Word of Honor, Book 2

by Tiana Laveen

  Marcus excused himself from his desk, requesting to take one of his five-minute breaks. With his cell phone in hand, and Terence’s phone in his pocket, he made his way outside. Taking a deep breath, he nervously dialed a number.

  “Yeah, I got some information ’bout a case. I’d like to talk to a police officer at the Brewton county police station, please…”

  HIS NAILS HAD grown way too long. One was jagged and now slicing into his scalp as he used the thing to cure an itch. The soreness of his limbs was slowly dissipating, but still remained. Every time he looked in the mirror, his fucking stomach dropped in witnessing a reminder of the betrayal, of a life left behind. To make matters worse, he’d broken down and told Mia what had transpired. Though he couldn’t see her and demanded she not come to the prison, her response via letter made everything clear—she’d hit the damn roof then broke through that son of a bitch, angry he hadn’t shared a word until it was all said and done. It took six pages later and a phone call from Dr. Owens’ office to calm the lady, to let her know everything was alright.

  But that was a lie. Though he hated every damn moment of it, if he ever wanted to see the light of day again he had to keep his nose clean and there was no possible way he could in general population. So here he was… back where he’d started. Segregation. To add to the bullshit, solidify the horror, Clarence’s death in ICU had him dubbed as hit man number one, even by fuckers who hated the bastard. Clarence had few friends, but when it came to Aaron’s ass killing a black man, it no longer mattered. Funny what hype could do…

  Racism was a drug and he was tired of getting high off the shit. Since he stopped using, he could see things so much clearer, even through burst-blood-vessel eyes. He sat there waiting for his lawyer, who’d said he needed to see him right away. He wouldn’t disclose what for, but with the way things were going, he was certain it would be some more shit he didn’t want to hear.

  A few minutes later, the redhead guard that didn’t take any shit came and retrieved him.

  “Come on, Mister Pike. Your lawyer wants to see you.”

  Aaron nodded and rose from his seat. The man gripped his arm harshly, twisting it, as if he’d called him a son of a bitch. Sneering but maintaining a calm tone, he told the man he was being a bit rough, only to be ignored. He paused, causing the guard to look at him with confusion.

  “Look, you must be new here. Since the first time you saw me, you’ve been overly aggressive. What’s wrong with you? You got beef with me?” Aaron’s brows dipped. The guy smirked, his pale, porcelain skin almost glowing under the muted light.

  “I can’t stand you, that’s why. You are scum…the kind I wish I could make disappear.” The guard gave him a creepy smile, the type that delivered the message that, if he had him alone, some shit would go down—some real nasty, horrendous shit.

  “How can you not stand me when you don’t even know me?”

  “Why not? What?” The man shrugged his shoulders and smiled sarcastically. “You do that shit all the time to other people… judge ’em when you don’t even know ’em.” The guard jerked him forward, forcing him up the hall.

  “What are you talking about?” Aaron’s body grew a bit warmer as he looked around the place. It was only he and the guard, and should the man decide to try and beat him to a pulp or accuse him of doing some crap he hadn’t, things could get real ugly.

  “You judge people ’cause you don’t like ’em, ’cause they’re black or whatever. You’re gettin’ what you deserve. I hope you never get out of here. You deserve a life sentence, goddamn loser.”

  “And why do you take my time in here personally? What the hell does it have to do with you?”

  “Because my wife is black and my kids are biracial, Mr. Pike. So, yeah, I take motherfuckers like you personally! Shut the fuck up, don’t try anything and keep walkin’…” He elbowed him in the center of his back, sending a dull pain up and down his spine.

  Aaron did as he asked, but not without a smirk on his face. Strange how things worked and how life went… The ginger didn’t know his new life, how he’d changed his mind, but none of that even really mattered anymore, now did it? Aaron understood that the previous damage he’d done was non-erasable. At this point it would be kind of like apologizing for splitting an atom. What is done is done…

  Besides, wasn’t no need to spill his guts to the man, to ask for forgiveness as if the ginger was his personal Lord and Savior… or tell his life story. No, he just kept on walking, kept on smiling. Their heavy footsteps moved in unison, causing thundering echoes in the desolate, dark gray hallways. Dismal…

  Life was funny, or at least, sometimes one had to find the humor and irony in a fucked up situation. In that way, he completely agreed with the man.

  Life. Irony. Karma was his best friend’s name, and she was a contractor for God and the Devil. The three sat at a table and mapped out plans, signed documents, and hammered out agreements.

  What goes around comes around, or so they say. But one thing Aaron was sure of: the Devil always came to get his pay, and there was no way out of the debt unless you had a damn good attorney.

  He felt blessed that he did… Mia called him Jesus…

  IN THE COURTHOUSE while receiving his sentence so long ago, Aaron recalled standing there and ranting and raving, splitting the air with a shrill voice of vengeance and waving his damn fists around. As he looked back on that time, it seemed almost like he was having an out of body experience. And this was no different.

  “So.” His lawyer noisily worked the gum around in his mouth, making the chewed up mass do saliva covered laps. “With this new evidence, you have a retrial. Your original sentence was almost fully served but with the new charges after Clarence’s death, you were of course looking at a lot longer. You got an angel lookin’ after you, Aaron.”

  Speechless and taken aback, he rubbed his chin, contemplating the information. He felt a sense of deep gratitude, but now he had more questions, and the frustration of the real possibility of never getting the answers tore him up inside.

  “So, you don’t know who submitted the tape, right?”

  “No.” The lawyer shook his head. “He was anonymous. Since the store’s cameras weren’t working and it was everyone’s word against your own, we didn’t have much. The only thing helping you was that Clarence has committed similar crimes, but due to your background, it was a hard fight, nevertheless.”

  Aaron nodded in understanding as he ran his hands roughly one over the other.

  “Aaron, you look tired…” the man said solemnly.

  “I am tired.”

  “Well, you’ll be gettin’ some decent rest soon because I got your court date moved to next week after this evidence was presented. I tried to get you out of here tomorrow, on bail, but my hope is that you will be immediately released after your re-trial. It won’t be long and drawn out, either. This is specifically based on the new evidence.”

  “What judge has the case?” He crossed his arms, waiting for something to fuck up his budding good mood.

  “Judge Tabernacle.” His lawyer chuckled. “You got Judge Harris.”

  “Shit.” Aaron shook his head and rocked in his seat. Judge Harris was an older black man, one of the few black judges in Alabama’s state court jurisdiction. The man stood 6’5, had a face like a walrus, was an ordained minister and had been active in civil rights. Aaron wasn’t even thought about when the man was trouncing around with Martin Luther King Jr., and here he would be, an ex-Nazi and National Socialist, standing in this man’s court after killing a black man…

  Once a silver lining gleamed, and now it was tarnished, just that fast… faster than judgment passed…

  “Well.” Aaron sighed as he leaned back in his seat, forcing the front legs off the floor. “Here is how the cards have been dealt. I’m screwed.”

  “Well.” His lawyer put up his hand. “Let’s just see. That video is pretty damn condemning and convincing. It shows outright that you were attacked a
nd how at first you tried to continue on to your car but Clarence pushed the issue. That’s what we’re going to ride on. You got his gun away from him and you didn’t pull your gun out; you just fought him. He died from those injuries, but you own a security bodyguard business.” The man shrugged. “You know how to fight and defend yourself. You taught others how to.”

  Aaron nodded in agreement.

  “…And I trained security dogs and bodyguards for large events like concerts, things like that.” He paused, sucked in a frustrated breath. “I tried not to think about my company too much while I was in here. My business partner has been taking care of things on the business end, but that was my vision, you know? I worry about it… though he’s sent letters with updates, called me, and I checked up on it… Everything seems to be runnin’ okay. Everything seems fine… but well, never mind that.’” He smiled sadly. “I’ve had so much other shit going on in here I couldn’t really concentrate on all of that. I knew he was capable, that he could hold it down for me.”

  The guy nodded and smiled at him—the kind of smile one gives when they’re proud of someone, giving them a pat on the back from afar.

  “Alright, Aaron.” The man gathered his belongings under one arm, stood from his seat, then outstretched his hand for a handshake. “I will be in contact with you in the next few days and see you in court.”

  Aaron grabbed the man’s hand and gave it a firm shake. The ginger immediately swung the door open and stood there looking stiff, all bitten up inside like a tree riddled by termites. The guard smacked the handcuffs on his wrists and began the aggressive pushing and prodding of his already bruised flesh as he escorted him down the way.

  This time, he didn’t say anything. This time, he just let it happen. He knew the ginger knew what he was capable of; perhaps he was trying to trigger an altercation that would derail his release plans… or perhaps he’d known the nature of the meeting even before he had. Regardless, the guard thought he knew him, too—had him pegged.

  Those who didn’t wish to be judged would judge others for judging them! It was a circular situation, the cause for alarm and the effect of the results, one and the same. When he was placed back into his cell, he listened to the heavy, pounding steps of the guard as he walked away. Loneliness crept in. Though Aaron was pleased to have the tight handcuffs and shackles off, the guard breathed life in a horrid land of solitude. Even his heavy, suffocating negativity proved better than no attention at all. The sound of the dripping faucet and the stingy stream of daylight from a window the width of a finger were his only companions.

  Being ignored, shunned, like this was not his strong suit. He couldn’t belong here…

  He lowered his head onto his knees, gave himself a squeeze at the realization that he may soon be embraced by sunlight without barbed wire… enjoy a meal without a timer… walk through a hallway without wails and moans of misery from cracked and broken spirits.

  And best of all, the love of a beautiful and good woman, without the lack knowledge of oneself…

  …One month later

  AS A CHILD, some places appeared larger than life. The movie theater, the skating rink, and the local outlet mall, for example. This was no different. Perhaps it was due to the skewed vantage point of a child: a little person being so low to the ground and everything worthy of attention being so high up, almost unobtainable. But in this case, there was more to the story… it was also what particular places signified. Aaron’s back bowed like a branch under extreme weight as he moved about the brightly colored dollhouse.

  It wasn’t an actual dollhouse, but the place reminded him of the small schoolyards in which only four classrooms existed, reeking of fragranced baby wet wipes, lemon-scented hand sanitizer, and the lingering spoor of cheese pizza from the lunchroom cafeteria.

  They need better security in here…

  How could he not think about that? It was his job to be paranoid; the thin robe of freedom hadn’t excused such a thing. Freedom was not a knight’s thickly clad metal armor; it was in fact just the opposite. Due to this exposure to the unknown, he was more on alert than ever. He had a mission, a checklist to go through, and he would take care of his duties in the manner he saw fit.

  He didn’t go to his house once he was released, nor to his office. No, his first line of business involved a little blond haired girl with a smile brighter than the universe. He called Laura the day prior and told her he’d stop her house after she got out of school. When he did, her mother waited with her arms tightly crossed over her heavily tattooed bosom and a tight scowl on her face. No welcome back, no ‘How are you doing’, just an ugly expression and hatred that could be smelled from miles away. He ignored the woman, enjoyed the time with his daughter and made plans to see her again the following day.

  After that, he rushed to Mia’s place of employment, his heart racing while he observed men and women, and children too, coming and going, mostly leaving for the day. The bell had already rung and parents were now arriving, pulling up in their cars as the last of the buses went on their way. Perhaps that’s why he blended in. There was so much activity and ruckus, though he saw several hallway cameras here and there mounted up high. He tipped his black Harley Davidson baseball cap a bit lower then made his way to her room, figuring out that finding the classroom number would be little effort. A directory was readily available at the entrance. As he trekked towards her, his paranoia grew teeth once again at the idea of her accessibility…

  If I can get to her, anyone can…

  He quickly shoved the unpleasantness out of his mind and saved the issue for later.

  Ahhh, there it is…

  The door was slightly ajar, cracked just enough for him to see a miraculous sight. Stepping a bit closer, he eyed the scene, taking it all in before looking over his shoulder a time or two. He saw the typical classroom displays—a board depicting the four seasons; a shapes chart with circle, square, triangle; the universal planets; and a vibrant alphabet written in cursive above green and black dusty chalkboards…

  Chalk…

  Aaron briefly swam in a peaceful pond of childhood memories as he stared at the rectangular erasers. He used to love drawing with chalk. He’d hold the thick, white, dusty instrument between his small fingers and write the answers on the board. At that moment, he could almost smell his old classroom, hear the worn, familiar sounds of yesteryear. He’d stand there at that board and put on a performance, trying so hard to prove that he was worthy. Usually his answers were correct, and he took much pride in that.

  At one point in time, he believed it would render him new, much sought after friends amidst internal upheaval, but it had done just the opposite. So, he dumbed himself down, just as Dr. Owens had accused, but it didn’t matter. The chalk was still white, and so was his skin… and no one cared about what he’d written on the matte, black chalkboard. His truthful words and correct answers didn’t bring anything to life’s lies. Perfection? Was it really the unobtainable race as he carefully crafted numerals written with a slight, italic slant and stood under the faded American flag that the class said the Pledge of Allegiance to? They’d memorized the words, placed their hands over their hearts, but what did it truly mean?

  These tiny memories ruled him, caused his stomach to knot up and coil like a shuddering cobra. It was odd what moved a man, and mountains, too… For these incidents grew like tangled poison ivy, little chopped up incidents smaller than granules of salt that added into bigger ones creating lopsided piles. These had him puffed up with anxiety, soulless from excessive bloat, insufferable and indignant with no holy water to rinse the muck away. That was when he first realized that if he couldn’t be loved, then he’d settle for being hated and feared … made no damn difference to him.

  My name is Aaron Pike, and these motherfuckers are going to remember me…

  And now here he was, a grown man, huddled close to a marginally open wooden door that smelled of freshly applied lemon Pledge and a hallway filled with paper plate artwork a
nd flamboyant finger-paint murals created from the smallest of hands. He focused back on the here and now… Four students stood huddled around Mia in the slightly darkened classroom. The blinds were pulled, blocking the sun, but one ceiling light illuminated them all with a warm, fuzzy glow.

  One little boy with poker straight, uneven blond hair hugged Mia around her calves as he buried the side of his reddened face into her knee. His tiny body wrapped around hers and he held on for dear life, as if he were afraid of his very own shadow. She smiled down at him and ran an easy hand over his hair, ruffling it a bit before it slowly would fall back down into place. A little black girl with dark, unusually slanted eyes, a curly afro, and a bright pink romper stood right before her, her hands sticky with what appeared to be pieces of caramel popped corn as she jumped about, a big smile on her face and a high-pitched giggle escaping her lips. Mia spoke to her softly, causing the girl to laugh even louder.

  On the other side of her were two more children, standing protectively beside her. One little boy, who looked Asian, held onto a small toy school bus and the last child was another white boy, this one with almost pitch black hair… the kind of hair that glistened and looked slick even when it was bone dry. The kid had an air about him. He stood the farthest away, but gave off the most heat, had the biggest, baddest aura of them all. Like a lion’s paw, his energy reached out and pounded the atmosphere, despite him not moving a muscle and not saying one, solitary word. His light amber eyes flickered like candles in a jack-o-lantern and they held a delicate sadness, though he smiled nevertheless…