Beyond the Hurt

by Akilah Trinay

  The arresting officer spoke very few words to him during the ride as if he could hear his thoughts and decided to give reverence to his stream of consciousness. The black, wrought iron gate rolled back to let them in. Lance swallowed hard and took a strong breath in, as in ritual to brace him for what was to come. He wriggled his way out of the car, with no assistance from the officer, placing his feet firmly against the concrete to gain his balance.

  The booking room welcomed his presence with open arms; there was definitely no shortage of young black males to co-exist with him for the duration of his stay. This would be his first dance with the booking process. He had been arrested before, but somehow never made it down to the station. He feared what lingered on the inside. He had heard stories and prided himself on the clean reputation, but this was serious, he could lose his freedom behind this. The photograph, fingerprinting and stripping of his dignity made way to manifest consent to the allegations against him.

  They guided him through the lifeless hallway, surrounded by white walls and judgmental eyes. The investigator joined Lance in Room 3; he was a large slightly balding Black man, who seemed to have had his fair share of breakfast, lunch and dinner. His all-white mustache was sprinkled with crumbs from his after-breakfast snack. He sipped his coffee before placing it down on the small table that was flush against the wall that held the secret mirror Lance remembered seeing in all of the crime investigation shows. The chair left empty gave him the sense that someone else was soon to join the affair.

  “These white people keep this station so cold, they know Black people like it hot!” The investigator chuckled finally breaking the silence, coughing uncontrollably through his laughter. It was obvious that he had been at the station some time, since he was blatantly calling out his white comrades that were surely listening through the two-way mirror. “Trust me, I don’t like doing this, but I got to.” He became serious, as if now he was ready to get down to business. “I presume that the officer has already read you your rights, but just in case he failed to do so, I am going to explain them and have you to sign this document.”

  He paused a moment to ensure Lance understood the directions and proceeded. Lance nodded in agreement to the given instructions, “You have the right to remain silent. You do not have to speak with us. If you do decide to speak with us, anything that you say can and will be used against you in court. You have the right to talk to a lawyer before you talk to us. The lawyer can be here with you before we ask you questions or during the entire time we ask you questions.” With the reading of every right, beads of sweat began to form on the top of Lance’s head. The ice-cooling air from the air-conditioned room dissipated and a feeling of extreme warmth overtook his body. “If you cannot afford a lawyer, one will be provided for you, free of charge and you can stop answering questions at any time you want. If you understand each one, I need you to initial each line and sign at the bottom of the document.” Lance signed, anxious to get the interrogation process started, in order to get back home. He noticed the audio light was not turned on, which made him slightly concerned.

  Two taps on the door alerted them that his lawyer had arrived. Darnise made the call after all. Mr. Fleming had impeccable timing. Since he had successfully assisted Charles in his case, Lance kept his contact information just in case he needed it, but truly prayed that he would never use it. Mr. Fleming greeted his client and focused directly on the business at hand. “Why was my client arrested and what is he being charged for?” He questioned, very stern not breaking his eye contact with the old Black man.

  He cleared his throat for the fifth time since entering the room, “Rape. We have probable cause that your client was involved in the sexual assault of Tanisha Watkins.”

  “Rape!” Lance blurted out unconsciously as if it was the first time he had heard the allegation. After all that had transpired, it was finally beginning to settle in.

  “Yes Mr. Brown, Rape. You know the non-consensual sexual intercourse that takes place between two or more individuals by imposing physical force, threat of injury or other duress.” The elderly, staid officer had finished his second cup of coffee and was on a roll. “She filed a report against you in our office. Now when was the last time you saw Ms. Watkins?”

  Lance looked over to Mr. Fleming for permission to speak. He nodded to let him know it was safe to do so, but he winced at him to proceed with caution. Mr. Fleming felt it unnecessary to keep him from exposing his truth. He was confident in his innocence. Everything about his body language that he learned in law school defined his irreproachability.

  “I saw her the other day; when she came to my mama’s house.”

  “And what happened?”

  “She was upset, as usual, and doing everything in her power to get back with me. We argued a bit and she told me she was pregnant. We exchanged some choice words, she tried to attack me, I apprehended her, and then she left. She was talking crazy, but I didn’t rape her.”

  “Now, we are doing most of this for the formalities. In many cases the District Attorney will drop a rape charge if they think they cannot prove the charge beyond a reasonable doubt.” The investigator was oddly thorough with his explanations. Lance just shrugged it off as normal protocol and continued to listen. “They can use two different tools to determine whether they should prosecute: a polygraph or a sexual assault nurse examination. A SANE is an examination of the alleged victim’s body for evidence by a trained nurse to identify vaginal bruising.” He seemed so matter-of-fact with his statements, yet unbothered by the process, which made Lance even more nervous. “If she refuses to participate in the determining tools, then we will be forced to drop the charges.” With his next statement, things became extremely weird. “We have reason to believe that she will not proceed with this investigation.”

  Lance glanced over to the audio light, which remained in the off position. “Excuse me Sir, but I don’t seem to understand what’s going on. I was picked up from my home on some rape charges and now you are telling me that it was all for nothing? This doesn’t make any damn sense!”

  “Not exactly.” The investigator shifted in his seat and in ritual cleared his throat. “There is another on-going investigation. As I shared in the beginning, I have to go through the formalities. The brother of the alleged victim was found dead. We have reason to believe that she had him to come after you in retaliation to the altercation you described that transpired outside of your mother’s house. We have written statements from neighbors of what happened, so your story checks out. But we have a bigger problem.”

  Mr. Fleming sat with his legs crossed, tuned in to what the man was sharing, almost as if he was at home watching an episode of “The First 48”. The investigator continued. “We need to know your involvement with this homicide. If you notice, the audio recording is turned off. No one is behind the mirror. It is just you and me, and your lawyer of course. Just two Black men shooting the breeze.” He leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the table next to his empty coffee mug, crossing his arms across his chest and protruding belly.

  “I didn’t kill nobody,” Lance insisted.

  “What is your relationship with Elijah Naples?”

  “He was one of my best friends.”

  “So you mean to tell me that one of your best friends was shot in cold blood and you didn’t go after his assassin?” The investigator dropped his feet down and leaned into Lance, not far from his face giving Lance an up close and personal whiff of his coffee breath.

  “I ain’t got nothin’ to do with that. I didn’t kill nobody.”

  “What happened at the 24-hour diner?” He leaned back into his original position.

  “I got upset when I heard the news about Elijah and had a breakdown.”

  “Who is Jamie-Lynn Johnson? Does she know about Darnise Jacobs?”

  The flood of questions began to upset him. “I’m sorry; sir, but I don’t see how any of this has to do with the other. Mr. Fleming, I am ready to get out of h
ere. If I am not being charged with anything then I am free to go right?” Lance rose up from his seat preparing to make his exit.

  “That is correct, but I think you may want to hear me out before you run out of here with no protection.”

  “Protection? What the hell do I need protection from?” He turned to square up with the investigator, who was still seated in his relaxed position.

  “First of all from yourself. Second, from the thugs who might be after you in retaliation of the killing of their own. Here are the facts: There was an altercation at Sweets Ballroom in celebration of your best friend’s birthday, then Ms. Watkins accused you of raping her who was identified as a patron at Sweets that night. Next, there is an altercation at The Shadow Bar in which you are seen fleeing the scene with Ms. Johnson. Next, we receive a call that Elijah Naples, your best friend, had been murdered. Charles Simmons goes missing. Tony Watkins, Tanisha’s older brother is found murdered in an alley. When it is time to bring you in for questioning, you are now conveniently in Ms. Jacobs’ home. How does that sound to you?”

  “With all due respect, do you have a gun with my prints? Was my blood found at the crime scene? Am I still under arrest? If the answer remains ‘No’, then I’m outta here.”

  Finally released from his trance, Mr. Fleming decided to add his two cents. “My client is correct. If there are no charges held against my client, then he is free to go.”

  The investigator shook his head in disbelief as if he knew something that they did not and leaving would turn up in tragedy. He waived them off allowing Lance and his lawyer to exit the room. As soon as they were cleared from the room the investigator picked up his cell and dialed, “Make sure the boy is protected,” he immediately hung up the phone and stared blankly at the mirror.

  Chapter 13

  “Happy Anniversary Baby.” Edmond pronounced holding one long stem rose and a box of See’s candy as Charlene crossed the threshold leading into the foyer of their home. Praying to God her reaction would be pleasant.

  He laid pink rose petals to cover the entrance to surprise her upon walking through the door. Edmond stayed up late the night before topping off his spectacular anniversary surprise for his wife, pealing each rose petal from the stem, soaking them in jasmine to provide the perfect aroma. He envisioned that once she arrived home from her hair appointment, she would follow the trail of rose petals to the master bathroom, where Edmond had prepared a rose petal bubble bath with candles and soft jazz music serenading in the background. He would towel dry her entire body and escort her into the their bedroom, where he hand-picked her wardrobe for their evening to go out on the town in San Francisco, complete with dinner, dancing and a horse and carriage ride on the pier.

  What really happened was slightly different.

  Edmond glanced over Charlene examining her from head to toe, trying to make sense of the fact that she looked very similar to the way she looked when she left the house that morning. Her hair still wrapped in the silk scarf wrap she frequently wore when heading to the hair salon. She pushed past his pitiful attempt to patchwork their relationship, huffing and puffing under her breath. She was unmoved by the rose petal layout, that he crafted out of his love and dedication to sustain their marriage.

  “What is the problem, Charlene? Did you say something to Raquel? This is supposed to be our special day.” He gave her another thorough look over, shaking his head in disbelief.

  She paced back and forth, still uttering words under her breath, asking herself questions she had no intention of answering. Clearly making a scene, even if no one was present to witness it. “Oh, I said something alright.” She pulled back her head and wriggled her finger in his face.

  “Baby, we talked about this. You know you weren’t supposed to say anything.”

  “Do you even want to know what happened or are you going to just blame me? I’m not taking the blame for this one. Not after all we have been through. I’m done fighting these damn skeletons. I’m free, Ed. I’m finally free, Baby!” She continued her pacing throwing her hands up in the air to illustrate her newfound freedom. She would not allow him to get a word in or alter her mood.

  “What are you talking about? Just tell me what happened and why I paid all that money for you to come back here looking the same way you left and with a bad attitude?”

  “I ran into Raquel and Calvin at the salon today. I show up ready to get my hair done, knocked on the door and no one answered. I let myself in and lo and behold, there is Raquel and Calvin arguing about you! And guess what? Charles was there too, lost and confused about everything. That boy still doesn’t know Calvin is his real daddy. So I told him!”

  “You did what?” Edmond finally dropped the contents to the floor that he’d been holding since she entered. He took a step closer to her to get the full explanation of how all of this really went down. He made sure, though, to maintain a steady distance, so he couldn’t make any sudden movements that could turn the situation sour.

  “I didn’t exactly say it, but I implied it.” She stepped back and softened her tone. “It is time you do right by your own family and stop running to Raquel Simmons’ every cry for help. Our kids are not little anymore. There’s nothing more to hide Edmond,” she reasoned in an attempt to justify her actions to him. Charlene took a step closer, reached out to grab his hand, but he refused it.

  “You knew what the situation was before we even married. This is not the first time something like this has happened and you stayed in your place before. The majority of this mess was your idea anyway.”

  “Ed. Let’s not go there because then we will have to bring up the past and I don’t think you want to do that. We let a lot of the mess go years ago. You…Raquel…Calvin. We let that go, right Babe? We let that go, right Babe?” she repeated herself hoping for a favorable response. She needed him to come clean about his infidelity. She willingly allowed his cheating in the past, but they had grown to a point in their marriage where he vowed to do right by her and steer clear of stepping out on her. “You ain’t been with her, right Babe?” she gritted her teeth together and eased out her question one final time.

  The sound of footsteps on the porch stifled them from their heated discussion. Samson decided that using the doorbell would be meaningless with all the yelling he heard coming from the house. Instead, he opted to bang on the iron security gate that had an automatic lock to keep out unwanted visitors. Samson used the payphone during his night on the streets and informed his mother that he was ready to come home. He wanted to try to mend things with his father since the living arrangements he had fell apart.

  The house seemed a little different, a feeling of frigidness. He could sense it. The familial love and joy that the home carried when he was a child had gone away. Debra was away at school and Edmond and Charlene were constantly bickering. In a way, he sensed that his feud with his father kept his parents at odds. He didn’t desire for them to quarrel due to his mistakes. He had to take some ownership in the situation and make it right.

  He waited for one of them to notice the banging and acknowledge his presence.

  Charlene pushed back the curtains and peeked out the window avoiding the peephole affixed to the door, “Good. Samson is here. Let’s start by telling him the truth. I think he deserves to hear it straight from his father.” Charlene pranced over to the door to let him in relieved that she now had a little back up.

  She greeted her baby with a tight embrace. It had been days since she last saw him; for her, it felt like an eternity. She released him and shot an uneasy glance at Edmond hoping he would follow suit. Edmond barely made eye contact with her or him for that matter; still clinging to a piece of the dissatisfaction he had for his actions and his lifestyle choices. For Edmond, life did not need to be difficult for Samson. He had two able-bodied parents who provided everything he could ever possibly need in life. His life choices were simple, but he chose to go out in the streets and hustle as if it were his only option.

  Edmond w
as disinclined to reveal his truth, because his truth could tear the family apart. He had held on to it for so long, it almost wasn’t worth the headache, but Charlene was right. He was of age. It was time for him to understand their family dynamic; much of what cultivated Samson came straight from Edmond. He was a chip off the old block and the apple really didn’t fall far from the tree. He motioned for Samson to take a seat on the sofa.

  Edmond sat making himself comfortable in his recliner, “Listen son, I haven't been completely honest with you and your sister or your mother for that matter.” He glanced over at Charlene to confirm if this was what she really wanted. She nodded in approval eager to hear what he had to say.

  “Wait. Pops if you are going to tell me that you are really a woman, I don’t want to hear that,” Samson joked to breakdown the stiffness in the air. He knew that was the best way to reconcile with his father, plus the atmosphere was too serious for his nerves.