The Fall of the Prodigal (17 page)

“He swears it's not his. When Michael heard about the semen, he sank to the floor,” Keith informed Gina. Snuggled under their thousand-thread count sheets, he wrapped Gina close to him welcoming her comfort. Her presence soothed him. He had been stewing on the devastating news for hours.

Gina cupped his face with her hands. A tear slid down Keith's cheek. “I don't know what to believe. DNA doesn't lie. There's no doubt it's Michael's. He says he didn't touch Mindy.”

“Shh.” She pressed her mouth onto his.

“I can't lose him, Gina,” Keith whispered. “I just got him back. I'll love him no matter what he's done but”—he gulped—“this would be a bitter pill to swallow. The thought of Michael doing harm to that girl . . .” Keith shook his head.

“Are you listening to yourself right now?” Gina asked. “Where's your faith? Did it evaporate under some DNA? What about God? You said He brought Michael home. I admit I fought your decision to defend him. But, I've seen the old Michael, the one I married. I'm telling you there has to be an explanation.”

“Well, look at how the tables have turned,” Keith said.

Gina averted her eyes. “Yes, I can't believe the words coming out of my mouth either. But, I know God's leading me to encourage you. Michael needs you. He needs you to fight for him. I've always felt guilty I came between the two of you. I destroyed your bond. Now I'm seeing the rebuilding and I know this is God's doing. All praise belongs to God. If this isn't the modern-day prodigal story, I don't know what is.” She gripped his arm. “I have faith in you, Keith. You're walking in your calling. If you remember, getting there wasn't easy. Now Michael is at that fork in the road. I know it's only the beginning. The road isn't easy. But, it's better if you're walking it with others.”

“You're right. When did you get smart?” Keith squeezed her with affection.

“I was born smart,” she quipped.

“I'm sorry I even doubted him for a minute. I left Michael at his lowest point. Even if he's guilty as ever, I should be by his side.”

“Don't be sorry or too hard on yourself. You wouldn't be human if you didn't have doubts. Counteract every single doubt by finding the truth.”

Keith felt love swell in his heart at Gina's encouragement. He whispered, “I don't know what I'd do without you in my life. You complete me. I love you.”

Gina's eyes filled with tenderness. “Oh, honey, I love you too.” She touched his cheek. “Michael loves you. He needs you. He needs his big brother to be his champion. I'm going out on a limb here, but what if both stories are true?”

He shifted. “What do you mean?”

Gina sprinkled his bare chest with kisses. “I mean what if both Michael and Mindy's version of the events that night are correct? What if the truth is a puzzle? Put all the pieces together. What if someone is setting him up?”

A bolt flashed through him. Keith sat up. “My Lord, I never thought of that angle! Gina, you may be on to something.” Vestiges of Michael's and Mindy's statements sprang to his mind. Since Mindy had refused a rape kit, there was no way of knowing if she had actually been penetrated. What if the assumption was made because of her incoherent words and the blood on the scene? He rubbed his chin. Something was not adding up. There was an element missing. He needed to figure it out.

Keith slid his body to the edge of the bed and jammed his feet into his slippers. He had to get to his study.

“Don't I get a reward?”

Hearing Gina's suggestive tone, Keith senses went on full alert. He made an about turn and lost his breath. She had removed the covers and had fashioned herself into the most intriguing pose. Keith rejoined her on the bed. “You most certainly deserve to be awarded for your insight.” He splattered kisses across her neck. “Your brilliance,” he continued, moving to her bared shoulder. “Your unequaled intelligence.” He dipped lower.

With bated breath, she egged him on: “Yes. What about my, ah, my . . .”

“Superior reasoning?” Keith finished, working his magic with his hands and lips.

“Hmmm hmmm. That and my . . . my . . .”

“Logic?”

“Yes, ah, oh, logic,” Gina added.

Keith searched for another word. By this time his brain was on lockdown. He spoke to her in a more intimate way. She screamed. He smiled.

When he went to sleep, Keith was optimistic all would be well.

 

 

When he woke up the next morning, things fell apart.

Natalie called. “Bishop Combs tried to kill himself,” she said.

Keith's heart hammered in his chest. “What? When? How?” His voice rose with each question.

“Gunshot wound to the head. He was found inside his vehicle. He left a note confessing to everything. He didn't die, though. The news reporter said he's unrecognizable,” Natalie said.

Gina stirred and questioned him with her eyes. Keith covered the phone to fill her in. Her eyes widened and she shot out the bed. “I'm going over to the foundation. We have to prepare a press release.” She raced into the shower.

“If he was going to off himself, he could've at least left a check,” Natalie bemoaned through the line.

“Somebody almost died.”

“Yes, a coward. I know. But the foundation is going to face the brunt of the public's disapproval. Please tell me he signed the requisition?” She phrased the statement as a question.

“Yes, he did. I'll write the check to cover the funds. I know the government will dig but we have nothing to hide.”

“Keep your money. We'll go after Suzette. The police are looking for her. Massive manhunt in progress.”

Keith hated how cold that sounded.

His other line beeped. It was Deacon Broderson. His house phone rang. It was not even nine a.m. Keith massaged his temples and turned on the news.

Bishop Combs's face was plastered all over the screen.

“It's three o'clock in the morning! For the fifth time, go home!” Michael yelled, suppressing a yawn. He had spent a harrowing day helping Keith sort out the mess with Bishop Combs. His brother had then asked him to find Suzette Combs.

Michael had also poured more money through Tiger Trust into the foundation. He was sure they would rebound. His case was another matter. Michael tossed and turned for most of the night dwelling on it. Just when he had fallen asleep, crazy showed up at his door.

“I'll kill myself!” the woman screamed through the door. “Did you hear me? I'll kill myself.”

Michael thought of the bishop.
Is suicide in style?

Michael paused. What if she made good on her threat? He could not take that chance. Against his better judgment, Michael opened the door. He pulled the bedraggled visitor into his penthouse.

When the door slammed shut, an eerie sensation filled him. He should have stayed in the hallway. After all, it was his accuser who stood before him.

“Mindy, you shouldn't be here,” he warned.

The raging woman now had a childlike voice. “I had to come. I had to warn you.” Nervousness apparent, she contorted her hands like a pretzel.

Michael touched her arm. She flinched.

“Listen, big boy, we're here to help not to be manhandled.”

He backed off. “I'm sorry.”
Did she say we?
Now Mindy sounded like a jaded ingénue. What was going on? He eyed her with careful precision before realization hit. This girl was mentally ill. As ill as her brother Carl must have been. Her hair was uncombed. Her hospital gown stuffed into a pair of jeans. Mindy's face bore the bruises from her brutal beating.

Michael felt compassion but he had to ask the question that had his head throbbing all night. “Mindy, how did my semen end up in the Ritz?”

She blushed and covered her cheeks. “You said semen.” Her girlish giggle made Michael's head spin.

“Mindy?”

She straightened. “I don't know how it got there. I think Mousie's friend, Elle G, put it there.” Her eyes glazed. “Things are kind of murky in my mind.” She nodded. “Yep. I think it's her.”

Michael could not follow this conversation. It was like he was in an episode of that old-time television show,
Herman's Head.
“Who's Elle G?”

Mindy placed a finger over her mouth. “Shh. She made me promise not to tell. She's my secret friend.”

Now Mindy sounded like a five-year-old. Michael lost patience. Mindy must be high on prescription drugs. She was not making an ounce of sense. And, who had an imaginary friend at her age?

Michael wondered what was in his body scent to make him attract psychos. He needed to get Mindy out of his place before she brought even more trouble on his head.

In a gentle but patronizing tone, he said, “Mindy, I'm going to have to ask you to leave. How did you get here?”

She shrugged.

Michael strode to get his phone he'd left on his kitchen counter. “I'll call you a cab.”

“No! I have to warn you. My dad told Finn he wanted you dead!” Mindy said.

Michael stopped. He did not doubt her sanity this time. He knew Mindy told the truth. Bill Laurelton would seek revenge for her attack. What he had envisioned, however, was a brutal takeover of his dwindling assets. He had not expected such a lethal reaction. Then Michael thought of his children. If it were Olivia . . .

Michael rushed over to where Mindy stood. “What else did you hear?

“I was drugged up. I could barely keep my eyes open, but Finn is a dangerous man. I know him because I worked . . . I know him.” She leaned forward. “You don't have to call a cab. I have one holding downstairs.”

Michael was already running names through his head of people he could call. He needed someone with stealth and experience to handle Bill. He did not think to call God, did not know that line was never busy, did not know God was the answer.

“Michael, can I use your bathroom?”

Mindy!
He had forgotten about her while plotting his next move. “Sure! It's down the hall on the right.”

“Thanks.”

Think, Michael, think.
He had to keep a low profile. He had not been in touch with men of certain ilk in months. But, how else was he going to deal with Bill?

Goose bumps rose on Michael's flesh. The Holy Spirit had spoken. Michael took a step back from the powerful impact.
How? How do I trust you, Lord?
He looked heavenward as if the answer were imprinted on the ceiling.

He did not know how. “I can't,” he whispered. Michael's faith failed him. He bunched his fists relishing the feel of his fingers against his palm. Yes, this was real to him. He understood fighting for himself. That he could do. “Let me do this first, Lord,” he beckoned.

“Who are you talking to?”

Michael jumped, not realizing he had dropped his cell phone near the couch. “Ah, no one. Just thinking out loud. I'd better see you downstairs.” Once again, he had forgotten Mindy. Gently, he guided her into the elevator and then outside the building to the waiting Yellow Cab. In an instant, lights flashed at him from all directions. Michael held his hands across his face from the blinding glare. Why was the media camped outside his building?

Realization hit. Mindy had set him up.

“I'm sorry. I had to keep you safe,” she said.

Michael nodded. What else could he do in that moment? He held out his hands to the two uniformed men. Metal cuffs met his wrists.

“Michael Ward, you're under arrest for violating the conditions of your parole. We're remanding you into custody.”

He was shoved into the back of the patrol car. He sat there for hours. Michael spotted Bill's arms around Mindy. She had set him up but every eye in the nation would see her as a helpless innocent.

Michael bent his head.
I'm done. I'm going down.

 

He's going to be mad!
Baby wailed.

We saved his sorry butt from death!
Mousie protested.

But, he's back in jail,
Mindy reasoned.
Neither Daddy nor Finn can hurt him now.

He didn't do anything and you know it,
Baby protested.

Shut up, Mousie, I can't think
. Mindy's heart refused to quit its thumping. She wiped her palms on her pants. When Mindy turned her head, she noticed her father eyeing her. There was no way Bill was going to let her out of his sight.

What do you mean? Do what you always do!
Mousie commanded.

You mean what you do,
Mindy amended. She bit her lip. She hated feeding her father one of her sleeping pills. It worked like a charm whenever she needed to escape his clutches. Since her brother and mother died, her father suffocated her. She knew he was afraid to lose her. He said it all the time. However, he could not keep her under lock and key, like a caged bird.

She did not have friends. No one to talk to about Carl and how he died. No one to cry with when Mama released her final breath. Mindy only had herself. So she invented her friends. People she could talk with about anything. They knew her well.

There was nothing wrong with that. The doctor did not agree though. Dr. Forrester slapped her with the title dissociative identity disorder and pumped her with pills. Pills Mindy no longer took because her brain felt mushy. She liked her reality.

Mousie was the part of her who refused to take any mess. Mindy chuckled at how often she had to keep that rebellious nature under wraps. However, there were times when Mousie wanted to play. She had let her too because Mousie had made a friend, Finn, and she liked him.

Actually, she had made two friends. She was not allowed to talk about the other one. That was Mousie's other friend, Elle G. Elle G wanted to remain anonymous. Mindy understood, but she had a big dilemma.

Elle G knew the truth. Her testimony could set Michael Ward free.

Then why don't you let him touch you?
Mindy taunted.

No!
Baby roared.
Don't let him!

A strong hand grabbed her arm and twisted it, catching her off guard. “Ouch!” Mindy swung her head to meet a set of baleful eyes.

“Are you talking to yourself, again, Mindy? I don't understand you. I invest all my money into curing you. Yet, you still persist with this behavior. Why can't you be normal like everyone else?” Bill turned back to the road.

She forgot her father had been watching her. “This is my normal and I like it.” She silenced him with an icy stare. She knew from Bill's wary look he did not know who was talking. Bill slid his eyes away from her but he was not done fussing.

“You waited until I left, then checked yourself out of the hospital to go see him. Since you can't stay away from Michael Ward, I'm taking you to our home in Westbury. I need to put some distance between the both of you.”

“Yes, I went to see Michael. And I'll do it again! Distance won't stop me,” she yelled at the top of her lungs.

Don't you dare!
Mindy revolted. Mousie wisely backed off. Mindy closed her eyes, needing to rest from her never-ending thoughts. Maybe she had been too hasty when she stopped taking her meds. Maybe she needed to pull that bottle from under her mattress. She needed a clear head.

You don't want to talk to me anymore?
Baby asked.

Go ahead. Punk out and go back to being a pill pusher,
Mousie snarled.

Her father's words echoed in her head.
“Why can't you be normal?”
Mindy blinked back tears and gulped. He could not know how much she prayed for that. God did not like her ugly. Bill did not believe in praying and “all that mumbo jumbo.” However, she did. Mindy had heard one preacher on television say He could walk on water and do all kinds of magical things. If He could do that, then He could heal her pain and make her whole. But, until then, she would take a round tablet.

Yep, she was going to do it that very night. As soon as Bill pulled into the driveway, Mindy jumped out the car. She rushed into the house and entered her room. She sank to her knees and reached far under her mattress until she felt the small bottle. Mindy knew it was there because that was where she kept her pills in all her rooms.

Aren't you forgetting something?
Mousie taunted.
Only I know the truth. That's why you stopped taking the pills. I'm the one you need to help clear Michael's name.

Oh yeah.
Mindy slumped. She'd forgotten about that. Hopeless, she released the bottle and it rolled under the bed. She didn't care.

Elle G was there too,
Baby said.

Mindy straightened. “She was? I knew it! I had my suspicions. I'm glad you told me.”

“Baby, you've got to tell me!” Mindy slung her head onto her mattress. Why couldn't she remember everything without them? She gritted her teeth.
Think! Think! You've got to put it all together in your mind.

Nothing.

She would have to call Dr. Forrester, whose offices were in Garden City, Long Island. Only she could help. Her father used the doctor as a drug pusher. He no longer agreed to ongoing therapy sessions. “No ‘wet behind the ears' doctor is going to tell me what to do,” he had ranted. And why? Because Dr. Forrester invited him into their sessions. He was not having any part of that.

She lifted a hand to heaven. “God, if you do exist, please hear me. Help me figure this out.”