But he was a stronger person now. More disciplined. He had to stick to his plan.
So Isaiah quelled his turbulent emotions by imagining that he was the one sitting on Gabriel's sofa in that huge house. Sipping iced tea. Talking on the phone to a fine woman who was begging, eager to come over and fuck him.
I could live that life, Isaiah thought. It could be mine.
He continued to watch Gabriel, and his imagination was so vivid that, soon, he was sitting on that sofa, living that lavish lifestyle, and he looked out the window of his tastefully appointed living room and saw Gabriel Reid, standing in the front yard, bedraggled and beaten-and Isaiah waved at him, snapped the curtains shut, and poured himself another delicious glass of tea.
Chapter 8
fter the episode in the bathroom, Gabriel cleaned the -house thoroughly. As he put things in order and sanitized and swept various surfaces, he felt as though he were putting his thoughts back in order, too. By the time he had finished cleaning, he'd reached a conclusion about what had happened.
It was a fluke.
Everyone, at some time, experienced an event that could not easily be explained. For example, you think of your friend and how you'd like to talk to him, and a minute later your phone rings and it's him calling. Or you start humming a favorite song, and you switch on the radio, and lo and behold, that very song is playing. Or you decide to drive a different route to work, just for a change, and you find out later that by taking an alternate route you avoided a three-car wreck.
Or a bathroom door appears to open on its own...
Those things happened to everyone once or twice in a lifetime. Those incidents were coincidences, and could likely be explained by statistics-or, in his case, by someone with a strong grasp of physics.
A fluke. He wasn't losing his mind. It was nothing worth dwelling on.
While cleaning, he talked on the phone with friends and family, and when he finished his housework, he took a long nap on a couch in the finished basement, the coolest part of his house during the summer.
While napping, he had a strange dream. He dreamed that he'd somehow been kicked outside of his house. His keys didn't work; the locks had been changed. When he went to a window, he saw someone who looked like him, yet was different in some indefinable way, lounging on his furniture, and when Gabriel pounded the window and demanded to be let inside, his twin pressed a button on the sofa arm and an electrical shock sizzled through Gabriel....
Gabriel woke up shaking his head. What a weird dream.
Around seven, Dana arrived. He greeted her at the door with a kiss. She put the plastic grocery bags she was carrying on the floor and hugged him.
"How're you feeling?" she asked. She carefully touched his head bandage.
"Almost normal again." He smiled. "I almost went to work today."
"Better be glad you didn't," she said. "If I'd found out, you would've been in big trouble."
"Is that right? You would've spanked me?"
"I might've sent you out back to get a switch," she said.
"Hey, I can do that. Just give me the word."
She laughed. "I see you are back to normal, with your freaky self. Come out to the car and help me get the rest of these groceries."
As Dana went to the kitchen to put away the bags she'd brought in, he went to her Honda. A few Publix bags waited in the trunk; a red gift bag was nestled among them, the con tents concealed by frizzy crepe paper. His birthday present? He started to stick his hand inside.
"Stay outta there," Dana said, hurrying to him. "I knew you'd go in there first. You can't open it until after dinner."
"After dinner? Come on, Dana, technically my birthday was yesterday."
"True, but we're celebrating it today"
"So I'll get all my gifts today?" He rested his hand on her hip, rubbed it.
"All of 'em-and then some" She gave him a quick kiss. "But not until after dinner."
"Then let's hurry up and eat"
"Patience, tiger." Dana tucked the gift bag under her arm and walked to the house, swinging her hips. She looked over her shoulder, saw him watching, and gave him a sexy wink.
God, he loved her. Sometimes he felt as if he didn't deserve the love of such a special woman. In his life full of blessings, Dana was, by far, the most treasured. She meant more to him than any amount of money or lofty career title ever could.
He was, indeed, the luckiest man alive.
Talk about adding insult to injury.
Isaiah had spent hours spying on Gabriel. He'd been there throughout the afternoon, had left for a couple of hours to grab a bite to eat, and then returned around six in the evening. At seven, a woman pulled into Gabriel's driveway in a red Honda Accord coupe.
When she strolled up to Gabriel's house carrying grocery bags, Isaiah sat up straighter in his seat and fumbled to get the binoculars on her.
Watching her, his heart stuttered.
She was fine.
She was probably five-five, five-six at the most. Dark hair styled in a short, curly do. Smooth brown skin. Big, pretty eyes. She wore a yellow blouse and a denim skirt, the clothes showcasing a body that belonged front and center in a hiphop video-or wrapped around a pole at one of Atlanta's finer gentlemen's clubs.
"Hell, naw, she can't be your girlfriend," Isaiah whispered. "You're a lucky bastard, but you ain't that lucky."
He got confirmation a couple of minutes later. Gabriel shuffled outside to get something out of the woman's car, and then she rushed up to him. As they talked, Gabriel put his hand on her booty, possessively, and she kissed him on the lips-gestures that told Isaiah everything he needed to know.
Gabriel was, truly, the luckiest motherfucker on the planet.
The woman strutted back inside the house, shaking that lovely ass of hers. Isaiah lowered the binoculars. He wiped his lips, which suddenly were dry.
He had seen enough for one day.
He started the engine, mashed the gas pedal, and thundered down the street. Gabriel glanced at him as he drove past. Isaiah pressed the accelerator harder, making the engine bellow like a lion.
He had to go somewhere else. Vicious waves of energy churned through him, and he needed to channel the forces in an alternate, more positive direction.
As he drove away, he thought his course of action proved that he was a different man. A wiser, more patient man.
In the past, he would have killed Gabriel right then.
As Gabriel was taking the rest of the groceries inside, a car sped past.
It was an old-school, smoke-gray Chevy Chevelle with supersized chrome wheels. Tinted windows concealed the driver. The car streaked down the road, orange-red sunlight shimmering on the rear window as though the interior of the vehicle were afire. The car veered around the corner at the end of the block and rumbled out of sight.
For some reason, the car sent a shiver tipping along Gabriel's spine.
Weird. It was an ordinary car, driven by God knows who.
But the chill clung to him until he went inside the house and closed-and locked-the door.
Chapter 9
or dinner, Dana cooked some of Gabriel's favorite dishes: cream of spinach soup. Pan-seared salmon with sour cream and dill. Twice-baked potatoes. Steamed vegetables. A tossed salad with balsamic vinaigrette dressing. And for dessert, she'd prepared cheesecake.
They had dinner by candlelight in the formal dining room. Soft jazz, broadcast from a satellite radio station, played on the stereo system that dispersed music throughout the house.
Gabriel could not help but reflect on the amazing flow of events. Last night he had been unconscious in a hospital after a car wreck. Barely twenty-four hours later he was in the comfort of his home, enjoying dinner with his fiancee. What a trip. When they said grace, he spent an extra minute with his head bowed, giving thanks to God for the many blessings.
"This looks delicious," Gabriel said. He filled Dana's wineglass with chardonnay, and then his own. "Best birthday dinner ever."
Dana raised her glass. "I want to make a toast. Happy thirtieth birthday to you, Gabriel Joseph Reid, the most won derful man I've ever met, my future husband-and future baby daddy." She cracked a mischievous smile.
They clinked their glasses together, took short sips of the wine, and began to eat.
"You know," Gabriel said, "we can get started on the baby daddy part tonight if you want"
"Uh-huh, I bet," she said. "We're not married yet"
"Okay, I was kidding about starting tonight. But we can start when we go on our honeymoon."
"You know that's not the plan," she said.
"But wouldn't it be cool to have a Gabe Junior running around?"
"How do you know the first one will be a boy? It might be a girl."
"The first one will be a boy, trust me," he said. "Then we'll have our baby girl, Kaya"
They had already selected names for the children they planned to have. They believed-well, Gabriel believedthat they would have two children, a boy and a girl. Just like his parents had had him and his younger sister.
"One year," Dana said. "I'm not carrying any babies before then"
"There you go"
Along with picking names for their future children, they had discussed their plans for starting a family. They had agreed-well, Dana had decreed that they would begin attempting to have children only after they had been married for at least a year. Although Dana was twenty-nine and the ticking of her biological clock got louder by the day, she insisted that it was important for them to spend a year as a married couple without children, bonding.
Gabriel went along with Dana's wishes and saw the validity of her position-but he didn't want to wait. He was eager to be a father and excited about the challenges and joys of fatherhood. Why wait? He and Dana already had been dat ing for three years and spent time together nearly every day. If they hadn't "bonded" by now, they never would.
"We've discussed this," she said. She stabbed a broccoli spear with her fork. "Sometimes I wonder why you're in such a rush to have kids."
"I'm thirty years old. I don't want to be an old man, hobbled with arthritis, when Junior wants me to play ball with him."
"Yeah, that's what you always say. I feel like the gender roles have been reversed. Usually the guy wants to put kids on hold so he has more time to enjoy his wife while her body is tight."
"Is it so wrong for a man to want to have children with his wife? Seems like a natural, good thing to me ."
"Like something your father would approve of, huh?"
He laid his silverware against the plate. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Forget it." She shrugged. "How's your salmon?"
He stared at her fora beat. Dana studied her wineglass and took a bite of food, avoiding his gaze.
It was enough.
She didn't buy his explanation for why he wanted to have children so soon, and he wasn't prepared to confess his honest motives, either. The truth? Having children of his own, in a way, would make him feel like Pops. Gabriel loved children, was excited by the thought of being a dad. But ... being a father would nudge him that much closer to living in his father's vaunted image.
But was that such an awful thing? His father was a good man-a great man. Pops was Gabriel's hero and role model, always had been. Shouldn't a son emulate his own father and not some immoral and arrogant pro athlete or rap artist, as so often happened nowadays?
Dana just didn't understand, and he didn't want to discuss it with her further. His adoration of Pops was already a source of tension between them.
Gabriel chewed a piece of the fish. "The salmon is delicious."
"Good" She took a long sip of her chardonnay and then held out her glass. "Mmm. Pour me some more, please."
"Looks like someone's gonna get lit tonight." He reached for the wine bottle, which was an arm's length away.
His hands began to tingle. Pins and needles attacked his flesh.
Gabriel snatched his hand away from the bottle and buried both his hands in his lap.
"What's wrong?" Dana asked.
"Nothing" He rubbed his palms against his jeans, trying to make the prickly feeling go away.
"I'm not stupid. You were about to get the wine and then you jerked your hand away-and now you're hiding your hands under the table. What's wrong?"
"It's nothing. I felt a chill, that's all. It startled me"
"I know you better than that, babe." she said. "Please, tell me what's wrong."
He felt his resolve faltering. He couldn't continue to tell himself that the weird things happening to him were flukes. This was the third time his palms had gotten that electric, crackling feeling. Coincidences didn't happen in threes.
The sensation faded. He put his hands on top of the table and spread them as though for a palm reading.
"Gabriel," Dana said. "Please"
"Okay," he said. "I'll tell you."
He told her everything.
He told her about the tingling that had thrice struck him at unexpected moments. He told her about the humanoid shape he'd seen in the mirror at the hospital. He told her about the door that evidently had opened of its own accord.
As he talked, though he had no answers for anything that had happened, he began to feel better. It felt good to share his troubles with someone who cared, and he berated himself for not telling Dana earlier.
"I wish you hadn't kept this from me," Dana asked. "I might've been able to help you"
"Do you know what's going on?" he asked.
"Off the top of my head? No. But I'll research it. I think it's connected to your accident. You may have sustained some kind of nerve damage to your hands"
He nodded. That made a lot of sense. But there was more. "What about me seeing the shape in the mirror?"
"That happened to you shortly after you awakened last night, right? After you'd suffered a major concussion, remember? Seeing a fleeting glimpse of something, a brief hallucination or misinterpreting a shadow-not so unusual."
"I can buy that," he said. "And the bathroom door opening?"
Her brow furrowed. "I'm not sure about that one. I'm inclined to think that the door wasn't closed all the way and it sort of bounced open when you moved toward it. Probably was blown open by the wind."
"But I saw that knob twist, Dana. I know it."
"Like you saw the shape in the mirror?"
He pursed his lips. She smiled a little. She had him.
"So I imagined that, too," he said.
"I prefer to say `misinterpreted,"' she said.
"Whatever you call it, it worries me. Going around having hallucinations, misinterpreting things, as you say? That makes me sound like a head case"
"Let's not jump to any hasty conclusions, babe. First things first; you need to see your doctor."
"Why do I have to do that? You're a doctor. You help me"
"I'm a pediatrician, Gabe. I treat children-though sometimes you behave like one" She smiled.
"Ha-ha"
"Seriously, you need to see your own doctor. I'll see what I can find out, but a second opinion never hurts. I want you to make an appointment tomorrow."
He groaned.
"I know, you hate going to the doctor," she said. "But this is important. We can't put it off or try to brush it under the rug and hope it goes away. You already said your hands have gotten that pins-and-needles feeling three times since yesteray.
"You're right," he said. He examined his hands. They felt normal. For now. "I'll make the appointment tomorrow morning, see if he can fit me in right away."
"Good boy," she said. "Let's finish dinner before it gets cold. We won't let this little thing ruin the rest of the evening."
But the mood already had been altered, irrevocably, in Gabriel's mind. Even as they finished dinner and indulged in their dessert ... even as Gabriel opened his birthday present and discovered that Dana had given him a beautiful Movado watch ... even as they cuddled on the sofa to watch a Will Smith movie and Dana
interrupted the film to climb on Gabriel's lap and slip out of her blouse ... even as they began to make love ... even as, afterward, they lay together in bed and drifted to sleep ... even as all these things happened, the question of what was happening to him lingered over him ... like a storm cloud waiting to give birth to thunder and lightning.
Chapter 10
-hat night, Isaiah decided to get a woman of his own. - The Days Inn at which he was lodging in Marietta was located near Dave & Buster's, a massive entertainment complex that featured arcade games, billiards and shuffleboard tables, a restaurant, and bars. Isaiah strolled into the place around nine o'clock.
It was a space as vast as an airport hangar, bedecked with glitzy lights and abuzz with electronic sound effects, music, chatter and laughter, and bar-food aromas-enough sensory stimulation to scramble your nerves. Which was most likely the intended effect. Customers satiated with stimuli were more likely to keep guzzling drinks, gorging themselves on fatty food, and pumping money into games. Fun, fun, fun.
Wishing he had a pair of sunglasses and earplugs, Isaiah sidled up to the Viewpoint Bar, aptly named because it was situated to allow customers to scope out the action in the restaurant and billiards area. A twenty-screen video dome displayed an Atlanta Braves game and news clips of the day's other sporting events.
The Latino bartender, a dead ringer for Ricky Martin, came to take Isaiah's order.
"Double shot of Hennessy, on the rocks," Isaiah said. He added, "VSOE"
"You got it, man," the bartender said.
Mama, whenever she drank, was partial to Hennessy. Isaiah had his first try of the cognac-without her knowledge, of course-when he was twelve years old. One taste had hit him like a punch to the chest, but he'd loved it. He wasn't a big drinker, didn't like how alcohol robbed the mind of control, but when he chose to indulge, Hennessy was his preferred poison.
The Other Brother Page 6
