Blind Delusion

by Dorothy Phaire

  “The hell you are!” said Veda. “You don’t sound okay to me. I’m coming right over there. It’s almost time for me to punch out. I’m going back inside my building long enough to lock up my desk. I dare Odessa Dillon to give me some grief about leaving a few minutes early. And, screw Doctor-Patient whatever the hell ya’ll call it. I’m not your patient anymore, Dr. Renee—I’m your friend. I’ll be over there in ten minutes. You need a shoulder to cry on, Girl. And Veda’s gonna be right on over there so go unlock the front door for me.”

  “No! … No, Veda. Please … Don’t jeopardize your job by leaving early,” begged Renee. “There’s no need. Really, I’ll be fine. I just had … I just …” Despite trying so hard to keep it together, Renee suddenly lost it. She dropped the phone on her bed and allowed her tears to flow freely. Despite her protests to the contrary, she was actually glad that Veda was on her way.

  Chapter 21 - Brenda

  By 9:00 am Brenda arrived at work thirty minutes late. Her arrival would have been even later had she dropped off Baby Buddha at Mrs. Walker’s, his new babysitter. Fortunately, Jerome, who was still out of work, offered to take their son to the babysitter’s for her this morning. That was only fair since arguing with him had caused her to be late in the first place. Brenda felt bad about hurting Jerome’s feelings when he had asked if their son could stay home with his daddy today. Jerome had tried to convince her that the new babysitter she had hired was not reliable, but Brenda knew very well that it was her husband who was not reliable. As she waited for the computer to boot up, she sipped her coffee and thought about Jerome’s recent accusation against the babysitter. “You know Baby, I called over there yesterday to see how my son was doin’ and I could hear him in the background cryin’ his little heart out,” Jerome had complained to her. Brenda easily recalled their conversation as she had hurriedly tried to get dressed for work.

  “That’s what baby’s do, Jerome—they cry. Mrs. Walker is wonderful with kids. Whenever I pick Justin up in the evenings, he’s always dry, fed, and happy,” Brenda had said, dismissing his allegations.

  The image of Jerome sulking while sitting up in bed with the covers draped over his knees came back to her, along with the sting of his words. “He’s my son too, Brenda! I wanna spend time with him while I can. It wasn’t my fault I got fired! I can take care of Baby Buddha better than some stranger.”

  “Well Jerome, if you think you’re capable enough to handle a three month old baby by yourself then you’re certainly capable of finding another job! Just focus on that, will you?” She had regretted what she said when she saw the look of betrayal on his face, but it was too late to take it back once she had said it.

  Brenda had tried to soften the blow and reason with him. “Taking care of Justin is not as easy as you think. I have to think of his welfare first. Babysitting him for an entire day might be too much for you right now.”

  There was no mistaking the hurt and anger in Jerome’s voice as he gave her a cutting glare. “That’s bullshit! You just don’t trust me with my own son. You believe what those fools at UDS said about me failing that drug test. But it’s all a lie. I swear it.”

  Brenda had looked at the clock next to the bed and realized she was running late. When Jerome offered to pack Justin up in his car seat and drive him over to Mrs. Walker’s this morning, she reluctantly said yes. She supposed it was a small compromise.

  It was good that no patients were on the appointment book today. The office would be quiet since Dr. Renee had taken the day off, which was not like her, thought Brenda. With nothing to distract her, she could knock out one of her assignments for the MCSE class that she was taking online to earn her Microsoft Certified Systems Engineer (MCSE) certification. She spread the installation manual out on her desk and followed each network setup procedure carefully. The dialogue boxes on the menu screen displayed the exact outcome as her manual instructed. It took two hours to configure a successful network connection linking Dr. Renee’s PC in the reception area to Mr. Hayes’s computer in his office. Both PCs could now share data, the printer, and had access to each other’s hard drive. Brenda felt confident that one day soon she would be qualified to apply for a high-paying technical position. Although, she still had to complete several more courses in her MCSE training program, she had just accomplished a successful network configuration without a hitch. She smiled at her accomplishment.

  She began browsing around the newly networked system to see what capabilities her administrator security access allowed. That’s when Brenda discovered that Mr. Hayes’s PC also linked up to a central server for a corporate account. She checked the profile on the account, and its registered owner was listed as Clifton C. Shaw, Techands Inc., Arlington, Virginia. Brenda saw that access to the company’s central server allowed Mr. Hayes, the operations manager, to see all the emails, electronic file attachments and PalmPilot™ files under Shaw’s userid. That meant that anyone else connected to the server could also see this data. Brenda felt uncomfortable having complete access to corporate files. It had taken most of the morning to complete step one, the network connection. Now Brenda wanted to hurry up and tackle the last task on her class assignment sheet, which was to restore the hard drives to their previous state and thus, remove her access to corporate files. This step, she would be relieved to complete.

  Having missed breakfast, Brenda took a bite of the ham and cheese sandwich that she had packed for her lunch then resumed working. Without removing her fingers from the keyboard, she briefly glanced at the clock. With any luck she’d be finished with her class assignment, the filing, and record keeping and be ready to leave work by four o’clock. The restoration process proceeded as expected, but she quickly realized it required total concentration. Brenda had to repeatedly switch between display screens to modify the settings. The sudden ringing of the telephone intruded on the silence and broke her focus. The light flashed on her private work line. She recognized the babysitter’s name, Mrs. Walker, on the caller id panel and quickly picked up the telephone, causing her to lose track of her place in the restore process. That couldn’t be helped now. She wanted to find out how Justin was doing. “Brenda Johnson,” she answered.

  “Uh, Ms. Johnson. This Ms. Walker …”

  “Is Justin all right?” asked Brenda, interrupting.

  “Huh? Well, I dunno. I suppose so. Your husband called this morning to say he was keepin’ the baby home today. I just wanna make sure you understand you still gotta pay me for a full week on Friday,” the babysitter said. “I just now got a chance to call you. I been busy with these kids all day. I figure your husband already told you what I told him this mornin’, but just in case he didn’t I wanted us to be on the same page so to speak.”

  Brenda did not let on that she didn’t already know about Jerome’s decision to keep Justin home. She assured Mrs. Walker that she would indeed be paid for a full week and that Justin would be there tomorrow. She would deliver him there herself. After hanging up the phone, Brenda stared at the computer monitor but could not recall which machine was currently active. Her mind was distracted now that she knew Jerome had lied about dropping Baby Justin off at the sitter’s. Why hadn’t he called to tell her? Of course, he knew she’d be pissed. She immediately called home and got a busy signal. She wasn’t sure what to do next. She couldn’t leave the restoration process incomplete, could she? This was the last leg of the restoration phase, yet a terrible feeling that had suddenly come over her, would not go away. She frantically dialed home again expecting to get an answer this time. She let the phone ring and ring but the voicemail did not come on and Jerome did not pick up. Her uneasiness mounted. She took a deep breath to calm her nerves and tried the number again, much slower this time just in case her feelings of uncertainly and dread had caused her to miss-dial. Again, there was nothing but constant ringing. The insides of her stomach began to tighten. Brenda didn’t take the time to shutdown the computer. S
he left the restoration step undone and retrieved her coat and bag from the closet, locked the front door, and rushed home.

  Brenda tried to drive home cautiously but kept noticing the speedometer inch above the speed limit. She resisted the urge to run through every yellow light as well as the red ones. Red-light cameras were clearly visible at several major intersections and were the only thing stopping her from outright speeding. She tried to stay calm and think of a reasonable explanation for why Jerome had not answered the telephone. Maybe he had taken Justin out for a stroller ride in the park she told herself. But for some reason this possibility didn’t assuage her growing fear.

  At some point as Brenda drove past buildings, stores and neighborhoods, things that should have been familiar to her suddenly seemed strange, as if she had never driven that way home before. She stared out the window, her mind in a fog. The car seemed to propel itself forward. Heart drumming and teeth clinched in desperation, Brenda could not shake a crushing premonition that something dreadful had happened to her child. She should have just been late for work this morning and taken him to the babysitter’s herself, she thought. She was a fool to trust Jerome to do it, knowing how badly he had wanted to keep their son home. What if Jerome had gone out looking for drugs and left the baby alone? What if Jerome had not locked the crib rail in place as she had shown him a hundred times and Baby Buddha had fallen out of his crib? What if Jerome had left the stove on and the house had caught fire? “Oh God, Please Please,” Brenda prayed aloud, “Please don’t take my baby! Please let him be safe and asleep in his crib. I won’t ask you for another thing God. But Please don’t make me live through this if something bad has happened to my child.”

  Brenda couldn’t shake the feeling of disaster that had swept over her and had lingered there. Then, as she crossed into her Southeast Capitol Hill neighborhood, she knew the reason why. Long before turning the corner onto her street, she heard the sirens and smelled smoke. Seconds later, she noticed grayish-black clouds rolling up into the sky up ahead and then saw the fierce flames shooting out the windows of her home. Brenda slammed on the breaks right in the middle of the street and jumped out the car, running and shouting frantically with her arms flailing about her. “My baby! My baby! No, God No!” she hollered again and again. She tried to run into the burning house but a neighbor grabbed her and prevented her from entering.

  PART TWO

  And thus I clothe my naked villainy

  With old odd ends, stol’n forth of holy writ;

  And seem a saint, when most I play the devil.

  William Shakespeare (1564 - 1616)

  Chapter 22

  After torching the Johnson home, the killer cruised down 8th Street in Capitol Hill driving a rented black Chevy Blazer SUV. His darting eyes watched from behind an insulated hood. Too dangerous to leave a baby deserted here, he thought while searching for a safe place to dump the kid. The decision to park the rented get-away vehicle two blocks away from the Johnson house started out as a good one, he had thought. But now, it turned out to be chancy, running two blocks away from a roaring fire with a screaming infant hidden under an oversized jacket, and hoping not to be seen. Every step carrying that yelping bundle wrapped in a blue blanket, posed a threat to being noticed and caught. How the hell could such a perfect plan go so wrong? Letting that kid remain behind and burn to death wasn’t in the plan. All that mattered was that the intended target, Jerome Johnson, was dead.

  One hand rested on the steering wheel of the Blazer and the other nervously tapped on the dashboard to the rhythm of an old school hit, “War” by the Temptations that bellowed out from a CD changer. The killer didn’t seem to care if the loud music bothered the crying baby that was lying lengthwise on the passenger seat without benefit of a car seat. He wanted to go faster but was concerned that the baby might roll off onto the floor. Glancing cautiously down the street from side to side, the killer weaved in and out of traffic to try to beat the lights. Being too close to the crime scene increased the arsonist’s fear of getting stopped and questioned by the cops. Not to mention his fear of being pulled over for carrying an infant in a moving vehicle without a car seat! Perspiration stuck to his cotton underwear and went through the woolen sweat suit.

  When the infant stopped crying, the killer glanced down and noticed the baby’s puffy red, tear-stained face. His eyes were closed and his little chest rose and fell. The killer figured the baby had cried himself to sleep. “Good,” he mumbled aloud. “Soon as I find me someplace safe to drop you off at without puttin’ a noose around my own neck, you outta here, Partner. Don’t blame me if your daddy was an asshole.” The killer approached a crowded bus stop where a group of bums stood nearby. Street-corner drunks laughed out loud, cussed, and passed among themselves a whiskey bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. Coming up on the intersection of 8th and Florida Avenue Northeast, the killer didn’t notice the light turn red. Suddenly, a pregnant homeless woman walked out into the street. The killer slammed on the breaks. Distracted from looking around to see who was watching, he came just inches short of hitting the woman.

  “Hey, watch it asshole,” she swung her fist at the driver.

  “Why don’t you act like you wanna live then? Get your slow homeless ass outta the street,” the killer yelled back at her.

  The woman screamed back at the driver as she stood defiantly in the middle of the street with her belly poking out and both hands on her hips. “I’ll kick your punk-ass right here, pregnant or not. Get on outta that truck and come say that shit to my face, Punk!” The homeless woman then picked up a broken bottle from the curb and threw it at the driver’s vehicle. For just a few seconds she stared into the seething eyes of the driver behind the wheel and recognized the dilated pupils and agitation, signs of a fellow dope fiend. She had been there herself months ago before she got pregnant. Homeless, with no family, and approaching her nine month, all she had in the world was her unborn baby. Once she realized she was pregnant she had stopped drinking and doing drugs.

  The killer’s hand trembled on the wheel from an aching desire to leap out of the SUV and beat this woman half to death. Realizing the danger and certain capture that action presented, he remained calm and drove on. As he approached the intersection of 8th and Florida Avenue, the killer noticed a guard sitting inside a booth at the front gates of Gallaudet University. He peered out from under his knitted hoodie and saw the homeless woman’s image in his side mirror as she chased after his vehicle, still shaking her fists and yelling something he couldn’t hear. He realized the guard at Gallaudet’s front entrance must have seen the dispute with this crazy homeless woman, but there was nothing he could do about that now. He needed to make a quick getaway and this was as good a place as any he’d seen so far to unload this kid. He brought the van to an abrupt stop and grabbed the blanketed armload from the front seat. “Come on, kid. It ain’t gettin’ no better than this,” he said between clinched teeth. The killer jumped out the van, holding the baby in his arms as he ran towards the guard’s station. He set the bundle down on the sidewalk in front of the guard’s station and raced back to the van. Once back inside the van, … tires left skid marks as the killer raced off, running the red light.

  Chapter 23

  In this usually quiet Southeast Capitol Hill neighborhood, the approaching sirens and the smell of smoke had enticed everybody out of their homes. Onlookers swarmed around the burning rowhouse like flies on a week-old corpse.

  Deek had just left F. B. I. Headquarters and was headed towards his car. His meeting with Special Agent Ana Santos and the other members of the SOS Task Force had wrapped up early and now he was on his way back to police headquarters on Indiana Avenue. He enjoyed working on the “Save Our Streets” (SOS) Task Force, a joint effort between the FBI and the Metropolitan Police Department that the Mayor had spearheaded over the summer. The police chief recommended him to serve on the task force and he had accepted, although it ty
pically required him to work long days, juggling responsibilities for two law enforcement agencies.

  Just as Deek pulled out of the parking lot, his pager went off signaling a message from one of the guys at the fire station where his older brother Luke was a Lieutenant. It was Firefighter Cooper Brown paging him. Cooper had been temporarily elevated to platoon commander in Luke’s absence while Luke was away on special training. Since Luke had always kept Deek in the loop and alerted him whenever there was a major box alarm in progress, apparently Cooper was not going to break with tradition, thought Deek. After receiving Firefighter Brown’s page, Deek detoured from his route, turned on the siren and police flashers installed on the dashboard of his sports car, then raced off to the duty station. Deek represented the Metropolitan Police Department’s Homicide division so none of the guys in Luke’s crew thought it odd that Luke would give Deek advanced notice when something major was happening. If the fire turned out to be intentionally started and fatalities occurred as a result, the investigation would quickly get handed off to MPD homicide. This way Deek would already be in place. Deek would stay clear of the burning building, but once the fire was out, he’d look for evidence along with the fire investigator, who would have also been dispatched, to determine what happened.

  In less than two minutes Deek arrived at the firehouse. He noticed a full buffet style spread of barely-eaten food abandoned on a large wooden table that sat in the middle of the kitchen area where large aluminum pots hung from the ceiling. A well-used grill, black iron stove, oven, and chipped cabinets filled up the moderate cooking space. While inside the duty station he heard the dispatcher from CADS (Computer Aided Dispatch Systems) send out communications over the PA system repeatedly to announce the box fire on 6th Street, SE in Capitol Hill. The dispatcher announced house on fire, second level, heavy smoke, and gave the address. Dispatch had also alerted the arson investigator and building inspector as was customary for a box fire alarm of this magnitude. Like the fire fighters, Deek’s ears were trained to listen to the commotion stirring around him and still quickly carry out his duties simultaneously without getting distracted by noise. Practically living in a police station for the past six years, the noise coming from the PA system and ongoing dispatcher announcements didn’t bother Deek.