Grown(57)

“I’ll . . . relay the message.”

Click.

There are steps you need to take to buy back your life: First, you need to run away from home.

Next, you need to spend the little money you have on a cab from Metro-North station to the Upper West Side.

Next, you have to meet the devil at his penthouse, right above his studio.

Then, you have to brace your body for what’s to come.

The place is just like his home in Atlanta, the cream foam on top of black coffee. I’m dressed in his favorite: tank top, jeans, Melissa on my head. Maybe seeing me this way will soften him. I’ll be on my knees begging for my life soon. The thought makes me gag.

“Made you your favorite,” he says, dancing the Styrofoam cup in his hand toward me.

The sweet scent of purple drink makes my throat scorch, like I’ve never been so thirsty in my entire life. Without hesitating, I clasp my hands around the cup, needing the liquid courage.

One sip. Then another. It’s . . . stronger than I remember. On the giant TV, a video game is set on pause.

“Baby, I’m so happy you’re here. You look beautiful. Let me give you a tour.”

The tour was short. A quick walk from his living room to his massive bedroom. Cream from head to toe. Dim mood lighting. Another TV set to Netflix. On the dresser is Flounder.

“You still have it,” I say, surprised.

“Well . . . yeah. That was one of the best days of my life.”

I look up at him, feeling my heart soften, willing it not to.

“So, what do you want to watch?” he asks, plopping onto the bed. “Swiss Family Robinson? Mighty Ducks? How about Pocahontas?”

I sip again. “Can I . . . ask you a question?”

“Anything.”

“You’ve heard me talk about Gab, right?”

He smiles. “Yeah. You said she’s the exact opposite of you.”

See, everyone? I’m not crazy. I swallow the cry building in the back of my throat but with another sip and the sight of his bed . . . knowing what I have to do, the tears bubble up.

Korey swoops in, gathering me in his arms.

“If you would’ve just listened,” he coos into Melissa, caressing her.

A fish hook pierces my back and I reel away from him. He sways on his feet. Don’t think I’ve seen him this drunk this fast before. But I also can’t see too good.

“Crazy how all that happened, right?” he chuckles. “You’ve seen the tape? Here, let’s watch it together.”

He presses play on the big flat-screen. The video is clearer than the ones I’ve seen on blogs. It’s the original. I move closer, cocking my head to the side.

Without the distortion, it’s clearly not me. But it’s someone . . . familiar.

I stare at him, revolted by his sleazy grin.

“You’re sick,” I slur out sleepily, the room growing fuzzy.

Korey is on top of me, hands everywhere.

“Leave me alone.”

“Shhhh . . . just relax.”

“Nooo,” I moan, my arms heavy.

“I’m still making them mortgage payments,” he whispers . . . from somewhere. “I’m still paying for school. You want Shea to go to a good school, right?”

Her name in his mouth makes my stomach curl.

“Get away from me,” I shout, pushing him. Or I thought I shouted. Because next thing I know, my cup drops. My shirt is wet. He strikes me, then again, and the carpet nuzzles to my face before the room goes dark.





Part Four





Chapter 73


Beet Juice 5


NOW



“We have to get her to a hospital. . . . That can wait. She’s scared. Hang on, now! You don’t have to be so rough!”

The cuffs are cold. That’s what I notice first. Sharp shards of ice pinching around my wrist. Hands patting down my jean pockets. The taste of drywall I’m pressed into.

“You don’t have to be so rough! She’s just a baby! You don’t have to do her like that!”

I’m vaguely aware of Daddy begging nearby. All I can focus on is my bare feet, now in flip-flops. Flip-flops that are not mine. Are they Korey’s wife’s? Forgot about her.

Someone shouts, “Multiple stab wounds.”

I had a feeling. Only that much blood can paint a room red.

Transcript with LaToya Jones–May 21

Detective Arnold: Detective Arnold. Homicide. Please, sit.

LaToya Jones: When can I see my daughter?

Arnold: You realize your daughter was the only one found at the scene of the crime?

L. Jones: She said she didn’t do it. You saw her eyes when they brought her in here? She was clearly drugged. Something happened.

Arnold: Where were you last night?

L. Jones: Are you serious? I was at work!

Arnold: Is there a record of your shift?

L. Jones: I didn’t clock in. The moment I arrived, victims were coming in from a five-alarm fire.

Arnold: So did anyone see you?

L. Jones: Of course, the other nurses on duty.

Arnold: Your friends.

L. Jones: My colleagues.

Arnold: Are these your text messages?

L. Jones: [long pause] Yes.

Arnold: For the record, Mrs. Jones is looking at copies of text messages sent to Mr. Korey Fields. Quote: “If you don’t give me back my daughter, I’m going to put a bullet in your ass.” Unquote. These text messages are pretty extreme.