The Black Sheep, Part 2: Greed (The Seven Deadly Kins #4)

Chapter Twenty-Six

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Rough and Snuff

R oman didn’t own a VHS player. He didn’t own a CD player, either. He realized that with all of his money, he didn’t own a lot of things he used to have when he was younger—things that described his childhood to a ‘T’, held close to his nostalgic heart. He stood in the Target store and perused the electronics section. The sales guy stated that they didn’t have any VHS tapes or players, but he pointed the way to the DVD players. As if that would solve the issue. Roman chalked it up to twenty-two-year-olds who were improperly trained. He considered driving to Best Buy and testing his luck, but figured he’d get the same results there.

Roman didn’t find what he needed, so he headed out of the store after picking up Genesis’ favorite white chocolate covered pretzels. As he drove along, he spotted a small secondhand store in a strip mall. He pulled in and ushered a few slew-wheeled shopping carts that were obviously “borrowed” from other stores out of the way of the front door. When he entered the place, a chime rang. The smell of dust, dampness, and something unpleasantly sweet hit him all at once. He marched up to the counter, where a young lady stood with dark brown wavy hair and a red shawl wrapped around her shoulders. She was holding a creased and worn paperback romance book, the couple on the cover in an over-the-top embrace. Her long, pale fingers flipped through the yellowed pages as if she were speed reading. Perhaps she was just skimming to the sexy parts. Finally, she looked up. Their eyes locked.

“Hi, welcome to Play it Again. May I help you find something?”

“Yes, I’m looking to buy a VHS player, actually.”

She pointed ahead. “If we have any, they would be there in Aisle 9, on the right-hand side.”

“Thank you kindly.”

She nodded and her gaze returned, laser-focused, to the book. He jogged to Aisle 9, quickly navigating through racks of old purses, plastic toys in large clear bags, and shelves of scattered books and magazines in disarray. Finally, he found the area he needed, doing a quick scan of the electronics—cameras, Walkmans, video recorders, record players, toasters, drills and electric pencil sharpeners. Then, there on the bottom shelf, sat two VHS players—one of them covered in dust. One looked to be in pretty good condition, with the remote strapped on with a wide rubber band and a piece of scotch tape. The other player was in pretty bad condition, with many dings and scratches. No remote in sight. They were both equipped with the appropriate connection cords, and around the same price: seven and eight dollars.

He gathered both in his arms to purchase and got into the short line. A lady in front of him had an armful of jeans and knit sweaters, and another woman was being rung up—she had a collection of large glass vases, rattan baskets, and colorful ceramic bowls. Once they were finished purchasing their items, it was his turn. He placed both of the VHS machines down onto the counter and pulled out his wallet.

“Both?”

“Yeah, in case one doesn’t work.”

“You can test ’em before you buy them,” the romance book reading cashier professed as she pointed to an outlet, and then a colorful striped basket full of light bulbs, DVDs, VHS and cassette tapes.

“Oh, I didn’t see that. Yeah, I’ll plug them in and try them out. I see both of them have the necessary cables to attach to my TV, so I’m not worried about that.”

“There’s nobody behind you. I can try for ya.”

“I appreciate that.”

AC/DC’s, ‘It’s a Long Way to the Top (if You Wanna Rock ‘N’ Roll)’ was playing. He tapped his hand against the counter to the beat of the music while the woman turned on a television behind her, attached the ropes, then plugged in the players, one after the other, slipping a tape in. Some Christian cartoon started playing. Something about 1990’s graphic style animated vegetables and fruits singing Gospel songs. Both worked, but the banged up one had a feature where he could fast forward and rewind quicker.

“Let me get that one. Thanks for your extra help.”

“No problem.” She rang him up. “That’ll be $8.12, with tax.” He paid for the item with a fifty-dollar bill and walked out of the store. Before he could get to his car, the woman chased after him. “Sir, you forgot your change!” She waved around a fistful of money.

“No, I didn’t.” He shook his head. “It’s for you. Get somethin’ good to eat, some gas for your car, buy a few more books, or just have a little fun.” She stood there as if her damn heart was melting, then mouthed a ‘thank you’ and went back inside the store.

He drove home, his mind in a daze. After he’d dropped Genesis back to her house from her spa day with his mother earlier in the day, he’d tried to keep his cool. He didn’t want to tip either of them off. He’d initially told Genesis on their ride over to his mama’s residence that he needed her help getting the woman out of the house, but he didn’t offer many more details. He was relieved that she didn’t try to delve deeper, more than likely picking up his cues that it wasn’t something he wished to discuss. Once he arrived at his penthouse, it had begun raining pretty heavily.

He tore off his jacket, removed his shoes, and made quick work of hooking up the machine to an older television he kept in his guest room. He moved like lightning, a pure adrenaline rush. His blood was on fire, his mind curious and firing on all cylinders. He sat on the end of the bed, placed his father’s tape in the player, and sat there, his heart pumping.

There was quite a bit of static. He now regretted not having the machine with the remote. Then as soon as he began cursing, part of an old cartoon that looked to be from the late 1970s, early 1980s appeared. The voices in it were a bit garbled, but it could be He-Man. Then, it cut out, as if someone had taped over it. A few seconds later, the wilderness came on screen. Nothing but soaring trees and a gloomy sky. The tall trees went up to heaven, while their roots were rooted in hell. His heart panged with agony, the sight bringing back his old trauma. The eerie tape was aged and splotchy and cut in and out for several seconds. He couldn’t turn away. Then, on the far-left side of the screen, appeared a boy that looked just like him. Roman gripped his chest… The boy had to be about twelve or thirteen at the time.

Dad? Yes, that’s my father as a kid. Damn, we looked so much alike… His eyes brimmed with amazed tears. He’d seen old photos of his father before but actually watching him moving around and speaking on a video was a different experience altogether. His father’s voice was distorted, he was saying things he couldn’t quite make out, but once it smoothed out and the sound came in clearer, he could tell he even sounded like him. Same tone. Same face. Same build. Same black hair. Same sunset eyes. Same mannerisms and facial expressions.

Grandpa entered the frame. Looming, so big and tall—like a mountain. Both of them were dressed in camouflage and carried large guns. Grandpa looked so much younger, too. His hair was dark brown and cut short. He was quite handsome, strong, his dark beard tapered. His ice blue eyes were still piercing and menacing, but the whites were brighter.

“Hold it like this,” he heard Grandpa instruct in a kind but serious tone. “Yes. Good boy.” His grandfather was helping his son change the position of his rifle. It was apparent that they were out hunting game. Maybe deer. Dad struggled but seemed determined to hold the gun just right.

“I’ll be right back.” Grandpa tapped him on his head, then walked out of frame. Dad continued to practice holding his gun correctly. Less than a minute later, Grandpa showed back up.

“Here’s what you’re going to shoot.”

Roman strained, not seeing anything. Grandpa had thrown something on the ground, perhaps. He was standing in the way.

“What? This isn’t what you said. No… this isn’t right…”

“It’s right if I say it is.”

“But I don’t wanna do this.” Young Reeves’ voice cracked, and then he started crying.

“Damn it, Reeves!” Grandpa barked, snatching his father’s rifle from his grip. “You’re almost a man! This is a rite of passage! We’ve been over this a thousand times. I told you one day this would happen. Now you do this, or else!” Grandpa snatched his father up by his jacket collar and shook him hard, so much Daddy looked like a brown and green blur. His hunting boots waved about as he kicked. When he sat him back down, Dad fell onto his ass. Roman could see something on the ground, but he still could not make it out. Grandpa stood over his son and snatched him back up. “Stand the hell up! Back straight!”

The older man moved out of the frame for a few seconds while Reeves stood there in that foreboding forest, his chest heaving hard, tears streaming down his face. Then, his father looked towards the video camera. They locked eyes. Son to son. Roman gasped around a scream that begged to come out. Reeves was pleading with him. A stare of pure torture. A stare that was drowning in a fear like he’d never known—it was as if he was seeing a ghost… watching himself at that age fall apart. Lose hope. All of the feelings he’d experienced during his childhood, a time long gone, flooded back.

He was looking into a funhouse mirror, seeing himself for what he was: a scared little boy, who felt like he had to be a man. Living with adults who behaved like children, all the while praying for relief from a heavenly Father that never arrived. Grandpa came back into frame, this time lifting something from the ground—a shape Roman recognized. The man hauled a guy by the back of his hair. Roman’s face flushed with heat as the man was marched in front of his father. So close to the camera… The man’s hands and feet were bound, his mouth stuffed with a dirty cloth.

“This is the son of a bitch who told the police that I was stealin’ from his company. Writing bad checks. That was a lie, Reeves. Bad check writing is a white trash crime. I would never do such a fucking thing. You know Daddy hates liars. Daddy got in trouble with the law ’cause of this man, all because he told a big, dirty fabrication. Now, all you have to do is aim your gun at his gotdamn chest and fire. Pretend he’s a wild turkey or elk. That’s all he really is, boy. A wild animal. Come on. You can do it.”

“…Daddy, that… that’s a man.” Reeves sobbed. The man seemed to be sobbing, too. “He’s no animal… that’s a human being, Daddy!”

“SHOOT HIM!”

“I don’t wanna, Daddy! PLEASE DON’T MAKE ME!” Reeves blubbered, turning to putty and falling to the ground.

Grandpa grabbed Daddy and squeezed him around the throat.

“You’re my flesh and blood! You’re not loyal! Don’t you turn Judas on me! After all I do for you?! Everything you want, you get! You never want for nothin’! When I was a boy, I never had it so good! My father would beat me for the fucking fun of it, and here I am just trying to teach you to be a man! I’ve never beat you! Never let you go to bed night after night hungry. I never made you lick puke off the floor, then read the Bible until your mouth ran dry! I ask you to do this one thing, this one little thing, and you turn pussy on me! Your mama is rollin’ in her grave, Reeves! ROLLIN’ IN HER GOTDAMN GRAVE!”

Suddenly, a shot rang out… The prey had been shot. Roman covered his ears as tears streamed down his face. It wasn’t the death of a man that Grandpa had problems with or tore him to pieces. It wasn’t the way Grandpa physically fought with his father in that big, scary forest. It was the look of sheer terror in Daddy’s young eyes. The look of distress if he let his father down. The look of wanting to make his dead mama proud. That was the moment that he knew his father, Reeves Wilde, would never be the same. Damaged goods. A fractured soul trying to get out of its contract with God. His father, right then, right there, became an alcoholic. He became an addict. He became a womanizer. He became anything and everything to dull the non-stop, pulsing pain. He became the dark side of his own moon, and his son-light faded away for good.

Grandpa patted young Reeves on the shoulder.

“Dat uh boy!” He chuckled loud and proud, then walked towards the man who lay on the forest floor of leaves and branches, clutching his chest. And then, the man stopped moving, his vacant gaze fixed on the sky. The awning of twigs that tickled the toes of Heaven offered an ominous cover, the twisted tree roots grounded to the gnarled fingers of demons in hell.

“Right in the heart, son! You got him good!” Grandpa was practically giddy.

Young Reeve’s body deflated like a balloon. He placed his gun down; let it slip from his hand as his father stood over the body. Moments later, Grandpa walked towards the camera, a huge grin on his face, and shut the video recorder off…

Roman got up and walked to his kitchen. He poured himself a large glass of beer and went back into the guestroom. By the time he sat down, the beer was half gone. He took a deep breath, then tore open the envelope, removing the tri-folded handwritten letter from his father.

My name is Reeves Justin Wilde. I’m almost 14 years old. Today I killed a man. I know I’m going to hell. Mama told me murder is a sin. My father recorded me killing this man on tape. I don’t know the man’s name. My father took me out to the woods to go hunting. I thought it was for elk. It wasn’t. I’m in my room listening to music while Daddy’s chef makes a big family dinner. He said I could have anything I wanted to eat, but I’m not hungry. I want to run away, but where to? People are scared of my Daddy. No one would take me in. I hate it here. He says I’m ungrateful, but he made me kill someone to prove that I love him, and that he can trust me. I felt like I had to do it! I’ve been crying all night in my room. I just want to be left alone. I want to disappear. I want to just die. He told me he needs to see if I’m loyal. I do love my daddy, but I hate him, too. I don’t know where that man is now, or what happened after I shot him. I just know that he’s dead. I don’t know where Daddy put the tape, or why he recorded that. I asked him, but he didn’t answer. I’m going to find that tape and hide it.

Daddy and I got in the truck and drove away. Daddy said that all boys go through this. It’s called an initiation. He said he had to do it when he was a child, too. He said it’s in the Bible, and that I’m to obey my parents. He quoted a scripture to prove it, but it doesn’t feel right. A lot of things don’t feel right. I miss my mama. I want my mama back.

Roman’s teeth clenched as he balled up the letter, his fist stiff, his head reeling. Then he quickly smoothed it out on his lap, his angry tears wetting the paper. He wanted to load one of his guns, drive out to Grandpa’s estate and shoot him dead. For all he’d done to their family, and for all the heinous crimes against others—past, present and future.

“He’s a freak of nature! He needs to be destroyed!”

And then, he remembered something his mother said a long time ago…

Roman, sometimes you have to become who you hate, just for a short while, to get in their head and predict their next move. That way, you can survive them when they decide that they hate you the most.

“I’ve got to stay logical, think clearly.”

He ran his hand over his face and through his hair, the VHS tape now showing nothing but black and white lines with static playing lightly in the background. His thoughts became a jumbled mess—heartbreaking confessions, making love to Genesis for the first and last time, falling asleep on his mother’s lap as a child when he had a horrible cold, playing fetch with Toby, watching a friend of his self-harm… blood trickling down his arm as he screamed, then manically laughed. Memories of killing a man and feeling nothing at all, one after another… the curse of death. Wilde blood was demise. Wilde blood was cursed with the kiss of Satan. He recalled sleeping in his cold car, and all of the plans he’d made for a way out. A betting man’s payday.

A magician and a gambler to his core. Golden ideas. Broken words spoken and sacred promises granted. Three brothers huddled in a corner, hugging one another, promising to always love one another, no matter what. Stiff quilts from the homeless shelter. First kiss in back of an abandoned building, and long pisses in the wilderness. The smell of his first foster home: biscuits and bleach. Store-bought pies and cakes stolen from the bakery when Mama didn’t have the means to bake one, or was too busy crying over a man who wouldn’t do right. Fresh blood and the stench of decay. Bleeding scars on hardened hearts. Flying salt across a kitchen. Smashed pepper in the eye of the truth.

Strangers in the house shoving clothes in a bag and taking us away… Me. Jordan. Dakota. And we’re stronger for it. WE MADE IT. NOT UNSCATHED, BUT WE SURVIVED. Biscuits and bleach… Forest for the trees… Drop to your knees…

Think.

Plan.

Execute.

Think. Plan. Execute.

He shot up from the bed, turned the television off, and raced to his master bedroom. He turned on ‘Run Through the Jungle,’ by Creedence Clearwater Revival. Roman laughed through the tears, beholden to the hard times, so he could appreciate the good times. He grabbed his phone and sent a text message to his boss: Same plan. Slight revision. I’ll fill you in soon.

He turned the music up, so loud that the walls vibrated. Black fur practically sprouted from his skin, covering him from hoof to hoof—the black sheep was in the building. With his perceptive, shiny eyes, long, thick horns, and strong legs, he was not being hunted… No. It was HE who was on the prowl.

This is what I will be wearing soon. Let’s take care of it in advance.

Like dressing for a premeditated funeral.

He entered his closet and picked out his favorite black suit. With a shit-eating smile, he snatched an expensive silk tie he’d purchased while in Paris and paired it with a black shirt. Belvedere Chapo Genuine Crocodile Men’s Oxfords. Black silk socks. Gold and diamond cufflinks. He looked at the outfit he’d put together for his special day and beamed with pride.

There once was a black sheep

Who couldn’t be counted in dreams—

Every time he appeared

All the children screamed.

He danced in the dark forest

No one to lead him away—

The black sheep was not afraid

He was no longer prey

He set out on a mission

Without a single care—

He then counted backwards

In a ghastly nightmare

He wasn’t afraid of hell

For he had no soul—

He spotted his grandfather there

And gulped him down whole…

It is madness for sheep to talk peace with a wolf. It is na?ve for the wolf to believe the sheep would be easy prey while isolated and enraged. Bighorn sheep have killed many men. Especially the ones who couldn’t see what was coming until it was far too late…

Mama sat the new vase she’d gotten from a five and dime store on her nightstand. She thought about her special day with her soon-to-be daughter-in-law and smiled. Genesis is such a sweet girl. She’ll do my Roman some good. She looked out of her bedroom and down the hall. In the distance, she could see her husband sitting in his favorite chair, wearing his wifebeater tank top, asleep in front of the TV. Toby was lying by his side, also fast asleep.

The television screen illuminated his face just so… She turned on her radio, the oldies station playing softly. Santana’s, ‘Smooth,’ featuring Rob Thomas set the mood. She decided today was a good day to organize her underwear drawer. She walked to the chest of drawers and felt an indentation as she walked—the bottom of her foot tracing the grain. She paused for just a split second, then continued on. Opening her panty drawer, she scooped them into her arms and hauled them to the bed for sorting. Let me get the rest, too.

When she stepped on that same floorboard, it creaked oddly again, sinking under her bare feet. It felt out of place. She’d walked around that bedroom floor a million times, but now something was definitely off. She returned to the drawers, scooped out her bras, then paused when she felt the wood give, just a little.

She placed her bras on the bed and turned back to that spot to stand on the board. It was a slight dip in the floor, one she hadn’t felt in a while. A long while. She paused and looked down at the floorboard. Her bare foot, the toes painted sparkly blue, glistened as she looked at the wood plank. It looked the same but felt different. It squeaked, and bowed. Benny Mardones, ‘Into the Night,’ began to play after the DJ announced the time. She slowly sat on the floor and caressed the floorboard where it hurt. The special place where her ex-husband had hid his father’s sin.

Reeves didn’t know I knew it was here…

On one of Reeves’ many drunken rants, when she’d accused him of cheating for the umpteenth time, he got sassy and said, ‘And just where did I hide the woman I’m so called cheatin’ on you with, then, Bonnie? In the fucking closet? In the refrigerator next to the orange juice and pickle jar? Under the floor? Is that where I hid my extra bitch, Bonnie? You know I hide all of my secrets there! Under the gotdamn floor!”

That had gotten her thinking about the strange times she’d see him messing with the floor late at night when he thought she was fast asleep, or the time she walked in on him messing around with it after he’d been caught crying earlier in the day. Something he seldom did. When she asked why he was on all fours rooting around on the floor like some dog, he said he’d spilled something on it and was just cleaning it up.

Yeah, right. Reeves barely cleaned his own clothes, let alone the floor.

Then one day, she put on her gloves and grabbed a crowbar. After the second try, she found the hidden treasure. The kids were watching cartoons and eating Chef Boyardee in the living room, and Reeves was somewhere drunk and high chasing skirts, far away from their house. She watched the home movie, and her stomach churned. She stared at her poor Reeves on the VCR in their bedroom, and what she saw made her vomit…

All that blood… the screams… the way old man Wilde yelled, ranted and raved when he didn’t get his way, and laughed when he did… She wanted to read the letter, too, but didn’t have the heart to do it. She left it sealed. Kept something private for her husband that she would not see. Then, placing the videotape back in the bag, just as it was, she nailed that slab of wood down. After that day, she stopped hating Reeves so much…

She understood him better. Her heart hurt for him, and she fell in love with him a bit deeper. She tried to hold onto him when the kids were threatened to be taken away because she understood then, more than ever, that he was broken through no fault of his own. His mama had died. Just like hers. His daddy was evil. Just like hers, but old man Wilde was far worse. Everyone he loves either hurt him or disappeared in one way or another.

She tried to keep her family together, but it wasn’t worth it. She ended up losing her children on account of trying to save Reeve’s heart from yet another heartbreak. She kept his secrets buried. Under the rotted wood. Under the dreadful, shredded bark of a calamitous splintered tree. Those secrets were like lightning. Striking anything that threatened to reveal their hideousness. Grown men have to want to be saved, and never at the detriment of their children. That was the wrong choice… She found that out the hard way.

Her sons were never the same. Roman came back hardened. He returned to her with dead eyes. Changed and damaged, like his daddy… And that was her and Roman’s greatest fear come true.

Bonnie sat on the bed, and it squeaked under her weight. She picked up a lacy cream bra and folded it just so.

Now it all makes sense. That’s why Roman wanted me out of the house so bad… he was too persistent. He had great news about his engagement and kept insisting to come over and fix my sink, acting as if he’d forgotten all about his reason for calling, and my sink took precedence.

At first I thought it was just because he was worried, but Roman ain’t the worrying sort. While I was out with Genesis, I wondered for a split second if my boy was in that house doing something sneaky. Roman has ALWAYS been sneaky.

I came home, and the sink was fixed though… He’d even gone to the hardware store and bought the parts it needed. My refrigerator was stocked with a bunch of healthy groceries that I always complain are too expensive. He knew I’d say no if he offered. My pantry was stocked with wholewheat crackers, nourishing soups and cereals. A box of my favorite cookies. Banana moon pies. She smiled sadly at that. Roman takes care of people. That’s what he does.

Everything looked just fine in the house, and he was acting normal… but now as I stepped on that board, it felt a little different… It IS different. I bet if I lift up the plank, that bag, the tape, and the letter will be gone…

She snatched a tissue from the tissue box and dabbed at the corner of her eyes.

Reeves can’t talk, but he found a way to get a message to his son anyhow. I don’t know what Roman is going to think after all of this, but I pray it does him some good.

Not all daddies are alike. Some of them are loud and boisterous. Others are quiet and meek. Some are amazing speakers. Some are rendered silent, but still find ways to say, ‘I love you…’