On the Other Side (9 page)

Damita's home phone rang as she turned on the television to check the weather. When she picked up the phone, all she could hear was a woman sobbing. The first person she thought of was her mother.

Her face was etched in a frown. “Mom, is that you? What is it? What's happened? You have to calm down! I can't understand you!”

“Damita, it's me, Carmella. Turn on the news.”

“I already have it on. What's wrong, Carmella? What's happening?”

“Just watch. He's dead, Damita. Brandon is dead.”

“He can't be. You're wrong. I just saw Brandon. We went running together yesterday. I ran into him in Central Park and we ran together.”

“That's where it happened; in Central Park, yesterday. You might have been the last person to see him alive.”

“What happened?”

“Do you have the news on?”

“I do, but I haven't seen anything about Brandon. How did he die?”

“He was murdered. Someone stabbed him in the back while he was in the park. They were able to get him to the hospital, but he had a punctured lung. He died a few hours later.”

Finally, Damita saw the mention of Brandon's murder:
Man stabbed to death while jogging in Central Park. So far, The NYPD has no suspects.

As much as she didn't want to admit it to herself, Damita knew who had killed Brandon. She didn't want to believe Neal could be capable of something so sinister. It was easy for a lot of men to beat a woman. It took a special kind of insanity to go around slaughtering random people.

“Damita, are you still there?”

She was so shaken by the news, Damita couldn't hear a word Carmella was saying and hung up on her while she was still talking.

She slumped to the floor and cried. It was because of her that Brandon was dead. She was sure her ribs were broken and maybe one of her fingers. She wasn't Neal's wife. She was his prisoner and his punching bag. It was no different than if she had been abducted by some nut job in an unmarked van. Now all that was left was to escape.

Just as Damita expected he would do, Neal came home from work early. She was sitting in the living room, waiting for him.

She looked at him angrily. “What did you do?”

Damita beat at his chest and cried. She wasn't afraid. She hated him and she couldn't keep herself from reacting to what she knew he had done.

“You killed him! You killed Brandon!”

He looked at her unabashedly. “And if I did?”

“I'll go to the police.”

“No, you won't.”

“What makes you so sure? You haven't left me many choices. Either I stay and die, or I leave and, according to you, I still die, along with my family and friends. So, the only choice, as I see it, is to go to the police.”

“Damita, you do that and I can't be responsible for what might happen. Your mother isn't getting any younger and too much stress might be enough to cause her heart to give out or even worse.”

“The police will protect me and my mother.”

“Let me ask you something, Damita.”

“What?”

“Have you ever seen my client list?”

“What?”

“You heard exactly what I said. Have you ever seen my client list?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with this. That client list has saved my ass more times than I can begin to count. It's what killed the investigation into my first wife's death and that list and the people on it will continue to serve me well. Admit it, Damita, this is what you wanted. You don't think I heard your conversations with your girlfriends and your mother time and time again. You wanted a strong man. That's exactly what you got.”

“You're not strong. You're weak. Any man that would do what you've done to me is weak. Did it make you feel like a big strong man when you raped me or when you broke my ribs?”

“It was my strength that kept me from killing you.”

Her expression betrayed her disgust for him. “You're sick. You really are sick. Do you actually believe the shit that you say?”

“Be very careful, Damita. After all, you're not exactly in fighting shape, are you?”

“So what's next, Neal? Since you're the big strong man calling the shots, you tell me, what's next?”

“I'll tell you what's next. I'm going to call one of my doctor friends and he is going to come over here and mend whatever wounds you may have. Then, either you or I are going to call your office and make an excuse for your absence, if you haven't already. You're going to stay home for a week or two, or quit altogether. I don't really care which you choose. While you are at home getting well, I'm going to hire a nurse to stay with you, while I check into rehab and we are going to
both
save this marriage.”

“So you expect me to stay married to a murderer?”

“Who's a murderer?”

“You are. You admitted it.”

“I never did any such thing. You assumed all that from my words, but I never told you I killed anyone.”

Damita knew he was trying to confuse her. It was a tactic. It made perfect sense. She knew what she heard. She knew the kind of man she was married to. She did realize that she might have to
play the game
long enough to get her and those close to her, out of his reach.

A
fter Brandon's death, Carmella and Karen tried to reach Damita every day, sometimes several times a day, to no avail. There were several messages from Carmella on Damita's voicemail.

“Damita, your mother and I are really starting to get worried. We've both been calling for days and have gotten no response. You're probably shaken up by Brandon's death, but your mother thinks you might be hurt or worse. If you're okay or if you're not; whatever is going on, please call one of us as soon as possible.”

“Is it them again?” Neal asked.

“Yes.”

“You should probably call them back and you need to get out of that bed and take a shower.”

“They will want to know why I won't see them or why I'm not going to Brandon's funeral.”

“You aren't going?”

“How can I go? Look at me. My job may have believed that story about a car accident, but Carmella and my mother never will.”

“Why wouldn't they believe it? They both consider me a joke. It would never occur to either of them that I'm capable of any of the things you're insinuating.”

“As soon as they see me they'll know what happened. Neal, you and I both know there is a big difference between what a person
looks like after a car accident and what they look like after being beaten. After all, isn't that why you called in a doctor for a house call? A visit to the hospital would have brought a great deal of questions.”

“I did it for us. We have to work this all out on our own. The moment we start allowing other people to intrude on our relationship is the moment everything is over.”

“When are you leaving for rehab?” Damita asked.

“I'm leaving as soon as your nurse gets here.”

“Neal, can I ask you a question?”

“Of course you can.”

“Why did you hire a nurse for me? Was it so you could have someone around to keep tabs on me?”

“I hired the nurse to take care of you. You're in no position to care for yourself.”

The irony of it all was incredible. He had hired someone to take care of her because of the injuries he himself had inflicted.

“What did you tell her?”

“What did I tell the nurse?”

“Yes. What did you tell her about our
situation?”

Neal's face took on a haughty expression. “She works for me. I didn't tell her anything but the fact that you have a broken rib and two broken fingers and that you would need a nurse for a couple of weeks, maybe more. Besides, there is no situation.”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

“I'll get that,” Neal offered.

“Hello, I'm Florence. I will be your wife's nurse.”

A woman who appeared to be in her mid-thirties, and spoke with a thick Jamaican accent, entered the living room. She was wearing a white uniform and sensible white shoes. Her brown,
medium-length hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail and she wore very little makeup. Despite her rich mocha complexion, her skin seemed sallow. Neal wondered if it was due to the long hours many nurses worked.

“Great! I'm going to be out of town for a few weeks, but I believe everything you need is right here.”

“Is your wife able to walk on her own?”

“She has a broken rib, so she's moving a little slow, but she can walk on her own.”

“Mr. Westman, will I be able to reach you in case of an emergency?”

“I will have a very limited ability to communicate. I will call you and check in when I can. And, Florence, I don't want my wife disturbed. She is to spend the time resting. That means no work calls, no girlfriends and no mother.”

The nurse's face had a look of confusion. “Mr. Westman, I believe there's been a misunderstanding. I'm not security. I'm a nurse. My duty is to care for your wife's medical and physical needs.”

Neal handed Florence a fist full of cash.

“I'll see to it that your wife is not disturbed while you're away,” Florence quickly responded.

With all the talk people engaged in about racism, Neal was always aware of the fact that green was the most powerful color in America.

Damita strained her ears to listen and was surprised to find that a trait she used to find so impressive, now seemed weak and unflattering. Neal had been born into money. His father's architectural firm was world-renowned and boasted some of the most influential clients in the country. When his parents died, everything was left to Neal. His money and reputation opened doors many people only dreamed of. They got the best tables at restaurants. If there
was ever a need for any kind of assistance, Neal knew the person to talk to in order to get it done. When they were dating, Damita had to admit that she was impressed by his power. Now, however, she realized that money could buy you a lot of things, but it couldn't buy anyone a soul.

Neal brought Florence into the bedroom to introduce her to Damita.

“Damita, this is Florence. She's going to be taking care of you for a while.”

“Hello, Florence,” Damita said.

“Hi, Damita. Is there anything you need?”

“Oh no, I'm fine right now. Why don't you get settled. You can put your things in the guest bedroom.”

“No worries, Mrs. Westman. Your husband already showed me where I could put my things. Right now I'm at your disposal. What can I help you with? Mr. Westman mentioned that you might want to take a shower.”

Damita glanced over at Neal, trying to conceal her annoyance. In everything he did there was that ever-present element of control.

Florence didn't miss the look on Damita's face. She had worked in enough homes and dealt with enough families to know when there were untold secrets afoot.

“No rush. I understand you have a broken rib. That can be very painful. Whenever you're ready to take a shower or even a sponge bath, I'm here to provide whatever assistance you need.”

Damita didn't want to like Florence because she was hired by Neal but she didn't miss her intervention at that moment and it helped her to like the woman a bit more.

“In the meantime, are you hungry or would you like something to drink?”

“You don't have to cook for me.”

“One of the nice things about private duty is we can make it up as we go along. I don't mind cooking, if you don't.”

Damita laughed and frowned simultaneously, thanks to her rib pain. “No complaints here. I'm not exactly a wiz around the kitchen,” Damita added.

“I can attest to that,” Neal offered.

Damita looked at Neal as if he had just entered the room, wondering when he would be leaving. “What time is your appointment?” she asked.

“I should probably leave now.”

“Don't worry, Mr. Westman. I will take very good care of your wife.”

“I'm not worried at all.”

Florence watched as Neal walked over to the bed and kissed Damita goodbye. The woman's response to her husband's touch spoke volumes. If she didn't know it before, Florence was relatively sure how Mrs. Westman's rib came to be broken. She was suddenly sorry she had taken the extra money to help limit the woman's contact with the outside world.

“I'll call you as soon as I can,” Neal said as he was leaving.

Damita suddenly looked relieved. “Okay,” was her only response.

Florence noticed that the moment Neal Westman walked out the door there was a noticeable shift in the energy in the apartment.

“So what's it going to be, Mrs. Westman? Would you like food and drink first or a shower?”

Damita laughed and waved her hand in front of her nose. “Definitely a shower first,” she said.

Damita didn't realize how incapacitated she was until Florence helped her out of the bed so she could take a shower. However,
after a day or so, the more she moved around, the easier it got. She believed she was finally ready to talk to Carmella and her mother. She decided she would call Carmella first. Although Florence was taking a break and having a cup of tea in the kitchen, Damita picked up her cell phone and shut the bedroom door, fully aware that the
nurse
could be spying on her at Neal's request.

•  •  •

“Hi, Carmella. It's me, Damita.”

“Where the hell have you been and why on Earth are you whispering? Your mother and I have been trying to reach you for days. What is going on?”

“Nothing, I'm fine.”

“That's bullshit. What has that bastard done? Neal has something to do with this.”

“Carmella, it's not that simple and I don't want to talk about it. At least, not yet. I need you to trust me for now, okay?”