Second Thoughts (9 page)

“I’m talking about Devaan.”

Dexter walked over to the server’s tray and poured a glass of water. After he drank, he spoke.

“She met with Trevor and he told her everything─at least what he knew.”

“She hasn’t said anything to me. How the fuck did that happen?” I asked, almost yelling.

“I guess you can say Trevor outsmarted you both. The world you were trying to keep apart came
to one head-on collision, and at the center of it all is you.”

“So now you think she got me all figured out?”

“What I think doesn’t matter. What you do with what I’ve said does, and is entirely up to you.” Dexter started towards the door, but before leaving, he did have one last thing to say. “You know, it wouldn’t hurt to tell her the truth.”

“Dexter, if telling the truth was that easy for me, I would have done it with you and Jacoby.” I spoke without looking in his direction. 

“I love Devaan, that’s the truth.”

“Right!” I couldn’t tell if he agreed or questioned my confession. “You have a past, Patrick, and just in case it comes back to haunt you, she needs to know what that past is. And it doesn’t matter that Trevor has already told her. She needs to hear it from you.”

“You sound like you know what she’s up to.”

“I’ve told you what I know, and I’ve told you what you should do. Whether or not you listen, is entirely up to you. Call me before you leave D.C.”

After Dexter left, I poured a small glass of whiskey on the rocks, sat on the couch, and pondered. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the fact that Devaan had held on to what she knew for this long. I hadn’t noticed any change in her behavior, but that could be because I was too busy with Chance and his shenanigans, my father’s impending release from prison, my trips to Atlanta to consult with Dr. Kendrick, and my clients. I realized too much was happening in my life, and no one thing was getting the focus it deserved.

When Devaan stopped coming to me, when
she stopped talking about her brother Jackson and his relationship with Trevor, I figured our fear-tactic had worked. I thought Bran─or Devaan─had driven that wedge I needed her to drive between Dexter and Trevor. I had no idea the two─Devaan and Trevor─h
ad joined forces. Trevor didn’t know much, and most of what he knew Dexter told him. Now I had to figure out what Devaan was planning to do with what she knew. Most importantly, I needed to find out what else she knew, and who else she had helping her. Since Dexter, it’s only been Devaan. Now I needed a way to make her believe she’s the only one without her believing any of what she has been or is being told about me.

Chapter
9

Colleen…

You Have Some Nerve

Who the hell is ringing my doorbell and banging
on
my door, as if they had lost their damn
mind,
I thought. I hurried down the stairs, half asleep, wrapping my robe around my naked body. Yes, I was old and still slept in the nude─don’t judge me. I worked hard Monday through Friday so I could sleep in m
y bed on the weekend, and this extended weekend would be no different. I would only wake early if Patrick was stopping over before flying out to meet a client, or if Chance had a mid-afternoon basketball game, but it wasn’t basketball season, and the way things were going with these negotiations, I doubt there’s even going to be one. I was looking forward to a Monday morning when I wasn’t racing from bedroom to bathroom, and then the kitchen because I had overslept or had snoozed my alarm one time too many.

“This better be some important shit,” I yelled halfway to the door.

“We certainly hope you think it is,” a response came from the other side of the door as I got closer.

Unable to see the image though the frosted glass panes, I yanked the door open.

“Who the hell?” I said.

They stood before me, their faces dressed in seriousness.

“I’m Officer Tristan Hollins,” the taller of the two men declared. “This is Officer Evan Perkins. You’ve been served, ma’am,” Officer Hollins continued, handing me a folded piece of paper.

I stood and looked at both from head to toe, sizing them up. I didn’t trust cops, and those two looked crooked. Officer Hollins was dressed in a black solid suit made slim to fit his slender figure.

I studied Officer Hollins’ face before I spoke.

“Jasmine Coren Amherst?” I questioned, after unfolding the document. “You have the wrong person.”

I quickly folded the paper and handed it back to him. I looked them both squarely in the eyes.

“Textbook,” Officer Hollins said. He looked at Officer Perkins and smiled.

“We didn’t expect you to say anything else. Fortunately for us, we came prepared for such a response,” Officer Perkins responded.

He wasn’t that much shorter than Office Hollins, and his erect stance gave him a few more inches than he appeared to have. Unlike Officer Hollins, Officer Perkins was dressed in his police blues. He had a scar above his left eye that ran through the center of his eyebrow. It began at just about the middle of the side of his forehead and ended very close to his eye. I’ll give him the benefit of the doubt that a childhood accident had left him a permanent scarface, rather than assume a misfit had gotten the best of him.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I asked with a puzzled expression on my face.

“If you know Ms. Amherst, or her whereabouts, you make sure she gets that. Oh, and if you somehow cross paths with Jasmine Mitchigan…” Officer Hollins paused. He removed another paper from the inside of his jacket.  “You make sure she gets this, too.”

“I don’t know anyone named Jasmine, with either last name,” I professed. “I’m Colleen Parker. So, unless you have something with that name on it, you’ve already taken up enough of my time.” 

I nodded and began to close the door.

“Just a minute,” Officer Hollins said with an evil smile. “You’re in luck, Ms. Parker. It looks like we had all bases covered. Here’s one with that name on it. Apparently, all three of you have been summoned. The three of you can have a gathering and decide which one is going to show up.”

“Now, it’s supposed to be a beautiful day, Ms. Parker,” Officer Perkins added.

He smiled and looked up into the clear, majestic blue sky.

“You make sure you get out and enjoy.”

I closed the door without bidding either of them a good day. How was I supposed to think about enjoying this day when I couldn’t even clear my head long enough to wrap my mind or thoughts around which one of my schemes had caught up with me. The officers didn’t exactly look like strangers, but as hard as I tried, I couldn’t place their faces or that scar on Officer Perkins’ face in a place, time, or scheme. I was sure if I thought long enough, it would eventually come to me. I did, but nothing. I needed to clear my mind. A glass of Semillon or Riesling wasn’t going to accomplish that. A run, which I had not planned on, might bring me the clarity I needed to try and figure out what the hell was happening. I’ve tried to forget about the life that Jasmine Amherst or Jasmine Mitchigan lived. Could it be that both had made a u-turn to annihilate the life that I, Colleen Leslie Parker, was enjoying?

I walked into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and pulled a decanter filled with freshly squeezed orange juice. I poured a glass full and stood with my back leaned against my light colored Giallo Vicenza granite counter. I took a sip from the glass.
What the hell was that about? I thought I had left you two bitches behind,
I thought, cursing the names I’d claimed in the past.

“What the fuck,” I responded loudly, startled at the accusation printed in bold, black letters. “Insurance Fraud?”

I knew this shit wasn’t happening. I placed the empty glass on the counter, then folded the paper and placed it in the pocket on my robe. I needed to make a few phone calls. I left the kitchen and began walking towards the stairs. As I passed the front door, the bell rang.

I pulled the door open.

“I told you before, I don’t…” I paused, astonished by the image standing in front of me. “You’re out?”

“Good behavior,” he said, joking, but I saw nothing funny in him being here. “I thought after ten years you’d be happy to see me. I’ve waited to see that look on your face.”

He pointed directly at me.

“You’re supposed to go somewhere you’re wanted when you get out of jail. You’re not wanted or welcomed here,” I said, and attempted to close the door.

“I wouldn’t do that, if I were you.”

He had extended his hand, stopping me from closing the door all the way. I forgot how strong he was, and it was obvious he had been hitting the weights in the yard at the Dade Correctional Institution. His shoulders were larger than I remembered them to be, though I had tried to put any image of him out of my mind. His time in jail had done wonders for his golden-brown complexion. It looked brighter and smoother than I remembered. His Indian red hair was neatly cut and lay against his head. He looked more like he had just walked off the set for a magazine shoot.

“How did you find me?”

Omar Duval, the man I once loved, the flesh I now hated, stood in front of me. He had the look of revenge in his eyes. The look on my face definitely wasn’t one of happiness to see him. If you asked me now, I would be ashamed to admit I was once Ms. Colleen Duval. It’s harder to believe I was in love with this man.

“What do you think I’ve been doing with my time, twiddling my thumbs, looking at bars I couldn’t squeeze through or staring at walls I couldn’t get over?”

“What you did with your years in prison wasn’t something that kept me awake at night. It didn’t concern me one bit.”

“But, Colleen, it should.” He inched closer towards me. “Ten years is a long time to plot, and figure out a way to execute.”

He pushed the door open and invited himself in. I watched him walk past me as if my house was his home.

“You still haven’t told me how you found where I live.”

“You know I make friends everywhere I go. You’d be surprised what convicts are willing to do for a bar of soap and two cigarettes.” 

I closed the door and then stood, still staring at him.

“What do you want, Omar?”

I didn’t want an explanation. I really just wanted him out. I was expecting to see him again, but I wasn’t expecting to see him this soon. These ten years went by faster than I thought they would. Watching him being led out of the courtroom was the last time I’d seen Omar. Before then he was the man I had just separated from. Now he was the man who had raped my son, standing in my house as if I had just extended an invitation for him to sit and break bread.

“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here? Correct me if I’m wrong, but we don’t have any unfinished business.”

“Wrong.” He looked around the room. “Aren’t you going to offer me some tea or coffee? Decaf will be fine…black. I’m sure you still remember how I liked it.”

“Those gestures are reserved for guests in this house and the people who live here. You are neither.”

In his attempt to prove my statement false, he lifted the legs of his pants and sat with his legs crossed and revealed a pair of dark brown calfskin Hardin Panel lace-ups. Johnston and Murphy had always been his favorite. He sat erect, as if he were entering a business negotiation.

If I could have left one eye in the living room with Omar, I would. I was afraid to leave him sitting there by himself, but I was more worried about discussing anything with him in nothing but my robe covering my nakedness.

“Why don’t you make yourself comfortable…or not,” I said, excusing myself and making my way to the stairs.

One step after the next, I kept my eyes on him, sizing him up, wondering what the hell this man had up his sleeves. Showing up here like he did, I knew he had to be up to something, and it wouldn’t be long before he was laying his dirty cards on the table. 

“Did you give the boys my letters?!”  he yelled.

His question stopped me in my dress. I rounded the corner from the bedroom and was making my way back downstairs, pulling my t-shirt over my head and down over my chest. When I looked up, he was standing at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at me. His gaze frightened me. I continued my descent, a little slower than before, walking closer to the left rail, since he was standing to the right. When I walked past him, and was a few steps away from him, I remembered I hadn’t answered his question.

“You’ve already hurt one of my sons,” I said, walking back closer to him. “Did you really think I was going to allow you to hurt either of them again?”

Patrick’s face flashed before me, and I could see the pain in my son’s eyes as he revealed his secret he had held for years. I didn’t question him. I held him close, wishing I had been there to rescue him. After his revelation, I reached for my cell phone and dialed my lawyer friend Mya Wallace. 

“Your sons?” he laughed.

“Speaking of your sons, how are they anyway? It’s been a long time.”

“Not long enough,” I said, as if I were speaking to myself.

“What was that?”

“Give it up, Omar.”