Forever And A Day, Page 4

  I walked over to the bedroom window and lifted the shades. Snowflakes fell scattered from the silver sky, and passersby still went about their happy lives. No one quit their jobs because I felt they should‘ve, even though I desperately needed one. But the world didn’t stop for me. It never did.

  The possibility of being homeless began to overwhelm me. Visions of me sleeping under bridges and begging passersby for loose change played repeatedly in my tired mind. It was a terrifying thought.

  Finally, I decided to be in control of everything. Nothing would stop me. I took a shower, wore my best suit, and sat on the couch. There were also two things I took with me to the couch. One was a glass of water and the other was a bottle of sleeping pills.

  It was ironic. The same pills that helped me sleep at night during stressful days at my former job would also end my life. I didn’t have to take a shower or wear my navy blue suit, but I did anyway. When they’d find me, I wanted to at least be clean and, as the old saying said, “casket sharp.”

  Most people would’ve thought I was a coward because I considered taking my own life. Cowards never actually go through with it, but I felt I didn‘t have a choice. I felt like a desperate loner who’s forced onto the plank and was told to jump.

  I leaned back on the couch and breathed nervous breaths. With my eyes shut tightly, I asked God’s forgiveness before I swallowed the first pill. It would be over soon. Nothing would change that.

  Then, a voice, unisex and monotone, called to me. “Jacob.” What the hell? fear shot through me. It was the only thing stronger than the moment itself. I darted out of my seat, hurried through the apartment and investigated each room. No one was there.

  I sat back on the couch, reminded myself how bad my life was, and tried it again. Then, the phone rang. Strange. How could it ring? My phone service was disconnected because I couldn‘t pay my bill.

  But I answered it anyway. “Hello?”

  “Jacob.” It was a voice, that same voice that called to me earlier spoke again. “It’s time to come home, Son.”

  Then it dawned on me. I gaped, as I finally recognized the voice. It was Mama.

  CHAPTER 7: A TIME TO KILL, AND A TIME TO HEAL

  I arrived in Weatherton the following evening. Strangely enough, there was just enough gas in my tank to make a one-way trip home again. Weatherton was the last place I wanted to be but hearing Mama’s voice again was worth it.

  The entrance to Thirteen Grasswood Avenue was in sight. I drove down the long, graveled driveway and parked in front of the house. Then, I gaped. Everything was just as I remembered, both the good and the bad.

  It was bizarre. There wasn’t a light on anywhere in the house. It seemed like some cruel joke. Then I remembered her voice. Come home, Jacob.

  Somewhere amid the hellish debris of the abandoned property we once called a home, I knew Mama was there. hurried to the front door and opened it. Everything appeared abandoned. The walls and wooden paneling were termite-infested and years of wear seemed to have taken its toll.

  “Hello?” I called aloud, but no one answered.

  The room suddenly felt colder than the bitter winds outside. Each window and glass item in the house fogged. The lights flickered like lightning. Scared, I ran to the front door to leave. The knob turned but the door itself was stuck, as though it was bolted to the threshold.

  Numbing fear coursed through me. I ran down the hallway, knelt and folded in the corner like a child. My eyes shut tight and unsettled nerves rattled through me like thunder.

  Then, when all hope seemed lost and my childlike fears had won, that sweet familiar voice calmed me. I opened my eyes again and gaped. It was my precious mother. She smiled and touched my face. An angelic glow surrounded her like a golden aura.

  I placed my hand over hers and savored the moment, as tears trickled gently down my face. “Mama,” I whimpered.

  She brushed my face with her soothing hand and smiled warmly. “I’m glad you came, Son.”

  I stood and looked around the room dazed and confused. “So, you really did call me, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did. You were destined to be here tonight. Everything needs to end, Son. The life your living needs to stop.”

  My throat felt tight and dry, and I slightly quivered. “I’m supposed to die tonight, aren’t I?”

  “Follow me, Son.”

  Mama motioned me to follow her through a mysterious fog that began to fill the house. It was thick and gray with each unknown step I took. I called out to Mama but she didn’t answer. Only dead, unnerving silence was present and nothing more. It was difficult but I continued to wade through the dense fog and ventured ahead.

  The fog finally lifted. Doors that lead to unknown rooms appeared. The hallway was longer than I remembered and seemed as though it stretched a mile long.

  I passed by one of the open doors and stopped. A light, cheerful hum echoed from the room. It was a little girl pouring pretend tea for her dolls that sat dormant around a child’s table. She looked familiar. Her strawberry-blond, curly hair bounced as her head wiggled to a care-free tune she hummed. I walked toward her and gaped. The little girl was Mattie.

  I knelt beside her and gazed numb, as though I discovered the eighth wonder of the world. “Mattie, is that you?” I asked in awe.

  Mattie looked up at me with those big blue eyes, freckled cheeks, and sweet smile. She handed me a cup of imaginary tea. “You’d better drink this before it gets cold,” she said.

  I took the cup and sat it down on the table. “What are you doing here?”

  Another familiar voice came from nowhere. I stopped stunned. “What are you doing, sweetheart? It’s almost time for bed.”

  Mattie sighed disappointed. “Can’t I stay up ten more minutes, Mommy?”

  Mommy? It was Vickie. She walked passed me, as though she didn’t see me. The very sight of her grotesque appearance left me feeling unsettled. Her face was pale, traced with blood, and her eyes were sunken by the fervent sting of death. Then, I saw the worst of it. Her forehead had a massive bullet wound.

  Vickie was killed. The question was who shot her, and why was she there in the house with Mattie, who‘s a little girl? Mattie acted as though she didn’t see her mother’s condition.

  She took Mattie’s hand and smiled. “No, sweetie. You can play tomorrow.”

  Mattie walked away from the table with Vickie. Her favorite doll was tucked underneath her arm. They passed me without acknowledging my presence and walked into the hallway. I chased after them but they were gone.

  At the end of the hallway was a room with another open door. The air felt frightfully chilly the closer I walked toward the room. It was dark, and there was nothing present but the echo of my own breath.

  I walked inside. “Hello?” I called aloud.

  Moonlight shined through a window at the other side of the room. A dark silhouette of a person laid still on a bed. I couldn’t make out the face until the figure spoke. “Turn the lamp on,” it said.

  It wasn’t Mama. Instead, it was my worst nightmare in the flesh. I turned on the lamp and shuttered. It was Ronnie. His face and body was disfigured and mangled, and I stood in awe.

  He continued. “Well, dear sweet nephew. How have you been?” He asked course and rigid, almost growling.

  “Dear God, how are you alive?” I asked hysterical.

  His torn brow wrinkled. “Why the hell are you shocked? And stop looking at me like that. You remember what happened to me, don‘t you?”

  I flinched, as the memories of that night cruelly regenerated themselves. “I remember. You died in the accident.” I replied, as though uttering those few words were like handling porcelain.

  Ronnie smirked, as though he was pleased by my answer. “So, you doremember what happened to me.”

  “I’ve never forgotten.”

  Ronnie‘s mischievous grin grew bigger and more sinister. “What else, Nephew?”

  My lip trembled and tears streame
d down my face, as the past became real. “Mama was killed that night, too. You killed her.”

  Ronnie leaned forward. His eyes glowed red, and his face appeared dark and tight. “Ididn’t kill her. Shewas in the way, so stop making her out to be both the victim and the martyr. I was her fault for marrying a Grayson.”

  My sadness turned to anger. I didn’t care about his disposition. That son of a bitch needed to pay. If no one would do it, it would be left up to me to finish what God and karma should‘ve done that night. I felt if he wasn‘t dead after that night, he‘d be after I got through with him.

  “Leave my mother out of this. This is between you and me.”

  His sunken eyes glowed red, basking in my apparent anger. “You look angry enough to kill me, Nephew. Well, then have at it.”

  He reached his bloody, torn hand from underneath the covers and pulled out a handgun. It appeared cocked and ready for use. He tossed the gun at the foot inches from my hand.

  “What are you doing?” I asked.

  “I want youto shoot me,” he replied direct and void of emotion. “Go ahead. There’s no witnesses and no one will ever know. Pick it up and teach me a lesson. Feel the cold steel of the barrel and just think about what pulling that trigger will solve.”

  “You’re already dead, Ronnie.”

  “I am dead, but you keep me alive. This is your hell, and I live here everyday. I‘m very much real here. So, grab the gun, point it at my chest, and pull the trigger. It‘s that easy.”

  I carefully picked up the gun in awe. Never in my life had I ever fired a gun before, much less held one. Anger overshadowed clear judgment. In the heat of the moment, I cocked and pointed at him, ready to shoot to kill.

  He continued tempting me. “Do it, Jacob. I killed your precious mother. The hate’s in you, Boy. I can see it in your eyes and all the way down to your soul.”

  My hand trembled as Ronnie continued to push me. My trigger finger itched, as each of his beaconed pleas became a siren‘s song. I was going to blast that sorry soul back to Hell where he belonged.

  Then, I stopped. It suddenly became apparent why they were all here in this particular house. Ronnie, Mattie, Vickie and my mother. They were all connected to me and each other. All the hate, rage and pain in some way represented them all.

  Ronnie was right. This place was my hell, and they were all my eternal guests. It was tempting to shoot Ronnie. Nothing would’ve been more appropriate than to take his life like he took Mama‘s life.

  However, there was one important catch. If I shot Ronnie, killing him would’ve made me no better than him for killing my mother. Evil finds a back door to our hearts. It always does. I tossed it tossed the gun at the foot of his bed and turned to leave.

  Ronnie glared angry. “What the hell are you doing?” He asked enraged.

  I faced Ronnie for the last time. “What I should’ve done a long time ago. Let the dead

  stay dead. I forgive you, Ronnie Grayson and I release you,” I said softly and walked away.

  He continued to plead for his death but I tuned him out. Vickie on the other hand, headed toward Ronnie, as though she was on a mission. Her dead eyes lit up like smoldering blue flames. The door closed behind her, and Ronnie screams echoed in the distance, begging her to leave but she refused.

  A gunshot fired. I didn’t finish Ronnie off. Vickie did. Then, they were both released from my hell never to return again.

  The darkness quickly turned to light. Morning had come but it was more than that. Dark remembrances from my past lifted as well. Then, the aroma of warm cobbler and fresh cut flowers made themselves knows.

  The house was vibrant and full of life, the way it used to be. Mama even appeared again. The golden rays of daylight surrounding her. It reminded me the dark of night was over and morning had come, in more ways than one.

  She cupped my face with her hands and smiled. “I’m so proud of you, Son.”

  “I let them go, Mama. Every one of them.”

  I felt free, but something was still missing. Mama took my hand and continued. “Come with me, Son. I need to show you one last thing.”

  She guided me to one more room. This room was dark and much different than the other mysterious rooms. It possessed the most chilling feeling of all the rooms. The room contained my father, but the scenario was quite different.

  He laid in a bed and appeared drained of life. His face was pale and he drew shallow breaths. It seemed as though it took everything within him just to stay alive.

  I gaped confused. “What is this?” I asked.

  “This is why I called you back home, Jacob. You have to go to your father and forgive him. Please hurry. He doesn‘t have long to live.”

  Nothing was left for me in Chicago. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, Mama was right. I had to forgive my father, but how?

  Mama continued. “Go, Son. Be with your father. He needs you and you need him. Don’t worry. You’ll know what to do when the time is right.”

  I hugged Mama and watched her slowly vanish into thin air. The house was in its original abandoned shape. Everything that just happened with Mama, the house, and seeing my father evidently on his deathbed reeled in my mind.

  It would’ve been easy for me to stop and take it all in but I couldn’t. There was a more pressing matter that needed my attention. I had to be with my father.

  So, that’s what I did, with fear and a trembling spirit. I left Mama’s house and hurried to the old home place where the inevitable awaited me.

  CHAPTER 8: A TIME TO CAST AWAY, AND A TIME TO KEEP

  The old home place was minutes from Mama‘s house. Mattie wasn’t there, and that was good. It was one less distraction, but the dread was still there. It would’ve been easy for me to have driven away. No one expected me, and I was certain my presence wouldn’t have been welcomed anyway. I didn’t leave, because I was tired of always running scared.

  I parked my vehicle, walked to the front door and rang the doorbell. No one answered. An unnerving feeling ran through me, as though something wasn’t right. I opened the door, hurried inside and looked through each room of the house.

  “Hello?” I asked aloud, but no one answered.

  There was no sign of my father anywhere. I ran downstairs and into the kitchen. Shocked, I found him lying on the floor unconscious. A small line of blood oozed from his brow and in a small puddle.

  I ran to the table panicked and knelt beside him. “Robert, can you hear me?” I pleaded.

  He was unresponsive. I grabbed the nearest telephone and called the emergency number. They told me to stay with him until the paramedics arrived. I never left his side and waited for the ambulance. My efforts to revive my father were unsuccessful. For the first time since I was a child, I prayed for my father to come back and never leave me again.

  A spectrum of red and white hues glistened through the stained glass window of the front door. I left my father’s side and let the paramedics inside the house. They immediately prepped him for his arrival at the hospital.

  I stood to the side worried and with my arms tightly folded. “Is he going to be okay?” I asked one of the paramedics.

  “We’ll do everything we can, sir,” he replied. “All we can do is get him to the hospital as quickly as possible.”

  The paramedics placed my father on a gurney. They carried him out of the house and hoisted him into the ambulance. The sirens roared, the lights beaconed again, and I followed them to the hospital.

  *****

  We arrived at St. John’s Hospital within a matter of minutes. My father was rushed into the emergency room and immediately placed in their care. The emergency room clerk informed me to sit inside the waiting area and a doctor would meet with me shortly.

  Mattie was in Atlanta overseeing my father‘s business. I was afraid she wouldn’t answer her phone if she saw my cell phone number on her caller I.D. screen. Per my request, the clerk agreed to contact her.

  It amazed me
what all took place around me. One family learned their father was out of heart surgery and in recovery. Another family was being informed their father was pronounced dead. Somewhere between both situations was me. It was evident by the way the young man who lost his father briefly locked eyes with me. Dear God, that could’ve been me.

  The doctor finally met with me. My father experienced a massive blackout spell, an uncontrollable condition that was part of the cancer’s final stage. I hurried to his assigned room and waited for Mattie to arrive.

  The sight of monitors and I.V. tubes made everything visibly real. The beeping sound from the machines echoed inside me harsh and so very cruel. Much like Granny Grayson and my mother, my father would become another person I watched snatched away from me by the icy hands of death.