Ghost Writer (Raven Maxim Book 1) (54 page)

I sat outside in the foyer of the church listening to the minister speak so kindly of you. He was the same minister that, from my understanding, almost refused to allow you to have your services at the church you attended regularly, all because you’d had a child out of wedlock. My child.

There was no shame in what you did and felt, or at least, there shouldn’t have been. The shame should have been placed on me, and me alone. Your mother, father, and sister sat in the front pew, and your sister saw me, but said nothing. I could not look her in the eye for very long. She looks too much like you, and I am deeply regretful. She knows our secret, and is keeping her word to you to not tell anyone about us, but I can see in her eyes that she hates me, and I cannot blame her. I am the cause of her losing her only sibling and newborn nephew.

Our son’s casket lies right beside your own, small and white, shiny with real gold trim. His tiny body exposed, covered in red roses, and some petals scattered about him. He looked so peaceful, embodying both of our characteristics. It’s rather fitting that I should use that word, for the word character is a big part of this. Character… I have none. How must you have felt once you realized you’d mistakenly fallen in love with an arrogant fool?

I spoke to my attorney the day of your passing and he advised me to not mention my relationship with you to friends or family. I left the hospital and was prepared to defy his suggestion, but he was waiting there along with my manager, declaring it would be pointless at this juncture. They crowded around me, pushed me into the car, and took me some place I’d never seen before. It was dark, and they were stern, forcing me to listen to them, not caring about my grief. They told me it would not only ruin my career – news of a deceased Negro woman I’d planned to marry and our child hitting the press would be disastrous for me, but it would also ruin those who were associated with me, as well. I didn’t wish for anyone else to endure more anguish. I believed I’d caused enough.

In my misery, however, I wasn’t fully coherent. I was swayed, but I know deep inside, they were correct, despite their selfish motivations. It would serve no purpose for me to tell the world of our relationship, our love affair, because you aren’t alive to reap the well-deserved benefits. You cannot legally have my last name in this country. You cannot receive my assets and all of the things a dutiful wife is entitled to.

This is why I wished to take you away to Europe. That is why, when I proposed to you and you accepted, I was making arrangements for your flight out of the country. But you grew tired of me, waiting indefinitely for me to do what was right. I must’ve broken your heart a thousand times, Sadie. I’m so sorry. When you discovered you were pregnant, I asked you to consider taking the engagement ring back and allowing us to try again. You agreed to it, but once again, I did not keep my promise. I placed the wedding band and engagement ring in my bedroom closet, hoping that despite it all, one day I’d be able to present it to you for yet a third time. But you no longer trusted me. My word was no good then…so what good would my words be now?

The way things were, and as they stand, it would be like watering dead flowers. It would help no one because I’m far too late. I took advantage of time, and time dealt me a hand I couldn’t play. As someone who demanded the ability to influence time, I’ve come to the realization that I have little to no control over the destiny of others. I cannot write an existence on paper and make it come to life. Believe me, I’ve tried. I am no magician, though I did try to play God. I now sit in my office after having reflected and mustered the strength to think about my actions, and deliberate over a fitting final decision. I’ve made my choice, and now, it is time. I refuse to speak to anyone anymore. I spoke through my books, the many movies and accolades, and now, I must render myself silent.

I do not want anyone attempting to influence me, or talk me out of my decision. I allowed the people closest me to do that my entire career, and it left me with nothing but loneliness, bitterness, self-hatred and unhappiness. I can blame no one but myself for this situation. However, had I not allowed this to happen, I would have never accepted to be talked out of being with you publicly in the first place. I have never loved anyone as I loved you. As I still love you. In those moments we had together, it was the most powerful and at the same time the weakest I’ve ever felt. I never planned to keep you a secret, Sadie.

Once I realized I was in love with you, I immediately told my manager, Frederick Jasling, who is also my best friend, that I’d fallen in love. I told him the details, and he knew who you were. Of course he did. He was the only person aware of the fact that you and I were living together under the guise of you being my caretaker after the car accident. He’d urged me to never tell a soul about this after I refused to stop seeing you. He’d even assured me that he believed you were a lovely person, but if I went against his advice, my career would never be the same. He stated we could continue as we were, living together, keeping our relationship secret. You no longer wanted that; nor did I – but only you had the strength and courage to break free. I did not.

I believe Frederick was simply trying to help me, but all it did was hurt us by giving me an easy way out.

I was too late, too prideful, too everything. It proved easier to give in to his suggestions than walk out with the truth, and face the music. Music… oh how I miss dancing with you, my dear. I play music as I sit here going through the final stage of my suicide. I shall play music as the days go by, until I can’t play it anymore – all of our favorite songs and the ones I believe you’d like. I wish to torture myself with your memories. I must face time, look existence in the eye. I must suffer, the way you suffered, the way our baby Joseph suffered, the way your heart broke at my lack of sympathy and understanding. Some will think I’ve gone mad, but I’ve never thought so clearly in all my life.

I kept you behind me, in the darkness, while I basked in the light, sacrificing you with little to no regard. I must feel immense pain, when all you did was heal and cure me. I must undergo a surgery that no doctor can perform – it is of a spiritual kind.

I cannot have you here on Earth anymore, so I will have you in Heaven, but first, I must go to Hell to prove to God that I am truly repentant for my sins. I once loved this house, but now I hate it. Therefore, it shall be my tomb. It represents my lust for fame, not for love. I prefer the latter.

I will chase you until you forgive me, Sadie. I will burn until you forgive me. I will suffer until you forgive me. If you grant me your forgiveness, and I get to kiss you in the afterlife, I shall find a way to give you another white rose, and we will get married, just as we’d planned. In the interim, please tell our son that I’m sorry. There’s no doubt he is with you. I’m not certain he heard me as I held his small body up to my chest in the hospital. He kept warm for so long after passing, and I imagined him soon breathing again, but he never did. You died without me. You faced it alone with only your sister by your side. I was in California, signing autographs, while the love of my life took her last breath.

You both died during childbirth, so I must die as well, in my own way. How can I ever forgive myself for this? No, our child did not die by my own hands, but indirectly, I might as well have plunged a knife into his heart. Had I married you when I was supposed to, you would have received better health care. Had I been by your side, the doctors and nurses would not have treated you like some woman of ill repute. They would have respected my wishes and done everything in their power to ensure you pulled through. But all they saw was a poor, pregnant Black woman, unwed and giving birth. You meant nothing to them, despite being a nurse yourself.

I’m not certain of anything anymore, Sadie, except for the fact that I love you so very much, and my actions must match the words. When we come into the world, we rely on our parents to take care of us, to nurture and nourish us. While a baby lies inside the womb, a mother feeds it from her very own sustenance. You were a mother because of me, and I must now become a child and start over. I will no longer receive nourishment, Sadie. I’m cut off. You were forsaken, so I must become forsaken by my own hands. A motherless child, begging for Satan to let me go, and for God to let me be with my family in the afterlife.

So here I come, my beautiful Sadie and my innocent, precious baby boy, my one and only son, Joseph.

I will suffer until we meet again.

I leave white roses in your honor.

And the day I become your husband, when you accept me back, I will sprinkle the petals down from Heaven.

Love,

Peter

Sloan snatched a tissue off his desk and coughed into the thing. He pressed his eyes closed as his eyes welled with tears. A ball of emotion caught him in the throat, the pain that dripped all over the words seeping into him, feeling fresh to the touch, as if the deceased man had just written them mere moments earlier.

“Jesus Christ.” His voice trembled.

Never in his life had he read something so disturbingly beautiful, pitiful, and horrible all at once. He dared himself to look over at Emerald, who didn’t seem to be in much better condition than himself. Titus and his own son had been right, and so had everyone else who’d proclaimed the house to be filled with icy, paralyzing sorrow, a shell with no heartbeat, while in some instances it turned to an oven, piping hot with misery and loathing. Peter had waited until someone he felt he could trust entered the dwelling, and he’d kept them close, gaining their confidence through a series of tests. Little by little, the paranoid spirit revealed his secrets. The room temperature rose all of a sudden, the all too familiar coldness they’d learned to tolerate like a second skin dissipating.

“Do you feel that?” He looked around and up, as if waiting to see a glimpse of Heaven. The space wrapped them in a burst of balminess from an unknown source, as if a heating pilot had been lit and surrounded them with womb-like comfort.

“Yes…” Her expression turned to amazement. “It feels… it feels like something has lifted.” She stretched out her arms, as if waiting to catch a falling bouquet. “Like nothing but pure goodness is here.” After a moment, she added, “What are you going to do, Sloan? You have hardcore proof now of what happened, not just what Titus and your research told you. Now Peter is saying, ‘Yes, this is what happened.’” Emerald eyes grew glossy with a pinkish hue.

“I’m already one step ahead of you.” Sloan grabbed his phone from his desk and dialed, putting it on speaker.

“Hey, Sloan, I’ve read half the book thus far and it’s excellent.”

“Hi, Deloris, thanks… Look, I’m not gonna keep ya. This is just a head’s up.”

“A head’s up? Oh no.” She sighed. “Dennis the Menace, what have you done
now
?”

Sloan laughed lightly. “I’m going to call the publishing house and have them wait a second. I want to add a few photos to the book that I discovered here at the house, and another few pages at the end of the book that I think are important. My research has just been validated, and I want to state it as such with concrete proof.”

“Oh.” She sighed with relief. “That should be okay. What brought this on?”

“Well, when you read it all the way to the end, receive my added material and see these pictures, you will completely understand. My mind is completely blown.” He took a deep breath and continued, “This is no hodge-podge biographical romance. I’ve got hardcore evidence now of my claims, Deloris. I believe Peter Jones will finally be at peace. He knows his story is going to be told just how he wants it be. He’s been waiting a very long time for this moment, and now, the time has come at last…”

Forever Children of the Damned

T
he first hard
thaw that reveals the prepubescent blooms is like an awakening to birth, sex, and soul…

Spring had snuck in with her frilly tulle gown in shades of pink and purple, glowing like lightning bugs in the midnight sky while sporting a cherry blossom tiara. She smelled like an American bakery populated by old ladies doused in expensive perfume, and offered its tears of afternoon rain to wash away months of seasonal depression.

Hand in hand, Emerald and Sloan walked the Maxim downtown district streets, both clad in oversized navy blue hoodies and jeans. Her 50
^th
birthday had arrived, and he had some things planned for later in the day that he refused to tell her about. Her excitement couldn’t be squelched even if she tried. Life had become anything but predictable, and those sudden surprises had blessed them in so many ways.

They’d finally set a date for their nuptials, decided on a honeymoon destination—Turks and Caicos—and Sloan’s engagement to her had been covered by all the tabloids. For the first time in her life, she couldn’t even go to a gas station and be left in peace. She had no idea why it had never occurred to her that this was a big deal, being the main squeeze of a celebrity. To her, he was just Sloan, and he was magic to her—not because of his talents as a writer, but he was her ideal of a best friend in a lovely, manly package.