and simple. Everywhere, beige and white, with only the life of plants to adorn it. It seemed, anywhere she could put a plant, there it was. Across the windows, the only luxury; ornate drapes, that brought everything else in the room into the blend. Curiosity getting the best of him, Oscar walked to one wall that was covered with the boy he knew was his. He was good-looking. A blend between them both. With his eyes, and highlights of his blond coloring. He looked them all over. She had them arranged, with one wall, Jeremiah, the other wall, Maxwell.

  "He's a good-looking boy, isn't he." He commented, his back to her.

  "Both my boys good-looking." She replied.

  Oscar turned looking around and commented, "All the money I passed you, this the best you could do?"

  "There's no pride in filling my home with things bought by money earned disgracefully. What do you want?"

  Oscar stared at her, and felt fear stirring within his gut. Staring at her, he realized that Bea Rose, was too good for him. That was the main reason he wanted her so. Every wicked soul, needed one something good that belonged solely to him. She was that, that one something good—for him. This time apart made him want her more, he wanted her back. "How long you gonna carry on with this craziness? I shouldn't have fired you. I'm apologizing for that. I—I brought you—some—more money." He announced, nervous, reaching into his suit pocket.

  "I don't want it. I don't want no more from you, Oscar. For once, I feel good—about myself. I feel clean again. You firing me, forcing me to do what I need to do, was the best thing you could have ever done. I've been looking for another job. Haven't found one yet, but I will. I made up my mind, whatever I need to do, long as I have my boys—we'll be all right. So—there's no need in you coming here and apologizing. Keep your money, and find yourself someone else, someone new."

  "That's easy to say now, no doubt you've been hoarding the money away—but it won't last forever."

  "No...it won't, that's true. But I'm careful. My boys, they have everything they need. I've put money away for both of them, in their name for later—"

  "You'll end up going in that! I can—I can give you money—for them! I'll help you, Bea—put money in their accounts—both of them." He pulled the money out, feeling a bit desperate suddenly.

  "No...I've taken enough from you, all I'm going to. You've taken enough from me, all you're going to. What I've given you of myself, was not worth the money you gave me. I can't let you kill my soul—Oscar T.—I can't have it so I can't even pray to the Lord. You make me ashamed to bow my head at night and pray. I need God above and my boys—in my life, not you. I need you—to take your money—and go on now."

  Oscar stood with his heart beating like crazy in his chest. "Bea Rose..." He moved towards her, needing to touch her, "Come on, now...what's gotten into you. All this time, you and me, me and you...I've been good to you, Bea...I've been good to you. Haven't I? I ever hurt you, Bea? I mean...I know I might, get a little rough, now and then—but—it's what you make me feel. I made you feel good too, Bea, you can't say that I didn't. I know I did."

  She moved around her living room, towards the kitchen, she knew him, he would take her if given the chance. "I want you to leave. I want you to go, it is—over. Final, finished—never again."

  "No! What do you want me to do, Bea?" He rushed her, grabbing her to him. Bea started pushing him away, refusing to let him kiss her as he was trying to do. "Okay, okay—you want me to beg, Bea?! That what you want...you want me to beg? Come on, Bea—please...haven't I been good to you? Want me on my knees, Bea Rose?"

  "You don't get it! I can't live this way! I can't go on being your kept whore! Paying me to—to let you...I—I want to live decently! I want to be able to hold my head up and not feel ashamed! Now let go of me, Oscar, let go!"

  "I've done the best I can for you, Bea...haven't I?"

  "You've done nothing but what you all do! Throw money around like it's the fix-all and want-all! Like that makes you something special! Well, it don't! Nothing special about a bunch of people that don't give a care about no one, but themselves! Using people, like you use me—nooo—don't!" She was turning her head way from him trying to force a kiss on her. "I'll scream, Oscar! I mean it, now! I will—" He covered her mouth with his, forcing a kiss on her, shaking in his desperation to have her. She fought him like she'd never done before; breaking his heart because he couldn't get her to stop this. He couldn't get her to give in to him, like she'd done before. Desperate to bring him out of his hungry need to have her, she pushed his face away and shouted, "THERE'S ANOTHER MAN!" She was breathing hard, so was he when he stopped and stared at her. "That's right. There's another man. A black man! A tall and beautiful, honest and good—black man! You wouldn't—know nothing about that—would you, Oscar T.—about being, honest—and good. Decent! Well he is...now let me go!"

  Fury shot through Oscar T. and he forced a kiss on her again, until Bea began fighting him in earnest this time. Refusing to give in to him. She went to scream out, and he tried covering her mouth with his hand. Tears filled his eyes and spilled over at the image of another man with her. Touching her. A black man. She was his. Bea Rose Franklin was his. He began sobbing at the insanity that shot through him, "I—love—loved you, Bea—trusted you—please!"

  "NOOO!" She screamed, fighting to get his hand from her mouth. In the struggle, Oscar's hand slid to her throat. Slid to her thin, beautiful, graceful neck and began squeezing. His face wet with tears, he stared into her eyes, and felt a sob well up from deep within; shaking her, and squeezing. Tears streamed from Bea's eyes as she realized, he wasn't letting go, he was killing her. She swung out, hitting him, gripping his wrists, clawing the skin from the back of his hands as they squeezed. Bea's eyes rolled back, and soon the struggling ceased until she became limp. Oscar was panting as panic seared his soul. He lowered her to the floor, staring at her.

  "Bea!? Oh, no..." He covered his mouth and shot to his feet. Panicking, he looked around the room, as if someone might have seen him. With his hands in his hair, holding it back, his head swam, scared. He'd killed her. He fell to his knees again and lifted her, shaking her. "Bea! Please! Nooo!" He agonized over what he'd done. She was dead. He let her go, snatching his hands from her. Leaping to his feet, he went to her window and looked out. No one around. "Bea Rose! Bea Rose! Why'd you make me do that!? Why?! I loved you, Bea! You were mine! How could you let another man touch you! When you knew you were mine!" Oscar felt crazy. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't think. He rushed to the table and picked up the money. Putting it back in his pocket. Nervous he looked around the room. Realizing he was in trouble. They would find out who did this. He went through his pockets, looking for a handkerchief. He needed to wipe away fingerprints, proof that he'd been there. Pulling things from his pocket, he removed the note she wrote him. Opening it, he read it again. It was then, right then and there, that he knew what he must do.

  Looking at her ornate draperies, he went to them and closed them. Pulling the cord towards him, he swung them over the heavy rod and gave it a tug, it was strong. Turning back to Bea, he lifted her slight form over his sho
ulder, unfolded her to lean propped up against the wall, and wound the cord around her neck, knotting it in the back and stood away carefully.

  She hung.

  He cried out in agony.

  His hands shaking as he gripped his hair, he suddenly jerked around and rushed to her kitchen sink, vomiting. Shaking his head to rid it of the image. Rinsing his mouth, fighting back sobs. He kept his head down, refusing to look at her again. He wiped up everywhere he touched as quickly as he could. Laid the note she wrote him on the table, and prayed that whoever found her, took it as a suicide note. He took one of her kitchen chairs, and laid it on its side as if she'd kicked it from beneath her. Giving the apartment one more look around, he bolted her front door back up, chain back on, and went to the boys room. There was a fire escape from their window. Oscar climbed out on it, shutting the window back and was gone. That had been the turning point in his life; killing Bea Rose. From that point onward, had corrupted him beyond redemption. Killing Bea, had lifted away the limits to what he would do. Losing her, meant that he had nothing left to lose. The cloak of cold calculation became his suit of armor—from that day forward, Oscar T. simply didn't give a damn.

  Back to present...

  Oscar sat in his car, driving back home. Every now and then, he realized a lone tear rolled. He was under investigation. They were digging around. Because of Jeremiah Franklin, every nook and cranny surrounding him that could be located, was being picked clean. Suddenly Oscar slammed on the breaks, he'd almost rear-ended a motorist before him. The sudden stop made him jerk forward, righting himself, suddenly wafting through his car, was the slightest scent of Charisma. The scent made him inhale sharply. He broke out in a sweat. Like a light flicking on, then off—his mind showed him the picture of Bea hanging at the window, with the blink of his eyes, she was gone. Horns started blowing behind him. Oscar swallowed and drove off, denying what was happening to him. It was all coming back to him now. Brought on by that Jeremiah Franklin. It was all his fault. He was trying to undo all the years it had taken Oscar to forget.

  "You don't know who you're fucking with, boy!" Oscar declared heatedly. They were out to get him. But they wouldn't get him. No, they wouldn't. Because before he went down, he would take everyone he could down with him. He was not going down alone. He thought about Georgiana. Wishing he had choked her to death instead. Again he blinked and saw Bea, the next blink she was gone. Oscar whimpered as if about to cry, then shook it off. "Bea Rose, you leave me alone, now. You leave me alone." Growling and angry at himself for letting them get to him, he was determined to fight. It wasn't over yet. He had a plan. Not only would he make sure that all found Georgiana mentally incompetent, he would turn the heat of the investigation away from himself. All those that played a part in humiliating him would pay for this. It never registered in Oscar's mind that the wheels of justice, had long ago stopped turning for him. Time had run out, they now, were starting up again. Oscar didn't figure that he should be punished for wrongs done by him, when the whole world, in his eyes, was all wrong! Nothing was right! Nothing was as it should be! If it were—Bea would have never rejected him. She would have loved him, as he had loved her. Oscar gnashed his teeth, another tear rolled. See what they're doing to you? Stop thinking about her! It's been years! Years! Stop thinking about her! Nodding his head, Oscar knew that was the key. Just as he'd fought like the devil to forget her, forget what he'd done—he would forget again. The only reason he was thinking about her again, was because of her boys. He couldn't believe the news report that exonerated all blame of gang activity as the cause for the shooting against Deidre. When they showed his now—adult son—the child he knew as his bastard, interviewing him, asking him how did it feel to be a hero, along with the young girl that helped him—save Deidre's life, Oscar thought he would have a coronary. Deidre, the emergency team that attended them, and the police, all admitted—that they—had saved her life. At the end of the report, the reporter had then asked, "Now, this raises a question? Who, in fact, did—attempt to murder, heiress Deidre Charlotte Wherrington, of B.W. Finance? Stay tuned as the investigation continues. I'm Tanya Hyde at KLAC News6!"

  That had been when it happened. When the creaky door swung open, and his nightmarish hell from the past, came back to life within his mind. Seeing his boy, Maxwell Franklin on TV, brought it all back. Intensified by his brother. Well, he wasn't done yet. He wasn't done fighting. Oscar knew, that if he played his cards right, he could concoct a motive for someone else, wanting to kill Deidre Wherrington. With all that he had on him, he could use the media to his advantage. Who would argue that a man capable of porn, present at a shooting that involved the lost life of a young girl—might not also be capable of plotting to kill his ex-wife. Oscar smiled. His mind working, as his words, carefully chosen, came to be. He knew what to do now. Knew how to buy himself more time. Knew how to turn the tides of the investigation. This time, he would be careful, he would wait until the moment was just right, and he would blow them all away. This Memorial Day weekend wasn't ending so badly after all, he decided, watching the setting sun. No, not so bad at all.

  Chapter 178

  Finally, back home.

  To Deidre, it seemed she'd been gone forever. Even with the bodyguards Jeremiah had interviewed and hired for her, putting an end to certain freedoms and privacy—was not enough to put a damper on being back in her own place. Not until he was satisfied with whom he had found, did he give in to her request to go home. Deidre was smiling as she laid her cane aside. Unpacking her suitcase, she couldn't help but smile. Before letting her return home, she'd spent the evening with the brothers celebrating Memorial Day weekend, and meeting their foster mother Felicia Campbell. She enjoyed being in association with them, with real people, real emotions and feelings. So different from what she was accustomed to, growing up as she had. During that time with the brothers, meeting their foster mother, she learned quite a bit about the past. Confirmation of something she already knew, that her father had been sleeping with their mother. Unable to help herself, she'd asked,

  "How did you know?"

  "I didn't at first." Jeremiah started out. Then turned to his brother, "But, look at him. As time went by, I put two and two together."

  Maxwell was quiet at that point. Deidre turned to him and asked, "So, you know? That my father, and your father—are possibly the same?"

  "There's no 'possibly' about it! My mother never dated. She never saw anyone the whole time I was with her. Yet, she was pregnant. When else could it have happened, but while at work? Working at Wherrington house?"

  "So, you're sure then?"

  "Pretty much." Jeremiah answered. "My brother and I had money in the bank. When she "killed" herself—there was two thousand, five hundred in my account and five thousand in Maxwell's. You tell me, where in the heck, does a black maid get that kind of money? In her own account, that she paid bills out of, there was three thousand. How else is that to be explained?"

  "I see your point. So, I guess it's true then?" She asked Maxwell.

  "That's what I been told." He'd answered simply. "No sense in arguing about it, worrying about it."

  "How does that make you feel? I mean—"

  "It don't make me feel nothin'! I guess somebody had to be the one." He replied. "How do it make you feel? I mean—you and I—well...that makes us, brother an' sister."

  "Half." Jeremiah added.

  He looked at his brother, "So are we—for that much."

  Deidre nodded again—startled by it all. "There are stranger things in life, than that. It takes a bit of getting used to—I guess. If it's any consolation to you, you're nothing like him. Perhaps, more like your mother." She assured him, finding it strange that here sat her brother—half brother.

  "Do you remember her?" Jeremiah asked, bringing her from her musing.

  Deidre nodded as they all sat at the kitchen table of Felicia's home. Eating barbecue ribs, corn on the cob, and the other foods of that day. "I remember her very well. She wa
s ever so gentle. Soft spoken and kind. Quiet as a mouse, and often, she smiled at me, with a blend of understanding, pity and compassion. Yeah, I remember her." She reflected back to what she strongly recalled about her.

  "You think she was the type to kill herself?" Jeremiah asked her next.

  Deidre didn't know what to say. With no answer, she could only give a slight shrug and gentle shake of her head.

  "My mother didn't kill herself. I know that." Jeremiah declared.

  "Honey, don't get going on that. You keep forgetting about the note they found." Felicia reminded Jeremiah.

  "I'm not forgetting. I don't care what that note said, she would not have left us that way. After getting fired, she was happier. Smiling all the time, singing. She was, from time to time, talking to this man who lived above us. I don't remember his name, but I remember that she was happy after they talked. I thought, maybe—finally—she would date, have someone for herself, instead of always spending her time with us. Why—would she kill herself?"

  "If you don't mind me asking, who…found her?" Deidre had asked.

  "My mother was dependable when it came to getting us from school. She was no longer working, so she always picked Maxwell up first, and then swung by to get me. She didn't show up. Maxwell's school called our house and there was no answer. When they couldn't get a hold of her, one of the teachers decided to bring Maxwell to get me. I was pacing like crazy that day, wondering what was going on. When that teacher pulled up with Maxwell—I knew something was wrong. I just knew it! At the time, I thought, maybe she'd been in a car accident—or—I don't know. But when we got to the house, I used my key to try and get in, the chain was on the door. Our curtains were closed. The teacher, sensing something wasn't right, made us go back down to the car. That's when the man upstairs from us pulled up. I asked him had he seen our mother. That the chain was on the door, we couldn't get in. He invited us upstairs to his apartment and called the police. It's like—no one wanted to go in. I mean, I could have just kicked the door and broke the chain. I couldn't bring myself to do it. He couldn't bring himself to do it. The police did it. They found her."