The Bad Seed Page 2

  Jabari’s decision had stolen my voice. There were so many things I wanted to say, so many things I had rehearsed in case this day ever came, but I couldn’t find the words that I had practiced over and over again. All I could think was don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t leave me, don’t leave me…

  Suddenly, it became hard to breathe and the world started spinning around me. I doubled over as if I had been hit in the stomach. Such pain was dealt to me by five small words: ‘I can’t do this anymore.’ Everything collapsed around me. My head hurt. My chest hurt. Hell, even my feet hurt. As I looked up into the sky, I saw the stars tilting out of orbit. Any second, one would hit the earth and destroy everything I knew and loved.

  “Baby…” I said as I wiped tears away from my face. Jabari looked away again, avoiding eye contact. “Whatever you’re looking for out there, you won’t find. Everything you need, everything you want, and everything that you are is right here with me.” I spoke with outstretched arms as tears streamed down my face. I laid it all on the line.

  Finally, Jabari looked at me. I expected some emotional response to my emotional plea, but the expression on Jabari’s face wasn’t love—it was mockery. He looked at me with such disdain, as if I was some rabid stranger on the street begging him for loose change.

  That was the moment that everything in me changed.

  My tears stopped falling. My heart stopped beating. I stopped breathing.

  I looked at Jabari through newly formed eyes. This wasn’t a man that loved me; this was a man that despised me and used me for months to satisfy his temporary pleasure.

  His vacant eyes taunted me.

  His callous words mocked me.

  Five words eviscerated the love we shared and left me a cold, empty shell.

  I felt many things in that horrifying moment, but the most pronounced thing I felt was rage. Something inside me broke and the popping sound of whatever it was rang so loudly in my ears that I heard nothing else. I could see Jabari’s lips moving, but the words remained indecipherable through it all. In a quick-fire blind impulse, I lunged at him. I lunged at him with a strength I didn’t realized that I possessed. I sent his body reeling over the edge of the building to the rocky earth below.

  As Jabari plummeted to the ground, I heard his screams. I would always hear those screams and the sound of breaking bones.

  Crack.

  Crack.

  Crack. Crack.

  That wasn’t the first time I had killed.

  I had been born a killer. My father had told me so.

  I burst into the world on a sweltering July afternoon, with the merciless force of a pounding sledgehammer.

  I tore my mother apart.

  I violently pushed my way out of my mother’s belly, using my head like a battering ram. I would not be stopped, but when I was free of her womb, I struggled to breathe on my own. My mother panicked, but before any proactive measure could be taken to save my life, she gasped, stretched out her arms, and drew in her last breath. The moment she drew in her last breath, I drew in my first—a circle of life in the truest sense. She died, never having seen my face.

  When she drifted into that eternal night, she released her secret shame; the secret she kept tucked away into the recesses of her mind died with her. No one would ever know that she had been raped and I was the result of that unholy union. My father would never know that his son belonged to another man, a nameless and faceless being who forced himself into his wife on a very ordinary October afternoon.

  She had been jogging along a familiar trail when she was snatched and forced deeper into the woods. When it was over, she steeled her disposition, went home, showered and pretended that it had never happened. She pretended that she didn’t wince with pain with each step she took; she pretended that she could no longer feel the stranger’s coarse hands rubbing against her inner thigh or the smell of beer on his hot breath.

  Later that night, she cooked her husband’s favorite meal, set the table and stuffed herself into the pantry and cried while the meatloaf baked; her tears were not pretentious. When it was time to eat, she fixed his plate and served it to him, as she usually did. Then, she pretended that she wasn’t feeling well, excused herself, and went to bed early. The pillows muted her sobs and drew in her tears, but the horror did not diminish—even in her dreams.

  She pretended for nine months, but she could never forget. Her pregnancy was difficult, full of highs and lows. She alternated between mania and moods so sullen it appeared that someone had stolen her life force. The fire in her belly was constant, never relenting or dulling. When she died, a part of my father died, too. When I was placed in his arms and my father held me for the first time, he looked at the immutable blackness of my sublime skin and my exquisite features. He thought about all the misery this beautiful child had already caused, even before his first breath. He thought about the constant morning sickness and the severe mood swings my mother had faced; he remembered how this child had transformed her into something he hardly recognized. He remembered her constant tears.

  This child had given her the blues.

  He tried to feel love toward me but, he couldn’t. He simply didn’t feel it. Deep inside his heart, he blamed me for her death.

  And so I was aptly named.

  CHAPTER 2

  Washington, D.C.

  Summer 2011

  I’m going to kill you, I thought with all the seriousness I could muster as I peered across the table into the aging face of my curmudgeonly husband. I had never had a more sincere thought. I wanted him dead, like yesterday. His beady black eyes, razor-thin mustache, and shiny bald head gave him a macabre appearance, as if he was an over-the-top clichéd villain from some ancient black-and-white movie.

  Die, you miserable old bag of bones.

  I smiled lovingly at him and sipped champagne while pretending to actually enjoy his company. I had become an expert at pretending and hiding my true intentions in plain sight.

  I’m going to bury you and salt the earth so that nothing will ever grow from your wretched remains.

  I watched his wrinkled, peanut-colored hand reach for his champagne flute. I hated Robert’s hands because those hands pawed at me daily like he was a wild animal in heat.

  Maybe I’ll hack them off with an axe and then slap him across the face with them.

  With an almost choking disgust, I watched Robert grab the glass with exaggerated effort. He sometimes feigned feebleness for effect or to make light of our significant age difference, much to my chagrin. I didn’t need a constant reminder that Robert was old. All I had to do was look at his weathered face to see that he was aged.

  Robert raised his glass and smiled the way only an old fool would.

  A fool and his money would soon part.

  “Here’s to you, my love,” Robert said in that sappy tone that I despised. “You are everything an old man could want and more.”

  There’s that word again—old.

  I offered a tepid smile and raised my glass in mock celebration. While Robert was toasting our relationship, I secretly prayed for death. When the time was right, like a thief in the night, I would strike; or, at least Marquis would.

  “Here’s to us, baby,” he said. I tried not to choke on my words. “We need to start thinking about a vacation. Where should we go? Paris? Monaco? Milan? Durban?”

  “Robert,” a wispy voice called out from behind us. Before I could fully turn around, the figure had moved closer to the table and was facing Robert with outstretched arms and a wide grin plastered across his plastic face. It was Bernard, one of my least favorite people in the world. “Robert, I’m so happy that you stopped by on a day when we are all celebrating your generosity to our community.”

  Robert stood slowly and was pulled into the embrace of this sloppy giant, and they kissed on both cheeks. Bernard’s thick French accent made his sentences choppy and almost unintelligible, not that he was saying anything of any importance. I hated most of Robert’s gay
-faced, pompous friends, but I especially loathed this piece of Euro trash. Every time we dined here, Bernard fawned over Robert like he was royalty.

  As much as I hated Bernard, I hated this terrible little canteen more. Bernard was the owner and proprietor and it was supposed to be the trendy it spot, but this quaint little cafeteria was nothing more than a cramped box with a few garish velvet curtains strewn about; it looked like it had been decorated by a one-eyed gypsy. For me, the food didn’t fare any better. The overpriced faux French food tasted more like it was out of Paris, Texas, rather than Paris, France; yet, for some reason that remained incomprehensible to me, Robert insisted on coming here and it remained one of his favorite places in the Georgetown area of D.C., in spite of its myriad of shortcomings.

  We were celebrating because Robert was featured on the cover of Washington Metro, a local magazine, and had been honored earlier in the day by the mayor at a ceremony because he had donated a million dollars to some shelter for gay homeless teens. Big deal, I thought as the award was being presented. Now, the whole city was acting like Robert’s shit didn’t stink, but I knew better—I knew the real Robert Douglas. It annoyed me that the city was treating him like royalty.

  It annoyed me more that Robert spent all that—money that would’ve been mine—for a local headline.

  “Where else would I be besides my favorite place in the city? We had to stop by for one of your decadent desserts. Bernard, you remember my husband, Blues.”

  “Oh yes,” he said with a hint of shade in his voice, “so nice to see you again.”

  “Likewise.” I smiled, picked up my glass and turned so that I could mumble bitch under my breath.

  “I am so happy for you. You looked so handsome and debonair on the magazine cover. You are a treasure to the community.”

  He’s a treasure alright and I’m ready to bury him.

  “I do want I can. There is so much need out there.” Robert’s false modesty sent a wave of nausea to my stomach. He may have had the whole city eating out of the palm of his hands right then, but Robert didn’t give a damn about those kids. What he cared about was money, fame, and his reputation. Every good deed he did was done with a self-serving purpose. I seriously doubted that he had ever done a good deed in his whole life without expecting something in return.

  “Well, I’ll let you get back to your dessert,” Bernard said with his back turned toward me. “Order whatever you like. I’ll take care of the bill.”

  “Bernard, I couldn’t let you do that.”

  “I insist. You’ve done so much, the least I can do is pick up your check,” he replied.

  “Well, if you insist,” I inserted. Robert had spent enough money already, and I was not about to let him pay for anything in this place. Bernard smiled delicately at him and flitted away.

  “Now, back to us.” Robert picked up his glass again and started babbling about love and happiness, but I tuned most of it out; I simply sipped.

  As the cool, bubbly champagne coated my throat, I watched him closely. I prayed that the next bite of food Robert stuffed into his mouth would lodge in his throat and choke him to death—that would at least spare me the process of murdering him. Plus, if he choked to death now, that would remove me from the godawful position of having to sex him when we got back to the mansion. If I had to look at Robert’s flabby, naked ass one more time, I might have vomited.

  I watched with keen interest as Robert picked up a chocolate-covered strawberry from the silver serving tray and took a bite.

  Choke! Just die, you miserable old bastard! Just die!

  I thought that if I prayed hard enough, my wish might come true.

  I watched as Robert chewed the strawberry and reached for another without hesitation. Clearly, I wouldn’t get my wish—at least not yet. He was going to die; of that, I was sure.

  I took another sip of champagne and tried to mask my disappointment. It was all I could do to prevent myself from grabbing the knife from the tray, jumping across the table, and plunging the cold, hard steel into Robert’s chest. The thought of thrusting the knife into his chest repeatedly made me smile. I reveled at the thought of hearing the gasping sound Robert would make when the blade first dug into his chest. I imagined the look of shock that would consume Robert’s vacant eyes when he saw me above him, bloody knife in my hand. I imagined Robert’s limp body falling to the floor with a great thud. Robert would struggle for his last breath as blood filled his lungs and I would smile.

  Reality crept in as I took a deep breath and looked around the restaurant at the perfectly poised patrons. I decided that stabbing Robert in front of a room full of tightly wound, upscale society types wouldn’t be prudent. I wanted him dead, but I certainly wasn’t going to prison for his murder.

  “What are you smiling at?” Robert asked in his usual rasping voice that snatched me out of my daydream. Robert leaned in closer and continued speaking before I had a chance to respond. “You ready for tonight? I bought some new toys for us,” he said in a wicked whisper that sent a wave of nausea to my stomach. The grating sound of Robert’s voice felt like sandpaper on my skin. I downed the rest of my champagne like it was a shot of tequila.

  I didn’t know how much longer I’d be able to put up with Robert’s clammy hands clawing my body; nor, did I know how much longer I’d be able to indulge Robert’s silly fantasies of school boys and priests. If I had to wear one more costume, thong, pair of ass-out pants, or leather straps with protruding metal parts across my chest, I was likely to suffocate him in his sleep. In spite of his seemingly frail demeanor, for an old man, Robert was cockstrong and his penchant for the perverse bordered on pornographic.

  “Baby, you will excuse me, won’t you?” I pushed away from the table. I had to get away; get some air.

  “Where are you going?”

  Why is this fool questioning me?

  “I have to pee. Is that alright with you?” My tone was stronger than I intended. For a brief second, I could see shock brush across Robert’s face—he wasn’t used to people speaking to him like that. Then, his shock gave way to something else.

  “Can I watch?” he asked with a licentious smile. He then started laughing, which morphed into a hacking smoker’s cough that almost sent him hurling to the floor. I dropped my napkin into my chair and walked away in a huff. I didn’t even wait for Robert’s cough to dissipate. I dashed away without looking back, even as I heard his cough digging deeply into his chest.

  Just die.

  As I walked down the hallway and turned the corner, I slipped outside of the restaurant instead of going to the restroom. I walked a few steps and took a turn around the building to the side parking lot. The lot was full of parked expensive foreign vehicles, and a few cars were lined up waiting for the owners to give their keys to the valet attendant.

  I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket, scrolled through to find the entries, and dialed Nigel’s number, which I stored under the name Jill, in case Robert felt the need to peruse the contacts in my phone. It rang a few times before he answered.

  “Wassup, sexy?” he said in a voice so rich and deep that I felt it in my bones. With the sound of his voice, I forgot all about Robert sitting at the table, hacking himself into a coma; I forgot about having to go home and fuck him for the next few hours.

  “You okay, baby?”

  “Yeah…no. Not really.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  I paused. “I can’t do this anymore. That old fucker is driving me crazy, and I’m about to lose it.”

  “Now, baby, I’m working on a way to get you out of this marriage with some money. Give me a couple more months.”

  “Months? Are you fucking kidding me? I’m not sure I’ll last the next couple of days.” I reached into my pocket and pulled out my pack of cigarettes.

  “You know as well as I do that if you leave him, you’ll walk away with exactly what you came into the marriage with…nothing. Your pre-nup is airtight.”

  “Yeah,
thanks to you,” I said sarcastically.

  “I was only doing my job. As Robert’s attorney, I had to protect my client. I can’t help that I’m good at my job.” Nigel chuckled, but I didn’t find anything funny.

  “Eh, huh.”

  “You can’t leave him or you’ll end up waiting tables at some greasy diner, and I don’t want that for you. Living with Robert can’t be that bad.”

  “Excuse me? You ain’t the one that’s gotta fuck his old ass every day. You ain’t the one that’s gotta listen to that voice of his. You ain’t the one he’s constantly grabbing. You ain’t the one that got to suck—”

  “Okay, okay. I get it. You’re right,” Nigel interjected. “All I’m asking is that you hang in there a little longer and trust me. I’m working on it.” I rolled my eyes and looked up into the night sky. Little dots of light blinged out the sky like diamonds. “I don’t wanna lie to you. This pre-nup is tight, but I’ll find a way to get you what you need and then we can be together.”

  “I’m not asking for half of what he’s got; just a nice chunk of change. I won’t go back to being poor. Been there, done that.”

  I listened to Nigel’s words, but they offered little solace. My haste in signing the pre-nup without an attorney was coming back to haunt me. I signed away any claims to any money upon divorce. At the time, I was under severe duress and Robert was not going to marry me without the pre-nup. Robert gave me an ultimatum. I had to marry him and sign the agreement or he’d end our relationship completely. I thought about walking away, starting over with someone else, but when I checked my bank account balance and my source of income, the numbers didn’t add up. So, I did what I had to. Now, a year later, I wanted out of this marriage, but I refused to walk away empty-handed—not after all Robert had put me through. So, I stayed.