Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father (49 page)

Just then, a burst of tears
waterlogged Saint’s eyes. They burned and stung, and he sat erect, his fingers scratching hastily, aimlessly, along the sandy ground. His vision blurred from the rain that seemed to pour from deep within, down his cheeks, leaving his neck and collar bone saturated.

Saint felt himself drift deeper into the realm of
hazy hypnosis.

“You must cry. Yo
u must purge, Saint. You must be blessed. You must self-clean. From pain comes new life…”

Saint had once
said the same thing about women giving birth…the words had now come back to haunt him…

The stinging increased. Saint
uttered a curse. His eyes felt like hot pokers were pushing into them. He couldn’t take it! Not one second longer. He yelled out, snatched his arm away from the man and waved his hands frantically. He couldn’t see, so he remained seated, but he was in a world of hurt. He prided himself on his pain threshold abilities, but this was simply too much.

“
Shiiiit!” Saint screamed, gritting his teeth. He understood that this was necessary, no matter how badly he wanted to stop it right that moment, to call the entire thing off. A part of him tried to will the pain to go away, to no avail. The tears continued. The drums continued. No shots rang out…Jagger was gone. No words of comfort were given…Lawrence was nowhere to be found. No sense in looking to his left and right; even if he could, they’d vacated, somehow evaporated. It was just Saint and Krishna in the old, run down bakery that had been closed since the early 1980s—out in the middle of nowhere. Instead of fighting it, Saint tried something else. He ran
into
the pain, as if he were in the middle of the fire before him. He extended his arm back toward the flame, relenting, surrendering completely. He felt the gentle tug from the man, and the feather running over the fresh cut once again.

I’ve got…
I’ve got to leave my body, and let my spirit do this…

He concentrated as hard as he could, and as if slowly floating, he felt a
hard jerk as he left his temple. He flew above himself, his vision clearer upon looking down at his limp image. Lawrence and Jagger were back sitting on either side of him. Saint smiled and sighed with pleasure, for now a new feeling overtook him, one that he could only describe as being kissed gently on the cheek by God Himself…

“That pain, that was all the hurts that have happened, all the ugliness you’ve witnessed, all the evil you’ve encountered. It stung, blinded you
, so hideous it was. Now, we cleanse it. You had too much inside of you, dealt with so much evil, it left traces inside of you that had to be removed, like a cancer…”

The man continued to speak to him telepathically, and Saint remain
ed calm as his spirit looked down upon his tired, beaten body. He watched Jagger and Lawrence lean in close to him and help him sit up. He rested his weary head on Lawrence’s shoulder.

“You must cleanse after each kill, after each attack
upon you, Saint. It was a grave mistake to not do so. I’ve never seen anything to this extent. It is amazing you have not passed out from exhaustion. The evil ones like to feast on us once we encounter them and force them to submit. What I am doing is helping to clean years of spiritual clutter, but your friend Lawrence is learned in these affairs and knows how to help you stay pure. He will teach you. We are almost finished… Come back inside of your body, please.”

With his permission, Saint’s soul drifted back down into his templ
e and upon reconnecting with himself, a jolt of electricity went through him. He got back into his skin as if wearing a shirt. His nerve endings came back alive, firing wildly, and his vision was restored. He felt so good, so lightweight now, like the feather that the Healer ran across his arm. The wound pulsated, glowing bright red. Krishna blew red smoke into the cut, and the whole room glowed. After a while, Krishna released Saint’s arm and stood, placing his hands together, and bowed his head in silent prayer. Everyone remained quiet. The man opened his eyes and motioned for Saint to stand. As he was still a bit weak, Jagger and Lawrence helped him get to his feet. The doors to the building opened, and if it weren’t for Lawrence’s car, all they’d see was vast nothingness. Saint used his friends as crutches. As they exited, he looked sleepily at Krishna.

“Thank you so much.” Saint’s voice trembled with gratitude.

Krishna smiled and bowed his head, giving nothing more than that.

Lawrence and Jagger got
him into the car and behind them, the double doors slammed shut, a puff of red smoke bellowing out from between the cracks as a reminder that all that transpired wasn’t a dream—it really did happen. The three got settled. Saint stretched his legs, coughed into the cradle of his arm and leaned his head back wearily.

“You will be okay, Saint
,” Lawrence said reassuringly as he started the car. “I wish I had thought of this sooner. It wouldn’t have hurt so badly, but it’s done now, and you are purified. You’re tired, but it feels good, doesn’t it?” The tires crunched slowly against the pebbles as Lawrence did a U-Turn out of the makeshift parking space.

“Yeah,” Saint said breathlessly.
“It does. Why’d you two leave me there though?”

“We didn’t
,” Jagger said as he clicked his guns, disengaging them. “We were there the entire time.”

“You were hypnotized and no longer saw or felt us, is all.
This was an exception. Normally, no one is supposed to witness cleaning rituals like this—they can get very ugly—but because of your power level and the extent of damage, he felt it was best we be there.”

Saint nodded in understanding. He was corroding from the inside out and didn’t even know it. He hadn’t paid much attention, but over the years, as he matured in his gift, he did notice a
certain heaviness clinging to him. It wasn’t physical, his weight remained pretty consistent…it was spiritual. He couldn’t shake it but he never slowed down enough to investigate the cause. The demons had been riding shotgun…

“You needed people around you
that you could trust. I’m very proud of you, Saint. You did exceptionally well. I couldn’t tell you what was going to happen beforehand. I was afraid you’d chicken out or not take it seriously, anyway.” Lawrence laughed lightly as he put on his high beams and made his way to the deserted highway.

“I wouldn’t have chickened out, but I probably would’ve thought you were exaggerating.” Saint smiled
, running a hand along his chest. “I feel so strange, but good. I’m so damn tired. Is this going to wear off soon?” He looked down at the cut, already healing.

“Yes it is. I
guess in about an hour or so, you will be fully alert. In the meantime, get some rest.” Lawrence waved his palm over Saint’s face, putting him to sleep.

And like that, everything slowly faded to black…

~
***~

“But you hadn’t returned my calls, and the only reason we’re talking right this second is because you thought I was someone else!” Sinclair snapped as he changed lanes on the freeway.

“I was busy, and I really must go
,” was the gruff response.

“When you needed my help,
when nobody knew who your ass was, I wasn’t too busy. I made you! I tell you what, Clyde, you can go fuck yourself.” Sinclair disconnected the call, his jaw twitching. The tires squealed as he rounded a sharp bend. Things had gotten hairy and hectic; he tried to call in favor after favor, but could only muster a handful of support. Word had hit the street he was black-balled and in typical fashion, when the ball dropped, so did his so-called friends. He’d rebuilt himself from the ground up, and now all of that was going up in the air. He didn’t have the energy for a third go-round, and he’d be damned if Saint was going to tear his empire down, or the tiny bit he had left. Regardless, he knew he was drowning, in a world of hurt. Being fired from a daytime network show proved to be even worse than he’d imagined. All of the deals he had lined up crumbled like feta cheese on a salad and that was good for the vegetarians, but he needed some meat and potatoes, some real cheddar that would adhere to a bank account in multiple zeros. This time, he hadn’t been stupid with his growing dividends. He’d stockpiled enough away to live off of, but he could never be large and in charge without creating another stream, one that was profitable and carried him through the rest of his days.

No one had time for Sinclair and the once coveted, highly sought after producer wasn’t even invited out to plush parties any longer. He had a scarlet letter
on his back…oh how quickly L.A. would turn on a motherfucker…

He went
in circles, grappled at straws, trying to call in favors. He tried his luck with several ex-girlfriends, the same ones he spoke slick to, called hoes and treated like shit when his name was in the limelight and his pockets lined tight and green. But things had changed. No one gave him the time of morning, afternoon or night, not even Cammie, who once said she’d never give up on their love...

Turncoat!

He’d burned those bridges down to the motherfucking ground and his previous cruelty helped seal his fate. He blamed it on the cocaine, believing he wasn’t himself when he indulged, but maybe, just maybe, the cocaine showed who he
truly
was. He’d ended at rock bottom with his own rock, one white and powdery. It promised a trip to never-land but usually only delivered a journey to sludge and torment in one-way traffic. Low-grade shit, amateur night type the hoopla, nothing a true balla would be caught dead with. Racing inside of his home, he kicked shoes and trash out of the way and settled comfortably in the middle of his living room floor. He lit the pipe in preparation to make the powder dance in his system. There was nothing pure about crack, but it would have to do. He refused to touch his cash stash; he needed that as pay-offs and incentives to build his empire once again. Yes, this time around, he’d work smarter, so he wouldn’t have to work harder. There was one glimmer in the mist. He did have one faithful soul that stood at his side, and luckily for him, she stayed loyal. After waking up from a drug-induced stupor a few hours later, he clutched his phone and rang her up.

“Hey Shianne,” he slurred and sniffed, catching his nostrils between his index and forefinger
. He caught a glimpse of himself in a mirrored picture frame as he felt the grittiness along his thumb and a ring of white powder coating his left nostril. “Hey baby, I need you do something for me.”

“Of course. W
hat is it?”

“I need to send out a little warning
to my main man while I wait on some information. With the way things are falling apart, I might be done here in L.A., but I’m going to go out blazing!” he yelled, new life in his voice as his newfangled high made him feel invincible. “I want you to arrange a little something for me. Listen closely, because I need this to go off without a hitch…”

“I’m all ears, baby...”

~
***~

Xenia looked out the window at the dusky gray sky with silvery stripes. A slight breeze blew through, drawing goose bumps on her arms. Ocean Road in Malibu was unusually quiet and quaint, the perfect backdrop for a long awaited discussion with the man who’d had his hand in bringing her into the world. She sat across from her father at the elegant Lobster restaurant in Malibu. A pianist started to play light classical music in the background which, along with the tinkling of ice in Xenia’s glass, broke up the silence.

“Well
…” She smiled weakly. “So…” She didn’t know what else to say. For once, she was lost for words.

Her father exhaled loudly and clasped his han
ds together. She looked at them—those big, brown hands. Hands that had held her as a baby as he kissed her forehead affectionately. The same hands that had counted stacks of laundered money at the kitchen table in their small house in Compton. Hands that had held the back of her bike as he taught her and Porsche how to ride it. And…the same hands she’d seen smack her mother across the face, leaving it reddened with the imprint of his palm, when Pam had said something he didn’t particularly like. Back in the day, Pam was quieter and more submissive, doing her best to keep him home, but it still wasn’t sufficient. He was an angry bull and someone had to pay…

Xenia turned suddenly away from him, hating him for yet another reason, as if she needed another. She had no idea how’d she forgotten. She must’ve buried it like the trauma it was. It had happened twice, two times too many…

“What’s wrong, baby?”

I’m not your baby…
  Avoiding his gaze, she picked up her fork and poked and prodded at her shrimp scampi.

“Xenia, honey, we gotta talk. You brought me here to talk. Now, no matter how it hurts you or me, let
’s do it. I need you in my life and knowing you the way I do, I understood this wasn’t going to be easy,” he said. “Now tell me what the problem is so we can resolve it and move forward.”

“Daddy, you hit
Mama. You left me, Porsche and Ira. You chose the gang-life over us. You chose money and whores over your wife and children. You raised other kids that were not even yours, but didn’t visit us. You had drugs in our house that you were selling. We could’ve been killed in a robbery because of that. I think…I think I blocked a lot of this mess out!” She squirmed in her seat, wanting so desperately to reach across the table and choke him with her bare hands. Instead, she was met with silence. He simply listened. His features remained smooth and calm.

“
Not until you came to see me at the studio did this stuff start flooding back. I was happy with you gone, Daddy. I hate to say it, but I was. I’d made peace with it. Yeah, for a short spell we spoke, things seemed okay, but as soon as I tried to talk to you, like I am now, you disappeared again, telling me I needed to stop bringing up the past. You completely dismissed me!” She promised herself she wouldn’t become emotional, but it was too late; she was coming undone.” His words got Xenia’s attention. She dared to look him in the eyes as he spoke.

“
Now, you tell me you want to be back in my and Ira’s life. Porsche is already with you, and I never understood why, but that was her choice and her prerogative.”

“Xenia, I did all that you accuse me of and more
,” he said in a soft-spoken voice. “I was not a good person. Matter of fact, I was a terrible husband and an even worse father. Your mother and I weren’t gettin’ along, but that is still no excuse. I should’ve handled my responsibilities. You and your sisters deserved better. I gotta hand it to Pam, she did hold it down when I wasn’t. Your mother, well,”—he grinned and shook his head—“she is a handful, always has been, but she is a damn good mother and I could never take that away from her. She changed after she got pregnant with you and Porsche.

“I
didn’t want to have a family, I wasn’t ready, Xenia You gotta understand my mentality. Gang life was all I knew, being a Blood was all I knew. I’m glad you didn’t follow in my footsteps.” He took a moment, as if caught up in emotion. “Your mother and I would run around together. She was fun then, wild, free. All the guys wanted her; she was one of those women the dudes chased after. She and I got together…” He looked down at his lap. “But after she found out she was pregnant, she told me she was done with all of that racing around and living it up. I called her bluff,” he said with a sad smile. “But she meant it. She didn’t ride with me no more, quit hanging out with all of us. She kept to herself and got back in school, got her cosmetology license and got a job, made something of herself. I was proud of her, but I was still in the streets.” He shrugged.

“Daddy, I know
Mama wasn’t always easy to live with, but she was faithful to you and she was a good mother.”

“I know. I mean, look at you!” He smiled, pointing in her direction. “Xenia, you’re beautiful
, baby. You’re smart, you’ve made good choices. You’re famous! I’ve got a famous daughter.” He grinned, showcasing that notorious gap. “I’m proud of all three of my children. My son is in Afghanistan. Ira…” He shook his head. “I pray for his safety every day. Seems like he’s been there forever. Porsche is back in school getting her nursing degree. You all are proof of how we, as black people, can come from nothing but amount to something! You married well, too. I like Saint. I appreciate that he isn’t some hoodlum or fool. I wouldn’t want you to have ended up with someone like how I used to be and I don’t care that he isn’t black. Back in the day I would’ve, I won’t lie about that.” He smirked.

“But hell, I just want you happy and for someone to be with you that treats you right
, and that’s what you got. Now, I really don’t want to think about his profession—not that there is anything wrong with it, but you’re my daughter.” He chuckled, causing Xenia to do the same. “I don’t want to think about my child with someone who speaks like that, and yeah, I made the mistake of picking up one of his books.”

Xenia burst out laughing and covered her mouth with her hands
as blood rushed to her face.

“I ain
’t no prude, you know that…but goddamn!”

“Daddy, stop!” Xenia laughed
so hard, her eyes brimmed with tears.

“My
, my, my…” he said with a wave of his hand and a wink. “I just prefer to not go there, so I’ll drop it, though those were some good tips. I got a little lady I go out with sometimes and I—”

“Daddy!” Xenia warned.

“Okay, okay!” He guffawed. “I’ll tell you this much though. He cares a great deal about you, I can see that, and Porsche has nothing but good things to say about him. Said he even paid her rent a couple of times when she was coming up short. She didn’t ask, he just did it and he paid for Gwen’s school tuition, too. She’s in that fancy school and I can’t say I blame Porsche for wanting to send her child somewhere like that. Anyway, your husband seems to be a good man, a generous man. I used to be generous when I was running high on my horse bets.” He laughed. “I guess all good things must come to an end.”

Xenia swallowed and looked down at her lap
; the white linen napkin had a smudge of curry sauce from her salad earlier. She stared at that stain with all of her might, trying to keep her tears at bay. For some reason, the man’s words were tearing her apart. He actually sounded sincere, she didn’t expect this. She anticipated a bunch of excuses, grabbing her purse and storming out on him, happy to never have to speak to the asshole again. But, that wasn’t what happened at all. He was baring his soul, admitting the wrong he’d done. Like the open sea, he invited her to dive in, give him another chance.

“
You did right and from what I can see, you’re a damn good mother, too. That means a lot. Pam, yeah, it was hell sometimes, Xenia. We just weren’t good for each other, you know? You understand how your mother can be. In your ear, yap, yap, yap!” He moved his hands like chomping alligator mouths. “But…she was a good mother, like I said. I agree with you wholeheartedly.”

There was a pregnant pause as Xenia took a small sip of her white Zinfandel.

“When you and Porsche were born, I remember that day like yesterday.” He smiled proudly and tapped his fingertips against his glass of beer. “October 7
th
, right before midnight!”

Xenia
refused to show how moved she was that her father actually knew about her and her twin sister’s birthday. The man had been so far removed from their lives, she’d thought he wouldn’t have a clue. Regardless, that didn’t negate the fact he wasn’t there for their birth—but if she wanted to move forward, she had to let it go.

“I got to the hospital and saw you two. Of course,”
—he shrugged, his lips turned downward—“Pam wasn’t happy to see me. Can’t say I too much blame her…more of my young, knucklehead actin’ out. I was scared, Xenia. I wasn’t ready to be no daddy, but when I looked into your and Porsche’s eyes, I just fell in love.” He slapped the table. “Right then and there. You two were the prettiest little babies I’d ever seen.”

Xenia smiled, but kept
her eyes focused on the stain across the napkin.

“Daddy,” she said
when she finally looked at him, pushing her half eaten plate across the table. “Why didn’t you try harder to be in my life before now?”