Chapter 44
Chapter Forty-Four
IMANIO “GATEZ”
“ S ay, bro. You won’t believe who’s in the club,” Chi said in a low whisper over the phone.
“Who?”
“Aaliyah’s cousin Sasha. So you know Aaliyah’s ass ain’t too far behind.”
I nodded slowly, rubbing my hands together—half in anticipation, half in satisfaction. Aaliyah had been ghost since her lil’ fake announcement. But her and Sasha? They were thick as thieves. If Sasha was out in the open, Aaliyah wasn’t far.
“Handle that.”
Chi didn’t need clarification. He knew exactly what that meant:
Bring her to me.
The moon barely peeked through the cracked windows of the old house.
The air was thick with the stench of mildew, and the peeling paint and broken floorboards added to the dilapidated atmosphere.
Sasha sat bound to an old metal chair, sweat glistening on her forehead as her mascara began to run.
Her ankles and wrists were taped, but her mouth was free, though it trembled with fear.
An old light bulb swung from the ceiling, buzzing softly overhead.
I stood a few feet away in the shadows, arms folded and eyes fixed on her like a wolf deciding which bone to crack first. Chi leaned in the doorway, slowly chewing on a Honey Bun while taking sips from a bottle of water.
“This kidnapping shit? Y’all doing too much!” Sasha snapped, trying to sound tough.
I stepped forward, calm and cold. “See, that’s your problem, Sasha. You think this is a kidnapping . If we was on that kind of timing… it’s likely you wouldn’t still have a pulse.”
“What he said,” Chi agreed, then added. “So technically… that whole Naji situation wasn’t even a kidnapping then. It was more like an involuntary relocation… with snacks.”
I turned my head slow as hell and glared at him.
Chi threw his hands up in surrender. “I mean— allegedly . Hypothetically. In a fictional universe that doesn’t exist in real life.”
I kept staring.
Chi cleared his throat. “Anyway. Sasha… go ‘head and give us the location before I accidentally say some other shit I ain’t supposed to. We didn’t bring you here to kill you, but I promise you, if you keep playin’, this nigga gonna show you what doing too much really looks like.
So how 'bout you just tell us where yo’ girl is hiding out and we can all get on with our lives? ”
I stayed quiet and just let the room work on her.
People fold faster when their silence feels like it’s wasting somebody else’s time.
Sasha shifted nervously in her chair. "I told y’all already—I haven't seen Aaliyah!"
I tilted my head, scrutinizing her. "Are you really sure about that?"
"I swear?—"
Before she could finish her sentence, I pulled out my phone and tapped the screen. A picture appeared: Sasha smiling, standing in a hospital room beside her frail, elderly grandmother.
Sasha’s breath hitched. Her bravado cracked instantly.
“H-how’d you get that? That picture…”
She looked up at me, wide-eyed and trembling.
I chuckled—the kind I reserved for people who underestimated what I was capable of.
“You’re asking the wrong question,” I responded, kneeling just enough to meet her eye. “What you should be asking is what else I got… and what I’m willing to use.”
Sasha’s bottom lip shook like it was trying to run away from the rest of her face.
“Now…” I rose again, smooth and unbothered.
“One last time. Where is Aaliyah? It would be a shame if you left your grandma first. She obviously needs you right now, and if you don’t show up tomorrow, she’ll probably be wondering where her baby girl is at.
Wondering why she didn’t show up to give her a kiss or feed her Jello. ”
Sasha looked at the photo again.
That did it — she cracked like I knew she would.
There’s always that one kind of love—sick, unconditional, desperate—that will make a person fold. Sasha’s was her granny.
“Okay, okay!” she conceded, then gave up the hotel, the room number, and the alias Aaliyah was using.
I slid my phone back into my pocket, calm as ever.
“Nice doing business with you.”
We turned to leave.
Just as I reached the door, Sasha screamed, “Wait! Y’all just gon’ leave me like this?!”
I didn’t even turn around.
“Only the strong survive,” I said coolly. “Tell Granny I said hey.”
Chi grinned, then tossed Sasha the half-eaten Honey Bun like it was hush money.
“For your troubles,” he said. “ And the fact you might be sitting here a couple days… maybe longer, depending on your strength and who walks past this place. I’d keep quiet if I was you, though; the raccoons in this part of town got street beef.”
I turned away without another word.
Truth is, I knew Sasha would be fine. We didn’t tie the knots too tight on purpose. Why? Because I knew she’d fold on Aaliyah. So there was no sense in leaving her locked down longer than necessary. She’d eventually wriggle loose just like I expected.
A little sweat never killed nobody. But running your mouth to protect someone who wouldn’t do the same? That will get you hurt.
And now, it was time to pay Aaliyah a visit.
“Imanio, w-what are you doing here?” Aaliyah asked nervously upon answering the door.
I stepped inside without permission and without a word. The door clicked shut behind me like a loaded chamber.
“I asked you a question!” she hissed.
I turned slowly.
“And I got one for you.” My tone was quiet, but deadly. “You pregnant by me, huh?”
Aaliyah backed up like I’d pulled a gun.
“It… it wasn’t me! I swear!”
I scoffed, amused at how weak the lie sounded out loud.
“What kind of dumb ass nigga do you take me for? If it wasn’t you, why the hell you hiding out in this dusty ass motel when you got a marble kitchen and a rainfall shower at yo’ crib?”
“I… I just needed some time away,” she stuttered.
“Cut the shit, Aaliyah! Yo’ girl Sasha? Yeah, she folded like a lawn chair… told us everything. You might wanna invest in some loyal friends—ones who don’t crack under pressure.”
“I didn’t think it would go viral like that!” she finally admitted. “I was just?—”
“Say it,” I pressed.
Aaliyah’s bottom lip quivered as she struggled to gather her thoughts.
“I… I wanted your attention.”
I nodded slowly, my demeanor cold and calculated.
“Congratulations…. you got it,” I replied flatly.
I stepped forward, closing the distance between us.
Aaliyah took a cautious step back, her thighs bumping against the edge of the couch.
“You smeared my name and tried to turn my life into a damn circus. And for what purpose?”
I leaned in just enough so she could feel the heat radiating from my body.
“A few nights I have forgotten?” I continued. “Memories I wiped clean the moment the hotel door clicked shut behind me?”
Aaliyah’s eyes widened, blinking rapidly as she fought back tears, fully aware that her vulnerability wouldn’t sway.
“ You thought you could play with fire and not get burned?” I scoffed. “The only thing is, I’m not fire, Aaliyah; I’m the smoke that chokes you out after.”
“It wasn’t like that, Imanio?—”
“Don’t use my name like we’re close!” I barked, my voice echoing in the tense room.
The sheer force of my words made her knees buckle, and I could see the fear flicker in her eyes.
“I just wanted?—”
“To be relevant? To feel wanted? You embarrassed yourself for free… and you gon’ apologize the same way you disrespected me.”
“You want me to take it down?”
I chuckled. “Take it down?” I shook my head. “Nah.” I snatched her phone from her trembling hand. “You going live.”
Aaliyah stared at me like I slapped her. “Live?”
“You’re going to tell everyone the truth —that you lied,” I kept going, my tone steady. “You’ll cry. You’ll beg. You’ll admit that you’re just a delusional person who couldn’t handle rejection. And after you’re done…”
I placed her phone on the ring light stand, the glow illuminating her anxious face, then reached into my pocket and pulled out a small bottle of pills.
“You’re going to swallow these pills,” I stated, allowing my words to sink in.
Aaliyah's breath caught in her throat, a look of shock spreading across her features.
“W-what?”
“You wanted my attention, didn’t you?” I said, shaking the pills as if they were dice. “Well now you have an entire audience to perform for.”
Tears began to well in Aaliyah’s eyes, reflecting her realization of the situation.
“You can’t be serious.”
“You have five minutes, Aaliyah,” I warned, my voice lowering to a chilling calm. “Either you go live... or I'll do it for you.”
Aaliyah looked at her phone, and the comments started flooding in; each one was a sharp reminder of the mess she had created. Rumors had been flying since her post earlier—people were tuned in, expecting more drama. And soon, she was about to deliver an unforgettable show.
Aaliyah’s phone trembled in her hand as she pressed the “Go Live” button on Instagram, her heart racing with dread. Her eyes were puffy, her voice dry from crying.
Comments poured in before she even opened her mouth:
@messy_monaa: “Oh, here we go!”
@teasippin_tasha: “Sis bout to spill more tea??”
@concerned_keisha: “She looks scared.”
@whatthehell_dre: “What’s this about?”
@straight2dabiz: “You pregnant or not?”
“Hey, everyone,” she whispered. “I… I need to come clean. I lied… about everything. I’m not pregnant. I wanted attention, and I thought that would make him notice me again. I’m so sorry.”
The chat exploded in disbelief.
@gossip_gawdess: “Wait! WHAT?”
@spilledalatte: “Not her lying!”
@hoodnews_daily: “Lying on a man like Imanio Kors is crazy…”
@queenofthecomments: “Sis just signed her own downfall.”
Aaliyah’s hands were shaking as she struggled to steady the phone, her entire body shaking. The camera swayed awkwardly, capturing the sight of her crumpled red robe and disheveled hair cascading around her shoulders.
“I should’ve never played with his name. He didn’t even love me.”
Aaliyah momentarily glanced off-screen, her eyes landing on me lurking in the shadows of her dimly lit room. With a subtle, silent gesture, I urged her to continue.
“I don’t deserve peace after what I did. I don’t deserve forgiveness,” she continued, her voice thick with sorrow.
Aaliyah’s hand drifted to the small pile of pills resting ominously beside her on the sofa.
I didn’t stop her; I just watched—stone still, like a ghost in the doorway.
“Don’t make me do this,” Aaliyah pleaded softly, more to herself than to the thousands of viewers watching her unravel. “Please…”
“Do it,” I seethed.
The audience couldn’t hear me, but she could. Deep down, she knew that wasn’t a choice.
Aaliyah glanced back at the screen.
“I’m sorry, Naji… I really am,” she murmured.
Then, one by one, she began swallowing the pills; each movement a desperate act of surrender.
The comments erupted into a chaotic frenzy.
@911whereyouat: “SOMEONE CALL THE COPS!!”
@nursebae24: “IS SHE DYING??”
@toxictea_tv: “DID SHE JUST TAKE PILLS ON LIVE???”
@screenrec_king: “Yo! Somebody screen record this NOW!”
@rollingmyeyes23: “Not her doing this for attention. Smh.”
@hoodwatchdog: “She’s tweaking fr. That was NOT melatonin!”
@cry4helppls: “This ain’t funny no more. Somebody check on her.”
@messychronicles: “Is that a suicide attempt or a stunt?!”
Minutes passed, and I could see Aaliyah’s breath growing more labored, each one sharper than the last. Her eyes began to glaze over, losing their spark as panic surged around her.
Her body jolted uncontrollably, and with a sudden cough, she struggled to find her voice—yet no sound came out.
Then, in an instant, she slid sideways, collapsing off the sofa mid-sob, her distress spilling freely into the atmosphere.
I stood by the door, holding it open, and cast one last glance at her. A cocky smirk crossed my lips—the same arrogant expression I wore whenever I reveled in my own lack of concern for others.
The next day, Aaliyah’s death was ruled a suicide—a cold, clinical label for a tragic end. Yet those few who watched the live stream sensed a deeper darkness behind the scenes. They understood that it wasn’t just a simple case of despair, but something far more sinister at play.
I kept my silence—no tweets, no posts, no denials. I remained a ghost within the noise, knowing that in this world with all its hidden currents, silence was the loudest power move.