Part 40 (1/2)

Jahlil and Poke sat in a pew at the back of the church. Jahlil had thought he would be bored by hearing his dad and the other people discuss what was happening, but he was on the tip of his seat, listening.

He had never seen Dad address a group of people this large. Dad spoke with authority, in a no bulls.h.i.+t tone, and people paid attention.

Before today, Jahlil had been quick to downplay his dad's job. He was a police chief in a tiny town where nothing ever happened. So what? Anyone could've done his job. Or so he'd thought. To see Dad up there, leading these people-it made something kick inside Jahlil. A long-forgotten piece of him stirred. It was something like admiration-awe, evenof his dad. He remembered a time, as a young kid, when he used to think Dad was the most amazing man in the world, stronger than any superhero, smarter than any scientist. Can you lift a car, Dad? Jahlil had asked him once, and Dad had said, Reckon I could, son, if doing it meant saving you and your mother Jahlil's eyes grew watery. He quickly rubbed them dry. But Poke didn't notice. The boy was sucking his thumb. He had been sucking his thumb like a lollipop since T-Bone had vanished last night.

”Like Doc Green said,” Dad said, ”we've been on the line with some top people in Memphis; they're sending a crew of experts our way soon. Meantime, we've got to handle things properly. After we open up for some questions, we're gonna ask for volunteers for our citizen patrol teams. Got to have able-bodied men and women to help us here .. .”

After Chief Jackson finished explaining that they would be soliciting volunteers for the citizen patrol teams the teams David would command-at the end of the meeting, the mayor, Cleotis Davis, came forward. He spoke briefly about the townspeople pulling together to help one another out, and how ”we're all one big family,” and tossed in a couple other newsworthy sound bites. The county sheriff, Johnny Chaser, talked a minute about how he'd use the county's resources to help them out. Then Reverend Brown arrived at the pulpit and talked about what G.o.d might have planned for Mason's Corner, and how in times of distress, one could reach a profound understanding of G.o.d's grace, and so on and so forth.

David tapped his leg. It was already a quarter after five, and they had a lot of work ahead of them. This meeting was supposed to be as focused and brief as possible and last no longer than an hour, but it was nearing the hour-long point and they had not opened the floor for questions yet, which David antic.i.p.ated would be the lengthiest part of the discussion.

And where was Nia? She had left almost fifteen minutes ago, and had not called him. He hadn't liked letting her leave alone-he felt that they were at risk at all hours of the day, not only at night-but she had been determined. Besides, she was right. The chief needed him there to round up the citizen patrol teams.

He blew out a tight breath. He would wait a few more minutes, then call Nia if she did not contact him.

At the pulpit, the reverend concluded his speech, and Jackson came forward again.

”All right, now,” Jackson said. ”We're ready to take questions. We've got some microphones at the end of the aisles, all 'round the church, so please step to the mic when you talk so everyone can hear you .. .”

The afternoon sky was gunmetal gray as Nia zoomed down Main Street.

Please, let Mama be all right, she prayed.

She practically stood on the brake as she screeched to a stop in front of her house.

Her mother's Chrysler was parked in its usual place under the carport. But an unfamiliar car was parked behind it: a blue Ford Thunderbird with Texas plates.

Mr. Morgan. Her former teacher colleague. Her stalker.

It couldn't be him.

But he'd called her a couple of days ago, hadn't he? And her number was unlisted.

Somehow, he'd shattered her sh.e.l.l of security.

Don't freak out, it could be someone else, and Mama could've been outdoors and not heard the phone ring...

Nia carried her own gun, a Beretta .32, in her purse. She unzipped her purse, for quick access.

As she walked down the path to the front door, she expected to see her dog, Princess, appear in the window and start barking excitedly. But the curtains remained still. Perhaps the dog was asleep.

Nia inserted her key in the lock of the front door, turned it. She slid her hand inside the bag, curled her fingers around the cool gun handle. With her other hand, she twisted the doork.n.o.b and nudged the door. It creaked open.

Mama was in the living room. She was bound to a dining room chair with several lengths of duct tape. Tape covered her mouth, too. A purple-black bruise marked her eye, and her hair was in disarray.

Mr. Morgan reclined on the sofa. He looked much like he had when she had last seen him. Tall, lean, brown-skinned, with intense eyes. The only difference was that he had grown a thick beard.

A large, sharp knife rested beside his leg.

”It's about time that you came home,” Mr. Morgan said. ”I've been here chatting with my future mother-in-law for a while and wondered when you would decide to show your pretty face, Miss James”

Nia's throat was dry. She could not summon sufficient saliva to speak.

Mama's eyes were wild, and she was trying to talk, but the tape held back her frantic words.

Mr. Morgan smiled. ”You're looking mighty fine, Miss James. Sure were worth the drive from Houston” He patted the seat cus.h.i.+on. ”Come sit over here, so we can get reacquainted.”

Nia did not move. She finally said, ”You hurt Mama”

Mr. Morgan picked up the knife. ”I told you to come sit over here, Miss James. You know I don't like to repeat myself. Don't act like one of my hard-headed students”

The Nia whom Mr. Morgan had known prior to his incarceration would have lowered her head in defeat, and shuffled to sit beside him while desperately trying to connive a way out of her bind. But that Nia was gone. The events of the past several days had turned her nerves to iron.

She drew the gun and gripped it with both hands, as she had learned.

”Put down the knife, a.s.shole,” she said.

Morgan's mouth dropped open like a trap door. The blade slipped out of his hand.

Behind the tape, Mama sounded like she was squealing in shock.

”You won't ... you won't shoot me,” Morgan said, his voice shaky. Then, more confidently: ”I know you don't have what it takes to look in my eyes and pull the trigger.”

”Don't test me” Nia's finger tightened on the trigger. ”You don't know what I've been dealing with lately. I promise you-I will shoot you”

Morgan's hand fidgeted near the knife, but he did not pick it up. He appeared uncertain, c.o.c.ky machismo wavering.

”Get on the floor, on your knees,” Nia said. ”Put your hands in the air.”

Instead of kneeling, as she ordered, he stood, hands raised.

”I'm going to leave, Miss James,” he said. ”We're going to resume this discussion later. Unless you prefer to kill me in cold blood.” He smirked.

She itched to shoot him, she really did. But as Morgan walked past her and toward the door, keeping a distance of several feet between them, she did not fire. She ground her teeth.

Morgan pushed through the door and went outside.

Nia lowered the gun.

Outside, Morgan backed his car out of the driveway and roared down the road.

Nia locked the door, stuffed the gun in her purse, and went to Mama.

”Oh, Mama, I'm so sorry,” Nia said. Tears streamed down her cheeks. She gently pulled away the duct tape from her mother's mouth.

”I'm all right.” Mama's voice was raspy. ”Are you okay, baby?”

Nia hugged Mama tightly.

”I'm going to cut you loose and put something on that eye,” Nia said. She paused. ”Did Morgan ... do anything else to you?”