The Last Sunday (20 page)

Gideon stepped aggressively toward the man and placed his hand in his jacket pocket, hoping the gesture would cause the man to pause. But it did not. The man quickly pulled Gideon's hand from his pocket and raised his clenched fist toward Gideon's face. At that instant a car drove past and flashed headlights directly into Gideon's face. For the first time the man could see who he was talking to, and froze mid-swing.

“Oh, fuck,” the man said. “You dat nigga from the news. Gideon . . . Gideon Truman.”

“That's right, and I'm also her uncle,” Gideon said without thinking. “And I'm taking her home to her mother. If you know what's good for you, you'll step aside.” With that last line, Gideon placed his hand back in his pocket.

The man took two steps back and raised his open palms in the air. “No problem, brotha. I was just going to take your niece to her house. She was partying pretty hard, and as you can see, she's in no condition to drive. I was just looking out for her.”

“Good lookin' out . . . brotha,” Gideon said snidely, “but I can take over from here.”

“That's cool, man,” the man said, taking another step back. “Just wanted to make sure she got home safe. That's all. No harm, no foul.” He looked at Jasmine and said, “You got my digits, shorty. Call me.” Within seconds he climbed in his car and disappeared into the night.

Gideon put his arm around Jasmine and slowly walked her back to his car. Every step was labored as her head bobbed from side to side and was accompanied by garbled words that Gideon could not understand.

When he finally had her resting securely in his passenger seat, he said, “Okay, little girl, let's get you to your mother. She can send someone to pick up your car tomorrow.”

“I don't want to go home,” Jasmine told him, slurring. “I can't let her see me like this.”

“I'm sure it won't be the first time. You'll be fine.”

“No!” she blurted. “No . . . I can't go home.”

“Okay,” Gideon said reluctantly. “Do you have a friend I can take you to?”

“No,” she replied. “Take me back to the club. I can stay there until . . .” As Jasmine laid her head on the headrest, her words trailed off and she slowly drifted into sleep.

“Jasmine,” Gideon said, jostling her arm. “Jasmine, wake up.”

She did not respond. Gideon scanned the street, which was now empty of revelers. It would be hours before the morning light would begin to push the night aside. Gideon wondered what he had gotten himself into as he looked at the sleeping girl in his passenger seat.

I can't just sit here,
he thought as his own signs of fatigue began to surface. Gideon started the car, and quickly made a U-turn onto Sunset Boulevard and was heading toward his home in Hollywood Hills with his notorious and intoxicated passenger.

Gideon stopped the car in front of his home. Danny was inside, surely asleep. Jasmine was in the car.
Oh God,
he thought.
Danny is going to be angry with me for bringing her here. I hope he understands I had no choice.

Gideon guided the listless jumble of flesh up the stairs and to his front door. The door swung open before he could place the key into the lock, and Danny was standing in the threshold.

“Gideon,” Danny said, “where have you been? I've been calling your cell all night. I've been worried sick. I thought something had happened to you. Are you all right?”

“I'm fine. Help me get her to the sofa.”

“Who is this?” Danny asked, reaching under Jasmine's dangling arm. “She's drunk.”

“Just help me get her in. I'll tell you everything in a minute.”

Gideon and Danny gently deposited the bundle on the couch and stood simultaneously as they caught their breath,

“Who is this? Where have you been? Are you all right?” Danny quizzed.

“I'm fine,” Gideon said, retrieving a throw blanket from the hall closet and placing it over Jasmine. “Danny, you're not going to be pleased, but this is Jasmine Cleaveland. Hezekiah's daughter.”

“What!” Danny blurted.

“I'm sorry. I didn't know where else to take her.”

“You should have taken her to her mother. She created this mess. Let her deal with it.”

“She didn't want to go home. She didn't want Samantha to see her like this.”

“That's not your problem. It's their problem.”

“I know. I just felt sorry for her.”

“Is this what you do? Bring stray cats home?”

“What are you talking about?”

“You brought me here. Now her. She's a mess,” Danny said, looking down at a sleeping Jasmine. “It's no wonder, with a mother like that.”

“I know it's very sad.”

“What are you going to do with her?”

“I don't know,” Gideon said, taking Danny's hand. “I guess we'll let her sleep it off. I would like to try to talk to her about her father when she wakes up. Would that be uncomfortable for you?”

“Yes, it would be very uncomfortable.”

“You don't have to meet her when she wakes up, but it might be good for you.”

“And what purpose would that serve?” Danny asked skeptically.

“You both loved Hezekiah,” Gideon said, squeezing his hand tighter. “It might help you to talk to someone who misses him as much, if not more than you do. It could be good for you to speak with someone who understood him like no one else in the world.”

“Are you crazy?” Danny said. “I was her father's lover. She would freak out if she knew her father was gay.”

“Maybe, maybe not. She might also find comfort in meeting someone who loved her father as much as she did. I'm sure she knows her mother didn't love him.”

“Look, it's almost three o'clock,” Danny said. “You must be exhausted. Let's get some sleep, and I'll decide later if I tell her who I am. I don't want to think about it right now. I'm just glad you're okay.”

“I'm sorry I didn't call you,” Gideon said, pulling Danny to his side. “I guess I'm not used to having someone at home worrying about me.” Gideon pressed his lips against Danny's and added, “I think I really like it. Come on. Let's get some sleep before she wakes up.”

Jasmine twisted fitfully on the couch in Gideon's living room. Her laced Giuseppe Zanotti sandals with six-inch heels rested on the cushions as she squirmed to find the most comfortable position in which to sleep off a night's worth of crystal meth and Cristal champagne. It was now just after three thirty in the morning, and the house was quiet except for the occasional muted blare of a siren reverberating off the canyon walls below.

Gideon fell into a deep sleep before his head fully rested on the pillow in his bedroom. Even the thought of Samantha Cleaveland's daughter sleeping in the other room was not enough to keep him awake. He had been too tired to remove his clothes after getting Jasmine settled in and kissing Danny good night at his bedroom door. He lay fully clothed on top of the comforter with his Gucci loafers still snugly on his feet.

Danny was already in his boxer shorts when Gideon and Jasmine arrived. He was now lying wide awake in bed in the guest room down the hall. Parker was curled in a furry ball at his feet, most likely dreaming of the rat in the hillside brush that got away earlier that day.

Danny sighed as he thought of Hezekiah's daughter sleeping in another part of the house. What would he say to her when she woke? Would he tell her about his relationship with her father? Would she fly into a rage and curse him if she knew of the affair? His instincts begged him to keep silent about his time with her father.
What good would it do to tell her? She would be devastated to learn her father was a homosexual,
he thought while staring at the ceiling.
The first person she'll tell is Samantha, which will make her even more desperate than she already is.

His desire to share his love for her father battled his instincts.
She loved him, and I loved him too. We have something so beautiful in common,
he thought. He wanted desperately to speak to someone who understood how easy it was to fall in love with Hezekiah. He wanted to share some of the love they had created together. By doing so, he would somehow immortalize his feelings and elevate them beyond the fading memory he feared they would soon become.

Danny looked at the neon clock on the nightstand. It was 3:37. The city was asleep, and night had enveloped the house like a black cloak draped over a birdcage. He knew sleep would not come and resigned himself to spending the next few hours tossing and obsessing over the young woman in the other room.

What sounded like glass breaking somewhere in the house caused Danny to bolt upright in the bed. His eyes darted to the door, and his ears strained to hear whatever was next to come. The sound was followed by dead silence. He thought it must have been his imagination, and lay back down on the pillow.

“Get a grip on yourself. There's nothing out there,” he said out loud. “She's not crazy enough to send someone to kill me here in Gideon's house. Or is she?”

He knew all too well the answer to that question, and it caused his heart to flutter.
She's crazy enough, and by now desperate enough, to do anything to get rid of me,
he thought.

Moments passed, and the house slowly drifted back into the night's abyss. The glowing green numbers on the clock served as a painful reminder that the night would soon come to an end and he would come face-to-face with his lover's troubled daughter. The question of whether to confess or not to confess again volleyed back and forth in his mind.
Don't be a fool,
he thought.
Why would she want to share anything with me? She's just an angry, troubled kid who lost her father and hates her mother. Why complicate her life any more?

The numbers continued to tick, moving him closer to the inevitable.
She might find some comfort in knowing her father was loved by someone when he died. She must have known how much her mother hated him.

As his mind whirled, Danny heard the distinct sound of a footstep on the hardwood floor in the hall outside his bedroom door. Again, he sat up in the bed. He looked at the door handle and saw it was unlocked. There had never been a need to lock the door. He had welcomed the times when Gideon had slipped quietly into the room and had curled up next to him in bed. It never felt intrusive and was always preceded by Gideon saying, “I was lonely in my room by myself. May I sleep in here with you tonight?” And his answer was always, “Yes, I was feeling a little lonely too.”

He prayed it was Gideon this time too. But as the steps slowly passed his door, he knew it wasn't him. The steps were deliberate, as if the person was trying hard not to be heard. That person was walking in the direction of the master suite at the end of the hall. Danny did not move. His breath caught in his chest and refused to exit his body. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears as blood pulsed through his body.

Again, there was silence in the house.
Maybe it's Jasmine,
he thought with eyes focused keenly on the door.
But why would she be walking toward Gideon's room?

His gut told him that it wasn't Jasmine and that something was terribly wrong in the house. Danny slowly hung his legs off the side of the bed and waited for another sound, but there was none. Seconds passed, and then he slowly made his way to the door and pressed his ear against the wood. Still there was no sound. Danny turned the handle and opened the door just enough to look out. His pounded double time in his chest. There was no one there. He stepped into the dark hallway and looked in both directions before lightly walking toward Gideon's bedroom.

When he turned the corner leading toward the master bedroom, he saw Gideon's door was open, which was nothing unusual for a man who lived alone. The door was always open. Danny walked slowly to the door and looked into the room. The view of Gideon's bed was almost completely blocked by a man wearing a black leather jacket and black pants. His arms were raised directly in front of him, and he was looking at Gideon's sleeping body on the bed.

Without thinking, Danny lunged forward and in a flash had his arms around the man's neck.

“Gideon!” Danny yelled. “Wake up!”

As he gripped the man's neck with his forearms and forced his body forward, Danny heard a gunshot. The large man and Danny landed on Gideon, the full weight of both their bodies bearing down on him.

“What the . . .” were the first words out of Gideon's mouth when he awoke and realized there were two men wrestling on top of him.

“Gideon, he's got a gun!” Danny yelled as the man hit him full force on the jaw with a fist that felt like a sledgehammer.

Gideon wiggled out from beneath the two of them and forcefully pulled the black-clad intruder away from Danny. Both Gideon and the intruder landed with a thud on the dresser, sending a lamp, framed photographs of Gideon, and a crystal vase crashing to the floor. The nightstand was kicked over by Gideon's feet, causing another lamp and the clock radio to crash against the wall and tumble to the carpet. Books from shelves, a Bose sound system, and racks of CDs came cascading down on them as they thrashed, punched, and kicked.

Danny immediately regrouped and dashed toward the two of them, who were now wrestling violently on the carpet. Danny could see the man was still clutching the gun, and he took a flying leap at him.

“Watch out, Gideon!” Danny yelled in midair. “He's still got a gun.”

When Danny landed on Gideon and the man, he heard a second gunshot. The sound echoed in his head and caused him to flash back to the night in Griffith Park when Samantha tried to have him killed. The muscular contours of the intruder's body and the smell of his musky cologne made Danny suddenly realize that the man lying motionless under him was the same dark figure he had wrestled with on that fateful night in the parking lot.

The three lay still. Danny could feel someone's chest beneath him rise and fall, but he couldn't tell who it belonged to. When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself looking over the shoulder of the black-clad man and into Gideon's panting face.

“Take the gun from his hand, Danny,” Gideon said softly, as if not to wake the sleeping man lying on top of him.

Danny rolled off the two, who were stacked like dominos, and quickly snatch the gun from between their bodies. He tossed it across the room, to the opposite side of the bed, as if it were burning the palm of his hand.

“Get him off me, Danny,” Gideon gasped. “I can't breathe.”

With one full-body tug Danny pulled the intruder off Gideon and onto his back in the midst of jumbled CDs, books, and shattered bric-a-brac.

Gideon struggled to Danny's side and let out a series of desperate coughs and gasps. “Are you all right, Danny?” he asked through frantic breaths.

Gideon's shirt was covered in blood. Danny rushed to him and said, “You've been shot! Oh God, he shot you!”

“No, I'm okay,” Gideon said, pulling Danny to his heaving chest. “He shot himself. I think he's dead.”

When he said the words, a bloodcurdling scream filled the room.

Jasmine was standing in the doorway, hysterical. She covered her mouth with trembling hands and screamed again and again.

Gideon and Danny immediately scrambled to their feet and darted toward the screaming girl. Gideon tripped over the man's body as he dashed toward Jasmine.

“Stay away from me!” she screamed and ran into the dark hallway. Gideon and Danny followed closely behind as she ran frantically through the living room and into the foyer to the front door.

“Jasmine, wait!” Gideon called out behind her. “Honey, please everything is all right. You're safe.”

“Stay the fuck away from me!” she said, frantically groping for the front door handle. “I'm going to call the police.”

Danny dashed into foyer just behind Gideon, and they each grabbed her thrashing shoulders and tried to hold her steady.

“Jasmine, you are safe,” Danny said, holding her close. “Everything is all right now. Calm down. We have to call the police.”

Jasmine was hysterical as she tried desperately to break free from the two men preventing her from leaving the strange house. “Let me go!” she demanded. “Who the fuck are you? Let me go!”

“Jasmine,” Danny said, forcefully shaking her shoulders. “Listen to me, Jasmine. My name is Danny St. John. I was a very close friend of your father. Trust me. You are safe with me.”

 

 

Morning had come much too soon for Hattie Williams. She could feel the sun rising over the horizon long before it made its presence known with the first ray of light. Sleep had not come easily to her since Hezekiah's death. In the odd moments when she was able to doze off, her dreams were filled to overflowing with images of the downfall of her beloved pastor.

She had become almost afraid to close her eyes for fear of what was to be revealed. Hattie didn't believe in ghosts, but she imagined this would be what it felt like to be haunted. She did, however, believe in her gift. She knew God wasn't simply trying to entertain her with the flood of images. “What do you want me to do, Lord?” she prayed each time she saw a vision of Hezekiah. “Please, Lord, tell me what it is you want me to do.”

It was past 4:00 a.m., and Hattie had long since given up on the idea of sleep. The coffee was already brewing on the stove. Brown bubbles leapt up into the glass dome at the top of 1950s percolator, vying to become her morning's first sip of coffee. She could see the hints of day through the kitchen window.

Hattie busied herself with the morning rituals she had performed most of her adult life. She knew the key to living a long, happy life was to stay busy and stick to a schedule of activities planned for the week. Laundry was always done on Monday mornings. Monday was also occupied with roasting a chicken, or some other favorite meat, that would last the week. Tuesday mornings were for cleaning the already clean house, and Tuesday afternoons were reserved for signing checks at the church. Wednesday was Bible study with other seniors at church and polishing all the wood in the house with lemon wax. Thursday was the market. Friday was another Bible study at church. Saturdays were reserved for all the gardening that she was too busy to tend to during the week, and Sunday . . . The entire day on Sunday was dedicated to New Testament Cathedral. This was a routine that had begun years earlier, on the day after her husband was lowered into the ground, and it had kept her healthy and happy and her mind sharp.

Hattie was disappointed that she had had so little sleep the night before, but she was also grateful that she had not been subjected to another vision. Until she could understand what God was trying to tell her, she knew these visions would continue. Peace would come in the exact moment when she finally understood His divine plan. It always had, and once she knew her duties, she would act on them swiftly and decisively. There was no questioning and no doubt. If God wanted her to do something, both He and she knew it would be done. That was why He had made her Hattie Williams.

Hattie's fuzzy house slippers flapped against the linoleum as she puttered around the kitchen. The tea towels had been hung in their place, on hooks over the sink. The remnants of the dishes from the evening meal had been washed and placed in their exact spots on the shelves and in the drawers and cupboards. A bulging grapefruit had already been halved, placed squarely in the center of a saucer, and positioned in front of her seat at the dinette table. Every item in the kitchen had its place, and Hattie would not sit until each was where it should be.

The coffee finished brewing, and she poured it into her cup. Black, no cream and no sugar. Hattie settled into her seat and reached behind her to turn on the radio. The familiar crackling voice of her favorite radio preacher filled the room.