The Committee

by Terry E. Hill

  Sheridan was careful to not strike her face. She was much too beautiful to damage, even in the height of anger.

  “Stop it, Camille!” he yelled as she violently struggled in his arms. “That’s enough. Do you hear me? That’s enough!”

  “You betrayed me. You made a fool of me,” she shouted in return. “I’ll never forgive you for this.”

  Camille gradually gave way to fatigue as she panted, cursed, and clawed at his face over her head. “Let me go, you bastard. Take your fucking hands off me.”

  When her body went limp in his arms, he released her to the floor where she lay in a puddle of silk, panting and crying, “You bastard. You fucking bastard.”

  Sheridan rested on his knees, but stayed on the alert should she leap from the carpet and continue her attack.

  “You don’t know what you’ve done,” she said with her face buried in the carpet. “You’ve ruined everything.”

  “You said the feds don’t know,” Sheridan panted.

  “Fuck the feds. The people who know can do far more damage to you than the feds.”

  “Worse than the feds?” he asked through labored breaths. “Who?”

  “People who . . .” she paused and looked up at him. “You really fucked up, and I’m not going to cover for you. I have too much to lose, and I won’t sacrifice one ounce of my future for you. You’re on your own. Now get out!”

  The governor’s race of 1852 was disappointingly uneventful. After the death of Thaddeus Barrière, Jean-Luc Fantoché swept into office unopposed. The dead Barrière received a fraction of a percent of votes only because his name appeared on the ballot and there were people in the state, for their own personal reasons, who would rather see a dead man as governor than a living, breathing Fantoché.

  Upon her master’s untimely death, Black Dahlia was purchased by Juliette Dupree who immediately declared her a free woman. Dahlia moved to the mansion on Rue des Bourbon and worked as a lady’s maid-in-waiting and for the first time in her twenty-five years earned a day’s pay for a day’s work. In due course she came to know the secret of the black candle. Keeping a full box of matches at the ready became the most rewarding part of living with Juliette Dupree, as was seeing the punishment meted out by the candle to some of the most ungodly creatures on earth.

  Dahlia saw the destruction of mighty men and the propelling of weak men to unimaginable heights of wealth and power under the glow of the flame. Knowing its power reached far beyond what the eye could see, and was greater than any white man could even dream, gave her hope for the future. She was free, but her brothers and sisters still toiled in the burning Louisiana sun and cowered under the brutal Louisiana whip. Juliette assured her the candle would change all that. And from the extraordinary happenings witnessed behind Juliette’s closed doors, Dahlia believed it was true.

  Governor Fantoché soon came to know there was a cost for Juliette’s love. “You killed him, didn’t you?” he said to Juliette one starlit evening as he watched her standing by the fireplace. “With that,” he said, pointing over her shoulder to the candle. “I know you did it.”

  Juliette owned his body and soul and found no need for deception or modesty. “Yes,” she replied. “Surely, you did not imagine you became governor on your charm and political acumen. You didn’t know the capital of the state when I met you. I, and my associates, made you governor, and if you do as I say, we shall allow you to continue amongst the living. In the course of your term as governor you will abolish slavery in this state.”

  The words landed so hard they almost caused Fantoché to lose his footing. “I thought you loved me.”

  “In a time of war and suffering,” she said with a scowl, “love is a luxury I can scarcely afford.”

  “And if I don’t do as you say?” he asked with labored defiance. “What if I refuse? What if I take this house, the clothes, and jewelry away from you and throw you into the street?”

  “Then you shall meet a fate far worse than that of Thaddeus Barrière. By nightfall tomorrow, I would have twice as much as you have given me, and the man who would replace you as governor would be in my bed. Do not underestimate the depth and reach of my power, Governor. I will destroy you as quickly as I made you. The candle is the deadliest bow in my quiver, but I assure you, there are others. I can cause your fortune to vanish in a day and leave you penniless in the street, begging for bread. Or afflict you with a slow-lingering disease, leaving you pleading for death to come. Or cause your rosy-cheeked children to die like weeds, one-by-one, at your feet. There are far more powerful men than you, Governor, who do my bidding out of love, but mostly out of fear.”

  Juliette delivered the last blow with such brutal force it brought Governor Fantoché to his knees. His belly filled with anguish and despair and left no room for indignation at her insolence. He was the most powerful man in the state, but the beautiful Negress who towered over him was now in complete control.

  Fantoché pleaded with his eyes, but she showed no mercy. His life and the life of his children, his fortune and all he held dear was now resting in her hand, waiting to be crushed. He had seen the destruction wrought by the flame and accepted the generous benefits it bestowed. He dined at the sumptuous banquet hosted by Juliette Dupree, and now, the time for payment had come.

  He didn’t recognize the face standing above him. Terror gripped his heart, and the thought of her not loving him overwhelmed his senses. He could taste the bitter tang of deception on his tongue. The earthy aroma of fear assaulted his nostrils, and the tips of his fingers tingled from the touch of betrayal.

  Pity, mingled with repulsion, covered her face. “You mean nothing to me,” she sneered. “How a man of your limited intelligence can think I could love you is laughable. Your touch repulses me. You disgust me. The world is delivered to you on a gold platter simply because of the embryonic hue of your skin, while men of much greater character toil and suffer because of the dark hue of theirs.”

  Fantoché began to sob uncontrollably at her feet. “You are my world. Nothing you can say or do will alter my love for you. Tell me what you wish I should do. I am your slave,” he pleaded. “Hate me, torment me with cruel words, spit in my hideous face, but do not deny me the indescribable pleasure of your touch. I cannot live without you.”

  Fantoché removed a small derringer from his breast pocket and lifted it up to her in the palm of his hand. “Take my revolver and put a bullet in my heart if you are to deny me your touch.”

  The gun lay suspended in the air between them for moments until she removed it from his extended hand. Juliette placed the barrel directly between his eyes and pressed it hard against his forehead. Fantoché closed his eyes tight and prayed death would come quickly.

  “I will not grant you the gift of freedom by death,” she said at the height of his anguished anticipation and dropped the gun to the floor. She stroked his cheek with the back of her hand and said, “Your love for me shall be your prison. The tasks you perform at my behest shall serve as proof of your devotion.”

  Fantoché released a heaving sigh of relief. “Then my only goal in life,” he said collapsing to the floor and resting his tearstained cheek on her satin shoe, “from this moment on shall be to prove my devotion to you. I swear on my life, my darling, the hellish institution of slavery shall come to an end in this state.”

  Danny sat at Hattie’s kitchen table while she busied herself at the stove. The room was filled with the smell of freshly baked pound cake, brewed coffee, and lemon-scented Pine Sol.

  Danny often visited Hattie during the day when Gideon was working. She had become like a grandmother to him in the last year. He loved the way her home smelled. The way she looked at him when he shared thoughts she considered as products of his limited life experience. “Just keep living, baby,” she would say with a knowing smile.

  He’d been in her kitchen so often she already knew exactly how he liked his coffee: two teaspoons of sugar and just a drop of cream. She sliced into the pound cake
on the counter and removed a hefty portion for his plate.

  “Do you think about him often?” Danny asked, looking toward her back at the counter.

  “Who, baby?” she replied knowing the answer.

  “Hezekiah. Do you miss him as much as I do?”

  Hattie joined Danny at the table and placed the cake and coffee in front of him. “Baked it this morning,” she said. “I had a feeling you’d come today.”

  “Do you miss him?” Danny pressed on.

  Hattie sat at the head of the table facing the window looking over her garden. The sun caressed their faces with a warm glow.

  “I do, Danny,” she finally responded. “I think of him every day. He was very important to me.”

  Hattie looked at Danny as he ran the tip of his finger around the rim of the coffee cup. “I know you miss him too,” she said. “Trust me, it gets easier as time goes by.”

  Danny did not respond.

  “You know that he loved you?”

  “Yes, I know.”

  “He never told me, but I felt it in his spirit,” Hattie said gently. “He never loved anyone as much as he loved you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “I knew everything about Hezekiah,” she said proudly. “His hopes, fears, dreams. He was a troubled spirit just before he died, and it was only because of his love for you he was able to transition peacefully. He asked me to watch out for you after he was gone, to pray for you the way I prayed for him.”

  Danny looked up from the cup of coffee. “When did he ask you that?”

  “He came to me after he passed away. He refused to leave until he knew you would be taken care of.”

  Danny found profound sorrow and loving comfort in her words. A tear fell from his eye as he looked at Hattie. She reached across the table and covered his hand with hers.

  “Do you understand what that means?”

  Danny did not respond.

  “It means he delayed the call of eternal happiness and freedom from the cares and troubles of this world just for you. That’s love, Danny. You meant everything to him in this world, and he still loves you in the world he’s in now.”

  “Thank . . .” he stuttered. “Thank you, Hattie. You can’t imagine how badly I needed to hear that.”

  “I know, baby. I know.”

  “He once told me about you.”

  “What did he tell you?” she asked.

  “He didn’t say your name, only that God had placed a guardian angel in his life who prayed day and night on his behalf. It made him feel safe and protected, knowing you were interceding, as he put it, on his behalf. We rarely talked about spiritual matters, but when he spoke of you, he would say, ‘the prayers of the righteous availeth much.’”

  Hattie matched his tear with one of her own. She reached for a paper napkin in the holder at the center of the table and wiped her cheek.

  “I let him down,” she said softly. “He would be alive today if I’d only warned him she was . . .” Hattie caught the words before they could escape her lips.

  “She?” Danny asked, urging her to complete the sentence. “She who?”

  “Never mind, Danny. It’s all over now, and he’s with the Lord.”

  “You meant Samantha,” he asked gently, “didn’t you?”

  “Drink your coffee before it gets cold.” Hattie stood from table and moved to the sink. “You haven’t even tried the cake,” she said with her back to him.

  “She did it, didn’t she?” Danny asked anxiously. “Samantha killed Hezekiah?”

  Hattie turned on the faucet but did not answer. The sound of running water covered her gentle sob. Danny stood and walked to her.

  “Hattie, please tell me. I need to know.”

  Hattie turned to face him. “She was an evil woman, Danny. Yes, baby. She killed him.”

  Danny went back to the table and looked out the window. “I always knew it,” he said.

  Hattie returned to the table. “They’re both gone now, and there’s nothing we can do to change that. They have to answer to the Lord. One good thing that came from all this is you now have Gideon. He loves you as much as Hezekiah did, and I know you love him too. Most people don’t ever know that kind of love, and God blessed you with it twice.”

  “I know you’re right,” Danny said. “But now it feels like it’s happening again. I worry about Gideon.”

  Hattie looked at him intently. He’s wiser than his years, she thought. “Nothing will happen to him. I promise. God has His hand on him,” she said reassuringly.

  Danny looked at her with pain in his eyes. “Promise me, Hattie. Promise me you won’t let anything happen to him. I would rather die than see him hurt. I couldn’t go through it again.”

  Hattie questioned her faith. Could she make that promise? Was there a way for her to alter a man’s fate? She felt helpless and weak. Then suddenly, the words rang in her ears. “The prayers of the righteous availeth much.”

  “Every time I see Camille Hardaway,” Danny continued, “I get the same horrible feeling I did when I saw Samantha Cleaveland. Gideon is determined to dig up something on her. I’m afraid it could cost him . . .” he couldn’t say the words.

  “I’m praying for him and you, Danny,” she said regaining her strength. “As hard and as much as I prayed for Hezekiah.”

  It was 7:30 Monday morning, and the Venice Beach Boardwalk slowly came to life. Vendors rolled up metal shop doors to reveal mugs, fanny packs, beach towels, and stacks of T-shirts emblazoned with palm trees and smiling suns to serve as reminders for tourists they had spent their summer vacations on the beach in sunny California.

  Tony Christopoulos jogged every morning five miles up and five miles back along the boardwalk and bike path running in front of his loft and parallel to the ocean. He made it a point to never say “Good morning,” or make eye contact with any of the merchants, groundskeepers, or homeless people he passed at the exact same time each day. He didn’t want to be slowed down by the obligations of exchanging greetings or remembering names. This time was reserved exclusively for him. The rest of his day would soon enough be burdened with the public in his role as Camille’s chief of staff.

  The Santa Monica Pier marked the five-mile mark where he would turn around and head home. Pandora fed him a steady stream of divas, Chaka Khan, Whitney Houston, Mariah Carey, and Beyoncé, through the earbuds attached to his phone. He heard the familiar beep in the middle of Chaka Kahn belting, “I’m every woman, it’s all . . .” indicating an incoming call.

  Tony stopped and began running in place. He believed if a caller knew his private number it must be an important person.

  “Hello, this is Tony,” he said continuing the stationary run.

  “Am I speaking with Tony Christopoulos?” the male caller asked.

  “Yes, you are. Who is this?” he said as his resentment for the interruption mounted. “How can I help you?”

  “Tony, we haven’t met. My name is Lazarus Hearst. Are you familiar with me?”

  Tony stopped in place. “The Lazarus Hearst?”

  Lazarus released a slight chuckle and said, “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  “Then, yes, I know who you are, sir. How may I help you?”

  “Is this a good time for you to talk? I know it’s early, but this is very important.”

  “Yes, this is a good time. I was just leaving for work,” Tony lied.

  “That’s unusual.”

  “I’m sorry? I’m not sure what you mean.”

  “Isn’t this normally the time you take your morning run?”

  Tony was puzzled by the comment. “As a matter of fact, it is. How did you know that?”

  “Oh,” Lazarus said calmly, “I know a lot about you, Tony.”

  Tony was not easily thrown, but the comment caused him to pause. “What is this about?”

  “I’ll get to the point so you can get back to your run. You’re almost to the pier so you’ll be turning back soon.”

  It was clear
he was being watched. “Is this some sort of joke?” he asked spinning a full circle in search of who was following him. “If it is, I don’t find it amusing at all.”

  “No, Tony,” Lazarus said. His tone turned cold. “This isn’t a joke. I’m calling to give you a piece of very valuable advice. It has come to my attention you are involved in a very inappropriate relationship with the husband of someone I have taken a personal interest in.”

  “And who are you referring to?” Tony asked summoning the remains of his dwindling bravado.

  “I think you know who I’m referring to, Tony. Sheridan Hardaway, of course.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said shakily. “I’m going to hang up now.”

  “I’d advise you to hear me out, Tony . . . if you value your life.”

  “Are you threatening me?”

  “As a matter of fact, I am,” Lazarus said. “Now listen very closely. Your relationship with Sheridan is over as of now. And if you don’t do exactly as I instruct, your life will be over as well.”

  Tony’s knees began to wobble.

  “Camille knows nothing about your relationship,” Lazarus continued. “She also doesn’t know you’ve been feeding Sheridan information that has made him, and you, a great deal of money.”

  Tony made his way to a nearby bench and sat down as his knees threatened to buckle. His hand began to shake as Lazarus continued.

  “And she will never know if you do exactly as I say.”

  Tony placed his head in his free hand and began to sob. “Yes, yes, I’ll resign today. I’ll disappear.”

  “No, I don’t want you to resign,” Lazarus said with a hint of irritation.