Murderville (2 page)

To Molly, Sasha, Natalie, Brenda, and Denard: Thanks for all of your hard work. I appreciate each of you.

To Davida Baldwin: your creations are unmatchable and so remarkable. You are so talented and I thank you for the wonderful cover designs. You’re the best at what you do.

To all of the readers: I value you more than you will ever know. Thank you for riding with A&J. I hope to never disappoint you. I love what I do, and I put every piece of me into these stories. I appreciate your loyalty and support. Without the fans, we would be irrelevant. I hope you enjoy our new classic.

Ashley Antoinette Coleman

MURDERVILLE

ONE

“
BLOW HIS MUTHA’FUCKIN BRAINS OUT, A’SHAI!
” the man ordered. His heavy accent laced every word as he stared at the young rebel that stood before him. The boy was inexperienced when it came to murder and was intimidated by the chaotic madness that he was amidst. The older rebel looked at his protégé while slyly grinning in sick satisfaction, as he anticipated the fatal gunshot. A’shai’s hands shook as he held the rifle firmly and looked into the terrified eyes of the man who lay on the ground. A’shai was only twelve years old and was about to kill for the first time. The man who was about to become a victim was three times A’shai’s age; tears filled his eyes as he begged A’shai for mercy.

“Do it!” the older rebel instructed A’shai as he smiled in amusement. A’shai’s mind urged him to pull the trigger, but his index finger wouldn’t budge. The look in the man’s eyes was a reflection of his own emotions: in them A’shai saw fear. The sight of the grown man’s submission did not make A’shai feel powerful . . . instead he felt powerless because there was nothing he could do to save him. A’shai gripped the rifle even tighter and grit his teeth, trying to muster up enough courage to do it. His adrenaline pumped furiously and despite the guilt growing on his conscience he knew that he had to pull the trigger. His manhood depended on it. Once he made his first kill, he would be respected as a man and his childhood would be over. Just as A’shai found his nerve, his heart dropped in sympathy as he saw the dark stain spread through the fabric of the man’s pants. He had shamefully pissed on himself. A’shai was just as afraid as the man he was ordered to kill and his shaky aim gave him away. A’shai urinated too as his eyes grew big as golf balls and his breathing became heavier.

“Shoot!” the man yelled at the top of his lungs. A’shai let out a roar while pulling the trigger and closing his eyes, sending a bullet right through the man’s chest. A dark red circle appeared on the man’s shirt and spread as he hit the ground and his blood seeped out into the dirt. The recoil from the blast sent A’shai flying onto his back, sweeping him clean off his feet. A’shai’s hands shook violently as he took in what he had done. He looked over at the man that he had just shot and noticed that his chest was rapidly moving up and down, signaling that he was still alive.

“Look at you . . . pissed your damn pants,” the older man said mockingly as he shook his head out of disappointment. He had hoped that A’shai was ready, but from his hesitation it was obvious that he was still a child. “You didn’t even finish!” he added as he stepped over the wounded victim. He then reached into his waist and pulled out a revolver. He put two bullets in his head, rocking him to sleep forever. A’shai flinched at the sound of both shots. He knew that he was expected to be just as callous as his mentor but A’shai couldn’t conform to the ways of bad men. He didn’t have it in him to kill recklessly as the other rebels around him did. A’shai looked into the eyes of the ruthless killer. Ezekiel was the head of the Rebellion, a radical group of hoodlums who terrorized villages and took a violent and lethal stance against their government, but also against humanity. The tyranny that they caused wreaked havoc and spread hysteria throughout many areas of West Africa beginning in Sierra Leone. The mob of men went from town to town killing the men, raping the women, and recruiting the children to work the diamond mines. The young girls were usually kept for sex slaves or servants.

Aside from being the leader of the violent clan, Ezekiel was also A’shai’s father and a strong disciplinarian. “Now get up boy!” Ezekiel yelled as he snatched his son by the arm and yanked him to his feet. “Look!” Ezekiel grabbed A’shai’s chin and made him look at the dead man beneath them. Tears streamed down A’shai’s face as he looked at the corpse. Ezekiel struck A’shai across the face, delivering a hard slap. A’shai’s neck felt as if it would break as his head went flying to the right. Ezekiel knew nothing about how to be affectionate towards his child, and he thought he was showing tough love. He gripped A’shai’s chin tightly . . . painfully once more.

“Look at him, son! No tears. Rebels do not cry!” Ezekiel yelled. “Say it! Rebels do not cry!”

“Rebels do not cry!” A’shai repeated as he wiped his tears away and stuck out his small chest. Ezekiel nodded in approval as he watched his son assume a soldier’s stance. He rubbed A’shai’s head and smiled.

“Come on!” his father ordered as they left the tent and entered the bloodbath that was taking place at the hands of his group. The village was being annihilated. A’shai gripped his gun in terror and watched helplessly as a surreal pandemonium unfolded.

Tat! Tat! Tat! Tat!

The sounds of automatic assault rifles exploded in A’shai’s ear and angst overwhelmed him causing his heart to race frantically. The people of the village ran for their lives, causing dirt to fly up in the air from the mini stampede. A’shai couldn’t believe his eyes. He was horrified as he witnessed Ezekiel shoot a round into a fleeing man’s back. It was a complete massacre unfolding, and the blood of innocents stained the earth.

The roaring laughter of Ezekiel echoed through the air as the man dropped. Ezekiel acted as if he was hunting game instead of slaughtering humans. Seconds later a little girl came running out of a hut and went to the slain man’s side. “Papa! Papa!” she cried as she flung herself over the man’s body, becoming soaked in his blood. The ten-year-old girl had just witnessed her father be brutally murdered in cold blood. The girl kneeled next to her father as he lay there motionless. She began to shake him, hoping that he would get up but there was no use . . . he was silenced forever.

A’shai looked on in anguish as he saw the young girl cry while hugging the dead body. He was frozen in terror and plagued by guilt. When he noticed the other rebels run to the girl and snatch her up, he snapped out of his trance. A’shai didn’t think about what he was about to do, he just reacted. He immediately sprinted over to the men as they taunted the girl, groping her backside and private area as she cringed at every touch.

“No, leave her alone! Let me have her,” A’shai yelled as he grabbed her butt and then pulled her into an empty hut nearby. As she kicked and screamed, A’shai’s heart ached because he realized that she was terrified of him. He didn’t know why he was drawn to the girl, but it was something about the way she looked. Her features resembled his dead mother’s and had instantly piqued A’shai’s interest. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen.

“Little A’shai is about to get his first piece of poo nanny,” one of the rebels yelled as they watched A’shai force the girl into the hut. The rebels cheered as the two disappeared from sight, believing they had just witnessed what was to be A’shai’s rite of passage. In their eyes, he had just been initiated into the Rebellion officially.

“Nooo! Help me!” the young girl screamed as she kicked and punched wildly. She fell onto her back as A’shai tried to grab her hands and calm her down.

He placed a firm hand over her mouth to stifle her panicked cries. “Shhh! Please stop hitting me. I am not going to hurt you. Just pretend like I’m hurting you ok?” A’shai said as tears began to form in his eyes. He did not want to harm her in any way, he only wanted to save her from the other violent rebels. He grabbed her tightly and put his hand over her mouth. “Listen. I am not going to hurt you. Trust me. Now, I’m going to take my hand off your mouth and I want you to scream like I’m hurting you, okay? I promise I will not touch you. You have to stay in here with me for a while and don’t run out. The rebels out there will rape you,” he said as he looked into her eyes, showing his sincerity. She nodded her head in agreement and A’shai slowly stood up and took two steps back, letting her know that he didn’t have any bad intentions.

The girl screamed at the top of her lungs and A’shai could hear the rebels outside of the tent laughing while cheering him on. A’shai was ashamed to be a part of such a mob and as he looked at the girl, he wished he could save her . . . but inside he knew that he couldn’t.

Fifteen minutes had passed and A’shai watched as the girl cried in the corner as she shivered violently. He didn’t know what to say to comfort her so he said nothing at all as he awkwardly watched over her. Just then, Ezekiel entered the hut.

“A’shai! Time to go!” he said as he glanced at his son and then over to the young girl.

“She’s beautiful,” Ezekiel said as he looked at the frail, fair-skinned girl who sat balled up in the corner. A’shai remained quiet as he looked at his father’s lustful eyes and wondered what would happen next.

“Come on! Take her with us!” his father ordered as he waved his gun in her direction. A’shai wanted to protest, but held his tongue knowing that disobedience would not be tolerated. A camouflaged jeep full of rebels was waiting outside of the tent and A’shai reluctantly did as his father said. He ran over to the girl and picked her up and then forced her into the back of the Jeep. That single event would change both of their lives forever.

A’shai awoke suddenly in alarm and instinctively reached for the pistol that lay concealed in his waistband. With sweat glistening on his brow, his heart raced, and his tense body was on full alert. It wasn’t until he heard the steady beep of the heart monitor and saw the silhouette of Liberty’s body that he realized where he was. He had experienced another nightmare . . . another reminder of the world he had left behind so long ago. Peace was foreign to him. In his twenty-five years he had never known serenity. His childhood had been filled with mass murders and brutality. Make money, not friends: it was the mentality that had been drilled into his head. He had learned how to shoot a pistol long before he had learned to shoot a jump shot. Growing up in Sierra Leone he had no childhood; all he knew was money and destruction. It was that same thought pattern that had allowed him to survive and make a name for himself in the States. He was the epitome of the American dream. If he was white, he would have been a businessman, but with skin as dark as mahogany he felt that his rightful place was on the throne as the king of the streets. As he rubbed his goatee he leaned forward in the uncomfortable wooden chair, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked at the love of his life. Liberty was beautiful—even with her chapped lips, sunken eyes, and unruly hair he had never seen a woman as exquisite as she. She was the perfect example of the female specimen. She was his lady, his everything . . . she was the better part of him. The world was too corrupt for an angel like Liberty. The world didn’t deserve to feel Liberty’s footsteps upon it. She was too pure, too good, too beautiful to be a part of such an ugly place. That is what A’shai told himself when he thought of her condition. That’s the logic he used to justify her situation. GOD had better things intended for Liberty. HE could show her a greater love than A’shai . . . at least that’s what he convinced himself of to stop his heart from breaking. He had seen many tragedies and survived much devastation, but no loss had ever felt as great as the one he was facing. Just thinking about it put a damper on his spirit. Liberty was one of the very few people who could ever make him feel. He prided himself on being as sturdy as a brick wall. He was unbreakable, like the Great Wall of China. He was impenetrable, like the mighty gates of Rome. Untouchable, like the infamous Nicky Barnes. Despite all of these things, Liberty had broken through his cold facade. She penetrated his guarded heart and touched him in a way that was so intimate only the two of them understood. Now she was sick . . . dying the doctors said, and there was nothing that he could do but sit back and watch as destiny slowly took over.

The dark hospital room was illuminated as the door opened and the light from the hallway spilled inside. A’shai sat upright as Dr. Simmons, a man that he had come to know well, entered the room.

“Hello A’shai,” Dr. Simmons greeted.

“Dr. Simmons,” A’shai replied in acknowledgment. “Did you get the test results back yet?”

Dr. Simmons nodded and held up the large white folder. “I did. I’d like to discuss them with the both of you,” the doctor replied. The doctor’s pessimistic tone gave away the dismal results, but A’shai remained hopeful. He looked at Liberty. She was sleeping too peacefully to awaken and he didn’t want her to hear the news first. He wanted to be her filter . . . to receive any bad news to come and give it to her in his own way.

“Can we talk privately doctor? I would like to tell her the results myself . . . good or bad,” A’shai stated.

Dr. Simmons nodded and led A’shai to the hallway. A’shai stared at Liberty through the room’s window.

“Liberty has a heart condition called cardiomyopathy. The swelling in her abdomen, ankles, and feet are all signs of impending heart failure,” Dr. Simmons stated.

A’shai’s throat went desert dry and his stomach turned sour as he lowered his head and leaned against the windowsill outside of Liberty’s room. “Don’t say that to me, Doc. Tell me what I can do to make her better.”

“I’m sorry, but there isn’t much that you can do,” Dr. Simmons replied. “She needs a new heart.”

“Then let’s get her a new heart. Money isn’t an object. Whose palms gotta get greased to make this happen?” A’shai asked as he looked up, pinching the bridge of his nose to stop the tears from forming in his eyes.

“This isn’t a problem that money can fix,” Dr. Simmons said.

“Money can fix everything,” A’shai replied assertively.