So You Call Yourself a Man (22 page)

I'd just stopped off at the Jamaican joint over by Rochdale Village for a beef patty and some coco bread when my cell started to ring. I got back in my UPS truck and checked the caller ID. It was my house, which didn't make any sense because Cathy should have been at work.

“Hello.”

“Can you talk?” It was Cathy, all right, and she didn't sound happy.

“Yeah, Cathy, what's up?” I was still pissed off at her about the booty call last month, but she had been good about letting me come to see the boys whenever I wanted. She'd even let me bring them to my mother's house to meet Marcus once. So, even if there wasn't much warmth between us right now, we were on speaking terms, and I was grateful for at least that much. I still loved her after everything we'd gone through, and until she was ready to try again, I would always be there for her and the boys.

“I just got back from the school,” she said. “It seems we have a problem with Jay-Jay.”

“What type of problem? I know he ain't fighting again.”

“Yes, he was fighting, but that's not just it. I had a meeting with the school psychologist today. Jay-Jay's grades are down, and he's been acting up in class.”

“I'm gonna whip that boy's ass.”

“No, James, it's not his fault.” I was surprised by Cathy's tone. Normally, when our sons misbehaved, she was right there with me, ready to discipline firmly.

“Not his fault? Whose fault is it?” I asked.

“Yours and mine. The psychologist seems to think that our separation is directly related to James's behavior….” She was quiet for a few seconds. “And I think she's right.”

Now I understood why she sounded so defeated, so tired. Our problems had been taking their toll on everyone, and now that it was following the boys to school, it felt like the final straw.

“Well, what are we supposed to do?” There was no sound on the other end, and for a moment, I thought maybe my cell phone had dropped the call. “Cathy? You still there?”

She answered quietly. “Maybe you should move back in.” My mouth dropped open in shock, but before I could respond, she added, “Not in my bedroom, but in the basement. What do you think?”

Now it was my turn for silence. This was exactly what I'd been waiting for, a chance to move back home, but did I really want to do it this way? I wanted my wife to ask me back home because she wanted me there, not only because it was the right thing to do for the kids. And, of course, there was still one major obstacle—Marcus.

“I'm sorry, Cathy, but I can't do it….” I didn't even finish my sentence before she jumped in.

“What?” If it was possible, she sounded more upset than she'd been in a while, and lately her emotions had been running pretty high. “How could you not do this for your son?”

I didn't let her anger get me riled up. “Cathy,” I said gently, “you know I love them and I'd do anything for my sons. I love you too. There's nothing I want more than for us to be together as a family again.”

“Then what the hell is your problem, James?”

“It's Marcus. Don't forget, Cathy, he's with me now, and he's my son too. Are you ready to handle having him move in with you?”

After a long pause, her voice was less agitated when she answered. “That's a lot to ask of me, James.”

“I know that, but his mother already deserted him, and I won't do it too. He's a good kid, and I'm going to do right by him. If you want me to come home, then he's coming with me. But I'm giving you the choice. If you can't handle it, tell me you don't want me to come home, and I'll understand. We'll find another way to help Jay-Jay get through this.”

“Can't you just ask your mother to keep him?” she asked, but her tone told me she already understood that solution would be impossible.

“That wouldn't work, and you know it. My mother needs her life and her house back, and Marcus needs at least one of his parents with him.”

Cathy didn't speak for a long time. I waited patiently, knowing this was not an easy decision for her to be making.

“You're a good father, James,” she finally said. “Jay-Jay and Michael need you home.”

“I love my boys, Cathy. But do you think you can handle this? I don't want you to say yes now and then take it out on Marcus once we're living in the house.”

I heard her release a long sigh. “You know, we both made mistakes when we were having problems back then. The only difference is that she got pregnant and I didn't.” The reminder of Cathy's affair stabbed at me a little, but I knew this was a huge step toward reconciliation, so I remained silent. “He's innocent in this whole thing, just like our boys are. We have to do what's best for the boys…all three of them. Come home, James.”

“We'll be there tonight,” I said, unable to suppress my excitement.

“You know, you're going to have to do a lot more around the house and with the kids,” she pointed out.

“That would only make sense,” I responded, still unable to suppress the huge grin on my face.

“Don't be asking me for no sex, either.”

“I won't even go near your room unless you invite me in.”

She sighed heavily again. “All right, we can try it. But I reserve the right to kick both of your asses out at any time.”

“Done. We'll see you after I get off work.” I closed my phone and started the truck, confident that my family would soon be whole, and my marriage could once again become strong.

I woke up to a blinding bright light. Was I dead? I knew I'd been attacked by a man with a baseball bat, I did remember that, but I felt no pain. It was almost as if I were floating. The light seemed to get more intense and closer to my eyes. Was it the light I'd heard people talk about on those documentaries about crossing over? In the church, people always talked about wanting to go home. Was that light the road home? Was I about to meet my maker, the Lord Himself? And if so, did this mean He'd forgiven me for my homosexuality and my adultery and was allowing me into Heaven? I waited for a voice. It didn't take long before I heard one.

“Brent. Brent, can you hear me?” Was that it? Was it the voice of God calling me? It seemed so normal. I guess I was just conditioned to think that God's voice would sound as deep as James Earl Jones's or be followed by an echo or something spectacular. Then again, the Bible says that man was created in God's image, so why couldn't God's voice sound normal?

“Brent, can you hear me?” the voice called again.

“Yes, I can hear you. Is that you? Is that you, God?”

After a momentary pause, I heard laughter. The light seemed to be moving farther away, and I started to panic. “God, is that you?” There was more laughter, and for the first time it hit me. Maybe I wasn't in Heaven; maybe I was in Hell. Maybe that voice wasn't God's, but the voice of the devil. I closed my eyes in fear and called out for God one last time. “God, is that you?”

I finally got a reply.

“No, Brent, I'm not God.” When I opened my eyes, the light had been removed, and leaning over me, although my vision was still blurred, I saw a bearded white man. “I'm your doctor. My name is Dr. Rosenthal, and you're in Long Island Jewish Hospital.”

A voice came from behind him. “Do you remember what happened?” The figure came closer, and as he came into focus, I realized he was a black man in a police uniform.

“All I remember is getting out of my car and some guy attacking me with a baseball bat,” I said in a voice that was still weak.

“Did you get a good look at his face?”

“He was wearing a mask.”

“Did he say anything before he hit you? Was there anything familiar about the person?”

“Hey, leave him alone. He just woke up. You can ask him all the questions you want once he gets himself together.” There was no mistaking Sonny's distinguishable voice as he approached. “You okay, buddy? You don't have to answer this guy's questions right now.”

“Where's James?” I asked groggily.

“I'm right here, Brent. We're all here.” James came up on the right side of the bed, across from Sonny. “Alison's here, too. So are Cathy and the kids. They're outside in the waiting room.”

As my memory came into focus, I recalled the most recent events in my life. I remembered the conversation with Jessica in San Francisco. I had called Sonny from the plane to ask him about it, and not long after, I was waking up in a hospital bed. Now I had some serious suspicions about my attack and the possibility that the two incidents were related.

“Sonny, where's Tiffany?” I asked.

“She's…with the kids at the house.”

“Tell her I wanna see her. It's important.”

“Sure, Brent. I'll tell her…but I can't promise you anything. Tiffany hates hospitals.”

I tried to turn my body to Sonny to get a good read on his body language, but for some reason, I couldn't move. I tried to sit up, but my limbs wouldn't react to my commands. Panic overtook me. “Oh, Lord, I can't move. I can't move!”

The doctor pushed Sonny out of the way. I think he rested a hand on my shoulder, but I couldn't feel a thing. “Calm down, Brent. During your altercation, your back was broken, and you have some severe spinal injuries.”

“Oh, Lord! How bad is it?” Again I tried to get up. “Will somebody tell me something?” I screamed.

The next voice I heard was Alison's. She'd taken James's place and was holding onto the bed railing. “Brent, honey. You're going to be all right, baby. I'm going to take you home and take care of you, and we're going to raise our baby together just like we planned.”

“What are you talking about? You know what I had planned.” I was about to out myself right then and there, but Alison stopped me.

“Brent, I think God has changed your plans. Baby, I don't know how to tell you this…. the doctors think you can regain the use of your upper body, but you'll never walk again.”

“Nooo!” I screamed, closing my eyes. “No, this can't be happening to me. Where's Jackie?” I continued to try to move something, any part of me, but the only things that were mobile were my head and my neck. I glared at Alison. “Where's Jackie? Did you tell Jackie?”

“You mean the organist dude from your church?” James chimed in. “He came by earlier. Dude was crying too. Said he couldn't take seeing you this way, that it was a sign from God, and that he knew what he had to do. He was going home with his wife and kids to pray.”

“Amen to that,” Alison hollered.

I closed my eyes again and wondered if death would have been preferable to this.

I knocked on the front door and got no answer, so I made my way around to the back door, peeking in the sliding glass door. Why the hell I was snooping around Sonny's house was beyond me. Believe me, if Brent hadn't been in the hospital and hadn't insisted I do this, I'd be sitting up with Cathy, happy that we were finally putting the pieces of our lives back together. I hated the idea that she had me sleeping in the basement, but our complete reconciliation was not going to happen overnight, and I was just happy to be sleeping in my own house again, with all three of my boys under one roof.

I went to the side of the house, and before I used the key that Sonny had given me when he first moved in, I pulled out my cell phone and called Long Island Jewish Hospital.

“Can I have room 653, Brent Williams's room, please?”

“Please hold.”

The phone rang twice before Brent picked it up. “Hello.”

Every time I heard his voice on the phone, it damn near brought tears to my eyes, because it was a miracle he could even pick up the phone in the first place. Two weeks ago, he was paralyzed from the neck down, and now, it was only by the grace of God that he could sit up and use his arms.

I was still concerned, though, that the attack had done something to his psyche. When he told me he believed Sonny had something to do with it, and that Sonny might actually have been the masked attacker, I didn't know what to do. I planned to talk to the doctors about his mental state, but in the meantime, I knew they wanted to focus on him regaining some physical strength. It was important for him to concentrate on that, and he wouldn't be able to do it if he was agitated over this imagined evil side of Sonny. To pacify him, I agreed to go check out the house after he'd been trying to convince me for over two weeks. I figured that once I could tell him Tiffany and her kids were fine, he would give up on this theory that Sonny was out to get him.

“Brent, it's James.”

“Are you in? What did you find? Is she there?” I barely understood what he said because he was talking so fast.

“Nah, I'm outside the door, but it doesn't look like anyone is here.”

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go inside. That girl's in trouble, James. I just know it.” Brent had so much concern in his voice, and I knew he believed what he was saying about our friend. “I just hope she ain't dead.”

“Look, Brent, stop exaggerating. You know she's not dead. I spoke to her on the phone last night. She said she was fine.”

“He could have been sitting right next to her.”

I held my breath and counted to three to calm myself before I lost it. I still couldn't believe all of this had started because he ran into Jessica while he was in California. I didn't have any doubt she told him that crap about Sonny being dangerous, but I also knew she was a liar. Sonny had been telling us that for years, long before she packed up the kids and the house and ripped apart his family. I had no idea why Brent believed her story, but I assumed the beating had scrambled his brains a little.

“Look, man,” I said when I felt like I could speak without yelling at Brent. “Maybe we should just talk to Sonny. Why don't I come back tonight after he's off work? I'll see what's up, then we'll come talk to you at the hospital.”

“No! You've been over there three times, and every time you get there, Tiffany's mysteriously been away. I want you to go in that house.”

“Look, Brent, that's easier said than done. What if someone comes home? God, what if Tiffany's in there asleep? I don't want to scare the girl.”

“I just talked to Sonny at work. And if Tiffany shows up, make up a lie. Matter of fact, you can blame it on me. Tell her I wanted a picture of her kids to put in my room with my other godkids. She'll believe that. Everybody believes paraplegics as long as we're not asking for money.”

“All right, man. I hope you're right…wrong about this.”

“I hope so too, but I doubt it. And make sure you check all the closets. Jessica said he used to lock her in them.” Why Brent was pushing me to betray my boy Sonny's trust for something that bitch Jessica said was beyond me. I took out my key and opened the door.

It didn't take but about five minutes to check the downstairs rooms and closets. The upstairs took a little longer because I had to check under the beds. There were no dead bodies or abused girlfriends like Brent feared, but I did find something interesting under Sonny's bed. I never knew it, but he actually had a gun. Once the upstairs and downstairs were checked, I called Brent and gave him my report.

“Did you check the basement?” he asked.

I wasn't happy about it, but I knew I had to check down there. If I didn't, Brent would still be insisting Sonny was guilty. I had to check every nook and cranny to satisfy his paranoia. I'd be relieved when this was done.

The only thing I found in the basement other than Sonny's computer equipment was an old wine barrel. I cracked open the top, but immediately turned my face away and shoved the cover back down when my nostrils were overcome with the strong scent of vinegar. Damn, that shit was nasty.

I was about to go upstairs and leave when I noticed a gray door that just seemed out of place. I became even more intrigued when I noticed it had not one, but two combination locks on it. Could it be…? I banged on the door, and to my surprise, I heard movement.

“Is anyone in there?” I shouted.

As faint as it may have been, I heard a panicked voice. “Yes.”

“Tiffany, is that you?”

“Yes,” she replied, this time a little louder. Jesus Christ, Brent was right! Sonny's ass was crazy. “Hold on, Tiffany. I'm gonna get you outta there!”

My eyes searched the room for something to break the locks, but it was empty except for the computer equipment. Then it hit me: the gun upstairs in Sonny's room. I could shoot the locks off.

“Tiffany, don't worry. I'll be right back.”

“No, please don't leave me,” she pleaded, but I had no choice. I didn't even answer her before I ran to retrieve the gun. It might have seemed like a lifetime to Tiffany, but it didn't take me long at all to get back downstairs.

“Tiffany, back away from the door, sweetheart. I'm going to shoot off the locks.” It took five shots, but I finally got both of them off. When I finally opened the door, Tiffany came out crying. She fell into my arms.

“Everything's okay,” I assured her. “You're safe now.”

“You don't understand,” she said, close to hysterics. “We have to get out of here. He told me he has cameras all over the house and he watches them while he's at work. He's probably on his way back here right now.”

“Don't worry. He can't hurt you now.”

“You don't know what he's capable of!” she cried. “He's already murdered my ex-husband.” She pointed at the wine barrel. I felt my stomach lurch. Was there really a body in there? For the first time, I was actually scared.

“Come on, my car's outside. We'll go to the school and get your kids. We can call the cops on the way.”

She ran up the stairs. Was this really happening to me? I took one last look at the wine barrel before following after her. I tripped on the bottom step, and by the time I regained my footing, she was already in the kitchen. I heard her scream.

“Bitch! How could you?” Sonny was there with her, and he sounded ready to commit another murder. Fuck that, I wasn't taking any chances. I went back to get the gun. Sonny might have been my best friend, but he was definitely not stable.

I crept up the stairs, but Sonny was there, waiting for me with a gun to Tiffany's head. I pointed my weapon at him.

“Why the fuck are you interfering, James?”

“I'm here to get you outta trouble, buddy.” I tried to remain calm. I didn't want to set him off. Tiffany's life, and maybe my own, was at stake.

“It's too late for that. Now, back off, James. I don't wanna hurt you, man.”

“Believe me, bro. I don't want you to hurt me either, so why don't we put these guns down?” My hand was starting to shake, I was so damn scared.

“I can't do that, bro. You know I love you, but I can't do that.” Sweat poured down Sonny's face, but his hand remained steady and his expression was locked in determination.

“Come on, Sonny, why can't you just put it down? We can work this out.”

“Because this bitch here fucked everything up.” He pressed the gun against her head. “Things were going to be different this time, James. I had the rules set and everything. I even gave her a written copy when she moved in. She signed them.” Finally his demeanor cracked a little. I could hear a slight change in his voice.

“So what do you want me to do?”

“I want you to walk out that door so I can finish this. I'm not going to jail. I'll kill her and I'll kill myself before I go to jail.”

“If you're going to kill yourself, man, I understand it. I don't agree with it, but I understand it. But don't kill her. Let her go, Sonny.”

“I'm sorry, James, but if I can't have her, nobody will.” I took a few cautious steps toward him and he pulled her in tight. “You're going to have to shoot me, James.”

“No, Sonny, I'm not going to shoot you.”

“Yes, you are. Because if you don't shoot me, I'm going to shoot her. I can't live without her, James.”

“Yes, you can. You lived without Jessica.”

“Jessica wasn't my soul mate, James. I know that now. Tiffany is.”

I knew something about having a soul mate you didn't want to let go of, so I believed he really did feel that way. Granted, the level he had taken his obsession to was dangerous and extreme, but some small part of me understood.

“I'm going to count to ten, James, and if you don't shoot me by then, I'm going to shoot her and then I'm going to shoot myself. Are you willing to watch both of us die?”

He moved Tiffany to the side, giving me a clear shot at his chest and head. Then he started to count.

When he got to five, I screamed, “Sonny, don't do this!”

“Six…Pull the trigger, James,” he said, without the slightest fear in his voice. “Seven, eight…”

I closed my eyes and squeezed the trigger. Tiffany's screams filled the room. When I heard a thud, I opened my eyes. Sonny was on the ground, bleeding from his chest.

I dropped to my knees, screaming, “I'm sorry, man. I didn't wanna do it. You made me do it.” Tiffany ran from the house immediately, but I couldn't budge. I sat beside my friend and cried openly as I watched the life drain from his body.

I don't know how much time passed before I heard my cell phone ringing. Barely conscious of my actions, I pulled it from my pocket and opened the phone.

“James!” It was Brent. “You didn't call me back. Are you still in the house? What happened in the basement? Did you find her?”

“Yeah,” I answered, barely able to speak through my tears, and unable to believe that what I was saying was reality. “Sonny's gone, Brent. Sonny's dead.” I dropped the phone in a pool of my friend's blood and buried my face in my hands.