The Bad Seed Read online

  By the time I made it home, the house was empty. Robert had not yet made it home from another one of his late-night meetings. I had time to search Ashleigh’s room and claim the spoils of war. I found her digital camera that had the photographs of me and Nigel sexing. She hadn’t had a chance to put it in a safe place. I only hoped that she hadn’t made dozens of copies. From the hasty way in which she’d dropped her bombshell on me, something told me that she hadn’t yet taken the necessary precautions, which is why the camera was sitting in plain sight on top of her chest of drawers. This was exactly why I hated to act without thinking—it led to mistakes. She had, like I had so long ago, let anger dictate her actions. Acting out of anger will always keep you off-balance.

  To seal the deal, I placed a few empty crack vials in one of her drawers. I figured that if she relapsed and was gone for days, Robert would probably have the maid search her room and when the vials were found, Robert would know that his sweet daughter had once again fallen. It would break his heart. If I was lucky, it might even cause a heart attack.

  By ten o’clock, I was lounging at the pool on my second Jack and Coke; the cool breeze tickled my skin and helped to relax me, but my thoughts and feelings vacillated between nervousness and a sense of triumph. Had she awakened? Had she started smoking? Had I won my battle with her? If she didn’t relapse, I was doomed. I reached over to the table and sent Marquis a quick text message, checking on her. I placed the phone back on the table and before I could pick up my drink, my phone vibrated. I looked at the text from Marquis that read, “HIGH AS A KITE.”

  I smiled and deleted the message. A quick victory.

  I lay across the chair on the patio, trying to enjoy the picturesque view when I suddenly felt as if my breath had been stolen. I inhaled deeply, trying to force myself to relax, but some force gripped me and held me tightly. I had had sudden panic attacks before, especially after Jabari’s death, but I hadn’t felt a sense of panic like this in years. As I lay there, held in place by some nefarious force, I tried to calm myself, to no avail.

  Then, I saw a shadowy figure emerge from the house and come slowly into view. I squinted my eyes, hoping to get a better look before this stranger was upon me. He looked familiar, even from his distance. I could tell from the great stride of his gait that it wasn’t Robert; there was too much youth in his step.

  Then, he came fully into view.

  I watched, in horror, as Jabari sauntered over toward me wearing blue swimming shorts, his beach towel casually thrown across his shoulder. He looked as if he had a planned swim date with me. His face looked the same as the last time I had seen it. His face did not reveal his emotions or hint at his intentions, but nonetheless, I was terrified.

  I watched him closely as he moved closer to me.

  Was this some cruel trick? Did my eyes deceive me? My breathing, labored and thick, dug deeply into my chest. I wanted to flee, but I couldn’t move. I was simply powerless.

  And terrified.

  When he reached me, he leaned over and slowly kissed me in a way that was so familiar. He did not hesitate or waver with his display of affection. The softness of his puffy lips did little to ease my fright. His lips, although soft, were cold as ice and I could see his breath in the air, even though it was a warm summer night.

  Was this apparition here to do harm? Was it my time to pay for my sins? After killing Jabari, condemning Ashleigh to addiction and plotting to kill Robert, had my day of reckoning finally come?

  He pulled away and stared down at me. He seemed to be examining my face, every line and contour, and his eyes, those beautiful eyes, showed no malice or ill will. A fondness in his eyes eased my fear and my panic began to melt. He was a beautiful man, even more beautiful than I had remembered. I wanted to reach out and touch him to see if he was real. I longed to feel the touch of his flesh; after all these years, he remained my one and only true love. I remembered how he used to touch me and make me feel complete. His gentleness always set my soul at-ease.

  Did I still look the same to him? Had time been kind to me? Did he see the fresh-faced boy he once loved or did he see the hideous creature, full of venom and vice, that I had become?

  As he continued to examine me, my guilt swelled. I stared into the face of my long-lost love and was overwhelmed by thoughts of what I did to him. In a fit of rage, I had killed the man I loved and had never found a moment’s peace, in spite of my efforts to forget and to pretend that everything was alright. That night—his death—would forever haunt me. Some things can never be forgotten.

  I could still see the look in his eyes as he fell over.

  In my ears, his anguished screams echoed like they did that night. Sometimes, I heard those screams in the still of the night.

  Crack.

  Crack.

  Crack. Crack.

  The sound of his body crashing to the jagged earth below stayed with me.

  Yet, I never really grieved for him.

  I never grieved for myself, either.

  I often wondered what his last thoughts were. Did he realize what happened, what I had done to him?

  I had carried the weight of my crime in my spirit for so long that his death became a part of me. His death polluted my soul. I stole from this world its most precious gift and would one day be held accountable for that. I accepted that fact long ago.

  Maybe that day was today.

  Whatever I had done to him, I also had done to myself. I died that day, too, and was reborn a tortured soul.

  Jabari set his towel down on the chair next to me, without so much as a word. His silence was heavy; it occupied so much space that it started to suffocate me. I waited for him to point the accusatory finger at me and scream bloody murder. I waited for him to recognize in my face a reflection of the shame I carried. In part, I wanted that condemnation; it might free me, but he didn’t give me what I needed.

  Jabari dove into the pool and the splash of cool water leapt high into the air; the droplets hung in the air for a few seconds, suspended in time. When they finally fell, a few drops landed on my feet and they burned with hellfire. I tried to scream, but could not. The pain I felt was only a sample of what was to come—I was sure of that.

  I wanted to move, to run, and to hide while he was submerged, but I could not command my own limbs to respond. It was only a matter of time before he exacted vengeance. I was forced to endure this tortured moment of watching him circle endlessly in a pool of blue. His presence had rendered me utterly motionless, except for the tears that ran down my face.

  Moments later, he leapt from the shallow end of the pool with sudden fury. He jetted from the pool as if he had been expelled. He, like the water moments ago, hung in the air, hovering above the pool for a few seconds before falling back into the water. He rose from the shallow end of the pool and stepped onto the concrete, dripping wet. His face, now twisted and terrible, told me my time had come. A cool breeze blew across us as his body became wrapped in flames—he brought the hellfire with him to claim my soul.

  I tried to close my eyes, but I couldn’t. I was forced to watch him move toward me, step by step. Each step he took left a smoldering footprint on the concrete. I took a deep breath and with all the force I could command, I screamed. My scream must have startled him because he stopped, for a second.

  Then, I realized I could move.

  I jumped up and ran in the opposite direction around the pool. When I got to the other side, somehow he was already there, blocking my path. In spite of the fire around him, I could clearly see his face, which had once again transformed back into his usual face. I looked into his eyes and saw me pushing him off the building. I saw me driving away into the night as I left Ashleigh to rot. I realized what I had done; I didn’t need a reminder. I wanted to get away from him.

  I moved to the right.

  He moved to the right.

  I moved to the left.

  He moved to the left.

  I took a step backward.

  He took
a step forward.

  He moved with perfect agility.

  Then, he let something escape from his mouth that I could only describe as a yell. It was a sound like no other and carried force. I actually stumbled back, as if I had been struck by a mighty fist. Anger twisted Jabari’s face into a contorted ball of fury; his eyes became tight, like thin, sharp splinters and his lips were drawn tightly together. He was about to strike.

  Out of sheer defense, I threw myself into his body but he did not move; not even an inch. I was no match for him. I stumbled back hard, as if I had run full speed into a brick wall. I completely lost my balance and hit my head on the side of the pool, before falling in. Immediately, blood gushed from my wound and colored the pool water. I was fading away, losing myself to utter darkness.

  “Blues, Blues, wake up.” The sound of Robert’s voice brought me out of my nightmare. When he touched me, my body jolted and I screamed. “Are you okay? You must’ve had a bad dream.” Slowly, I opened my eyes. He stood over me, shaking me gently, with a concerned look on his face. “Come on into the house.”

  Even though I was awake, I was still shaken by my nightmare, which was the most vivid one I had had about Jabari in years; maybe God was trying to tell me something. If He was, I wasn’t ready to listen. Robert was still going to die.

  I shook off my dream and let Robert lead me into the house. His arm was wrapped around my waist in a supportive way.

  “What were you dreaming about?”

  “I… I don’t remember.”

  “I’m getting concerned about your dreams. I think you need to see someone.”

  “I’m fine. Really.” He looked at me incredulously and I changed the subject. “How was your day?”

  He took a deep breath. “It was a long one. I fired Charles.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “He is grossly incompetent. I need someone on my team who can get the job done. That was not Charles.” His voice sounded agitated and since I had enough going on, I didn’t press it. “Where is Ashleigh?”

  “I don’t know. She’s not in her room?”

  “No, the house is empty.”

  “She wanted to do some shopping so after we took care of your errand, I dropped her off at the mall. I thought for sure she’d be back by now.”

  “No worries. My daughter was always a super shopper. I’m sure she’ll be home soon. Come on. Let’s go inside.”

  Nothing had changed in my mind. Robert would still need to die. I was not about to change my plans because of some random images about a dead lover. Soon, I’d have another dead lover and, as far as I was concerned, the two of them could sit around in the afterlife and lament over their loss of life at my hands.

  CHAPTER 15

  The next few days leading up to The Purple Party were filled with a mixture of anxiety, excitement, and apprehension. Robert’s moods shifted with the wind and his attitude became more and more obnoxious as the days passed by. The disappearance of his dearly beloved daughter weighed heavily on him and I encouraged him to call the police, but he balked at the suggestion. He wanted to spare himself the public embarrassment and he said he wasn’t worried because this was how she operated. She’d come home after a long absence—clean and sober—and then relapse into another drug binge. Robert, with tears in his eyes, told me this was the last time. He had completely given up on her. I wanted to ease his pain by telling him that he needn’t worry too much about her because his time on this earth was winding down, but I refrained. Instead, it was inside that I smiled.

  I gave Marquis the go-ahead to kill Robert. It would happen on the Monday morning following The Purple Party. On workdays, Robert left the house often before sunrise. He prided himself on being the first in the office in the morning and the last to leave at night. That, he articulated on many occasions, was the key to success. Since I knew Robert’s routine like the back of my hand, I gave Marquis exquisite details on Robert’s route to work and his usual stops. Robert’s downfall—excluding marrying me—would be his almost fanatically regimented morning routine. He’d get up in the morning at the same time, eat at the same exact time, be out of the house at the exact same time, and take the same exact route to work. His whole morning was a choreographed effort that he rarely, if ever, deviated from. And, because his routine was so precise, I could tell Marquis exactly where Robert would be and at what time.

  On an ordinary Monday morning, a simple bullet to the head would put that dog down. I salivated at the thought. Marquis would kill him and then rob him, to make it look like a mugging.

  Robert met with Kevin and Daryl a few more times, late into the evenings, to make sure that everything was going well for the party. I couldn’t remember a time when I’d seen Robert so wrapped up with a charity. I don’t know if it was the mission of Keevan’s Room or if he had an attraction to Kevin or Daryl, or them both, or if he needed a distraction from Ashleigh’s disappearance. Either way suited me fine. As long as he remained busy, he could avoid thinking about changing his will, which was my main focus. He had to die before any significant change could be made.

  I was beginning to pull Nigel into my plot without his knowledge. The last time we met in the hotel and sexed, I lied about how Robert appeared feeble and asked Nigel had he noticed any changes at work. After thinking for a few moments, he told me that Robert didn’t seem as “on it” as he usually was and how he had forgotten a couple of meetings in the last few days. I told Nigel that I was trying to get Robert to a doctor, but he refused to go. Then, I told Nigel that if something were to happen to Robert that I’d be at a loss as to what to do with RDE. I told him that if I was left RDE, I’d probably sell it because I had no interest in the business. Once I mentioned selling RDE, I saw the light flicker in his eyes. Ambition was Nigel’s greatest weakness and I had just made him the offer of a lifetime. If Robert died—and he could put together the financing—I would sell him the business. Nigel had hopes and dreams of being the main act, instead of being the sidekick. My hope was that Nigel would slow the process of changing his will as long as he could. Maybe he’d even try to talk Robert into not changing the will.

  The Saturday morning of The Purple Party started off with gray skies and rain clouds. I stood out on the balcony of our bedroom and surveyed the landscape as the rain came down hard. I had not seen this kind of rain in months, but I appreciated it. It would wipe clean the sins of a lost city, giving us another opportunity to sin again. I spent several minutes watching individual raindrops as they fell to the ground and became a part of something larger. I was fascinated by the rain’s ability to be absorbed by the earth and how it was the key to life. While the rain fell and made life possible, I plotted to take away life.

  Soon, very soon, I’d be free.

  Now, I did have my plan B. I didn’t have very much money, but I was able to sell some jewelry and stash a few thousand dollars over the last few weeks that I would use as my getaway money. If shit hit the fan and things didn’t go as well as I had hoped, I’d make my way to Mexico, preferably Puerto Vallarta. There I planned to land on a rich man and start over; maybe, I’d find some rich European who would whisk me away to some fabulous French estate or to Monte Carlo.

  I stepped inside from the balcony and heard a hacking sound coming from the bathroom. As I entered the bathroom, I saw Robert sitting on the closed toilet seat, gazing down at the floor. When he heard me enter, he looked up at me. His eyes looked cloudy and his skin pale—well, paler than usual.

  “Robert, are you okay?” I asked with fake concern as I rushed to his side.

  “I’m fine. Just help me to the bed.” He clutched his hand to his chest and took shallow breaths. “Get one of my pills for me.”

  He reached his hand out to me and I helped lift him from where he sat. Slowly he stood up on wobbly legs and made his way to the bed with my assistance.

  “I’m going to call Dr. Glenn,” I said, knowing full well that he would protest and forbid me.

  “No, don’t do that
. I’ll be fine. I need one of my pills and to rest for a minute.”

  “Are you sure? You don’t look well.”

  “I’m fine. Just a little tired. Get me my pills, will you?”

  I rushed into the bathroom, opened the medicine cabinet, and grabbed the bottle of medicine for his heart. For a fleeting second, I thought about not bringing him the pills, but realized that was too risky of a strategy. What if he wasn’t having a heart attack? What if it was just gas and he recovered quickly? Then, I’d be fucked.

  I poured two pills into my hand and grabbed the glass of whiskey he had left on sink. I poured the whiskey down the sink, rinsed the glass out, ran some cool water into it, and raced back into the room as if I was really concerned.

  “Here, baby.”

  He popped the pills into his mouth and downed the water. “I’m just going to rest a bit.”

  “You sure you don’t want me to call the doctor?”

  “I’m sure.”

  “Well, I’m not at all sure about you going to this party tonight.” Again, I knew he’d protest, but it just felt like the right thing to say.

  “The only way I won’t go is if I’m dead. I just need to rest. I’ll be fine.”

  I paused for dramatic effect.

  Death is closer than you think, old man.

  “Okay,” I said slowly, “but, I’m going to check on you in a bit. Get some rest.” I leaned over and kissed his clammy forehead. If I were lucky, maybe he’d die in his sleep and save us all the trouble.

  As I made my way out of the room, I turned to look at my husband. As he crawled into the bed, he seemed smaller than the larger-than-life persona he projected. His Herculean image, based on bravado and confidence, was much bigger than the actual man. In his weakened state, he seemed almost… human. Gone was the puffed-out chest and the machismo; illness had laid low the arrogance and the hubris he wielded like a weapon. In his weakened state, he was mere mortal, of flesh and blood. He wasn’t the giant that produced awe and fear from those around him. He was simply a man. A mortal man.