The Bad Seed Page 11

  “So, here’s how this is going to go down,” she began again calmly, “you’re going to go to the house, tell my father you’re leaving him and pack your raggedy little duffel bag. When you break his heart, I’ll be there to comfort him, like the good daughter I am. I’m already back at RDE. Soon, I’ll be completely back in his good graces.”

  “Ashleigh, listen. Okay. I admit that you have me by the balls and there ain’t shit I can do about it. Can you just give me a little time? I don’t have any money or any place to go.”

  “Are you kidding me? You’ve been living with my father all this time and you don’t have any money stashed away? That’s a damn shame.”

  “It is a shame, but it is what it is. You wouldn’t have me living on the street, would you?”

  “With that face and that body of yours, I’m sure you’ll land on your feet, or your back. Either way, you’ll be fine.”

  She continued sipping on her Diet Coke as we pulled into the parking lot of the building.

  “Please, Ashleigh. Give me a few days. That’s all that I’m asking for.”

  She took another sip and glared at me.

  “I’ll think about it. I’ll let you know when I drop this off inside. Be right back. I know you’re upset, but it would be a mistake to leave me.”

  “I’m not going anywhere.”

  She opened the car door and practically danced down the sidewalk into the building. Quickly, I reached into my gym bag in the backseat and shuffled the items around. I had recently purchased a few vials of GHB from my dealer and I had not yet placed them in the house. I was pretty sure that I had left them in my gym bag. Frantically, I tore through the items in my bag.

  Shoes.

  Jock strap.

  Deodorant.

  Towel.

  Condoms.

  Lubricant.

  Suddenly, I remembered I had placed the vials in a jewelry box and placed them in my glove compartment. Quickly, I reached over and shuffled through the stacks of miscellaneous papers and found the magic I was looking for. I yanked opened the top of the box and with haste, I opened the tubes and emptied two vials into her soda can. I closed the box and threw the tubes into my gym bag and zipped it up just in time. I looked up and saw her exiting the building, moving at an obnoxiously slow pace to irritate me. The smile on her face was electric.

  I took a few deep breaths and tried to calm myself. I hated this bitch, but more to the point, I hated the fact that she was privy to my secrets.

  She hopped in the car and smiled at me. “I’m back. You miss me?”

  “Just put on your seat belt.”

  “Awww, I didn’t know you cared.” She reached over her shoulder and pulled the strap across her body and locked it in place. As I pulled off, I saw her pick up her soda and drink.

  She sealed her fate.

  CHAPTER 13

  “Marquis, grab her feet!” I said in a desperate whisper that wafted into the night air as we lifted Ashleigh’s limp body out of the backseat of my car.

  “Shit, I’m tryin’. This bitch is heavy!” Marquis struggled to lift her dead weight off the ground. I was beginning to panic; it was taking much longer than I expected to remove her body. Even though I didn’t worry about anyone in that neighborhood snitching, I had concerns that a patrol car might roll through and see my car parked in the alley that ran perpendicular to the main street.

  “I got her,” he said as he lifted her feet off the ground. He strained to carry her and I could see veins popping in his neck from the effort of carrying her. She wasn’t a large woman, but dead weight is dead weight. When we reached the side of the house, Marquis dropped her feet and I propped her against the wall so that he could open the gate. I held her firmly against the wall so that she wouldn’t collapse. The side entrance to the rowhouse was tucked away in a darkened alcove protected by a dilapidated wooden fence that looked like the ragged teeth of some urban monster.

  He moved quickly to the gate and reached his hand into a tiny slot. I heard the hook of the flimsy metal lock clink against another piece of metal. I looked around to make sure no one was watching. The clinking sound was low, but in my head, it sounded like the blare of a trumpet.

  The darkened alley was illuminated by a single flickering street light about thirty yards in front of me. A bit of light spilled into the alleyway from the main street as car headlights cut the night into pieces. My breathing was rapid and my palms sweaty. At any moment I expected to see a car from the Metropolitan Police department drive by. After all, this was a high-crime area. We’d have a hell of a time trying to explain what we were doing in the alley outside of a crackhouse with an almost comatose woman.

  “Hurry up before someone sees us!” I hissed.

  “I’m trying. Something is wrong with this fuckin’ gate!”

  “Shhh. Be quiet,” I said. As if my words spoke it into existence, I suddenly heard faint voices that grew in volume with each passing second. My heart raced. I couldn’t discern which direction the voices were coming from, but I instinctively looked toward the main street and waited with bated breath for some sign of pedestrian movement. As the group neared, I could clearly distinguish male and female voices engaged in robust conversation and laughter. Their voices swelled in my ears and I prayed that this alley was not their chosen route. For all I knew they could be thieves, drug dealers, or gangbangers. Whoever they were, I certainly wasn’t prepared to meet them that night. Their voices got louder and louder as they neared. It sounded like at least five people and I could hear some impassioned and mindless chatter about some rapper they’d never meet and his music video.

  Then, they appeared out of the shadows—a group of menacingly-dressed, rambunctious teenagers of varying heights and widths who seemed to care little for the volume of their conversation, which consumed all the noise around them. They spoke all at once in thunderous voices that laid waste to any sound that didn’t match their level. They oozed along the sidewalk, almost as one entity, and claimed for themselves whatever lay in their path. Their formation was tight, like a battalion, and it was hard to determine where one person ended and the other began. They acted as urban royalty and the sidewalk and everything in their path belonged to them.

  Marquis and I remained deathly silent until the mob passed. When they are out of sight and earshot, I released a heavy sigh. I couldn’t remember a time when my heart had beat as fast.

  Now, the ragged wooden gate was the only thing that stood between us and the safety of the crackhouse; the irony of that thought wasn’t lost on me, but standing outside this house in this neighborhood put us in jeopardy of being discovered and safety, at least from being seen, would be found in the shelter the house provided.

  Marquis continued to struggle with the lock on the gate.

  “Fuck! I can’t get it!”

  “I thought you pretty much ran this house?”

  He cut his eyes at me. “I do, but somethin’ is blockin’ the latch.”

  “Shit, let me try. Here, hold her up.” Quickly, we switched positions. The sight of Marquis’s little ass trying to hold up Ashleigh against the wall was comical to me, but I held in my laughter; now was not the time for levity. Even though he was a thug, he was still sensitive about his small stature and I could not risk offending him at such a crucial time.

  I stuck my hand between the splintered wood and felt for the lock. I tried not to worry that I would mess up my manicure as I fidgeted with the hook, but I had just gotten my nails done yesterday. I continued to feel around, but there was something that was blocking the lock. I pulled my hand out and peered inside the gate. From what I could see, the place was a real dump. Trash—paper, liquor bottles, old food containers—littered the landscape, making it hard to see the ground. Cigarette butts and broken crack vials added to the décor.

  Sudden movement in the corner of the fenced yard caused me to jump back.

  “Shit. There’s someone back there!”

  “What you talkin’ about? Here
, hold her ass up.”

  Marquis peered through the hole in the fence.

  “Sheila! Sheila! Get yo’ stupid ass over here and open up this fuckin’ gate!” The sternness in his voice was intoxicating, even on a night like this in a situation as crazy as this. “Hurry up!”

  She moaned.

  “Who the fuck is that?” I asked.

  “Just some crackhead.”

  Seconds later, I heard the woman unlatch the door. Marquis quickly kicked open the door and I heard a commotion on the other side of the gate as the woman fell to the ground. She moaned and huffed, but I heard her scamper to her feet as Marquis quickly moved over to me and helped me move Ashleigh into the yard of the compound.

  “Close the fuckin’ door, Sheila,” he said again, with equal bravado. “I can’t stand a fuckin’ crackhead.” With each one of Ashleigh’s arms draped around our necks, we labored to get her inside the house.

  “Sheila, open the door. Damn. I gotta tell her er’ry fuckin’ thang.” The woman scurried by us and raced up the three concrete steps and pushed open the door to the house. As soon as the door opened, the stench of crack and old liquor assaulted me, throwing me off balance for a split second. For some odd reason, I wasn’t expecting the stench to be so pronounced.

  We entered the darkened house through what I can only assume was the kitchen; however, this kitchen was covered with so much black grime that it was hardly recognizable. The stove, once white, clearly hadn’t been used in years and balled pieces of tin foil and crack vials covered the top. Chicken bones and other pieces of decaying food particles decorated the table that sat in the middle of the room. I looked over to my left and saw something scurry in the opposite direction. Something told me that I didn’t want to know what it was.

  “Let’s put her in here,” Marquis said. He led the way into a room with a tattered tan couch and we pushed her onto the sofa.

  “Damn,” he said as his chest heaved up and down. “You owe me big time for this.”

  I looked around the room and part of me—a very small part—actually felt sorry for her. This place was like a house of horror. I had never seen anyplace so filthy. Garbage lay on top of garbage, as if it had reproduced. There was so much dirt and dust on the floor that it was difficult to ascertain its real color. The house, dank and dark, clearly was a menace to the neighborhood as evidenced by the “do not enter” tape and the “Condemned by Order of the City” sign that someone had removed from the outside of the house and brought inside.

  I continued to look around and just ahead of me I saw a shadow move.

  “Marquis, there’s someone else here,” I said calmly.

  He chuckled. “Of course there is. This is where they come to smoke. I’m sure there’s at least ten people here now.” He looked at me. “You sure you wanna do this?”

  I looked down at her. In her quiet state, she looked peaceful and innocent. She didn’t look like the hellcat who was trying to bring me down. I decided not to kill her because the death of both Robert and his daughter would look too suspicious. Instead of killing her, I opted to return her to her former state. Once she relapsed on crack, she’d be in no position to cause a stir about Robert’s estate. No one would doubt why he hadn’t left her anything.

  “Yeah, I’m sure.”

  “You know there’s no guarantee that she’ll smoke anything. She could wake up and leave.”

  “Nah, I don’t believe that. Once a crackhead, always a crackhead. The smell of this place is enough to make her remember what it felt like to be high. She’ll be salivating like a dog. You make sure she has some crack nearby when she wakes up. And, I don’t want her harmed. Don’t let none of these crackheads rape her or anything.”

  “Bruh, I ain’t gon’ be here all night, so I can’t guarantee nothin’.”

  I inhaled. “Well, do what you can. I need to get out of here before someone steals my car.”

  “Blues, I wanna see you tomorrow so we can settle this debt.” He licked his lips and eyed me from head to toe.

  “Not a problem.” I hurriedly moved out the living room and raced through the kitchen. Once I exited, I saw Sheila in the corner getting high. I didn’t know her, but wondered what she had looked like in her other life. Right now, she looked like the stereotypical crackhead. She was rail thin, wearing dirty blue jeans and a torn T-shirt that I’m sure was once white. Her hair was knotted and clumped together like clay. She looked up at me.

  “What the fuck you lookin’ at? You want some of this pussy?” she said as she gyrated her hips in a provocative manner.

  I didn’t bother to respond to her. Instead, I walked on by.

  Soon, that would be Ashleigh in the corner.

  I smiled.

  CHAPTER 14

  When I got into my car and sped off into the night, a hundred thoughts raced through my head. Had I done the right thing? Had I been hasty in dealing with Ashleigh? Would this plan work? How long would it take for her to relapse? What would happen if she didn’t get high?

  I didn’t have answers to any of those questions, but the deed had been done. Now, I had to pray for the best outcome for me.

  I bolted down the city street, swerving to avoid cars turning left and parked cars on the right. I needed to put some distance between Ashleigh and me and what I had done, because, in spite of the necessity of my plan, a nagging sense of guilt crept into my spirit. And, I became annoyed at myself for feeling this way. I despised this weakness in me. As ruthless as my actions were in leaving her behind, her actions to destroy my marriage and my life justified it. She would have no sympathy for me, so why should I have any for her? Regardless of how I felt, I wasn’t changing my mind, nor was I going back to fetch her from that house. She was there and that’s where she would stay.

  I pressed my foot on the accelerator, my feelings quickly changing from guilt to anger. I thought about the gleam in her eyes when she threw those photographs in my lap. I remembered the triumph that echoed in her voice as she told me to get out of my house and to leave my husband. Fuck her. The slight guilt I felt moments ago faded underneath my rage. This woman was ready to cast me out into the street with no more than a “raggedy” duffel bag. She didn’t care that I had no money and nowhere to go. She didn’t give a fuck what happened to me, and I wouldn’t care what happened to her.

  This wasn’t exactly how I had planned to deal with her. Ashleigh had tied my hands today with her bombshell and forced me into acting affirmatively in my defense. Through her hateful actions, she had thrown me off kilter and forced me into acting desperately; I did not like acting desperately. Desperation led to mistakes. I was more of a planner. After I killed Jabari, I learned how to not react out of emotion. I had learned that a carefully laid, methodical plan was always best, but today I wasn’t afforded that luxury.

  It was either her or me.

  Whatever wretched fate happened to her in that crack den was her fault and she had only herself to blame. Before today, I knew I had to get rid of her. I just wasn’t sure how, but I wanted to do it on my own terms. Before today, I was still devising my plan, but the more I thought about dropping her off in a drug house, the more I realized that things might work out after all.

  Anger now colored everything I saw. I viewed the city through a hazy shade of red. She needed to suffer. I didn’t want her to die like Robert. I wanted a very different fate for the woman who planned my demise. I wanted her to die a little bit every day. Wandering the street as a strung-out crackhead, eating out of garbage cans, and selling her body for drugs—if it was necessary—was what she deserved. No one fucked with me and got away with it. Not back then with Jabari. Not now with Ashleigh.

  When I faced a red light on Alabama Avenue, I took the opportunity to take a few deep breaths to assuage my frayed nerves. I looked around at the decaying buildings, carryout restaurants and liquor stores that lined the street. I was so far removed from hard living that it was difficult to imagine that people still lived like this; yet, I remembe
red that once upon a time, I, too, had lived this way. I could never forget that. Never. Each day I carried a heavy fear in my heart of returning to poverty and being forced to live in a rundown tenement; that fear was my motivation for every major decision I had made recently; that fear forced me to dump Ashleigh in a dangerous crackhouse. No one would return me to the streets. Not Ashleigh. Not Robert. No one.

  As I looked around, I felt the familiarity of it. This area was an urban replica of the decaying Brooklyn neighborhood I lived in when I first landed in New York. I remembered how scared I’d sometimes be just walking down the street. Vulgar graffiti, aggressive prostitutes, deranged drug addicts, and shell-shocked homeless people were commonplace. Thugs, thug-wannabes, bad-ass children and welfare mamas screamed at the top of their lungs at all hours of the day and night. Rarely was there a quiet moment in the entire neighborhood. Half of the houses in the neighborhood had been condemned years ago, like the houses and buildings I now saw.

  That was then. This is now. My mansion on the other side of town was a world away from that kind of life and I intended to keep it that way.

  When the light turned green, I felt my anger and anxiety lift. Still, I prayed that my rushed plan would work. It couldn’t be that hard to induce a relapse in a known crackhead; I don’t care who it was. When she awakened, everything about that place should remind of her what it felt like to be high. I imagined her palms sweating and her body twitching as the familiar scent tickled her nostrils and her taste buds. If I knew the girls she used to get high with when she rebelled against Robert as a teenager and young adult, I would have found them and made sure they were around her when she woke up. I was certain they were still getting high; after all, they were from this part of town and they grew up, from what I’m told, in abject poverty.