Saint's Sacrament - Sins of the Father (30 page)

“Well then that leaves—”
He paused; fear struck him deep within. He immediately punched in speed-dial.

“Hello?”

“Oh good, you picked up. Hey, Dad.” He cleared his throat, coughing into his fisted hand. “You been okay?”

Everyone was quiet as the two spoke. Lawrence crossed his arms and listened in on the conversation.

“For the most part. I’ve had a little pain in my stomach lately, must be eating too much.” He chuckled.

“Oh, you’ve been under the weather?” Saint scratched his head,
and the pain started to subside. As time passed, he felt more and more like himself. “Why haven’t you gone to the doctor?”

“Because I’m getting old
.” Osaze laughed. “I always get aches and pains, son. I’d be there every week if I reacted to everything that happened.”

“
Mmmm hmmm, well, this is different. I think you need to get that checked… Did you happen to have any problems today with it?”

“Oh, a little, but nothing too bad.”

“Yeah, well, here is the reason. Dad, I felt it. I took
your
pain, so even though you weren’t feeling well, you didn’t get the entire brunt of it, and it was
really
bad. I mean, shit, I can take a punch, did in fact take one not too long ago,” he smirked as he looked in Lawrence’s eyes then back down at his lap, “and a stomach ache, that’s nothing. I had plenty of those over the years, but this was like…just trust me, it was horrible. I am begging you to make an appointment today. Not tomorrow, not the next day, but right now.” Saint tried to keep calm. He knew his father hated going to see doctors for examinations and if he got too excitable, the man would surely hang up the phone and refuse to seek assistance at all.  Stubborn.

After a long pause
, Osaze sighed. “Alright, I’ll make an appointment.”

“
Do you promise?”

“Yes, Saint, I promise
,” the older man answered begrudgingly.

Alright, thank you…
and l love you.”

“I love you
, too.”

Saint
disconnected the call.

“Well, I’m sure you heard
.” He shot Xenia and Lawrence a look. “It’s my dad. He has been having stomach pains. It’s been going on for weeks now.” A lump formed in his throat. If anything happened to his father, he was certain he’d lose it. He and the man used to fight like cats and dogs, but now, things were different. They were forging an open and honest relationship, and real repair and healing was taking place. He couldn’t stand to lose him.

“Okay, now that that’s settled,” Lawrence crossed his arms over his chest
, “I have one question.”

Xenia and Saint looked at one another,
a sense of doom hovering in the air.

Oh God, please don’t let him ask me that
. I’m not hiding anything Lawrence, I swear!

Saint had tried with all of his might to block the information, but at times, his pain gripped him, forcing him to let go of the psychic
fortress, and if for one second Lawrence was trying to read him, then that would be all the room he needed to enter his thoughts and forge through the sludge, searching diligently for the missing file, the hidden information. Jagger was even quicker, like a mind reader on speed with a handy psychic crack pipe dangling between his lips at all times… Thank goodness it wasn’t him he was evading. In his weakness, he was a sitting duck for the likes of them. He looked Lawrence in the eye, gearing up to put on a star performance. He didn’t feel the man knocking on his intuitive door, but he remained guarded, all the same. Saint tried to show a stiff face, one void of emotion, memory or inclinations. He had to play dumb, and here he was the man’s prisoner, partially incapacitated.

“Where is this delicious strawberry and pecan chicken salad you are known for, Xenia?
Saint had been bragging yesterday about all the leftovers, and how he was going to chow down. Due to Saint falling out on the job, I haven’t had time to eat and I’m starved!” They all laughed.

“I have some right downstairs
. Please follow me and I will make sure you take some home to Donna as well.”

Xenia looked over her shoulder
and winked at Saint. He frowned, recognizing his own hunger pangs. He fixed his face just so, knowing he was looking as pitiful as could be.

“What about me? Do I get some chicken salad?” he asked, his tone full of dramatic sorrow as he clutched the sheets in his palms
like a frightened child without a nightlight.

Xenia held the bedroom door open and the sound of the children playing below could now be heard
loud and clear. “It depends.” She smirked. “If you’re a good boy and go to sleep for at least one hour, I will bring you some. Lawrence said earlier that you shouldn’t eat right now, but I suppose a little bit after you rest would be okay. Rest. Do you understand me, Saint? That means no phone, no internet, no T.V., no nothing. I want to make sure you are okay, so you need to get some sleep.”

“Okay, but don’t forget about me…I’m so hungry
,” he said, doing his best Dakarai impression. Xenia cracked up as she closed the door behind her and Lawrence.

As soon as the coast was clear, Saint flung the sheets off of him and seized his iPod.
He needed something to get his mind off his father, all the stress that had come into his life, and to simply feel like himself again. He scrolled through the playlists until he found the song he wanted to sway with.

T.I.
’s, “What You Know About That”.

Sucking his bottom lip, he began to move around the room, his white robe swaying as he popped his fingers and sung to the lyrics
.

“…What chew know about that? I know all about that!”

He paused, raced to the bedroom door and locked it before grabbing his laptop, flipping it open, and feverishly going through his emails. He grinned and he took hold of his phone.

“What’s up man…
yeah, I’m fine, thanks. I got the file. It is everything I needed and more. Thanks, man!”

He disconnected the call
with Jagger and started to dance and sing again.

“…Somebody better get bruh, before he get sent for!...Ha!
”

He snapped his fingers and pivoted in a circle, a big
grin on his face as he danced to and fro, like he’d never been in a fetal position on his office floor amongst white papers and office supplies hours earlier. Lawrence had warned him to stay away from any violence, but this was different. Saint had come up with another solution, one that may be far more effective. He knew all about the bullshit going on at the set. The man was ruthlessly toying with his wife. He’d bide his time, but he definitely had something special for his ass.

“
That’s right, mothafucka! I got yo’ ass! ...What you know about that, Sinclair? I know
all
about that! Cha, chiiiiillllll! Say ‘beddie bye-bye’ mothafucka!”

~***~

Two weeks later…

“So before we end the show today, we want to give special thanks to Krotia Sparkling Water for sponsoring the Lewis Foundation marathon and giving all these great people in the studio audience free sparkling, vitamin
-enhanced coconut water!”  She clapped, her cheers soon drowned out by those of the studio audience.

“That’s right, Xenia,” Jackson chimed in
. “And speaking of healthy ways to take care of our bodies, tomorrow we will have Dr. Davis Fitzgerald here to explain heart disease, which is a serious issue amongst women, a main killer.”

“Yes it is, Jackson and…”
She paused, her chest tightening. “…And…”

No, it couldn’t be…

She looked in the back row of the audience, then quickly pulled herself together.

“A
nd he will go over the signs and symptoms, as well as preventative maintenance, so please be sure to tune in!” She threw on a smile as Jackson made the closing announcements, feeling as if she, too, were having a heart attack.

The second taping came to
an end as the studio audience’s applause died down.

“
Xenia, are you okay?” Jackson whispered in her ear, his concern sincere. She looked into his soft, blue eyes, searching for words to answer his damn question. But her throat tightened and she rubbed along her neck, as if that would somehow bring forth her voice in the manner of a miracle after massaging a magic genie lamp.

“Yes, thank you. I think I had an eyelash fall
in my eye, and it threw me off.” She laughed as the untruth tumbled out of her mouth.

He
nodded in understanding and gathered his papers. “I hate when that happens. See you in a little while.” He stood and left. She immediately looked back at the thinning audience. People were standing and moving about, chatting as they corralled toward the exit…all except
one.
A man dressed in a light gray suit with a matching fedora hat approached the stage. Security raced toward him. Two muscular men with black t-shirts pushed their hand into the man’s barreled chest.

“Sir, we are sorry, but you can’t go up there. We can help you exit the building
,” one of the security guards said as he firmly took the guy by the elbow.

“No, no
, it’s okay, Jake,” Xenia offered, barely able to get the words out of her mouth. Jake slowly let the man go, gave him a once over and backed away. Her hands shaking and teeth clenched, she stared as he drew closer to her. Off to the side stood Sinclair, his finger gliding slowly past his chin as if he were studying a complex blueprint. He was more than likely enjoying the whole sordid thing play out. He knew Xenia’s past, her history, her story. She quickly turned from him and stiffened as the man embraced her, his arms tightly wrapped around her body.

“How is my baby doing?” the man asked
, his silky voice sliding past her ears with its strange familiarity. Before pulling completely away, he swung back, holding her by her wrists, beholding her—looked her up and down as if she were a birthday present. He cracked a lopsided grin, showcasing the notorious gap between his two front teeth. His dark eyes, shaped just like hers, danced with what she presumed to be happiness.

“Daddy, I wasn’t expecting you…”

~
***~

“Oh, Jesus H. Christ! He has Eric B. and Rakim playing,” Jagger mumbled then sighed as he reached for Saint’s office’s doorknob. He knew what that meant, Saint was gearing to tear into someone’s ass, and he was certain that ass belonged to
him.
It was after seven at night; most of the Knights had already gone home for the evening. He opened the door without knocking but was soon coughing and rubbing his throat. HAZE. BURN. HELL. FIRE.

H
e was certain his ears would rupture and bleed as they were accosted by heavy base from two large black speakers in each corner of the room, vibrating and pulsating like veins about to burst. The huge rectangular gorillas screamed and beat their chests with heavy woofer fists. Subwoofers…in a damn office. As if he stood in the center of demon driven flames shot right out the Devil’s ass, incense smoke swarmed upward, belly dancing past him—threatening to suffocate any who dared to enter. He felt as if he’d walked right into a midnight concert in the heart of the city. Waving his hand to and fro, he cut through the haze and pushed through it to find the desk with the wooden tits behind which Saint sat smoking a cigar and looking down at his computer, a snarl on his face.

“You sent me a shitty email demanding to see me.” Jagger grinned, placing both of his palms on the desk. He didn’t want to sit down, drag this shit out. Saint had a wild hair up his ass, nothing was new, but he was gunning for him so it was time for the bullshit and games to commence.

Saint slowly lifted his head, a taunting smirk on his face. Without saying a word, he pointed casually to the seat in front of him, motioning for Jagger to sit down. He grunted and did as requested, but didn’t sit back and relax—he wanted to look eager to leave because he was. As if on a dime, the smoke suddenly dissipated, the music lowered to barely a roar and Saint placed his cigar down in the glass ashtray next to his computer.

“You got my nerves bad, man.” Saint looked at him, his eyes turning jade green,
like two jewels fit for a new necklace for his Queen. What an usual shade, and how they glowed so…

“Got me chasin’ your ass all over town. Callin’ you, texting you, even stopped by your house.”

“You’re blocked. I can’t get a read on you.”

“I know…but you knew I wanted you, and you knew it was a conversation you weren’t going to enjoy or you wouldn’t have done this.”

“Done what?”

“Don’t fuck with me tonight, Jagger. You know damn well what I’m talking about.
”

“If I knew what the hell you were talking about
, Saint, I wouldn’t be asking you.”

“Bullshit.
Running from me, trying to read me to see what the fuck I wanted instead of just asking. You know better than that shit. Now, without further ado,” Saint leaned forward and ran a hand over his slightly too long black hair, exposing his widow’s peak, “tell me why in the hell Traci doesn’t know what you are?”