Promise To Keep

by Rainwater, Priscilla Poole

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  Sheriff Berry was standing outside with one of his crime scene techs, who was snapping photos of the crime scene. He looked up to see Connell walking towards him, and gripped the man’s shoulder when he was finally within reach. “Damn shame, this, I’m so sorry, for all of you. I’ve already put in a call to the hate-crime task force for the state.” He shook his head and sighed. When things like this happened he tended to take it very personal. To him, it was a reflection on him and his department. He wouldn’t tolerate this kind of crap, or any other crime for that matter, while he was in office. Whoever had perpetrated this, he wouldn’t rest until they were locked away in one of his cells. “Listen, I know this doesn’t make it any easier, but you’re not the only one. Someone burned a cross a few weeks ago on the lawn of a gay couple living in town. But I can guarantee you THIS, old friend, this shit is gonna’ stop, and I mean quick, fast, and in a hurry.“

  Cody Feathersmith approached them, and nodded a greeting to Connell. Turning to his boss he said, “Sheriff, found this on the barbed wire fencing on the north side of the property. Whoever did this evidently parked on that dirt access road, and crossed over the fence, the dense woods were a good cover for them.”

  The pond…the fence there was constantly needing repair ..Connell thought.

  The deputy handed the Sheriff the piece of black cloth he had found on the fencing, and continued. “There’s also some fresh blood, it seems one of our fine, upstanding citizens may have cut himself pretty good. I’ll give the clinic and hospital a call, see if anyone came in with a deep gash on them. It’s a long shot, but you never know.” Looking down at the cross, he recalled Jonus had told him that the only person who had problems with Connell and his lady friend was Patty, now that the Harrington boys had been put away. But he didn’t think she would have the nerve, the brawn, or the brains to pull off such a stunt. Putting the heavy cross up, setting it on fire, and getting away completely undetected. “We know Billy and Leroy didn’t do it, but it could have been some of their lowlife friends.”

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  Aisha sat on the bed, still weeping silently. She put the cell phone she had just used to book a flight back to New York back in her jacket pocket. Wiping a stream of tears from her face, one thought kept spinning round and round in her head, nearly maddening in it’s intensity. The children could have been hurt, even killed. Next time they may not be so lucky. The person, or persons who did this may burn the house down next time. I can’t allow those animals to hurt the children because of me. What happened tonight was because of me, no one else. Once again Megan’s words came back to haunt her, and as much as she hated to admit it, the woman had been right. The decision for her and Connell to be open about the nature of their relationship had endangered the children.

  She closed her eyes and steeled her resolve. She could still see the look of fear and confusing on Abby sweet face. The child didn’t know what the burning cross meant, but she had sensed it was bad. A part of the child’s innocence had been lost forever….

  Shaking the depressing thoughts, she quickly packed some clothing and other personal items in her overnight bag. Looking around her room, she decided she would send for the rest later. She turned to leave, but stopped when her eyes caught the small, “I’m Sorry” teddy bear Connell had given her sitting in the chair by the window. The sad face seemed to mirror her own. Grabbing it, she tucked it in her bag.

  Slipping the strap of the bag on her shoulder, she went to the door, but hesitated. She took one last look around, choked back a sob, then left.

  Going quietly into the children’s room, she saw they were both asleep now. She kissed each of them tenderly and made sure they were safely tucked in. This is the right thing to do…I have to do this for them… she thought, then turned and fled before she changed her mind.

  She went down the stairs and out the front door. Stepping out on the front porch, the only thing that remained of the cross was the smell of smoke lingering in the cool night air. She assumed the Sheriff had had the cross taken away as evidence.

  Turning, Connell looked up on the porch and saw her there, holding an overnight bag, and felt his heart lurched with fear of a different kind. With dread, he walked away from the men and hurriedly blocked her path to her Explorer. “Where are you going!” he asked in choked voice, fearing the answer.

  She blinked her eyes, fighting the tears, “I’m leaving. I can’t stay here anymore.” she mumbled, looking down at the ground. She knew she couldn’t afford to look into his eyes, because if she did, she would fall to pieces.

  “No! You’re not going anywhere, just go on in the house, we’ll talk when everyone leaves.”

  When she didn’t move, he growled at her, frustrated. “You would turn tail and run? Forget that! It’s not happening, do you hear me? We’re not going to let those bastards win!“ Desperate, he grabbed her arms. “You’re going to walk away..just like that? Just give up on us?”

  Pulling away, she took his hand and placed the promise ring in his palm. “There was never an us, Connell. You and I both knew this wasn’t going to last. It’s time I got back to the life I know.” Dreading the words she had to say next, she swallowed the lump in her throat and concentrated every fiber of her being on appearing neutral. She couldn’t afford to cry, that would have to come later. “It’s time for me to return to the life I miss. We both knew I was only going to stay until you got on your feet…everyone will be happier. There never was an us, Connell. You needed comfort, and I was happy to give it to you, but I‘m finished here.” Then she spoke the words she had been dreading the most. “Max was right, my obligation to Jenny is at an end. I’m sorry, that’s just the way it is. Her heart nearly broke as she saw his face sag, the words hurting him more than the worst physical punishment ever could. Inside, she died a thousand deaths, and knew she would have rather been drawn and quartered herself rather than hurt him in such a way. If only it had not been for Shawn and Abby.

  “You really want me to believe that all of this was just to help me get back on my feet, to give me comfort?” he croaked.

  Knowing she would never be able to force the lie out of her mouth again, she nodded, then looked away.

  He stood there staring at her, feeling sick to his stomach. The words that he had spoken to Max suddenly came back, invading his thoughts, haunting him. I know I said I would let her go if it meant her happiness, if it was what she wanted. But Oh Lord, how can I just let her walk away? he thought.

  “Connell, please. If you truly care about me, let me get on with my own life now. Please.“ she said, feeling numb.

  Unable to look at her, he walked slowly past her and into the house, looking like a beaten, weary old man.

  Jonus walked over and gave her a sad look. Like the other men, he had overheard enough to know she was leaving, “Aisha…please don’t leave. Please don‘t…” He didn’t care how childish his plea sounded, nor cared that anyone saw how close he was to crying.

  Her heart breaking, she cupped his face with her cool hands and smiled up at him. “I’ll keep in touch, I promise.” she said, her voice hoarse.

  Jonus engulfed her in his strong arms, lifting her off the ground.” It’s not going to’ be the same. I’m going miss you treating me like a little brother.” He sat her down, and kissed her forehead.

  Wiping her eyes, she pulled an envelope from her pocket and pressed it in his hands. “Jonus, please stay on here, help him out. Promise?”

  He nodded silently, unable to speak.

  She gave him a hug and kissed his cheek. She whispered goodbye, then climbed into her Explorer and left.

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  Max opened the condo door. He had known Aisha had been here for a week, and he would have came to her sooner, but he had had to deal with an FBI agent that hadn’t heeded Thorn’s warning about digging in m
atters best left alone. It had cost the agent his life, and the life of his wife also, for not heeding that warning.

  Frowning, he saw her unpacked luggage sitting in the middle of the living room floor. Walking further into the condo, he was shocked to see several take out containers on the dining room table, and the kitchen was a complete mess. Unwashed dishes were stacked in the sink all the way up to the water spigot, and the refrigerator door was ajar. It was completely unlike her.

  Removing his coat and then his suit jacket, he draped them over one of the high-backed chairs at the table, then closed the refrigerator.

  He walked into the master bedroom he had once shared with her, and much to his surprise, found her in bed curled up under a heavy quilt. He was definitely worried now, he had never known her to sleep during the daytime, even on the rare occasions she had fallen ill. Standing over her, he felt a wave of jealously. Judging by the dozens of dirty Kleenex tissues littering the bed and floor, he knew she had been crying over that lout Connell.

  Sitting on the edge of the bed carefully, he reached out with his bandaged hand and caressed her face. Picking up the balled up tissues and tossing them in the bedside wastebasket, he said in a quiet voice, “Amor, por que’ grito para un hombre que no pueda amarle las manera usted mere cie ron?” (Sweetheart, why do you cry for a man that cannot love you the way you deserve?)

  “How do you know he can’t give me what I deserve?”

  The voice surprised even him enough to startle him. Looking back down at her, he saw her red, swollen eyes looking up at him.

  Kicking off his shoes, he nudged her over, then leaned against the headboard. Pulling her into his arms, he allowed her head to rest against his chest as he ran his hand through her locks. “He doesn’t deserve you because he couldn’t even protect you from some ignorant, cross burning rednecks!” he said softly, yet angrily. It bothered him that she really was in love with the oaf, and that she felt the need to defend him.

  Sitting up, she gave him a disapproving frown. “How did you know about that?!” Then it occurred to her that he had came into her home without an invitation. “And how did you get in here, Max!”

  Ignoring her anger, he gave her a condescending smirk. “It’s not hard to get information about the people in that backwater town.” Looking down at the hand that was bandaged, he tried to avoid her angry gaze. “You also know, kitten, that when it comes to you, a locked door will never, nor could ever, keep me away.“

  Not in the mood to play his games, she got up from the bed. “Go home to your wife and child. I’m going to get dressed, I have an appointment. I want to get back to work, it’s the only way I won’t be so tempted to go….”

  Her lips began trembling, and he could see she was close to tears again.

  She rushed to the bathroom and closed the door.

  He knew that he had lost her, for now. He smiled though. He knew that she may not want to be with him, but it seemed the cross burning had been a Godsend, whoever had did it, because although he couldn’t have her, yet, neither could that lowly dirt farmer.

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  Chapter 11

  “To my good friend, on her return. Welcome back to the jungle.” Harriet Bernard said as she lifted her glass in a toast, smiled, then took another slug of her vodka.

  Inwardly, Aisha winced. Ever since Connell’s bout with depression and his subsequent drinking binge, she could no longer stand the strong smell of alcohol. Of course she had been getting sick a lot lately, but she attributed the ill heath to her own stress and depression. It also didn’t help that most of her meals lately had been junk food. She took a sip of water from her own chilled water bottle, and silently prayed it would stay down.

  She had hooked up with her friend Harriet four days after she arrived in Sudan, in one of the villages that had been decimated by guerilla forces. They had traveled from the village to a market where captured Christians were being sold as slaves. Like the cross burning, it was still hard for her to believe that such things still happened, but they did. She actually felt her depression deepen. So horrified they had been by the stories they heard, they had decided to visit some of the American relief workers, then had decided to risk going to the more volatile areas in order to document the carnage for the world (hopefully) to see.

  Feeling her stomach had calmed enough for her to get the day started, she began checking her camera.

  “You alright, hon? Harriet asked.

  “Yeah, I’m Ok.” she mumbled absently, as she thought back to the first time they had met. They had been friends for many years, Harriet was not only a friend, but her mentor as well, and she had taken an instant liking to her from the beginning. The woman had gotten her start as a photographer in the Vietnam conflict, at the age of nineteen. Like herself, her work had won many awards, and she had actually been a photographer for the Royal Family for a brief period. Harriet had taken her under her wing and showed her the ropes, showing her who’s palms to grease to get access to places that were officially off limits.

  Her friend poured more vodka in her glass, and offered it to her silently.

  Quickly holding up her hand, she shook her head. “If I drink that I’ll lose what little food I’ve managed to keep down.”

  Harriet sat up on the couch, giving her a good look-over, noting she did look tired. “Maybe you should just sit this one out, you don’t look so rosy, Ducky.”

  She sighed and ran a hand through her silky, shoulder length hair. She had changed her hairstyle before she left the states. She had hoped the new look would make her feel better, but it hadn‘t. No amount of changes had. As a matter of fact, for the first time since she could remember, she had felt like a lost, lonely stranger in her own home in New York….and yes, even back at work. It was an unfamiliar, unpleasant feeling. Of all things, she had expected work to help her forget, at least a little, but it had only made her feel more lost, as if she simply didn’t belong anymore. But life had to go on, she had no choice but to get on with it, the alternative was going insane with sorrow and despair. “No, I want to do this.” she lied.

  “You sure?”

  “Yep.“ she said as she pulled on her protective Kevlar vest, one she had always worn in areas of unrest. Pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she closed her eyes, swallowing the bile that was threatening to rise. Grabbing her baseball ca,p she put it on, then picked up her camera bag. Her eye caught sight of the small, cloverleaf pin Abby had given her, which she had pinned to the side. All of a sudden, she felt like crying. “Lets roll, old girl, we have places to go and pictures to take.” she finished hoarsely.

  Harriet gave her another close look. Her young friend had changed, somehow. It was something she couldn’t put her finger on, but she was different, all right. Silent, brooding, and she had something called “the thousand yard stare”, a look many victims of combat fatigue had. She certainly was not as adventurous and carefree. She had caught her gazing at pictures of a tall, handsome white man and two young children on several occasions, but was hesitant to ask her about them. But from the look of longing in her eyes, it was clear to her that the man and children were near and dear to her in some capacity. She didn’t push for any answers though, figuring she would talk to her about it when she was ready. She also noticed her heart wasn’t in her work anymore. Sure, she still took wonderful photographs, but in her own estimation, they were the result of a highly skilled professional running on autopilot. She had been around the block enough to recognize that as well.

  Gathering her own equipment together, she gulped the rest of her vodka down, put on her own cap, and said, “Alright, let’s hit the trail, kiddo.”

  Outside, they climbed into the backseat of a large van with a handsome young photographer whom Harriet had taken an instant liking to only days earlier. He was a quite charming young fellow, and one she was secretly contemplating trying to seduce at the first opportunity. Their guide, and one armed guard, climbed in up
front.

  The guide started the engine, and Harriet glanced at Aisha. The young woman was silent, and was looking out the window, clearly lost in her own world once more. Suddenly, a nearly suffocating shadow of foreboding came over her, and vanished almost as quickly as it had came. Feeling more uneasy than she had felt in years, she decided she needed a distraction, preferably a pleasant one. Turning to look at the handsome young photographer seated to her left, she winked, and asked lightly, “So, where ya’ headed, Tex?“

  The driver pulled out, and they headed in the direction of the refugee camp, which was a two-day drive away.

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  Aisha’s heart dropped as she saw the living conditions of the poor, oppressed people. Open sewage, and very little fresh water, food, or medical care. The huts they were living in made tarpaper shacks she had seen elsewhere look like Buckingham Palace in comparison.

  Taking out her camera, she walked towards a BBC news crew, spotting a female anchor that she had worked with years before. She greeted the pretty blond woman quietly, then began snapping pictures as she moved through the camp. All the while she was surrounded by children, some begging, and others simply curious about her and what she was doing. She took time to show them images on her digital camera, then allowed them to snap a few pictures.