Authors: Priscilla Poole Rainwater
Finding a parking space, Raven killed the engine. Grabbing the cell phone she had used to converse with Dr. Quentin, she flipped it open and snapped it in half, then put the broken halves in her purse.
Bracing herself for the visit, and hoping it wouldn't be a bad one, she reached over and grabbed several bags from the passenger seat, bags that contained new women's pajamas, bubble bath, and other sundry HBA items, then climbed out of the vehicle and looked at the building in front of her. More specifically, she looked up at the floor she had purchased years earlier to protect one of the few precious things in her life.
Closing the car door and locking it, she slid her black Channel sunglasses on and made the short walk to the main entrance, where she stopped for a moment, then fished the broken halves of the phone from her purse, then tossed them into a trashcan. Pulling her black leather trench coat closer to make sure her side holster couldn't be seen, she stepped inside the main entrance.
************************
Dimitri Rybin watched as the tall black woman, who was always dressed the same, in all black or brown leather, complete with matching trench coat and boots, stepped inside. And, as usual, danger seemed to roll off the woman in waves. His gray eyes narrowing, he thought of the nickname the other guards and staff called her behind her back. The name
was never uttered while they knew she was on the grounds, and even when she wasn't, the name was still only whispered, never spoken aloud. 'The Reaper', is what they called her, and in his opinion, it suited her. When she walked past him she never acknowledged him, and something about the way she moved made him think that she could end a person's life with a simple flick of her wrist.
He had taken this job a little over a year ago, after managing to escape a Russian mobster, in his homeland, who'd had a hit put out on him for screwing around with his mistress. From the first day he had came to work here, he had been warned to never set foot on the floor that belonged to this woman. He was informed that only a handful of people in the woman's own employ were allowed on the floor. His supervisor's words still haunted him:
The Reaper is not someone you want to piss off! Listen son, I don't know who or what's up on that damn floor, and I don't want to know. All I do know is that the last guy who had your job made the mistake of slinking around up there one day, and when he came back down, the look on his face was...well...he looked like someone had shoved a harpoon up his ass sideways, then dunked his head in a septic tank. He walked straight out the main entrance, got into his car and left, and that's the last anyone ever saw of him. And that's not all, one guard told me a girl ran from the place screaming one day, but the staff got to her and pulled her back in there, never saw her again, either. When The Reaper comes around, you just act you don't see her, alright? Same thing when she leaves. My advice is to forget that floor even exists. The money is damn good here, we get a
month’s
paid vacation a year, and great medical. Just mind your own business, and you'll end up loving it here.
Shuddering, he watched furtively as ' The Reaper' stopped in front of the elevator, then suddenly turned and looked straight at him. Turning his attention back to the computer security monitor, he pretended that something had caught his eye, praying she would go on her way.
After what seemed like an eternity the elevator door opened and she glided inside, quiet as death.
“Don't have to worry about me minding my own business.” he muttered, feeling that he had somehow managed to escape the lion's jaws for the second time in his young life. “Nope, don't have to worry about me at all.”
*******************************
At the penthouse door, Raven punched the security code in the state of the art alarm system as her thoughts drifted back to her missing sister. She knew somehow Thorn was connected, and as much as she dreaded the bloodshed that was sure to come, she would take on him and his people to get her back. She just hoped that when push came to shove she could count on Max for support she doubted he would go against Thorn for her again, although she had Carlito it wouldn't be enough to take on Thorn's forces. Carlito she trusted implicitly, after all, they had grown up together. And while it went against her grain to enlist anyone's help, against a man like Thorn and his inner circle, it would be decidedly foolish to not accept all the help one could get. Max, she suspected, hated Thorn himself,
for what the man had done to her. He had left her for dead in Venezuela, at the mercy of a vicious drug lord. When she had managed to kill the man and escape, she returned to the states, and Thorn had did his best to make it seem as if she had sold the organization out. If it hadn't been for Max's help, she would have been killed on sigh
t.
Opening the door, she stepped inside and locked it behind her, then trudged down the elegant hallway. As usual, the place was absolutely spotless, and even though she herself owned the place, she still couldn't help but admire the priceless paintings hanging on the walls and the marble floors, which were adorned with imported rugs worth tens-of-thousands of dollars each.
As she made her way further inside, she heard the soft sound of classical music floating through the air, and the wonderful, mouth-watering aroma of genuine Italian food. The scent of spaghetti and meatballs, judging by the smell, tickled her nose and tantalized her appetite. Removing her sunglasses, she slipped them in her coat pocket.
“Ms. Floyd, welcome back!” a heavyset African American woman smiled wearily as she emerged from the kitchen with a tray in her hands.
“Hello, Ms. Davis, how are things?” Raven asked her long time live-in aide and housekeeper, but dreaded the answer. She knew just by the way the woman was carrying herself that it had been a bad day. Putting the gift bags on a cherry Chippendale console table that sat just inside the living room area, she reached for the tray the tired woman had been carrying.
“Last night was bad, ma'am.” she sighed. “She became so agitated I had to sedate her. She gets like that when you and Makena don't come regularly. More so when she doesn't see you. I know you try to get here as much as possible, but the more times that passes, the faster she regresses.”
Raven nodded. Her last visit had been a month ago, and she couldn't help but feel the sting of guilt. “I'm sorry, I know she can be difficult. Please, why don't you and the rest of the staff take a week off, with pay. I'm free for at least that long. Why don't you go visit your sister in Tampa? You've been talking about that for
a while
. I'll even buy your plane ticket. Just write yourself a check from the household funds, I'll know where it went.”
Smiling broadly, Ms. Davis couldn't hide her pleasure. A break was exactly what the staff needed, and they would all come back relaxed and refreshed. “Thank you, ma'am, I'll let the rest of the staff know. She's in her room, by the way. Today she regressed to..that time when she was twelve, I guess. I haven't given her her medication yet.” she explained, then thanked her again and hurried off to inform the rest of the her co-workers about their stroke of fortune.
With a heavy sigh, Raven made her way to the kitchen and placed the tray of wonderful smelling dishes on the counter reluctantly, knowing it would be best to deal with the problem now, rather than later.
Walking down the hallway toward her sister's room, she stopped in front of her door and opened it cautiously, not knowing what to expect, but praying for the best. Her younger sibling could be unpredictable under the best of circumstances, but especially when her fractured mind went back to the past. She was the classic passive/aggressive personality, one who could go from crying and wanting to be held one minute, and the next, becoming a raging, combative hellcat. She had hurt members of the staff on occasions before, it was one of the reasons Raven paid them so handsomely. And it also explained Ms. Davis's unabashed delight at the unexpected week of vacation. And in truth, Raven didn't blame her. As for her sister's mental state, the cycle had been going on for years, reliving the early childhood trauma for a week or two, then she would slowly crawl out of that awful dark place and into the light for a short while.
Easing her way inside, she looked around the dimly lit room and called in a soft voice, “Faith? It's Raven.” Walking the rest of the way inside, she detected a faint sound of whimpering, coming from the bedroom closet. Her heart ached as she thought about her sister inside that closet, thinking she was still twelve years old, and that they were still living in a roach infested house with their mother, instead of a two million dollar Penthouse.
Approaching the walk-in closet, she opened the door slowly, not wanting to upset or frighten her more than she already was. Curled up inside was her sister, and the sight nearly tore her heart from her breast. Crouching down beside her, she caressed her cheek. “I'm here, sweetie, I told you I would always be here for you and Makena. Why don't we go eat? I brought you some things, some gifts, you wanna' see 'em? We can watch some movies before we go to bed, would you like that?”
Raising her head slowly, Faith stated at her in slack-jawed silence. While they both shared similar facial features, Raven had always thought her sister Faith was a natural beauty. Her heart shaped chocolate face was perfectly formed, she had smooth, flawless skin, and her long, silky blue-black hair was naturally curly and framed her lovely face so perfectly she looked almost like a child's doll. Reaching out with her other hand, Raven cupped her face in both hers hands, her heart still aching, wishing she could go back in time and changes things, make different choices.
Suddenly, Faith's right hand flew up and gripped Raven's right wrist in an almost painful grip, and the strength in that frail looking hand surprised even Raven. Looking at her, but not really seeing her, Faith's features took on a haunted look as she yelled, “Raven, why didn't you come? I slipped Makena out the window to find you, so you would stop them from hurting Angel! I did everything you told me to do, but you didn't come!”
Swallowing hard, Raven replied in a shaky voice, “Faith, I would have never left the house if I had known mom would be bringing that pig there. I was out trying to make enough money to feed all of you. You know I always tried to take care of each and every one of you. None of you were supposed to be at the house that day, I thought you were supposed to stay at the YMCA until I came to get you.”
Tears streaming down her cheeks, Faith's features morphed into a frightening mask of utter rage. “You promised! You promised you would always protect us!
Angel was screaming for you, calling to you for help!” she cried
as she launched herself at her older sister and began slapping and punching her in the face with all her strength, wanting her sister to hurt as badly as she was.
Closing her eyes, Raven endured the blows stoically, never once raising her hand to defend herself, not even when she felt the heavy flow of blood from her nose begin, or when she felt her lower lip being split open. She herself needed to feel the pain for failing her sisters. They had believed in her, and she had let them down. Keeping her eyes closed, she waited until her sister's arms were too tired to continue the assault, then opened her eyes slowly. And, as usual, Raven pulled her into her arms gently and rocked her back and forth as her younger sister cried and begged for forgiveness.
Closing her eyes again, Raven thought back to the night she had became a killer, at the tender age of fourteen. At fourteen, she was already out on the streets selling drugs in order to take care of her sisters, and hanging with a tough street gang. She had been Carlito's girl, and since he was the leader, things were good for her. But even so, she still carried her own weight, and when he went on drug runs, she was always at his side. When he had to take care of a problem, she always had his back. The night in question, she had been hanging out with Carlito, selling dime bags of pot. Standing on the street corner and smoking a cigarette, her eyes had nearly bugged out of her head when she saw her youngest sister running towards them, screaming and crying. After getting her to calm down somewhat, she had learned that their mother had brought some dealer home, a man she owed a lot of money to, and was offering to give her younger sister to the man for a night, in lieu of payment. Raven knew the man, and he was bad news.
Their mother, Lottie Floyd, a hopeless alcoholic and junkie, had at one time been a genuine beauty, but her hard-charging lifestyle had aged her forty years in ten, and once her beauty had fled and she no longer appealed to the 'johns', she began getting more and more desperate. One weekend her mother had tried to force her to have sex with a much older man, a man who was in his mid-fifties, at least, but she had ended up cutting the pervert and beating the hell out of her mother. Carlito and the rest of the gang had found the guy the next day, and he had had disappeared. Several days later, the man's badly decomposed body had been found floating in the Powell Valley River.
By the time she, Carlito, and the rest of the gang arrived at the house, her twin sister was dead, crumpled up in a pitiful heap on the dirty bathroom floor. She looked like a beautiful but broken doll, a crushed butterfly, and something inside her had snapped on the spot. Carlito and the rest of the gang beat the man to within an inch of his life, then held him down while she castrated him, then slit his throat.
Focusing her homicidal rage on her mother, who was cowering in a corner and begging for her life, she had taken a Desert Eagle handgun one of the gang members had handed her in silence, placed the gun to her mother's forehead, then pulled the trigger without remorse.