The Future of My Past

by Veronica Faye

  Gemini Jones: The Future of My Past (The Rodney Earls, Ph.D. Case)

  Copyright © 2020 by Veronica Faye

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, people, or real locales are used fictitiously.

  All rights reserved. This book is protected under the copyright laws of the United States of America. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material herein is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

  Book 3 in the Gemini Jones Series

  Paperback ISBN: 979-8-6376-1626-8 Also available as a Kindle e-book

  Design by DTPerfect.com

  Cover design by Kelsey Brown

  Book layout by Elena Reznikova

  chapter one

  For the third time this year, I am sitting in the back seat of a limousine being driven to Greenwood Cemetery. My chaperones, “O.B.” (whose given name is Stanley) and “Noxious” (whose given name is Terrence), talk quietly in the front. They are the same two men who took me to meet Roy “the ghost” Karwatka months earlier, where I accepted the case that eventually drove me over the edge.

  I’m excited about my third trip to this place of mourning. There is nothing exciting about visiting a cemetery, since it is a place for last goodbyes. Yet for me, this visit represents the beginning, the first of many hellos.

  The meeting with my son, Vincent, will take place there. I have not laid eyes on him since the morning he was born, when I passed out on the steps of Mamie Wells’ home while he was still in my arms. One day I may forget my name, but I will never forget that day, waking up in the hospital to be told that my son would be put up for adoption. I was also told that I would never be able to have other children due to all the internal damage.

  For many years after I returned to the home I shared with my parents, I was an angry young woman. I was determined to make the world feel the pain and hatred that had taken hold of me. These feelings fueled my illness with energy that would have destroyed me and those around me if God hadn’t sent one of his own to save me.

  The meeting is taking place in secret, but “Griff” Henderson has assured me that Vincent would tell me the reasons in his own time. Roy “the ghost” Karwatka has graciously made the arrangements to bring my son back from New York, where he has been living for the past year. I have earned the respect of the man that is considered the most dangerous and powerful man in Northwest Indiana. During my last visit, I learned why he was willing to help Dr. Crawford by retaining me as her attorney. It was to repay her for the surgery that she’d performed on his granddaughter. I also know that despite his reputation among law enforcement, he is a man of honor and never hesitates to repay those who have done right by him. He is also a man that repays those who have wronged him.

  As we enter Michigan City, my mind drifts back to the events that took place on my first visit to Greenwood. It’s been a few weeks since the charges were dropped against Dr. Crawford, and I am still recovering from my gunshot wound, my blow-up with Bookie, and the surprise call from Mamie Wells.

  I have been on leave from work in order to regain my sanity, as things did not go well in the office when the firm found out what I’d done to expose the prosecutor. Donald Webber wanted me to leave the firm, but Quinn fought for me to stay. I was out of control with rage since my phone call with Mamie, and my emotions ran high when the other partners of the firm asked to meet with me. I was getting sick again, and I decided that day to take a leave of absence.

  Telling my adversary, Donald Webber, that he was a puppet for most of the politicians in Northwest Indiana and that he had no stomach for practicing criminal law wasn’t the best move for an attorney who was now a partner. Our argument could be heard throughout the office. I was losing control, but at that point I felt that I was in the fight of my life. I was also fighting for my right to defend my clients to the best of my ability. I would have been asked to leave for the sake of the firm, but after my escapade (which resulted with the prosecutor being forced to resign), business at the firm has doubled. The partners are going to hire more associates to handle the influx of clients. But that did not exonerate me from my fate.

  Quinn insisted that I take a leave. He also told me that he expected me to get the professional help I so obviously needed, or there would be dire consequences. After the meeting, I returned to my office and had Antoinette schedule a doctor’s appointment for me. My mind was racing, and I was in such a state that I decided to go home early and have Antoinette drive me. I was scared that I would cause an accident. Even in my emotional state I could reason that it was not safe for me to drive.

  Then there was the matter with Bookie. I could not believe that I’d thrown my phone at him, but the hurt and anger had finally driven me over the edge, and I allowed my illness to take over. How dare he let another woman wear the present that I had given him?

  Finally, there was the phone call from Mamie, informing me that she had sent the man who shot me on the steps of city hall. To quote a cliché, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back and my sanity.

  While driving me home, my rantings drove Antoinette to the point of resigning. The ranting didn’t end with Antoinette. I went so far as to call my mother and father and ranted to them about sending me to Mamie Wells in the first place, and that I could never forgive them for making that decision. I didn’t care if they thought it was for my own good; I blamed them for every hurt, every sleepless night, every mental episode I ever experienced.

  The mental break that I experienced was one of the worst I’d had in years. I’d cry one moment, get angry, throw things, then cry again. I scared my poor dog Charlie to the point that one day I begged Antoinette to come and take him home with her until I got better, then called her two hours later begging her to bring him back. She had the good sense not to, even stating that she wouldn’t bring him back until I could take care of him and myself. I tried cursing her out, but she hung up on me and left her phone off the hook. I decided to drive over there and get Charlie myself, but she’d taken my keys. In the end, it was my mother who took me to my doctor’s visits. I had to beg my doctor not to hospitalize me by promising that I would make all of my sessions, take my medication, and do all the other techniques she’d prescribed to help me—like exercise, meditation, and long walks accompanied by someone who could handle me. Antoinette walked with me in the mornings and late evenings. It was good for both of us since she wanted to lose weight.

  I told my doctor that I have been doing my own research into the medicines that I have been prescribed for bipolar disorder, and that I wanted to try to avoid taking them as much as possible. I have read that some patients have developed renal failure due to long term use of these drugs. Stress was a major factor in my “breakdown,” and I knew that I needed to get a grip on dealing with stress if I was going to continue to practice law. Mamie’s phone call was unexpected, and that too sent my mind spiraling out of control. It has been two months since I took that leave of absence; I am feeling better, but I know that I am not ready to go back to work. Quinn calls to check on me, and I assure him that I am doing everything that the doctor has prescribed.

  The old Gemini is coming back, I think to myself as the limo pulls into the same spot that seems to be a cemetery favorite. I cannot help but roll down the window to get a glimpse of Vincent. I recognize Griff Henderson, who stands about 6’3’’, but my son has his back turned towards the car, making it impossible to see his face.

  I don’t know what I would have done if Griff hadn’t stepped in to help. I met Griffin Henderson years ago while defending him for a crime he did not commit. He has been a blessing to me ever since and has helpe
d Bookie with several investigations for the firm. He is not the kind of man you want as an enemy, and there have been several occasions when Bookie has confided in me that it would be better if I not know how some much-needed information was obtained on behalf of the clients I defended. I have never asked Griff for any details of his investigations but am grateful that he is on my side.

  Griff spots me as Stan opens the door and I step out. He speaks to my son and he turns around.

  I walk over to him and we face each other. He stands about five feet nine inches tall. I am amazed and relieved that he looks just like me. The only trait he inherited from his father is his skin tone, which is at least three shades lighter than my own. He looks as if he weighs 160 to 170 pounds, but his muscular build suggests to me that he works out on a regular basis.

  His face has the look of someone who has lived a hard life, but there is something in his eyes that makes me want to leap with joy. I see a tenderness in them that I hadn’t expected to see. Could it be that he has wanted to meet me as much as I wanted to see him?

  “Hello Mother,” he says, “I wasn’t sure if this day would ever come.”

  I am overcome with emotion and can’t fight back the tears that start to flow down my face.

  “That’s not the reaction I expected from a tough defense attorney,” he jokes.

  We reach out for each other simultaneously and hug. My tears are now joined by sobs of joy as I hug my son for the first time since giving birth to him.

  I don’t know how I managed to pull myself apart from him, but I did, and we walked over to sit in the chairs that have been placed there for us.

  “I was so young when you were born,” I say to him. “I tried to keep you, but I got sick and had to be hospitalized. When I woke up in the hospital, you were already gone.”

  “I heard that you delivered me by yourself,” he responded.

  “In the middle of the night, because I had planned to take you along, so I couldn’t trust anyone to help me. But, how did you know about your birth?”

  For a moment he hesitated, then smiled and said, “I know just about everything there is to know about you. I read every article written about you that I could get my hands on. Gemini Alexis Jones, born in Gary, Indiana, attended Horace Mann High School, Indiana State University and Valparaiso University. You suffer from bipolar disorder, which is a hereditary condition in the Jones family. At the age of nine, you witnessed the death of your best friend, Harvey Willis, at the hands of his father. You gave birth to me when you were 15 years old, but you have not let your troubled past hinder you from becoming one of the most celebrated defense attorneys in this area.

  “There is a saying about you that if a person kills someone in front of city hall at 12 noon in front of 2000 people, hire Gemini Jones to represent you. Quite impressive for someone the press calls ‘crazy.’”

  That brings a smile to my face that he knows so much about me. He then answers my question.

  “Some things I found out on my own and some from me ma.”

  I cringed because I knew he was talking about Mamie Wells.

  “Who gave her the name me ma?” I asked.

  “Milton did. He could never say ‘mother’ or ‘mama.’ He could only say ‘me ma,’ so that is what we called her.”

  Milton Wilkes was the man who shot me on the steps of city hall months earlier.

  “Who were the others?” I asked.

  “Mamie has a home where runaways and homeless children come to stay or hang out. She is known in the neighborhood for helping the young people stay clean and off the streets. That is further from the truth. She gives them a place to stay, and they pay her by committing burglaries and con games. The politicians and police turn their backs on her activities. She keeps all the money, but the kids get plenty to eat and a place to stay. Most of the kids stay for a couple of months, not more than six. The police get their share of the bounty as well.”

  “When did you leave that house?” I asked.

  “I left when I turned 17. Moved away and have been on a mission ever since.”

  “Mamie hates me with a passion, as I do her,” I said. “It must have been hell living with her. I imagine that she took her hatred for me out on you.”

  “I can’t remember a time when she didn’t hate and mistreat me. My place was in the basement. It was cold and dark down there, but somehow, I found solace. The basement was filled with books, and I stole a small lamp from upstairs that I used to read at night when everyone else was asleep. No one was allowed to be in the basement with me, so I could read in peace. There were a variety of books at my disposal, and I read most of them. One of the charitable organizations that Mamie scammed to get money donated the books. I read Dickens, Alexander Dumas, Agatha Christie, and Hemingway. There was a Bible, a Koran, and a Book of Mormons that I read more than once. Reading saved and educated me.”

  “You didn’t go to school?”

  “I did, until I confided in one of my teachers that I was being abused. The teacher told the principal and Mamie was called. She denied my accusations and the school officials believed her. After all, she did run a successful home for kids and was known as a great community activist. I was 14 when it happened. One Friday evening, Mamie had some of the older boys beat the hell out of me, and the bruises were all gone by the time I went back to school on Monday. I skipped school after that and dropped out when I turned 16. Mamie tried to get me to ‘do things’ for her, but I rebelled, so I was on my own. I ran the streets during the day, but at night I would be in the basement reading and trying to educate myself. I left when I turned 17.”

  “What made you finally leave?” I asked.

  “I witnessed something that can get me killed, and Mamie knows. But I’m not here to discuss that; I’m here to see my mother. I now know that you have been looking for me for a long time.”

  “Griff tells me that you do not go by the name Mamie gave you. It is for protection?”

  “I go by the name Enoch.”

  “The man who walked with God?”

  “Yes. I was in Los Angeles once, and an elderly man was being attacked by some street thugs. One of them pointed a gun at the old man, and without thinking of the consequences, I jumped in between them. The guy pointed the gun at me and pulled the trigger, but the gun jammed, which gave me time to knock it out of his hands and punch him in the face. The other fools ran from the scene and the old man was grateful. However, the stress of the attempted robbery caused the old guy to have a heart attack. Someone called the police and I waited with the man until the ambulance arrived. He died right there in my arms, but not before telling me that I was a man who walked with God and that I should fear no one because God was with me. I must admit that I have been in several incidents since then that should have resulted in my death, but I’m still here. But that is enough of my story for now. Griff and I will be leaving here soon, but don’t worry, I will be in touch. My search has brought me to this area again, so I will be here for a while. But I have to ask you not to say anything about our meeting; it will protect both of us if you remain silent.”

  “Who are you searching for? Maybe I can help. We have resources at the firm that can help you.”

  My son looked over his shoulder at Griff and said, “I have all the help I need right now, but thanks. Now, Mother, please promise me you won’t let anyone know I am here. Not even my grandparents. I will meet them one day, I promise. Plus, I’d like to meet my father. I have knowledge of him also, but I will meet him in my own time, under my terms.”

  I promised that I wouldn’t say anything about meeting him, but it broke my heart to do so. I wanted to shout to the world that my son and I had finally united, but I also wanted to protect him, so I would remain silent.

  There was so much that I wanted to know about Enoch. My son was a man, and from what I could tell, he had turned out to be a descent
young man despite his upbringing. I was going to offer him money at some point to help him out, because I felt I at least owed him that.

  After we hugged and said our goodbyes, Simon and Griff left in a dirty gray van, and I headed back to the limo where Stan and Terrence were waiting for me.

  I returned home to find Charlie waiting for me. He is the dog that Bookie gave me to replace my beloved Kyrra, who died of breast cancer at the age of 14.

  Charlie is a Chihuahua mix, but he sees himself as the biggest dog in the world. He is fearless, often getting into fights with numerous alley cats and bigger dogs. He is quite the champion around the neighborhood, and the children are always coming to play with him. They love him as much as I do. He can never replace my Kyrra, but he has helped to fill a void in my heart.

  “Charlie, are you ready to go outside and play?”

  Charlie responds by lifting his left paw, then his right paw, and ends by wagging his tail.

  “Do you want to take your chew toy with you?” I ask.

  Left paw, right paw, wag the tail.

  “Ok, let’s go,” I say as I open the door, throwing the toy outside. Charlie runs after it. He plays in the backyard, and at some point, he will make his way to the front to greet his fans.

  I turn on the radio to listen to the news, a practice that I try to keep down to a minimum. When I am recovering, I like to keep the negative stuff out of my life and concentrate on the positive. I meditate, read my Bible, or watch an old black and white movie on TV. Sometimes I go to Club Escapades, also known as “Bookie’s boom boom room,” and listen to Poo Poo JaShea sing. But right now, I have no desire to go there. I am not ready to face Bookie, as I have heard that he takes his friend to the club, and I am not ready to see them together.

  The news on the radio is just as I expected: negative. There have been several shootings, and the police have no suspects.

  Then there is a breaking news story that catches my attention. The pastor of one of the biggest churches in the city has gone to court and filed an injunction against an organization that wants to build a halfway center for felons across the street from his church. Pastor Du’Marcus Damon Day is the pastor of The Fishers of Men Community Church. His reasoning for the injunction is to prevent what he calls “lost souls” from corrupting the community that his church serves. I am surprised that a pastor would not support an organization for felons hoping for a fresh start, but what really surprises me is his chosen adversary.