His Third Wife
“Fuck, man! What the fuck!” Jamison’s washing became more intense. As he brought the water to his face, drops went splashing to the floor.
“You need anything?” Val knew not to touch him. Not to try to intervene between him and whatever he was in the mirror. She’d never seen Jamison like that, but she just knew to step back, keep her distance.
Jamison stopped washing and stood and looked at himself. When Emmit had walked him to the car, his arm over Jamison’s shoulder, he’d revealed Dax’s fate.
“You get home, son. You stay there,” Emmit had said.
“What about him? What’s going to happen?” Jamison had asked.
“He knows who we are. He’s not going to cooperate. We have no choice.”
“Jamison?” Val called sympathetically.
Jamison looked at his eyes. His chest. His heart beating so fast through the black hoodie. He began to fight with the hoodie, trying to get it off, cursing “fuck” the whole time.
Val came into the bathroom to try to help him, but he pushed her away and pulled the hoodie off, throwing it to the floor.
“What’s wrong, baby?” Val was crying then. “Tell me what’s wrong. What happened? Where were you?” Val was thinking there was something with Keet. He’d promised he’d be back.
Jamison was facing his nude chest in the mirror now. He was shaking uncontrollably. Spit and tears were mixing at his chin.
“I didn’t want this. None of this. I didn’t want this,” he cried to the mirror. He remembered Emmit’s face as he’d
stuffed Jamison into the car to send him home. “And I told you to stay away from the jail, didn’t I, son?” Emmit had brought up. “Told you it wouldn’t be no good. See what happens when people do what they’re not supposed to do? Keep your promises.” Emmit had closed the car door, and as he pulled his hand away, Jamison noticed the ring. The fraternity ring. Right on his pinky finger. A black fist on top of a phoenix. Their symbol in the middle. The vision burned through his brain. Screamed at him. Hollered like a drum in the middle of a desert. Everything was dead.
“Shit is crazy. He’s just a kid. A fucking kid,” Jamison contemplated with himself.
“Who, baby? Who is it?” Val pleaded. “You’re scaring me.”
“No, this isn’t happening. Can’t be happening. Not me!” Jamison turned from his face and bolted out of the bathroom to the bedroom. “It can’t be. It’s not real! No!”
“What is it?” Val asked on his heels.
Jamison got the remote control and turned the television back onto the news.
“Oh, you mean the story about you at the jail? Is that it? What’s got you so upset?” Val asked.
The light from the television poured into the dark bedroom, demanding silence.
A reporter was standing in front of Grady Memorial Hospital with tears in her eyes.
“I apologize for the tears, but this really hits us hard here at Fox Five News,” the woman said into the camera. “Reporter Dax Thomas was a rising star whose potential was without measure. His future was quite bright. But as reported at the top of the hour, tonight that light has been snuffed out. Dax was the victim of a violent home invasion. He fought for his life. He lost that battle just a few minutes ago here after being rushed to Grady Memorial Hospital.”
Jamison and Val stood in the middle of the bedroom floor watching the television.
The reporter turned to a police officer in full uniform. It was the brother Jamison had seen standing over Dax’s body, reaching for the black gloves.
“Officer Webb here is a spokesman for the Atlanta Police Department. He’s been on the scene all night. What information can you share with us about this tragic loss?”
“Well, all we can confirm now is that Dax Thomas was involved in an apparent home invasion. There are signs of a struggle in the home. Some bullet holes in the walls. We can’t confirm who was shooting just yet. But we do know Mr. Thomas died from a fatal gunshot wound to the head.”
“Any suspects?”
“No comment. We’ll be sure to inform the people of Atlanta of any progress when we can.”
“A Mother’s Love”
One man was dead. One man was dying. Inside. Inside of his house. On the couch. In the den. Lights off. Television on. For days. For nights. Two weeks passed. A mother was growing worried.