The Hunted

by L. A. Banks

  But Inez would have kind eyes, a soft hug, some chips, some wine, a video, some laughs. That was sanctuary. The compound was just a hard reminder of what she really was—trapped.

  Sucking in a deep breath, Damali let it out slowly, sat back, and checked her reflection in the rearview mirror. She touched up her light eyeliner, just using the pads of her thumbs to wipe away the damage the tears had done, and threw her locks over her shoulders. It was a performance. That’s what she had to tell herself as she braced her nerves to open the door and prepared for the onslaught of kids.

  “Yo,” she shouted, jumping down from the Hummer and walking up to the building.

  Recognition was instantaneous, and just as soon as she’d taken ten paces, she was mobbed.

  “Hey, D! You back in the old neighborhood?”

  “You got CDs with you? Can we ride in your Hummer?”

  “That’s bangin’, gurl—go ’head wit your bad self!”

  “Daaayum . . . will you look at the rims on that sweet bitch. Aw, man, with the fog lights up top.”

  “Your last concert was all that—the video is off da chain, sis!”

  “Off da heezy fo’ sheezy. Tight.”

  “Who you know up in here? Dey wit your band?

  “I got dis tape, sis, I want you to hear—hol’ up, I’ma go get it and be right back. Cool?”

  She smiled, she nodded, she signed T-shirts and bare arms. She gave the right answers and passed the huddle slowly, giving encouragement, good wishes, laughing with them, but she kept walking. Her goal was singular. Make it to sanctuary. Get to Inez’s door. Don’t cry. This is a performance. This is what all those young eyes want to see. She was reaching icon status. Keep the light and hold up your torch. As soon as the inner words hit her, it reminded her of what Carlos had said: “Raise your Isis, baby.”

  Keep walking. Don’t you dare cry, gurl. Not here. Not now. Not in front of the crowd. Keep walking. Keep smiling. Keep from dropping to your knees weeping. Ring the bell. Don’t look too long at that young boy with the dark eyes, leaning on your car talking about “Yo, que pasa?” Inez, be home, please, girl, don’t do me like this. Open the door, now!

  “Damali!”

  She didn’t even see Inez’s face as she barreled into her arms, hugging her tightly, tears now flowing freely, almost hiccuping sobs that she made sound like laughter. Forcing a smile, she allowed Inez to hold her back from her, and then squeeze her hard again.

  “Y’all go ’head, now. This is my girl, and I haven’t seen her in a minute,” Inez said, laughing and shooing the neighborhood away as she shut the door behind them.

  Damali’s hands were shaking as she wiped away the tears and took deep breaths.

  “Look at us,” Inez said, wiping her eyes, too. “Crying and laughing and snottin’ and shit. This don’t make no sense. It hasn’t been that long.”

  Damali swallowed hard, making herself chuckle, and a part of it was no act. It was release laughter. She’d made it to a sanctuary that had not changed. Inez was her girl. As she looked at the deep brown eyes set in a dark walnut face framed by beautiful braids, and her best friend in the whole wide world standing there in a yellow sundress like old times, hands on thick hips, saucy pout, she lost it.

  Next thing Damali knew, her arms were around Inez again, just rocking her almost off her feet, laughing to keep from screaming.

  “Oh, gurl, I missed you!” That was the truth, as well as the only thing she could say to cover what was really wrong.

  It seemed like holding Inez this way was sucking every unshed tear up and out of her. She could almost feel her skin siphoning comfort out of Inez’s warm, plump frame. So much had happened, where did one begin? But she’d never put her girl in harm’s way by disclosing any of that. Not here, not ever, no matter what.

  “Whew,” Damali said, as she finally let Inez go and got herself together, still chuckling as she wiped her eyes.

  “Girl, get yourself in here and tell me what’s been going on,” Inez said, looping her arm around Damali’s waist and guiding Damali into the kitchen.

  All Damali could do was shake her head as she passed through the small, well-kept little apartment. She dropped into a plastic kitchen chair with all her weight, closed her eyes, and leaned her head against the wall. Sanctuary. “Oh, girl, I hate the road. You just don’t know.”

  Inez went right for the wine in the fridge, and went up on her toes to fetch down some chips. The blare of the television was balm to her tattered nerves, just like Inez’s voice was. Peace, was the small TV on the counter, street traffic, loud music, kids hollering at each other outside. Peace. Normalcy. Damali could hear her girlfriend working to play hostess, knew exactly what she was doing even with her eyes closed as Inez rooted through her cabinets. More tears slipped down her cheeks.

  Here her friend was of such humble means, and the kitchen of her ultra-modern, totally fortified guardian compound could swallow Inez’s entire apartment whole by ten times, but Inez was giving to her. The tragic part of it all was, she couldn’t even invite her best friend to her place. What, show Inez around the weapons room; show her rocket-propelled grenade launchers? Hook her up with one of her sharpshooter big brothers, all so her girl could be vamp bait and go out like Dee Dee had? No, it would never happen.

  Damali’s chest was so tight that she almost couldn’t breathe as Inez came back to the table, excitement glittering in her eyes, and made the most gracious offering from what little she had.

  “Here, sweetie. You know I ain’t got much, but mi casa es su casa, always. I know this isn’t the good stuff,” she said, unscrewing the bottle of wine. Her voice held a bit of shame in its timbre, “If I knew you were coming . . . but if I’ve got fifty cents, you’ll always have a quarter.”

  Damali smiled brightly, breathed in deep, and accepted the glass of wine that had been presented in a Dollar Store glass. Didn’t Inez know that to her it was Waterford crystal? The cheap wine poured by Inez was better than Cristal, any day. “Girl, you know the same holds true, and I’m not like that. I haven’t changed.”

  Then Inez messed around and put a kiss on Damali’s forehead. “That’s why I love you so much, and why I’m so proud of you. We all are. You’re real, and you haven’t changed at all.”

  “If you ever need anything,” Damali whispered, her throat too raw to speak louder. Oh, God, if Inez only knew how much she had. “Just—”

  “No, girl. I ain’t tryin’ to be in your pocket. That’s not what our friendship has ever been about.” Inez sat down, her eyes holding Damali’s the whole time. “Right? We go waaaay back. You made it out. You’re living the life we always talked about.” Inez clasped Damali’s hand across the table. “The demons didn’t get you, girl. You made it.”

  Damali immediately stiffened, then forced herself to relax. “Demons?” Shit. She had almost drawn her blade. If some fucking demons had sniffed out her girl, it was on!

  “Chile,” Inez laughed. “The entertainment industry demons. You ain’t still that superstitious, are you?” Inez laughed harder. “Remember when we were kids and you would swear you always saw some guy in an alley with glowing eyes as we’d pass by? You so crazy, that’s why I love you, with your paranoid self.”

  Making herself laugh along with Inez, Damali sipped her wine. “They almost did get me, though, gurl. I’ve had some close calls. I went right down into the belly of the beast—you have no idea.” It was the truth, but not a comprehended confession. However, just saying it, and letting a bit of her life out, felt like an anvil was being lifted from her shoulders. “Tell me what’s been going on, catch me up.”

  “The neighborhood ain’t changed since you left, except it’s gotten worse. But my life is an easy read. I go to work, I type and answer the phone for a nasty old bastard called my boss, and stay one step ahead of bill collectors. Then I go pick up my daughter from day care, come home, make dinner, clean up, put her to bed, and crash and burn to do it all over again. Girl, don’t you let n
o man talk you into having his baby—I love my daughter, don’t get me wrong. But she’s going through the terrible twos, money gets funny, and life is one long drama trying to get my baby’s daddy’s trifling ass to act right. We broke up, but that was bound to happen. The relationship was hell. I’m over it.”

  Damali could only nod and sip her wine. Hell was a matter of perspective.

  Inez sighed, her voice going soft as she looked over Damali’s shoulder toward the bedroom that she and her daughter shared. “I’ll let you peek in on her, but you don’t want to wake up that little monster. Her bad ass is possessed, but I love her to death.” She brought her gaze back to Damali. “Nothing in the world like having kids. But,” she added, taking a liberal sip of her wine, “I’m being selfish, and just want you all to myself for a little while.”

  Damali reached across the table and covered Inez’s hand. “I hear you,” she murmured, but wanted so badly to tell Inez not to call her child a monster, not to say that the child was possessed. Words had power. Didn’t her girlfriend know?

  “All right, chica. I just took you on a brief tour of single-mother hell. Boooring. Now, pleeaaase tell me the latest of diva-hell.” She laughed warmly and richly, making Damali join in. “Unlike my story, I know the men are fine! Start there, and work your way out.”

  Damali sat back in her chair and shook her head, and began munching on chips. “All demons,” she said, then laughed hard at the truth in her statement. “Fine and demons. That’s all I’ve met on the road. What can I say?”

  “But I know they’re rich as shit,” Inez said, leaning in. “Gurrrlll . . . talk to me.”

  “Wealthy enough to make a sistah act stupid. Crazy, ridiculous amounts of money—spent on pure bullshit. Decadent, girl. I swear to you.” Damali laughed, battling not to cry, and slurped her wine. The truth, even a half-truth hidden behind double entendre and the known lack of comprehension of her friend, felt so good. She had to get some of it out, so she chose her words with care.

  “Girl, I’ve seen some mansions that would make the hair stand up on your arms. Chile, please . . . seen some brothers so fine they could talk your drawers off from across the room. But, you know me, right? Had to drive a stake in one motherfucker’s heart. Poof,” she said, flicking her fingers in the air. “His ass was dust. What can I say?”

  Inez put her head down on the table and screamed, then sat, laughing hard with Damali, and slapped her a high five. “Oh, my God, Damali, what did you do to the man—and tell me all about him.”

  “In truth . . . he was tall, like six somethin’, had jet black wavy hair, looked like a tall version of Prince . . . gurl, had it all, even a panther in his house—”

  “Shut. Up!”

  “Yup. Crazy. A security entourage that was not to be messed with . . . the brother was fine. I’ll give him that. Old New Orleans money.” Damali shook her head. “Uhmmph, ummmph, ummph. I almost went down for the brother.”

  Inez’s eyes sparkled. She let her voice drop to a low whisper, looked around the kitchen like there might be someone listening, and giggled. “Fifty-million-dollar question. Did you give him any?”

  Damali leaned her head back on the wall and laughed, and shut her eyes. “You know me better than that.” She sat up and winked at Inez. “He almost took the draws—I’m not gonna lie. But, I wasn’t having it.”

  Inez folded her arms over her chest. “Gurl, I could never figure your ass out. If it had been me—shit. Especially if he was all that.”

  She was laughing, but it was a weak chuckle. What her friend said made her blood run cold for a moment. Yeah, if Inez had been there, Nuit would have, no doubt about it—then her girl would have been dinner. Time to change the subject.

  “All right. So, that one was a bastard. But, I know there’s got to be somebody special on the horizon by now . . . fine as you are? So, who’s the latest?”

  The question made Damali pause and become very, very still as she sipped her wine more carefully. “You know me. Working all the time, getting ready for gigs. Working on new cuts . . . there’s, well, there’s just never time for that. I have to stay focused. Got a lotta people depending on me.”

  The frown on Inez’s face wasn’t one of disappointment; it was one of concern. “Girl, seriously, all work and no play will make you snap.”

  “Yeah, I know. I take breaks, go to the clubs, hang out and stuff and—”

  “All them fine men around you, when’s the last time you had some?”

  Damali just stared at her girlfriend and then at the table. A loose piece of linoleum captured her interest and made her pick at it. “I haven’t . . . I mean . . . I don’t go there, don’t take myself through changes like that over no man. My work is . . . girl . . . you know me.”

  A pair of wide eyes stared at her as Inez put her hand over her heart and stood up fast, almost toppling the chair behind her. “You mean you still haven’t . . . Damali, stop lying!”

  “I’m into my music, my work, you know . . . when the right person, or situation . . . girl, it ain’t no thang.”

  Damali watched her girlfriend’s eyes fill as Inez backed up to the kitchen sink.

  “Oh, my God,” Inez whispered. “You never got over it, did you?”

  “No, I—that’s not the reason I haven’t found anybody . . .” Damali’s gaze locked with her girlfriend’s as Inez’s tears began to fall.

  For a brief moment, neither woman spoke. All the noise, and even the blare of the small kitchen television on the counter sounded like silence. It was only the two of them, breathing, staring, remembering, and holding the secret. Then suddenly Inez broke down in tears.

  “It’s all my fault!”

  Damali was on her feet in seconds and had Inez in her arms, stroking her hair.

  “No, it’s not,” she said, her voice mellow, healing, trying to chase away Inez’s pain.

  The foul image immediately slithered into her mind despite her efforts to banish it. She was in a basement, bent over the washing machine. She was jamming to her music, hadn’t even heard him come up behind her. Something male and strong and reeking with liquor held her like an anchor around the waist. She pivoted instantly and saw a pair of reddened, bloodshot eyes. He smiled. He was so tall, so much bigger, and he loomed over her tiny frame.

  Her mind had processed the threat in milliseconds as his grip tightened and his sweaty hands pulled her closer, sealing the gap between them. Terror zinged to her shoulder, lifted her arm, and wrenched her waist into another hard pivot. Her elbow connected with his Adam’s apple. In an instant, a lead pipe from the shelf was in her hands. From some unknown reservoir of survival instinct, she went for his jaw, swinging the pipe like a baseball bat when he stumbled backward, pipe connecting with bone and shattering it, then she’d gone for the forearm that had extended with rage. Blood from his mouth splattered the floor, and she ran. Basements, lairs, bloodshot eyes, gleaming eyes, massive strength against the smaller female form, human jaws, vampire incisors, they were one and the same.

  Damali shut her eyes for a moment, remembering the terror that had coursed through her as a girl, and what she’d experienced in Hell. Something tall and huge and deadly and aroused, with a steel jaw and red eyes had come up behind her in tight, subterranean confines . . . only she didn’t try to hurt the one that had fangs—even with a blade in her hand. All she’d try to do was reason with him and get away.

  She rubbed Inez’s back harder and held her closer. No, this wasn’t Inez’s fault at all.

  But Inez broke Damali’s hold and went to a far side of the kitchen with her arms wrapped around her waist. “I should have told you how my uncle was,” she murmured, her voice rising with hysteria through mucous and tears in her throat. “But I couldn’t tell even Momma. She’d left me there with my aunt and uncle until she could get enough money to come to the States and get me. She had a good job in Rio, but . . . after Poppi left her, she needed time to get the money. I will never forgive myself—if I had just told.”<
br />
  “I know, I know,” Damali said, but not going to her friend. She understood space. “Inez, baby, we’ve been over it a hundred times, if once. You don’t owe me. And I never told anybody what he did to you before I came . . . how long it went on.”

  “My uncle was a demon, a nasty, perverted, sick bastard who beat my aunt, so she was afraid, and I was there all alone for months until you came. I swear I didn’t want anything to happen to anyone else like what was happening to me. He wanted to make money on foster care, and my aunt was so afraid of him, they didn’t have kids . . . and Momma thought—” Inez drew a shaky breath. “She thought I was safer, had better schools, more chances here. He had a good job. They were respectable people. If it weren’t for you . . . he would have kept doing what he did to me.”

  “Baby, listen, it was not your fault. You were just a kid, like me. Stop blaming yourself.”

  Inez closed her eyes and turned away from Damali. “As soon as you came, two weeks, that was it. I could see him plotting, trying to bide his time—but it kept him off of me.” Inez spun around. “I am so sorry.”

  Her voice was so quiet that Damali almost couldn’t hear her. “He got to you, didn’t he? That’s why you’re messed up—don’t trust any of them. You were younger than me.”

  With that Inez crossed herself and fetched more wine, took a swig of it out of the bottle, and then set it down hard on the counter. “I should have been protecting you. I was too scared, though. In a new country. Momma had said behave, I didn’t want to let her down . . . I thought I did it, made him act like that. And I saw how he beat my aunt. He was strong, but God forgive me. I couldn’t warn you.”

  “Listen to me, Inez,” Damali said very carefully, coming to her slowly and extracting the bottle of wine from her grip. She lifted Inez’s chin with her finger to force her friend to look her in the eyes. “You were sixteen. I was fifteen. The man was as strong as an ox. That was your family. I was in foster care. Nobody had your back. He didn’t get to me. I kicked his ass and ran. Remember?”