Authors: G. A. Augustin
I kneeled before the headstone and rested my right hand on it. The first words that came out of my mouth
were an apology
.
I selfishly brought this on her. I should've told her about the dire straits that followed me around. It was those secrets I kept that cost her her life.
After moments of prayer, flashes of lightning began to ignite the city sky. They were followed by distant roars of thunder. Gentle raindrops began to fall on me. I stood up, glanced at her site one last time then sauntered down the grassy hill to my father's car. My parents were waiting for me outside the vehicle. Before I could get in, they both embraced me with a firm hug.
My parents own a three family brownstone renovated into a lofty single family house in a prosperous middle class neighborhood in Brooklyn, New York. The second I
made my way through the front door I caught whiff of Caribbean Breeze air freshener. The hallway is immaculate. It's a complete contrast to the cesspool I have been dwelling in. The wood finished floors had a luster to it. It looks like my father managed to refinish the vintage wood trimmings along the walls as well. I had a sudden feel of nostalgia; back to my childhood when life was simple.
I spend my days sulking in my room. My parents left it precisely how I did before moving; in case I decided to move back. They haven’t removed the pull-up bar that hung in my doorway. My sparring dummy is covered in dust but continued to lean against the corner by the window and my dumbbells are still underneath my bed. I pass time by working out. Every morning I stretch for ten minutes then warm up by throwing strikes and grappling with the dummy. I do five hundred push-ups, sit-ups, squats, lunges, calf rises, military presses and pull-ups a day. It helps the time pass and keeps my mind off Lolani.
Since moving back to Brooklyn I seldom leave my room. I ignore the phone calls from my former college classmates checking on my well-being. I have no need for friendships. I'm not in the mood for it. I haven't tried dating again nor have I tried looking for a job.
My parents are worried about me.
"It's not normal for someone your age to be so antisocial."
I don't feel like socializing. I just want to keep to myself.
I haven’t dreamt since moving back home. The medication prevents them. It’s probably for the best. Reliving her homicide every night would drive me to hang myself. It’s been nine months since Hoyt barged into the cleaners and shot her. I haven't heard anything from either of the detectives since. Detective Bernhardt assured me I'd be kept posted this time. That only means one thing; Hoyt hasn't been apprehended yet.
It's now minutes to midnight. Just before calling it a night, it dawned on me that I haven't taken my medication today as prescribed. They're kept in the kitchen on the first floor and I'm too weary to walk down two flights. I've been taking the medication for the past
eight months. Neglecting the pills for a night can't possibly cause any grave ramifications.
I fell asleep like any other night.
There were no hallucinations, no violent tendencies or voices in my head, initially. My slumber suddenly made a turn for the worse. In the middle of a deep sleep, I heard a disturbing scream and it startled me awake. It sounded as if it were off in the distance. I lurched upright and glanced around the room. The cries continued but I was unable to find the source.
"Is someone there?"
I frantically inquired. They began to grow louder.
"Is someone there?"
I persisted to ask.
The cries have now become unbearable. I clasped my ears in efforts to hinder myself from hearing it. It was ineffective. I jolted off my bed and backed into a corner. The cries wouldn't stop and it was disturbing. Suddenly,
my bedroom closet gradually creaked open.
"Who's there?"
I hollered. A man wearing a black balaclava ski mask cambered from behind the door. He aimed a sawed-off rifle at me. He had a trifling squint in his eyes. Before he managed pull the trigger, I awoke. I sat up in my bed and glanced over at my closet. It was empty. The clock on my dresser displayed four in the morning.
"What's happening to me?"
The homicide kept running through my mind for the duration of the morning. The guilt of hiding in my parent's home while Hoytsworth still roamed the streets was becoming inundating. I can't stay here any longer. Not while he's still out there.
Later on that night, I wrote a letter to my parents. I disclosed how much I appreciated them for what they've provided me with. I apologized in advance for what I was about to do. But I have
to do it. It needs to be done! I fixed the note on my arranged bed and then skulked out of the house.
I arrived at the bus terminal inside Grand Central Station just in time to secure a nine o'clock ticket to Capitol City.
“What happened to yours eyes?”
The clerked inquired. I ignored him, snatched my receipt and headed to the coach. The passengers began boarding just as I left the ticket booth. I didn't have any belongings other than the black hoodie and black jeans I had on; my wallet, keys and cellphone were in my pocket. After being jostled by impatient ticket holders, I managed to get onboard and secure a seat in the back. I pulled my hoodie over my head and rested against the window. I couldn't help notice how magnificent and full the moon was tonight. I've never seen it so brilliant in my life.
The bus was filled to capacity. The tight seating allowed for no leg room. A heavyset male sat
beside me cramping me even more. Just as the driver departed from the terminal he informed us the air condition was inoperable. The antsy passengers began to protest and request a discount on their ticket prices. Just as I thought things couldn't get any worse, the husky male besides me unwrapped a homemade tuna and ketchup sandwich that left a foul odor on the bus for the duration of the trip.
After enduring the torturous five hour ride, I finally arrived at downtown Capitol City bus terminal. The heavy rain pelted the roof and windows of the bus. The line to the exit was hampered by the elderly and passengers struggling to retrieve their bags stored on the overhead compartments. The antsy passengers became unruly as their escape from the malodorous and blistering bus was hindered.
I felt alleviated the moment I stepped off the bus. However, it wasn't too long before I was bombarded by overbearing taxi drivers badgering for a fare. I jostled passed them and headed to the ATM. I fetched my entire savings, a measly three hundred bucks, then
treaded to the subway station and waited on the platform for the next arriving train.
Twenty minutes past before a
red graffiti-tainted train trundled into the station then screeched to a stop. The double doors parted and I stepped into the rearmost car. The puddles of grime from the passengers' wet shoes smeared the floor. There were unruly hooligans inside the car all sporting black leather biker jackets with a red horizontal strip going across the back. They were speaking brazenly amongst one another and scribbling graffiti on the walls and doors. One was carving his street name into the window with a large serrated blade;
"Domino Sullivan."
I came upon a decent seat amongst the piles of gum wrappers, newspapers and snack bags discarded on the benches. I leaned back and
hunched my head over my chest. Just as the train left the station I overheard one of the individuals belt a sharp whistle tune and the rowdy crowd drew quiet.
Suddenly, while my head was slouched down, I heard footsteps approaching.
"What's in your pockets?"
Domino Sullivan demanded. I brushed him off and persisted to stare at the floor.
"You deaf?"
He barked while revealing his pristine six inch silver knife. The blade reflected an elongated image of me as he hoisted it before my eyes.
"Empty out your pockets!"
He suddenly clenched my hood that was still covering my head. He was bold and I felt disrespected by him touching me. It had gotten me mad. I swiftly smacked his hand off my clothes and pelted him in the sternum with a right uppercut. He buckled over, fumbling the knife and then faltered to his knees. He clenched onto his chest while coughing harshly.
"
WAH-DAH FUCK?"
Another one of the gang members barked. The other three suddenly began barreling in my direction. At that moment, the bane this city caused me to endure resurfaced. It infuriated me. I wanted retribution: violent vengeance. I wanted to inflict deep pain. I wanted to scar their faces so at any moment when they peered at their reflection they remembered me.
I bent over, snatched the serrated knife off the floor and firmly gripped the handle. I held it up and got into a fighting stance. One persisted to rush me as the others became hesitant. Once in arms reach, he cocked his right
fist back and pitched a right hook towards my face. I eluded the punch then slashed him on his thigh. The keen-edged blade caused a profound gash. He staggered to a bench clenching onto his leg as it began bleeding profusely.
"GOT
-DAMMIT!"
The hooligan bawled while tending to his wound.
I clenched the knife tighter and sauntered towards the individuals.
"Chill out!"
They pleaded as I persisted to advance. The train screeched to a halt at the following station. The hooligans urged me to
"Put the knife down"
as I neared them. Suddenly, through the window, I caught sight of a dark figure poised on the platform; that black cloak that flowed off his shoulders and disposed on the floor in a perfect crescent, that black mask that concealed his face and amplified his devilishly red eyes. He held me against that brick wall while Lolani's killer escaped through the alley.
"You bastard!"
I growled and darted off the train.
Once on the platform, T
he Legend was no longer in sight. I glanced around the station and couldn't spot him anywhere. The double doors shut and the train began rumbling down the tracks leaving me behind. It was unsettling. Once again he managed to outwit me. My frustration grew to a peak. I lunged towards a subway platform billboard and stabbed it with the knife. The blade drove so deep only the handle was visible. I then began pelting the walls with vigorous combinations. I kicked over the garbage cans and ripped the movie posters down.
"LOLANI!!!"
I bawled as I faltered to my knees. My cries resonated throughout the tunnels. Tears drifted down my face. No longer being restricted by the medications, I was finally able to mourn.
A number of trains passed while I sulked on the bench in
side the station. "
...You might not be able to decipher what is real and what isn't. Duane, these combinations could make you a violent person..."
The doctor forewarned me. My headache resurfaced with a vengeance and caused my nose to bleed. A train arrived and I brought myself to board. The car was vacant. I sat with my hood mantled over my head and wiped the blood from my nose with the back of my hand. The double doors closed and the train trundled towards the succeeding stop.
I didn't have a clue as to what I was doing here. I just stood before the dry cleaners as the heavy rain drops pelted me. The red vertical neon sign was left on;
"Delancey's Dry Cleaners."
Both
"D's"
still flickered. The boss still hasn't replaced the bulbs.
I started reminiscing about eagerly waiting behind the counter for Lolani's arrival every Thursday. Then I started thinking about our first date. Soon I was hauled of
f to a time where we were together; a time when we were happy. I was no longer outside the dry cleaners but in her soft bed lying next to her. We're munching on popcorn and watching a '70s Kung Fu flick. I revealed the ending to the movie and she pummeled me in the head with a pillow. I playfully dove on top of her while imitating one of the characters. She laughed so hard she began tearing.
Suddenly the resounding thunder awakened me. I was back standing in the storm before the dry cleaner
s and she was gone. I’d give anything to be with her one last time. Moments later I started to saunter towards the subway station wondering
"What am I doing here?"
Just as I turned the corner
, a slim black male bustling to seek shelter from the rain jostled me.
"Watch out man!"
He barked. His scathing remark struck a note. That voice. Just as I started to put it behind me I noticed his black leather vest with the words
"Fallen Saints"
spray painted on its back. It suddenly registered that he was one of the thugs that mugged me. He wasn't Hoytsworth but he was there with him. I turned around and watched him as he fled up the street. I was momentarily awed. He literally fell into my lap. It was as if I was meant to find him; as if something brought us together. I began tailing him.
He raced through a number of blocks then ducke
d into a narrow alleyway. I shadowed him from a distance. By the time I reached the alley I lost sight of him. I walked through hoping to relocate him or find a lead to his whereabouts. Suddenly I got an earful of funk music playing in the distance. I followed the sound until I spotted a towering, stout, dark complexioned man sporting a fitted black t-shirt standing by a door. His frame was taller and wider than the doorway. He was dallying with a Caucasian female sporting a racy schoolgirl uniform. She couldn’t be more than five feet tall. She’s slim yet busty. Her hair was dyed pink and done up in stylish pigtails. Her lips were full and coated with matching pink lipstick. The funk music I'd heard was seeping out the door where they were standing. It must be some type of nightclub inside.