Church Girl Gone Wild (22 page)

I stared down into the bin that contained the only remnants of my life, feeling somewhat apprehensive about touching them let alone putting them on. The last time those clothes were on my body I was in a cold sweat, standing before a judge and a jury of my peers as they read my conviction and sentencing. Doom and gloom were the best words I could find to describe the gray and black pinstriped pant suit in front of me. Nothing good came from the last time I'd worn it and my stomach knotted at the thought of wearing it now.

My heart skipped a beat at the sight of my cell phone. Holding it in my hand made the realization of what was about to happen sink in. Joyful tears filled my eyes at the thought of being able to call who I wanted when I wanted to. Finally, I'd be able to sleep peacefully and have my baby girl back where she belonged.

A glimmer caught my eye and I felt instant unease at the sight of my engagement ring. I'd valued it so much that I'd checked it in out of fear of someone stealing it and now it was all but worthless to me. The four-carat princess-cut diamond twinkled at me, mocking me. It was a harsh reality check.

“You ready, Eva?”

Officer James, the man who saved me from Janisa and her hoard, appeared outside my cell door. My hands were ice-cold and clammy nubs as I tried to smooth my hair back into a wild, puffy ponytail. My ass needed a perm as soon as possible and some new clothes. The ones I had on were hanging loosely on my body, making it apparent that I'd lost a lot of weight.

I finally nodded, giving Officer James a polite smile. “Yes, sir, I'm as ready as I'll ever be.”

He escorted me down the cell block and for the first time ever it was eerily silent. I could almost feel the hatred and envy like tiny pins in my skin from the eyes that followed me as I was led out. The only two people I felt bad about leaving, Say and Milan, were housed in a different unit. I made a mental note to send them letters and care packages for as long as they were in here.

Everything felt surreal as I stood in the small corridor at the main gate waiting for it to open. Fear crept up on me like a silent little monster. It scrambled up my ankle, and made goose bumps rise on my skin as it traveled up my body in anxious shivers until it had planted itself on my shoulder to whisper doubts in my ear.

Grinding my teeth and stiffening my spine, I narrowed my eyes in determination.
I'll do whatever the hell I have to in order to find Jada and Dontay. Nothing can be worse than what I've already been through.

I stared into the rusted steel of the gate's bars visibly jumping when they opened with a loud clank. The short walk past the security point toward the doors that led outside seemed to take years. I wanted to break into a run and fling myself outside but I somehow managed to keep the wings that were dying to sprout from my feet under control.

The doors slowly opened automatically and I was hit with a humid gust of hot air as I stepped outside into a dreary, rainy August afternoon. Raising my face toward the sky I welcomed the cool, misty rain, taking in deep breaths of fresh, free air. I wanted to erase the smell of prison from my memory as quickly as possible. The scent of bleach, metal, and misery clung to my skin and clothes like cigarette smoke in an old jacket. I visualized it seeping out of my pores with every breath I took.

“Eva?” Someone quietly spoke my name.

My eyes snapped open and standing right in front of me was Bishop Tisdale. He was head of my church and had been the closest thing I'd had to a father figure since Deacon managed to fuck up my childhood.

“It's me,” I confirmed, smiling as tears of gratitude spilled down my face. He looked exactly the same as I remembered as his face broke into a wide grin. His chubby cheeks looked a little fatter and his mustache was cut with razor-sharp precision. He had a graying goatee last time I'd seen him; it was gone now putting the deep dimple in his chin on prominent display. He pulled me into a tight hug and I couldn't help but notice how fat his belly had gotten
.

Shut up! Shut up!
I mentally struggled trying to get my negative, mean thoughts under control.

“Eva, I got a call from Brother Hall saying someone was either playing with him or your spirit had contacted him asking for help. The next day I call and they're saying to be here at two-thirty to pick you up.” Bishop began walking toward a pristine black Cadillac XTS and I would have laughed if my mind weren't still reeling from what he'd said.

“Bishop, what do you mean by my spirit?” I asked, giving him a puzzled look across the roof of the car as he unlocked the door.

He gave me a nervous smile before answering, “Um, Eva, if you don't mind riding in the back. Only the missus sits in the passenger seat.” He'd taken on the dignified tone that he used to address the congregation during services.

Smiling sweetly I ignored my thoughts. “Sure, Bishop, the back seat is fine by me; just get me away from here as quickly as possible.”

The air conditioning came out of the vents in a blast of cool new-car-smelling air and I resisted the urge to ask him to turn it off. It had to be close to eighty degrees out and he would probably combust in his full three-piece suit. I'd had enough recycled air to last me a lifetime; all I really wanted was to feel and breathe in fresh air.

“The reason I referred to your spirit is because we'd been told you'd passed on. That you hung yourself after the sentence.” Bishop Tisdale's voice boomed over the gospel song playing on the radio. It was a live choir singing “Order My Steps.”

I frowned; the old-school choir sound was not one of my favorites. It reminded me too much of being forced through service after service just about every other day when I lived with my parents. Bishop's shocking information combined with the choir music created an arrow that shot itself into my temple in the form of an instant headache.

Pressing my fingers to my temples I rubbed them slowly. “Bishop, who the fuck said . . . I'm sorry.” Bishop frowned disapprovingly back at me through the rearview mirror. “Bishop, would you mind turning down the music? I can't think. I just need quiet. And, who told you that I'd killed myself? Why would someone say that?”

“Child, the Lord's music is the best thing for that headache. It's probably just spirits coming up out of you. Your parents told us that you'd passed on. We held a service and everything. They tried to get your daughter but she'd already been taken by child protective services right around the same time that your house went up for auction. You can stay with me and Mirna until you get yourself together; we already prayed over it.”

My body and mind felt as if they were both going to collapse from the weight of everything he'd said. Why in the world would my parents tell people something like that? Lord knows how many times I'd tried to call them collect and they wouldn't accept the charges after hearing me speak my name. My house, my baby, everything was taken away from me and I didn't do anything to deserve it.

Someone somewhere had decided to click on my life as if it were no different than a file in a directory and hit the delete button.

The bishop's house looked somewhat similar to a small three-story palace. It was surrounded by huge oak trees that towered above it, shading the yard. Two large pillars framed the entrance to the front door and the enormous window that sat high above it displayed a large shimmering chandelier. Stark white gravel crunched loudly under the Cadillac's tires as we pulled up the driveway and into a massive four-car garage. We parked in between a dark green Jaguar and a white Audi convertible.

I quietly followed the bishop toward the door that led into the house. I felt like a misplaced drifter going to someone else's home and having to use someone else's things. We entered through a pantry and into a beautiful oversized kitchen. A large yellow bowl stood out in stark contrast against the black marble countertop. It was filled to the brim with Asian pears, apples, and oranges. As badly as I wanted one, I couldn't bring myself to ask. There was no way I'd go from being told when and where to do everything to being released and still having to ask permission for even the simplest things.

“Let me give you a quick tour. Mirna will be here in a little while to help with anything else you might need.”

He led me through the kitchen toward the front of the house, pointing out the living room, dining room, and an extra bathroom. It was the briefest home tour I'd ever gotten.

Tall, faceless African sculptures framed both sides of a door near the main stairwell. They were creepy black wood carvings that stood taller than me with elongated necks and long oval-shaped heads. One held a shield and spear; the other was apparently supposed to be a woman from the large cones protruding from the upper torso.

“Bought those when we opened a mission and school in Kenya. That's the Guardian and she's the Maiden.”

His chest puffed out with pride as he spoke about his ugly statues and I was lost somewhere inside my head. There had to be some kind of way to piece my life back together. It wouldn't happen overnight but with determination and faith, I could turn my mess into a mosaic masterpiece. Bishop was staring at me expectantly; he must have asked me something but I hadn't heard a thing he'd said. Embarrassed to admit I wasn't paying attention I stared at him wide-eyed.

“Everything you need is down there; the basement is large enough for you to live comfortably. I'll let you explore, and send Mirna down when she gets in.”

“Oh. Okay, thank you, Bishop. I appreciate everything you're doing.”

He pulled me into a hug, patting me roughly on my back. “You live here now. Just call me Kev or Kevin. All that Bishop and Mr. nonsense won't fly in this house; makes me feel like I'm not at home.”

“Okay Kevi . . . Kev.” It felt awkward calling him by his first name but I'd try. “Is there a phone down there?” I asked as he let me go.

Bishop looked at me expectantly as if he were waiting for me to divulge why I wanted to use the phone, and I clammed up. I really needed to call my parents but trying to vocalize the who or why part of my need for a phone wasn't happening. This wasn't prison, he didn't need to have a say in who I talked to unless I tried to make a long-distance call.

“We are getting a line installed for you. It should be around Monday or Tuesday next week.” He hesitated and began rubbing the corners of his mouth where his goatee used to be out of habit. “We think you should just lay low for a little while until we get a few things resolved. You don't understand the impact your conviction had on the community and the other members of the congregation. Then to tell everyone you were no longer with us and see devastation on everyone's faces all over again. Eva—”

“No, no. It's fine. Let's worry about what people will say. That's always been the way of the church right?” I snapped sarcastically.

I'd meant to keep the comment to myself but it came out and it was definitely too late to take it back. Bishop simply nodded his head as he opened the basement door. He was probably agreeing to his own silent argument about being crazy for taking me in. I walked past him and heard the door close quietly behind me.

What these people referred to as a basement would have passed for a loft or studio-style apartment. The room opened up to a large dark brown sectional that faced a wall with a flat-screen television. There was the faintest scent of apples and cinnamon and it actually made the space feel inviting. My steps were cushioned by the plush brown and tan speckled shag carpet as I walked past a wall lined with book shelves and curio cabinets. I quietly studied the painted faces of three naked mermaids lounging on a clock shaped like a coral reef. Their fins were varying shades of shiny blues and greens that stopped at their bared waists. All of the mermaids were posed in various positions but it was the one to the right that tugged at my core, making a knot form in my throat.

One mermaid had fiery red hair flaming around her serene seductive face; the other had bright hair the color of a wheat field and sapphire blue eyes. But, the one with the crown of hair blacker than coal billowing around her kept grabbing my attention. Her languid brown eyes were staring back at me as if she could see directly into my soul. She reminded me of Aeron, while simultaneously reminding me of Antonia.

“I'm sorry to put you down here with all of Kevin's unsightly trinkets,” Mrs. Tisdale spoke from where she'd been standing on the stairwell, holding a small tray.

I whirled around, quickly wiping away a stray tear. She walked over, giving me a sincere smile.

“Your husband's trinkets are interesting to say the least. Not exactly what I'd ever imagine to find in a leader of the church's home,” I replied, giggling at the eccentric artifact collection.

“We weren't always sanctified, baby.” She chuckled. “Girl, we had lives and lived just like anybody else. That's why all that fool's foolishness is down here where we can still admire its beauty and value without being judged.” Mrs. Tisdale's tone was soft and playful like we were old friends.

The woman barely spoke to me when I worked in the church, and it gave me the impression that she was just like the rest of the elders and their wives. I'd imagined she'd be stuffy and stuck-up, nothing like the sweet, charming person I was talking to. We were about the same build even though she had to be in her mid-forties; the woman definitely kept herself up. There wasn't a single wrinkle or crease in her light brown skin and her hazel eyes sparkled.

She set the tray on a small table in front of the couch. “I made you some soup and sandwiches. Figured your stomach might need to adjust to normal food so I kept it light. Forgive Kev, he's such a man. He wasn't thinking about anything but getting into his study to pour over his next sermon.”

“Thank you, ma'am. Um, I don't know which one I want more: the food or a hot shower.”

“Baby, eat the sandwich in the shower; it ain't gonna hurt the shower I know that for a fact. And call me Mirna.” She laughed and walked toward another section of the basement.

I followed, feeling a little better in her warm presence. The bathroom was past the bedroom and was about the size of a small hotel room. It was decorated in green, white, and black, reminiscent of a comfy day spa. One complete wall was decorated with a large mural that looked like magnified raindrops dripping off of two bright green leaves. Fluffy white rugs were in various places on the floor that matched the equally fluffy-looking towels on a bamboo shelf in a corner. I balked at the steam and sauna options on the glass door to the shower.

“I wasn't sure what size you'd wear so we have a little of everything. There's a bathrobe on the top towel shelf, razors, soap, everything you need is in this cabinet.” Mirna glided over to a small cabinet that looked like a fully stocked convenience store. There were so many types of body washes and lotions I got excited just thinking about which one I wanted to try first.

“Clothes are in the bedroom; we passed that on the way in. You need anything let me know. I'll check on you a little later.”

She left and I stood momentarily confused as to how a person could feel like a princess and a pauper at the same damn time.

After what was probably the longest shower I'd ever taken in my life I sat in front of the television, wrapped in the enormous bathrobe. I'd picked a ginger peach–scented body wash and cream that smelled good enough to eat out the bottle. The sandwiches were gone in the blink of an eye. I ate the things so fast it's a wonder I didn't choke. Even though the soup was cold I still crushed it. There's nothing like homemade chicken soup and I all but licked the bowl. Mirna was definitely right about my stomach acting finicky. Not long after eating my stomach turned into a huge painful cramp.

I wasn't used to Miracle Whip and real cheese. I took a second shower, finally understanding why the food in prison was so bland and uncomplicated. They didn't have doors on those cells. The last thing they needed was a cellblock full of shitty folk blowing up stalls with only one toilet to share. I had to wash my hind parts after that foolishness.

A smile spread across my face at the small cup of peppermint tea Mirna had thoughtfully placed on the tray. I had no desire to get up and go to the kitchen to heat it up and sat lost in my thoughts sipping it cold. The flavor reminded me of a Starlight Mint without all the sugar. I didn't mind; my taste buds welcomed something other than water or orange juice out the can. The clock on the television receiver read five-thirty but all the day's activities were catching up with me. Lights out was usually around seven but having real food and a real shower gave me a serious case of the itis.

 

 

My sleep should have been restful but it was far from it. I was plagued with replays of Antonia's last moments and she begged for her life repeatedly in my dream.

She began whispering broken sentences in my ear: “I've missed you so much,
mami.
I want you; let me make love to you.”

By the time she made her way down a second time, there was a raging river of need coursing between my legs. Her breath was hot against my skin and then Antonia was hovering over me. I could smell it before I saw it coming and knew she was raising her hairy snatch up to my face. Shaking my head from side to side I tried to tell her no and she ignored me, slamming herself onto my face. Aeron called out to her in the distance and I thought,
well now your sister can see what you've done and she can kill you. I won't be guilty anymore.

My eyes flew open and I took a deep, panicked breath. I must have been holding my breath in my sleep; my lungs and my chest were tight from not getting any air. I shook my head trying to clear the dreadful images from my waking mind. My heart literally stopped cold in my chest as the bishop's face suddenly came into focus clear as day, scaring away all traces of sleepiness. I was completely awake and alert. The pressure I'd felt on my chest was from the weight of his body on mine. Sweat dripped from his forehead into my eyes and I tried to scream and push him off but I couldn't move a single muscle. What kind of hellish nightmare had I awakened to?

He was moaning and moving against me but I couldn't feel him inside me. An alarm sounded in my head as I realized that I couldn't feel my legs, my toes, or any of my limbs.

My voice was a panicked cry in my head but no matter how hard I tried I couldn't move, couldn't scream, and couldn't lash out. I controlled the only thing I had control of and squeezed my eyes tightly closed. It was like one of those dreams where you're half awake and half asleep. You can see and hear everything and things come out of corners or shadows but no matter how hard you try you can't move and you can't scream. It used to happen all the time when I was little and my auntie would say the witch was riding my back. My momma would say a spirit was trying to get to me and either way I'd be praying and sleeping with the light on for at least a month. Every ragged breath the bishop took had me trying to retreat into the darkest recesses of my own mind. Now, I had a bishop riding my back; the humiliation and helplessness I felt were overwhelming enough to smother me all on their own. Even though I couldn't feel it, a sudden desire to bleach and burn his touch from my skin was overwhelming me. Fury balled itself up inside my chest and sat there coiled around my heart like an explosive cobra.