The Devil Made Me Do It (24 page)

Phyllis and Charles sat in the driveway of Esther's home while Phyllis dug through her purse for Esther's spare key.

Charles observed his wife, her soft profile reminding him of his love for her. He reached across the seat and placed his arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.

“Charles, not now,” Phyllis gasped, but closed her arms around her husband and kissed him ardently.

The two sat in the car, necking like teenagers. Ever since Phyllis had begun to cope with her depression, she felt like she had been given a second chance at everything. Getting geared up to fight for her sister made her remember that she was worth fighting for too. Knowing the truth that God was not mad at her and had accepted her repentance long ago was her blessing and her road map to healing. She knew she needed more help, and she was now willing to get it. She had called a Christian counseling center and had already scheduled her first appointment.

Charles came around and opened Phyllis's car door. He hugged her up under his left arm and bumped his hip to hers on the way up the walkway. They were acting silly, and both loved it. Charles took the key from his wife's hand and unlocked the door.

“Oooh, so manly,” Phyllis teased as she squeezed his left bicep. Charles shook his finger at her friskiness. “Don't start anything in your sister's house, woman. I promise when we get out of here, it's on,” he stated as he pushed the door open.

Phyllis moved to the alarm control panel, but it was off. She shook her head absently at Esther's forgetfulness in the mornings. Esther was known for always rushing out of the house. “Charles, Esther left her stereo on. She better quit bugging me about going green and she's leaving her appliances on. She didn't even set the alarm. This my jam, though.”

Phyllis snapped her fingers, turned up the stereo, and old school R&B floated throughout the air as Charles headed toward the kitchen to get a soda. Phyllis went down the hallway to Esther's bedroom. As she turned the doorknob, she thought she heard something. She froze when Charles came up behind her silent like a ninja.

“Want a soda?” he whispered.

Phyllis slapped his arm, “Man, you scared me. Why are you whispering?”

Charles looked sheepish. “I don't know. Why are you?”

Phyllis made note they were still whispering. Things felt off. “Guess I feel a little spooked for some reason. Let's get her stuff and go,” Phyllis said as she opened the door.

In slow, three-dimensional Technicolor horror, Charles held out the hand holding a bottle of soda and bowed in a gallant motion for Phyllis to go first as a loud pop filled the air and the soda bottle burst.

Phyllis screamed, and Charles roared as he threw Phyllis down to the ground, crawled over her through the door, and made for the masked man holding the gun.

Roger tried to aim the gun for a second time and fire, but the hammer jammed. He threw the gun at Charles and made for the window.

Charles tackled Roger and punched him. “Stay down, Phyllis, don't you move,” Charles struggled with the masked man.

Roger squirmed his arm loose, and threw a roundhouse and connected with Charles's chin. Charles fell back and leaped up with more force. Roger wasn't as physically fit as Charles, but he had been out in the streets of Detroit surviving. When Charles grabbed him again, he elbowed him. Then he crawled toward the window when Charles grabbed him by the shoulder pulling him back. Roger bit Charles's hand viciously and kicked him in the stomach. Charles doubled over in pain.

Roger noticed the gun, and then looked over at Phyllis facedown in the hallway. She was crouched on the floor, her arms covering her head. The discarded gun lay a few feet away. All Roger could think was payback time.

Charles was lifting up when he saw Roger's intent. He went berserk, leaping on top of Roger and punching him repeatedly. Punches to Roger's back, to his side, a blow to his head—over and over. Grabbing Roger in a headlock, he then snatched the mask that was already askew and pulled it off.

“You?” Charles snarled.

Roger struggled to get free, but Charles kept him in the headlock, twisting his body into submission.

Phyllis rose, her face colorless in terror. “Oh, sweet Jesus. Charles.” She struggled to find her composure, her hand shaking as she pulled out her cell phone. She breathed heavily. “I'll call the police,” she said, her whole countenance traumatized. She keyed 911 into her cell. “Hello? We've caught an intruder. Yes, yes, my husband is holding him. 16555 Edinborough Road.” After the call, she slumped down, whimpering in stunned disbelief.

“Hear that, punk? The police are on their way.” Charles observed Phyllis's breakdown and took a cleansing breath. “Hold on, baby, hold on,” Charles said through stiff, swollen lips. Incensed, he pressed down harder on Roger, unshed tears gleaming in his eyes.

Briggs strode into the house and stopped in shock; Monica sat motionless on the couch. “Monica?”

Monica's sulk was tremulous. “I've been here since late afternoon, Briggs, waiting for you.” Briggs's stare at Monica was blank. She gave a slight gulp and redirected her approach. “I came as soon as I could, sweetie. When I was sick, it gave me time to think about everything that was happening. You know, leaving my friends and all, coming to a new place. Yet, you were all I kept thinking about, and I realized wherever you are is home.”

He clapped his hands together. “Brava! Brava! What a performance.”

“That's mean, Briggs,” Monica countered with a pout of her full lips.

Briggs crossed his arms in defiance. “You finally used the key I mailed you to come here, full of manipulation and falsehood. You're unbelievable. Do I look stupid to you? Did you ever see me on the little special yellow school bus with my name tag on upside down? I'm a pastor, but I'm also a man, and you are trying my patience.” He marched down the hall to his room.

“Where are you going? Briggs?” Panicky, she scrambled behind him.

“I'm going to bed. When the truth hits you and you care to share it, let me know.” Briggs shut the bedroom door in Monica's face.

Antiseptic fumes comingled with hushed whispers in the ICU waiting room. Many of those who had waited for news of Lawton's progress had gone home. They had to, Mrs. Redding had insisted, but Esther refused. Mrs. Redding and other family members went in, leaving Esther outside, but stalwart. She curled up in the lobby-room chair, waiting, hoping that Mrs. Redding allowed her at least a moment with him.

She squirmed in the chair. She could feel Mrs. Redding observing her. Holding her breath she prayed she'd be allowed inside to touch and see for herself that Lawton was going to make it. He mentioned earlier in the week his conversation with his mother concerning their budding relationship and his desire for them to meet. Surely she wouldn't begrudge Esther a visit.

“Esther?” Mrs. Redding took her hand pulling her from her pity monologue.

“Yes, ma'am.” Esther held on to the hand engulfed in hers. “How is he?”

“He came to, briefly, and then fell back asleep. He has a long road of recovery ahead, but I'm hopeful. Would you like to see him?”

“Yes, I promise not to disturb him. And if it's all right with you, I'd like to stay. Your son is very precious to me.”

Mrs. Redding hesitated in her answer, and then came to a decision. “Sure, honey, and we can take turns sitting with him. Go on now.”

Esther tiptoed into the ICU room. “Oh, sweetie,” she sighed. He looked ashen and weak lying in the darkened room, machines beeping, and his IV hanging above his bed, looming like a prophecy of doom. Esther lightly touched his neck, the only area not bandaged or plugged with tubing.

The nurse was writing down something in his chart as she gave an encouraging smile and quietly left the room.
Father, you know I don't like hospitals.

He lay battered and helpless, nothing like her knight from earlier today.
How come you can only slay my dragons?
It hadn't been twenty-four hours, and everything had changed. She pulled her chair up and laid her head near his on the pillow; then she closed her eyes, inhaled, and prayed.

Later, Esther sat in the ICU waiting room and wondered where her sister was with her change of clothes. She was starting to feel a little grimy, and she wanted to be fresh when it came her turn to sit with Lawton again. She didn't like meeting Lawton's mother, Mrs. Redding, like this, but they were becoming fast buddies. In the quiet of the night, they were learning each other's hearts.

Esther yawned and pulled the soft, plush throw Lawton's sister had left her, over her shoulder. The ottoman in front of the sofa supported her legs, and she was not uncomfortable.

“Esther . . .” her father stormed through the ICU lobby's swinging doors.

Casting off the throw, Esther scooted forward. “Daddy?”

Hickman Wiley squatted down, placing Esther's overnight bag next to her.

Esther kissed his cheek. “Where's Phyllis?”

“Baby, there was an incident at your house—”

“Oh, Lord. Every time I enter a hospital nothing good happens.” Esther stood and paced.

“Everything is all right, now. Charles and Phyllis walked into your home and your ex was waiting. Simple boy meant to rob you. So in a way . . . a good thing did happen. Instead of you, he met Charles's fists.” He hadn't intended to downplay the situation, but this had been an emotional day for everyone. Erring on the side of less, rather than more, was needed.

Esther froze. “And they're really okay?”

“Yes, they couldn't come because they're completing a police report. Tomorrow as the home owner, you can go down and press charges. Stay here and take care of your young man. Everything is under control.” Hickman hugged her. “You okay?”

“I'm good, Daddy,” Esther said. “Thanks for the bag.”

He scrutinized her face, satisfied she was handling the news; then he hugged her again and left.

Esther then phoned Phyllis. “Esther, you not over there tripping, are you?”

“Not now. Your bossiness lets me know you're good.”

“Girl, my baby took Roger out. Remind me to tell you later how awful your taste in men used to be.” Phyllis sounded upbeat on the phone.

“All I can say in my defense is that you should never let the spirit of lack pick your mate. I've learned my lesson. I'm in abundance now.” Esther sat back down and put her feet up.

“Yes, you have, and how is Mr. Abundance doing? Any news?”

“Not really. His body is pretty banged up, and the doctors feel total rest is needed. His mother and I are taking turns sitting with him. It's her turn. Phyllis, I need to put my eyes on you and Charles. I'll be by to see you first thing in the morning.”

Phyllis negated Esther's need to come. “We're both fine. Go do you.”

“I am so sorry.”

“Girl, now that it's all over, I actually feel sorry for Roger. We're going to put all of this behind us; Charles and I are safe. Now, see about your man, because I've got to see about mine. To tell the truth Charles going caveman kinda turned a girl on.”

“TMI, sis, TMI. I love you,” Esther said. “Give my love to Charles. He's the man.”

“I will.”

 

 

Phyllis closed her cell and looped her arm through Charles's before she spoke. “Don't think you're getting out of that earlier promise.”

He cupped her face and kissed her with his swollen lips ever so softly. “I won't. Although I'll need a rain check until these ribs heal. There is no way I am ever going to forget that kind of promise. I love you.” He shuddered. “If anything had happened, I would have gone into heaven or hell after you.”

“Don't say that, Charles.” Phyllis gently placed her hand over his mouth. “You know I love you too, but there'll be no following each other into heaven or hell; well—hell, anyway. Let's go home, baby,” she ended with a loving promise in her eyes.

Charles paused and asked. “Do you think we should have told Esther we were in emergency at another hospital?”

“No. Esther is pretty strong but a lot has been going on. I know the rumors have been ugly, and then there was something going on, at her job, she wouldn't share with me. Then Lawton's accident, and now this? We can share it tomorrow.” Phyllis looked down at her watch. It was one o'clock in the morning. She sighed. “Today, honey, we'll share it all later today.”

Imp One paced back and forth. “All my hard work down the drain, and The Leader coming to see me. Not good, not good,” he moaned, fretting.

“I told The Leader that it would not be good to use that Roger human,” Imp One screeched. “The same thing that made him weak for us also made him too weak to carry out a simple plan. How hard could it be? Take her, get the money, and then my underling hits the arm that carried the gun and bang, bang, no more Esther. No Esther, no Briggs in the pulpit, and then the Wiley family falls apart. My ultimate gift, no more Mother Reed, because if she lost Esther, she would surely have a heart attack and die.”

The large, lumpy head of Imp One hung low, his shoulders hunched over in grief. “I dislike using humans, especially the flawed ones. The liquor and drugs fog their mind. Roger couldn't even hear us tell him who was really at the door. I will let him rot in jail. No intervention with any of the lawyers or judges on our payroll. He is to rot!!!”

“We understand no intervention, no help, rot, rot, rot . . .” the imps and sprites chorused.

Imp One lifted his head in defiance. “We were once turned into pigs and run off a cliff, but they are the pigs, the lot of them! By all that is evil in this world, I need a plan. This one must be foolproof, the masterpiece. I cannot and will not be sent to the bottom tier; there is no air there. Even the ash is settled nine hundred feet deep. Nothing moves, nothing!”

The imps and sprites sat with ears accustomed to Imp One's words. They were all selfish creatures and none cared what happened to him; they just didn't want to share his fate.

They began to howl in a nervous frenzy as they chanted, “Plan, plan, plan.”

Imp One bent over a large area of ash, and with his tail, started to sketch out the only thing he could think to do to bring everyone in the Wiley clan down.