Copyright ©2012 Blake Karrington
All rights reserved
PUBLISHER’S NOTE:
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictionally. Any resemblance of actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review to be printed in a newspaper or magazine.
Chapter One
“In the Eyes of the Beholder”
Sunlight filtered through the small window of the hospital room, causing Q to squint his eyes. For the past 48 hours, he had lain on the floor at Van's bedside. Although he was offered a second bed, he refused. In his mind, there was no way he could be comfortable, while his soul-mate laid in pain; her small body riddled with bullets. Q's mind had been running a thousand miles per hour. The chaos and mayhem of doctors and nurses running in and out was now reduced to near silence. The only sounds that could be heard were Van's shallow breathing and the consistent chirp of the life support machine keeping her alive.
Q stood up from the small pallet he had made on the floor. He stretched the kinks out of his stiff muscles, then quickly walked to the bathroom. Where is everybody at? He thought to himself then remembered that he had run everyone away. Doctors and nurses had become so fearful of his actions and for the overall safety of everyone who entered the room, that they were forced to seek outside assistance from the local authorities. A useless gesture. Every cop down at the station knew who Quentel Jackson was and what he was capable of doing to anyone he viewed as a threat to him and his family. Besides, it was all over the streets that Q and the PG Crew had put out a promise killing on whoever was involved in Van's shooting.
“Damn I'm hungry,” he mumbled to himself. After rinsing his face with cold water, he stood in front of the small mirror, and stared at his reflection. It stared back at him.
“Guess I’ll go downstairs and grab something to eat,” he thought to himself. Q opened the bathroom door, went over to Van, and kissed her on the lips.
“I'll be right back babe,” Q suggested as if Van could hear him.
As he entered the elevator, he accidentally bumped into a doctor who was exiting at the same time. Q took him in with one quick glance. The young doctor stood about six feet tall and had the complexion and hair of the product of an interracial relationship. His haircut was short and neat, and the glasses he wore made him seem extremely intelligent. In Q's mind, it was only one word to describe the young doctor Cornball.
“Excuse me sir,” the African-American physician said politely.
“It's no problem bro,” Q spoke while pressing the down button for the cafeteria.
Once he arrived at the snack bar, he quickly grabbed two salmon salad sandwiches, some Doritos, and a Welch's grape soda. He looked at the large brownies, but decided against it, they probably not homemade. On the way back up, Q chucked down all the food and rinsed his throat with the grape soda.
When he arrived back at the room, he pushed the door open and was taken aback at the sight of the doctor sitting at Van’s bedside, holding her hand. The sound of the door opening made the young physician turn towards the entrance to the room.
“So we run into each other again,” he spoke.
“Yea I guess so, are you one of the specialists that Dr. Carey was talking about?”
“No, actually, I'm a friend. You must be Quentel.”
“Do I know you?” Q asked with a brief pause as the anger began to rise in him.
“No, we have not officially met. But like I stated earlier, I'm a friend of your wife—”
Q cut him off.
“Look playboy, my wife doesn’t have any friends that I don't know!” He approached the doctor like a lion just before he pounces on his prey.
“No, not a friend like that Quentel, I'm a coworker slash friend,” the doctor responded, noticing the new tension in the room.
“Let me formally introduce myself, my name is Dr. Otis Conway” Otis reached out his hand for a formal handshake.
“Well Otis, I don't know you and like I said earlier, my wife doesn’t have any friends I don't know. So you can get your ass on up out of here, before it gets real ugly nigga,” Q clenched his fist.
The doctor looked at his extended hand, which Q had left hanging.
“Well I guess she didn't have time to tell you about me, we have only been working together...”
“Nigga what the fuck didn't you understand about get your ass up out here,” Q was yelling and approaching the doctor at the same time. He was about to assist the physician with leaving.
Suddenly, the room was jarred by a loud scream. Q turned to look, just as Van’s mother rushed by him and the doctor to her daughter’s bedside.
“Va... Va... Van!!!!!!!!!! What has happened? Who did this to my baby...? God please, this is my only child. Please don't take her away from me.”
“Mrs. Ellerbe!” Q yelled as he rushed to her side.
He gently took her into his arms as she sobbed for several minutes. As Q held her, he looked over her shoulder at the doctor and silently motioned for him to leave. The doctor did as he was told and began to walk away. As he was exiting, Mrs. Ellerbe called out to him.
“Is my baby going to be ok?” Are you the surgeon in charge?”
“Yes and no, ma’am, I'm confident she will be ok, but I'm not the surgeon in charge. I'm sure Quentel can explain everything to you,” he allowed the door to shut as he disappeared into the hallway.
Mrs. Ellerbe turned her attention back to Q. He knew the questions were about to come. He had not planned on dealing with them this soon. At the time of the shooting, Van’s mother had been on a church vacation. Q had not expected her for another day at the earliest.
“What happened to my baby Quentel?” she asked. Q only stared at her in complete silence.
“I'm waiting Quentel!” He stared a moment longer, then gave a weary sigh before he proceeded to tell Van's mother everything he knew of the shooting.
“Something ain't right about this, why would anyone want to hurt my child? Was it a robbery? And where were you? Why weren’t you there to protect my baby?”
“I was in Charlotte, and she was on her way up there. I know I should have been there, this is all my fault. There are a lot of answers I don't have yet, but Mrs. Ellerbe, I promise you, I will get them. And whoever is responsible for this.”
“You right it's your fault, so what the hell are you standing here for? Get out there and find out who did this!”
Q went to grab his shirt and jacket and follow her instructions. Van's mother grabbed him by the arm as he walked towards the door.
“Wait,” she spoke softly, then turned him towards her.
“No... no... no... son it's not your fault. I shouldn't have said that and I don't want to ever hear you say that again. Do you hear me?
“Yes ma’am,” he answered while nodding his head.
“Listen,” she continued, “I'm just upset, this is something no mother or parent wants to be faced with, can you understand?”
“Yes ma'am,” Q said looking like a 5 year old who had done something wrong.
Mrs. Ellerbe continued, “Van made the decision to follow this path a long time ago. It was her choice. To be honest with you, son, I tried everything in my power to stop her from the direction she chose. It seemed that something or someone had something more powerful than I did. I know that when she wakes up, there is only one person she wants to see, and that's you! ”
“Quentel, kneel down with me and pray.”
>
They got down on their knees beside Van's bed. Q was going in and out, as Van's mother concluded what seemed like a 2-hour prayer. Q wondered how her elderly knees were holding up against the hard hospital floor. When they stood up, she looked at Q and smiled.
“Son, the lord just spoke to me and told me everything gon’ be alright! He said it and I believe it! Now baby, you claim it in the name of Jesus and all prayers will be answered.” Q wasn't sure what to do next, but he just shook his head yes.
“I claim it in the name of Jesus.”
Mrs. Ellerbe shook her hands in the air and pulled up a chair beside Van's bedside. She shook her head and started to laugh.
Q smiled, amazed at how much her laugh sounded exactly like Van’s.
“Okay,” she said, once again turning serious. “I think I can take care of things around here for a while.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean that you can leave—”
“No, Mrs. Ellerbe, I can’t leave her,” he exclaimed, cutting her off.
“She needs me. Besides if I would’ve been there I could have stopped…” he let the rest fade from his lips.
“Don’t say that Quentel.”
“But Mrs. Ellerbe, you don’t understand. If I hadn’t been out there running the streets, she wouldn’t be in this damn hospital,” he said, while choking back tears.
“Quentel I’m sure she forgives you,” she hesitated, then continued.
“That woman, my daughter, loves you more than her own life. She would rather be lying right where she is at, dealing with what she is dealing with, than see one strand of hair out of place on your head.”
Q rubbed his hand across his smoothly shaven head before replying. “Excuse me Mrs. Ellerbe, but I don’t have any hair.”
“Boy, you know what I’m trying to say,” she said, then pinched his arm.
They both laughed, lifting each other’s spirits.
“I just…I mean... I love her so much.”
“I’m sure that she already knows that.”
Q reached down and took one of Van’s small hands.
He cleared his throat, and then spoke.
“Baby, I... I know you can hear me. I want you to know I am sorry. I said that I would always be there to protect you from any and everything, and I failed you. But it isn’t over. What makes me tick is what make you tock, revenge will be our sweetest joy. Now... it’s time for me to put in some work!!!”
The chirping coming from Van’s life support machine suddenly increased, then returned to a normal pace. Q's inward smile was grim, Van had just given him all the answers he needed.
Chapter Two
“If These Walls Could Talk”
Q brought his Benz to a stop about halfway down the driveway leading to the home he shared with Van. The place they once called their dream home. A place that now held the secrets of a nightmare. Sitting behind the car’s steering wheel, he stared out the window, taking in the surroundings. Looking over at his dog kennel, he noticed that all his dogs seemed to sense that something terrible had happened. Not one of the very active and aggressive pit bulls made any attempt to yank or pull on their heavy chains, which was something they always did at the sound of Q’s vehicle.
He focused his attention on the house. A warm feeling came over him as he looked at all the beautiful flowers Van had planted around the mini mansion's front lawn. A warmth that was now chilled by a crime scene of endless yellow and black police tape. The home’s front door stood partly ajar. Its expensive see through glass door was shattered and hanging completely off the hinges. After making his way to the end of the half-circled driveway, Q brought the Benz to another stop.
His thoughts momentarily turned to Van and her mother back at the hospital. He quickly shook those thoughts away as he prepared to exit his car.
“Alright playboy, let’s go see what the dead niggas left for us,” Q mumbled to himself. Grabbing both of his familiar chrome Colt 45’s, he slid one inside of an easy to reach shoulder holster underneath his left arm. The other one, he gripped tightly in his right hand.
After stepping onto the large front patio, Q began seeing red blotches everywhere.
“Blood” he muttered to himself.
After ripping the crime scene tape from the doorway, he stepped inside. Instantly, he found himself fighting back tears. Bloodstains were everywhere. Once again, the shame and regret of not being there for Van began to eat at him.
“Fuck!” he screamed, his voice echoing throughout the empty house. The voice of Van’s mother rang in his head.
Promise me Quentel... promise me that no one will ever hurt my baby again.
Then he heard the tender voice of Van.
I love you, Quentel Jackson. We are one.
“I love you too, Shorty.” He spoke as if she was standing directly in front of him.
He focused his attention back on the bloody crime scene, then tried to replay in his mind, what he thought had taken place. He walked over and stood next to the sofa.
Van must have been standing right about here, he thought.
The cushion was nowhere in sight, but Q knew that Van would always hide her baby ‘nine’ under it at night. He kneeled down and rubbed his hand across the dried bloodstains next to the sofa. Something deep inside his gut told him that it was Van’s blood.
“Stay focused nigga,” he spoke, calming himself.
He then turned in the direction of the expensive Louis Vuitton chair that Van had surprised him with for his birthday. It too, had been riddled with bullets. On the floor in front of it, a pattern outlined with chalk indicated where a body had taken its last breath. Looking back and forth from where Van last stood and the direction of the bullet holes in the chair, Q could very easily assess that Van had killed whoever the intruder was that night. There was no type of identification found on the guy at the crime scene, and so far, police data had come up empty. Q walked over to a large bloodstain just outside the den area. He kneeled down next to the spot and noticed several patches of black and gold looking hair.
Bear
“I’m gonna miss you big boy,” he whispered. “Van is going to miss you too.”
Q made a complete walkthrough of the home, and then repeated his steps over and over again.
Finally, after making several phone calls, he sat in his small home office, trying to figure out his next move.
“What would you do, Shawty?” he asked as if talking to Van.
Think nigga... think!!!
“What would you do, Van? Give me something baby. Give me—”
Q didn’t finish his sentence before rushing back into the large living area of the house. He walked back into their spacious bedroom. Picking up the Michael Kors sundress, which was one of his favorites, he moved over to their large walk-in closet. Pushing some of Van’s expensive clothes to one side, he found the tiny button in the wall that was barely visible to the eye.
His mind momentarily flashed back to the day Van had it installed.
He was dead tired when he arrived at their home. After showering, Q was almost fantasizing about how good their new deluxe king size bed was going to feel once he was in it. As soon as he stepped out of their bathroom, he was shocked to find the entire bed covered with clothes.
“Van!” he screamed.
“Why are you screaming, Q? I’m right here,” she said, walking into the bedroom.
“What the hell is all this, Shawty?”
“What does it look like Quentel?”
“Shawty, you put those clothes in our closet just yesterday. Why would you take them out again?”
“I have some installers coming in about an hour, Quentel”
“Installers?”
“Yes installers, Q.”
“Shawty what the hell can you be having installed in our damn closet?”
“Belly. I saw it in the movie Belly.”
“You saw what in the movie Belly?”
“Hidden cameras.”
/> “Uhh?”
“Yes Quentel, hidden cameras”.
“Damn Shawty, what we need hidden cameras for?”
“You never know, Q”
“How much that shit cost, anyway? And how long will it take for your installers to finish? I’m tired,” he complained.
“Quentel we have four more bedrooms in this house. I’m sure you can find somewhere to lie down for a while.”
Q finally gave in, and turned towards the guest room.
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