Chapter 3
THREE
Night fell as the prison’s population settled into their late-night routines. Silence began to consume the unit. However, chatter was still present. I used the small window of opportunity to pull the cellphone from the mattress and dial the number I’d learned the summer before kindergarten.
It hadn’t changed. Neither had the woman who answered it. Without question, she’d always be on the other end.
“Hello?”
“Mother–” I released.
My heart flipped in my chest at the realization that I was speaking to her between prison walls. She’d done everything in her power to keep me from suffering this very fate. Yet, here I was.
“Siah. Is that you, Son?”
Her breathing was no longer steady. Neither was her tone. Emotions poured out after identifying the caller on her landline. I’d used the number from so many respectable places in the world, different countries and beach shores, but never from behind bars.
My surroundings were deplorable. So were my circumstances.
However, if I had the chance, I’d do everything again.
Earlier. Regret didn’t live within me. Not for the crime I’d committed or the life that had been lost. Not even the fact that I’d made my Aubrey cry swayed my beliefs or commitment to the death of a man who was such a big part of her world.
He wasn’t a man. He was a monster. And, while she wouldn’t understand now, later would work in her favor. In our favor. In her mother’s favor. In my family’s favor.
“How was your day?”
“So much better now, Son. How are you holding up?”
“I’m well.”
Silence chipped away at my lucidity. I rubbed the side of my head, feeling the bricks that loaded onto my chest with each passing second.
Eighteen.
Eighteen seconds of silence.
“It doesn’t matter, Siah.”
Silence.
“It doesn’t matter to me. It doesn’t matter, Son. I love you. You understand.”
I nodded, lifting and lowering my head as if she was present.
“Never question it. I’ll never love you less, even if life forces me to love you differently.”
Silence.
“I know you well enough. I raised you. I taught you well. I taught you how to be strong and how to survive. There isn’t a doubt in my mind that you’re holding your own, but that doesn’t negate the fact that my soul mopes at the very thought of you behind those bars.
You don’t belong there. You’ve done too much right to be this wrong.
Wronged. We’re working, Siah. We’re working to get you out of there.
We’re hiring the best lawyer in Huffington to se–”
“Rest your heart, Mother. Rest your head. I’ll be home.”
“Sia–”
“It’s being handled. Don’t go into your savings to save me. That’s unacceptable. That’s for you. I didn’t give it to you for you to give it back. Especially not now.”
“Then what do you expect me to do, Son? Sit around and knit while you’re there? I can’t. I can’t do that. Wha–”
“Wait. That’s all this situation requires of you. That’s all I require of you.”
“And, Janeese?”
“Mourn. Mourn as loudly or as quietly as she needs.”
“Call her, Josiah,” my mother demanded.
I released a weighted sign.
“It’s touchy,” I reminded her.
“You’re her brother.”
“Anthony was her husband and I’m charged with his murder.”
“She’s known him for less than a decade, Siah. She’s known you for thirty-eight years. Anthony is practically a stranger to Janeese. And, she understands that whatever transpired wasn’t for nothing. Not with you. You’re not that careless. You’ve never been careless, Josiah.”
He was a stranger to us all. Anthony’s secrets were still mine to keep. But, with time, they’d all surface. I’d make sure of it.
“Mo–” I sighed, quieting her. It didn’t matter what line we were on. Her silence was requested before she said too much about a situation she knew too little about.
“Where’s my father?”
“He’s in the garage working on that machine he calls a car.”
I wasn’t appalled by her response or the hour my father was working on the 1970 Chevy Chevelle I’d given him as a birthday gift and something to keep him occupied during the early years of his retirement.
I didn’t want him to stop when I forced his retirement.
I wanted him to slow down. To live his life freely.
To travel. To laugh. To move as he pleased.
“He’ll expect a word.”
Before I could end my statement, I could hear the home alarm sound in the background.
“Garage door open.”
“Joseph.”
“Yeah, Doris?”
“It’s Josiah–”
Shuffling followed. I waited, ear pressed against the phone, as my father gained possession of the phone.
“Siah… Is that you, Son?”
“Yes.”
“You hanging on in there?”
“I’m well, Pops.”
“Good. We’re going to get you out of there, alright?”
“Keep working on your Chevelle, Old Man. I’ll be home soon.”
“Say what, now?”
“Rest your worries, Pops.”
“That’s an impossible request.”
“I used to think the same about the ones you gave me, but impossible wasn’t allowed in my vocabulary. If you think you get a pass because of the circumstances, you’re wrong. Chin up, Old Man. I’ve got this. Kiss my mother’s cheek for me.”
I didn’t hesitate to end the call. If my mother returned to the line, I’d be holding the phone much longer than I intended to.
The next number was on the screen much sooner than I’d anticipated.
My nostrils flared with contempt as I placed the phone up to my ear.
Anthony’s death felt too much like the death of the bond between Janeese and I.
The phone rang.
So did the chambers of my heart.
They rattled against my chest.
I pulled in large breaths and released them slowly.
“Hello?”
I ground my teeth against each other. Pain riddled her voice. Disparage gripped her bubbly nature by the neck and squeezed the life out of it. Janeese was forever altered. Janeese was forever changed.
“Jenny–” I cleared my throat.
“Siah?” She rushed out, tears tripping her words. “Siah?”
“Yes.”
“My God.”
The cracking in her voice reminded me of the time I didn’t get to save her. They also reminded me that they were necessary to save Aubrey.
“Jenny!” I bellowed, finally attracting base in my ten-year-old squeak. I’d waited three long years for it.
I pushed open my sister’s bedroom door. As the darkness was revealed, I remembered her request to knock before entering.
However, the damage had already been done.
I stepped inside, closing the door behind me.
The twenty dollar bill that uncle Jason had given me was almost as much as he had given her the week prior. And, the week before that.
“Get off– please–”
Low whimpers startled me. Distress laced my sister’s tone.
“Quiet!”
I knew that voice. I heard it so often, in so many variations. But, still, I knew it well.
And the stature.
And the black and red motorcycle jacket.
And the black cap.
And the black jeans.
And the eyes that stared back at me in shock.
It was the same eyes of my father. The same eyes on my face. The same eyes on my grandfather’s face. The same eyes on Jenny’s face.
With the twenty-dollar bill clenched in my full fist, I stormed out of my sister’s bedroom. My parents’ bedroom was my destination. I’d never reached my father’s side of the bed faster. I shoved his body from one side to the other, awaking him from his sleep.
“Dad! Dad. Get up!”
“What is it, Son? What’s the matter?”
“Uncle Jason… Uncle Jason– He’s– He’s in Jenny’s bed. She’s crying. He’s on her.”
The cover swept across the bed. By the time the comforter hit the mattress again, my father was already in Janeese’s bedroom. Uncle Jason was on the floor, and my father was on top of him, pounding his fist into his face.
“You fucking bastard!” He screamed, “You’re sick! You’re a sick son of a bitch!”
My mother rushed to Janeese’s side, pulling her night down over her bare legs. Still, I didn’t miss her blood-stained thighs. My entire body ached. Everything hurt.
For Janeese.
For my mother.
For my father.
For my family.
Uncle Jason’s badgered body was expelled from our home, and promised severe consequences if he returned.
But, he didn’t have to. He lived in our home forever. He lived in Janeese’s head forever. And, for two years, I listened to her cry herself to sleep at night, unable to undo the damage he’d done.
Time passed us by so swiftly as Janeese tried regaining control of herself. It felt like an impossible task. However, we both knew otherwise. And, I knew why her healing hadn’t been as progressive as we’d hoped.
I occupied my free time constructing and perfecting the laboratory I was building in my bedroom. Chemistry was quickly becoming my obsession. It helped me mask the guilt. It helped me tune out the voices.
The rage.
The envy.
The hate.
The frustration.
My first formula was birthed shortly after my twelfth birthday.
I didn’t want a party or friends over. Instead, I requested more supplies and permission to operate my laboratory at full capacity with extended hours.
There was no longer room for me to rest my head.
Janeese welcomed me into her bedroom without hesitation.
I chose the floor, using a cot cushioned with blankets to get to sleep every night. Somehow, I never woke up alone. Janeese was always near.
On the floor.
Back pressed against mine on the small cot.
Or face at the foot of her bed as her hand dangled from the mattress, gripping the plastic cot.
Silently, she was yearning for comfort. For safety. For support. While my parents set her up with the best therapists in the city, she hadn’t progressed. It wasn’t until her room became ours that her mental and emotional help began to improve.
But, her healing was conditional. The unlawful existence of the threat to her sanity was keeping her from becoming who she was destined to be. It wasn’t acceptable. I wouldn’t accept it.
Twelve days.
Eight hours.
Forty-two minutes.
That’s how long it took to receive the call that the threat to her sanity had been neutralized.
Suddenly.
Surprisingly.
Confusingly.