Chapter Twenty Seven
I shadowed our dad’s footstep because I admired him and wanted to expand on the legacy that he’d built in the Black community, Chris. I also followed him because you wouldn’t.
-Xavier Prince in a deleted text to his brother Chris before he was sentenced to Calhoun Prison.
Angel
Congressional Hearing Room 45; Washington, D.C., October 2011
Justice Price called Special Agent Nicholas Sheridan to the podium for the last time.
The Congressional Hearing Room here at the Department of Justice here in Washington D.C. had been slow to warm, mirroring the mid-morning October day outside in the nation’s capital. Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree blew her hot breath into her hands for the third time in as minutes for warmth. It didn’t seem to be helping. She watched Sheridan rise from his seat in the first row of the galley and take his short, but yet, long trek to the witness stand. He was wearing his best black suit with matching tie and shoes. He looked to be even more business minded than usual. He still had a nice ass. Angel noted that his hair looked even more gray than when he’d first come to recruit her inside that coffee house all of those months ago in Macon. And this promotion will likely bald it within five years. Sheridan’s wife looked so proud. The woman’s smile lit up what was an otherwise clean but bland chamber of coffee colored desks and chairs and portraits presidents long dead or voted out of office.
Christopher Prince was seated three rows behind her, just near enough to observe the proceedings without straining to see the specifics. She couldn’t quite read what her childhood friend was thinking and that fact troubled her some. She’d always had been able to gauge his moods before, but he’d been a tough read since that night that Serena Tennyson had died in a fireball of one of her own pipe bombs as her vision of a Whirlwind had come to a fiery close. Something in him had died as well apparently and that had been a good thing. Christopher looked like a man who had emerged from a shell as man reborn. He’d dropped all of the extra baggage around his midsection, but had gained width in his arms and legs while his chest looked chiseled. She wouldn’t have believed the transformation if she had not witnessed the process of diet, exercise and—force of will for herself.
Agent Tabitha Blue’s overbite was in full bloom this morning as she looked as happy as if she were Sheridan’s kid sister accompanying him to a sports banquet as he received an award for player of the year. Angel found herself smiling at her, just a bit. On the surface at least, Blue looked as if she’d recovered from her injuries that she’d suffered during one of those nights of horror than no one involved in this room would ever forget. But I wonder where you are underneath that smile…that jovial mask that you wear so well, Agent Blue.
The entire Justice Department had attended the ceremony. Angel decided that they probably had little say so in that regard. Considering that the last appointed Director of the FBI, Raymond Rice, had succumb to the temptations of Pandora and the fantasies of a new world order…this appointment, this transition of power within the bureau was now the most important nomination in the history of its existence since its founding.
“Nicholas Andrew Sheridan you should raise your right hand,” Justice Price said aloud for the entire room to hear.
Sheridan did so and for the first time this morning, he couldn’t fight off the smile that was creeping on his face weathered but handsome face. Justice Price struggled to bite back a similar grin that had fallen on her wrinkled mouth as well.
“Now you’ve got to behave, Nicholas, if we’re going to get through this proceeding before lunch.” She said and the entire galley broke into a hardy laugh and then light applause. She gave everyone a chance to settle back down and read her lines to him without looking once at the prompter.
The new Deputy Director of the FBI accepted his new title and all the responsibilities that accompanied it when she had finished her spill at last.
“Congratulations,” They shook hands and Angel heard the firm but polite applause begins yet again.
“Thank you, Justice Price,” Sheridan said to her just loud enough to be heard over the dwindling applause. “It is my honor to serve both this department and the people of this country for which I love with all of my heart and soul.”
The clapping amplified itself in volume and intensity with his words as the sound echoed off of the chamber’s walls.
Deputy Director Sheridan addressed the media that was waiting like starving vultures in a nearby press room. He gave a prepared opening declaration and made himself available for a short Q&A and issued a closing statement and walked off without looking back. 45 minutes had passed when Sheridan joined Justice Price and a hand full of her colleagues who had stayed behind in an adjacent conference room awaiting his arrival. Agents Christopher Prince and Tabitha Blue had been invited to the short meeting—as was Dr. Angel Hicks-Dupree.
Justice Price:
She was nearing 60 years old. If she were an automobile then she would have had the body of an older body Buick, but would have been carrying a Camaro’s new engine underneath the hood. She sat her butt on the edge of one of the tables, smoothed out her skirt, and let everyone else settle in where they may. She ran her hand through her short but stylish haircut once before she issued her own opening statement to those left behind to hear it.
“Now that the media show is over and done with my friends and I wanted to meet with you, Sheridan, on a more intimate level. We had a couple of specific questions for you and those who had served directly under your command during all that madness that went down in Atlanta in the spring.”
“Of course, Justice,” Sheridan couldn’t help but arch a bushy gray brow of curiosity. She could feel her own curved brow rising in anticipation as well. Now this should be entertaining. “How could I be of service?”
Justice Price exhaled audibly and then put her thoughts to words.
“You should know this already, Sheridan, but I will remind you that your first few months—likely your first year on this gig won’t be very pleasant.”
“I’m sure they won’t be, Justice,” Sheridan nodded at her. “There are far too many questions that have gone unanswered post 411. Even in the months that I’ve served in this position in an unofficial capacity, we haven’t learned enough about the variables from many sides in the days and months that preceded the attacks. I want to assure you that I won’t rest until this agency provides detailed specifications—and more importantly names of those who were and still are involved with Pandora. I’m going to follow that trail to whatever end it leads me. You have my word on that.”
“My colleagues and I have every confidence that you will.” Justice Price looked back at the empty expressions of her colleagues that said otherwise.
One of the two men, a second Justice that Angel knew as Frank Berry stepped in front of Price with his glasses hanging over his nose.
“Forgive me, Mr. Sheridan for being blunt,” He said without preamble. “I’m not as forgiving as Justice Price apparently is in this matter. Don’t get me wrong on this, Sheridan; your service record proves that you are as qualified as they come to be the Deputy Director of the FBI. But I want to remind you that you only garnered just enough votes to barely attain this position over a few other candidates who are likely as qualified—at least in somebody’s estimation. Doubters and skeptics exist because of some of the decisions that you made during the critical final hours of that disorder down in that Godforsaken city in northern Georgia. “I’m one of those people, Sheridan.”
“With all due respect, Justice Berry, is there a specific question that you have here for me this morning?” Sheridan asked the man.
“Questions… I have too many of them and not enough time to air them all, Sheridan.” He replied and pushed his glasses up on his face. “All I want now is an overview of where would you begin to provide the answers to the difficult questions that your countrymen are asking about those dark hours?”
Sheridan turned to where Ange
l was standing.
“Dr. Hicks Dupree’s earlier testimony brought the severity of our agency’s dysfunction—all of the country’s agency’s dysfunction that Pandora preyed upon into a new light that, believe me, was far from flattering.”
“I’ve read those transcripts twice, Sheridan. I’m sure our friends here are interested in your interpretations of what those records said,” Price asked.
Sheridan used the seconds that he pulled his suit jacket to its proper length to organize his thoughts for a proper answer.
“We’re all aware that in some capacity or form that an isolated number of former FBI Agents and those from sister agencies aided in the planning and execution of the 411 attacks and the subsequent actions in and around Atlanta in the days and weeks after. In so many words, Justice Price, we are a government institution, so that means that the American taxpayer himself aided in these engagements. I want these individuals brought to justice—if you’ll pardon the pun, madam. These men and women are the epithet of the worst type of traitor. And I want each and every one of them arrested and tried for treasonous crimes against this country.”
Justice Berry flashed his two colleagues that had marched in with him a look and then he turned his attention back to the new deputy director.
“We want that as well, Sheridan. I hear the pain and the sense of urgency in your voice. I believe that both are sincere. Yet, I haven’t heard any specifics on how you are to accomplish this monumental task that we have laid at your feet. I’m sure that everyone in this room knows that a House in Chains has a major rally planned in Atlanta for later this evening. Despite that mass suicide involving many of the vital components of the head of the snake, the body indeed slithers on. I have no doubt that in some deep dark corner that the remnants of Pandora are or have already done something similar.”
“I wasn’t quite finished, sir.” Sheridan cleared his throat. “Today I’m going to appoint a reclaiming czar whose sole purpose— outside of eating and breathing— is to find each and every man and woman who was involved and yank them by their privates from under whatever rock they may have be hiding under. We start this process by debriefing each and every current member of this bureau. The metaphor we use goes as follows: We sweep the barber shops and hair salons with one giant comb—meaning we get into the professional and private lives of our own people’s activities over the past few years— and we examine each and every strand we have down to its DNA coding.”
Justice Price stepped past Berry and shook Sheridan’s hand again.
“I don’t envy you this task, Sheridan. This sounds like a monumental undertaking you have ahead of you. It also sounds as if this so called czar of yours has much work ahead of him.”
“And much to answer for if he fails to produce results in a timely manner,” Berry added his last piece before this jigsaw puzzle of conversation was finished at last.
“She won’t fail,” Sheridan stepped away from the Justices as they passed and planted a firm hand on Agent Tabitha Blue’s narrow shoulder. “I don’t see any reason why we shouldn’t do this right now. Justices, allow me to introduce you to my choice for this important position that I spoke of minutes earlier. Agent Tabitha Blue is the most qualified person in this agency available for this assignment.” He then looked down at the woman who was fighting off the effects of near shock on her face. “All this is contingent on you accepting this posting of course.”
The younger woman had semi recovered from being totally blindsided by her bosses’ offer. Angel thought, to the agent’s credit, that she handled the unexpected attention—and potential promotion with as much professionalism as it deserved.
Angel couldn’t say the same thing for herself however.
What the fuck…She thought dumfounded. She glared first at Sheridan and then at Agent Blue and finally at Christopher Prince in rapid succession. How could Sheridan bypass you as a candidate for this posting, Christopher? He must have felt her fury and ducked her constant glaring by finding something worthwhile to look at on the hardwood floors.
“I can’t say that I was expecting this type of honor being bestowed on me this morning, sir,” Blue was showing her overbite again. “Yes, yes, I would be proud to accept this responsibility. I want to do this.”
Justice Price nodded at the younger woman a satisfied smile played a tune on her lips.
“Special Agent Blue, our committee has already been briefed on your service record early on in the process when the deputy director was mentioned as a probable candidate to serve in his new capacity. I stand here before you very pleased with Sheridan’s choice for this posting.”
Berry folded his arms, apparently not as easily pleased or silenced.
“Do not misunderstand me or my words, young lady. Your qualifications are extemporary as it has already been said here before but—“
“What is it, sir,” Blue asked Berry. “What is it that troubles you about my role in this?”
“Agent Blue, you took a gunshot to the head only six months ago.” He asked her quickly. “Are you completely healed from your injuries?”
“I have,” Blue nodded as if she had anticipated this line of questioning. “Thank you for your concern, sir. But the truth is that I’ve never felt physically better than I do right now…at least since that night. The surgeon that treated me did a miraculous job.” Blue stared in Angel’s direction for a long minute. Seth was at the top of his game despite all that he’d been through himself in the hours before he pulled that bullet out of Blue’s skull. “And the psychological therapy that I’ve been through in the months since has brought my focus and concentration to a higher plain. I won’t bore any of you with all of those details of my recovery, sir. What I can tell you is this, Justice Berry: I won’t fail you. I give you my word.”
Justice Berry stared at Blue for a long time after she’d last spoken…and then he nodded in her general direction and disappeared out of the door without saying adding a word of his own. The other Justices silently followed him out.
After the door shut behind the last of them Angel said aloud:
“What in the hell just happened here?”
Tabitha Blue looked as if she could stand no longer. She settled herself in one of the nearby uncomfortable chairs as if standing for one minute longer would zap all of her remaining energy. Christopher now found something interesting to peer out of the window into the landscape of Washington, D.C.
“While I don’t share the doctor’s persistent distaste of your choice for job openings, Mr. Deputy Director,” Blue let her words bite wherever and whoever they may. “I must admit to be truthfully surprised at your offer as well.”
Sheridan grinned.
“You weren’t a difficult sale for them or for me, Agent Blue.” Sheridan sat on the desk where the young woman was seated. “You’re work in this agency throughout your career is stellar. You are loyal, trustworthy and…vigilant. You’re going to need all of those qualities, especially the latter, if you are to carry this assignment out successfully.”
“Maybe,” She leaned forward and looked up at Sheridan, but her expression had changed. “I heard you say that I was the best available candidate.” She turned around to where her ex-partner was still looking out of the window. He must have felt all of the eyes in the room glaring in his direction. “Why did you turn Sheridan down, Chris?”
Christopher spun around and could only manage a sheepish look on his dark, beautifully unblemished face. He didn’t speak at first and then when he did open his mouth the words couldn’t find their way clear of his lips.
“Well,” Angel had run out of patience. “Are you going to say anything, Christopher?”
He tugged at the crease on his slacks and then seated himself on the table where Angel was sitting, which was adjacent to both Sheridan and Blue.
“Alright, okay,” He threw his hands up at her. “The truth is that I lacked one critical area of qualification for accepting any advanced position within the bureau or any ot
her governmental agency.”
Angel sat up.
“And what would that qualification or lack thereof be?” she asked, but just as suddenly one of the likely answers popped into her head before her friend manufactured an answer.
“I am no longer employed by the Federal Bureau of Investigations.” Christopher Prince announced.
Blue’s chair whined as she pushed away from the table and made her way to her ex-partner’s side in two heartbeats. Angel tried to control her breathing and relax but was finding that job a struggle. She did see Nicholas Sheridan though—and now it was his turn to glare at imaginary objects on the floor.
“What in the hell happened?” Blue asked him. “Internal affairs reviewed your actions during their inquiry. They reviewed all of our actions. You were cleared of any wrong doings, and concluded that your gun discharged at the moment the quake popped its top. They can’t do this to you. They can’t derail your career like that. Don’t let them, Chris. We have the Deputy Director of the FBI on our side. We’ll fight to get you reinstated…again.”
Neither Sheridan nor Christopher made a sound or moved a muscle.
Blue pushed her hair out of her eye.
“Am I missing something here? I am missing something here aren’t I?”
Sheridan said without looking up, “Tell them, Chris.”
“I wasn’t fired, Blue.” Christopher stood up again and buttoned his jacket. “I resigned just before we arrived up here in D.C this morning.”
“What.” Angel and Blue said at the same time.
Sheridan’s bushy eyebrows shot up. Angel surmised that his cell phone must have buzzed in his jacket’s pocket or he was doing a fine acting job.
“Excuse me,” He said and angled toward the door where the Justices had exited the room earlier. “I have to take this call.”
After Sheridan closed the door behind him Blue slumped in her chair.
“I don’t believe this, Chris. I won’t believe this. Why are you leaving the bureau?”
Christopher found his way back over to where Agent Blue was sitting. Angel sat back in her chair and used the back of it to support all of her weight against it.
“Blue, I want you to listen to me.” He said. “Somewhere, sometime in those final few days and hours during all that hell that we all went through I realized—I recognized that my heart and soul wasn’t in this anymore. I realized that I needed to find my place somewhere else far away from here with the time that has been given me.”
Blue shook her head barely containing her fury.
“So you just pick up and leave, Chris. We’ve been through this before—this same conversation took place on that street corner before the Bishop and his Choir Boys showed. You’ve taught me everything that I know about law enforcement.”
“If that is half true then you were an excellent student. And now you have graduated from all of those lessons with top honors. You’ve grown well past the need to be on anyone’s leash, Tabitha, especially mine. You are ready to leave the nest. Sheridan’s appointment proves that.”
Blue’s gaze hardened further.
“No,” She said simply. “This isn’t about me, Chris, it’s about you. I refuse to believe that you are turning your back on this agency especially now at its greatest time of need. We need people, Chris, good people if we are going to bring this agency back from the brink. Sheridan wanted to appoint you to be his czar. I can see that truth in both your faces but you turned his offer down to run away. It should be you leading the fight to take those who brought such pain and misery to your people, Chris…to people of color in Atlanta and across our country. And it should be you should be leading the fight to bring back those individuals who betrayed this agency and bolted for Pandora.”
“Betrayal, you say,” Chris looked away again to control his temper. “Have you forgotten that I put a gun in your face, Tabitha?”
Blue stepped around him until they were face to face once again.
“I forgave you for that. And if I remember correctly I had one pointed in yours as well. We were both under a lot of stress. We were fighting for the causes that we both strongly believed it. We were both right and we were both wrong. Anyway, the gunshot wound I suffered was a freak act of nature…an accident.”
“I’m sorry, Tabitha, but I’m done here. My decision to leave the FBI is no accident.”
“Chris, I didn’t consider your actions that night as a betrayal to my trust.”
“I’m sorry,” Christopher could manage to utter nothing else.
“But this…if you walk away from me now, if you walk away from the bureau now…”
“I am sorry, Tabitha,” Chris said and Angel recognized the strength of finality in her friend’s voice. “But you are right about one thing: This isn’t about you. I’ve walked away from the bureau because I’ve answered a higher calling. I’m needed elsewhere. I’m going to serve a greater cause than this bureau.”
All of the air seemed to leak out of Tabitha Blue’s lungs and her argument died a whispering death. She raised her shoulders as high as her frame would allow her. She took a deep breath and then walked towards the same door that Sheridan and the others had taken turns walking out of minutes ago. She opened it at last and looked back at the two of them that she would be leaving behind over her shoulder.
“The gun episode is the past and the past to me is prologue.” Blue said evenly. “But what you do today is present and it is no less than a betrayal of the worst kind, Chris. And I won’t ever forget it.”
If Special Agent Tabitha Blue’s words troubled Christopher in the minutes afterwards he didn’t show it in either expression or words to Angel. He turned the chair that he’d been sitting in earlier around and sat in it backwards.
And then he pulled a single penny from his left pocket and began to toss it in the air again…and again…and again…
Angel took her turn at sitting her ass on the table next to where he sat and crossed her legs as they dangled over the edge.
“So when were you going to let me in on this little secret about your next career move.”
“Don’t start with me,” Christopher said in a serious tone, but a tight smile hinted at a lighter reaction to her words, the whiteness of his straight teeth against the darkness of his skin was a marvel to behold. “And if you truly know me as well as you claim you do, Doctor, then you would already have known that I couldn’t go back to them—not after they accepted Lucy Burgess’ account of my past troubles with my stepdaughter without my consideration or intake. Where was their loyalty to me, Angel? I can’t do this anymore. I can’t afford to be naïve to what is going on in the real world any longer. This blanket of presumed innocence I’ve been lying under needs to be removed.”
“Alright,” She said moving past point’s bygone and wanting to get into her friend’s immediate present and possible future. “I’ll play your little game, mister. I’ll take a guess that you made your mind up about this decision some time ago. Making life changing pronouncements on a whim is not your M O. You may have even decided this during all of that hellfire we were going through in April. You didn’t want to resign until you were absolutely sure that you had your next job lined up.”
“I told Blue that it was a ‘higher calling’,”
“Whatever,”
They both laughed. Laughing felt good. She couldn’t recall the last time she had a good laugh. But I can remember the last time that I had a drink. I can remember the day that all the laughter in my life died a harrowing death because I can’t celebrate it with a toast. As for Christopher, and the matters at hand, Angel could feel the tension easing between them—even if that wasn’t likely to last moving forward.
The therapy that she was enrolled in to aid her kick her bad habits wasn’t easy on her mentally or physically to say the least. She understood now more than ever before why people hated shrinks. They forced you to confront the worst aspects of your own personality. And the worse aspect of her personality is that c
ouldn’t go through a single day without wanting a drink, needing one. Yet, without her husband Seth’s support she wouldn’t have made it this far.
But is this the day—this day and no further; is this the day that I fold?
And yet, she still had matters to settle with Chris moving forward about her role in Pandora—her dealings with Louis/Hugh Keaton that may sever their lifelong friendship after he found out those truths that were yet to come. Get it over with, Doc, tell him now. Was that her voice shining through in herself conscious or Roxanne Sanchez’s? Even with the countless interviews by Internal Affairs or her testimonies still to come in front of a Grand Jury about the disaster of Atlanta would expose the truths of who was probably behind his stepdaughter’s death—and why.
Today should be that day after all.
But she knows that it won’t be.
“If you want to talk about your new job, Christopher,” She said instead. “If you ready to reveal some details about your starting date or salary—“
Instead of talking Christopher hopped up from his chair, checked his watch, tossed the penny up one last time, caught it and put it away all in one motion while whistling softly.
“Wow, time really flies when you are having fun, Doc,” He kissed her on her cheek. “But you should keep your eyes and ears open. You never know where I’ll land on my feet.”
“Come here,”
Angel straightened out his tie for him. He looked good…the lone exception was the dullness and lack of focus in his eyes that she’d never seen before. She told herself that it was only the obvious stress they’d all been under, or fatigue, or something or the other to do with his new job—
But then she smelled alcohol coming out of his pores of his face.
I’m imagining this, she thought; I know that I’m imagining this. Don’t go where I’ve gone, Christopher. Don’t become who I’ve become.
“Thank you, Doctor,” Christopher said when she finished at last. He checked his watch one last time. “I’ve got to go now. I’m running late for my flight back to Atlanta.” He flipped the penny in the air once again. If there was an explanation in this repeated action it had escaped her so far. “I have business—and then I have business. I’ll call you after I land.”
Five minutes after he had left her in the conference room alone—she worked out a matrix of possibilities in her mind and the probable truth of Christopher Prince’s new occupation caused her to cock a brow and hit her like a punch in her gut.
“Son of a bitch, Christopher,” She said aloud. “Tell me you didn’t do what I think you have.”
Chris
Georgia State Capital (Courtyard); October 2011
It was raining.
Can you believe that, after months and months of drought, that it would rain today here in Atlanta, today of all days.
Christopher Prince rubbed at his jaw and wondered how many more lives could have been spared from Serena’s Whirlwind if this city had any sufficient amounts of precipitation in the weeks before that deranged woman unleashed her inferno upon them all.
What is past is prologue, his former partner’s voice of several hours ago echoed from the depths of his subconscious.
Christopher Prince looked out past Atlanta’s latest tempest—and he could bite back his stubbornness and his smile playing on his lips no longer. An estimated crowd of 5000 people of color were squeezed together here in the courtyard outside Georgia’s State Capitol to hear him speak on the future.
He took one final breath before walking from underneath the shed out into the rain himself to podium that awaited him the way a groom awaits his bride. A local minister was leading all of those who had come—and the several millions that watched from the broadcast method of their choice—in a prayer.
The people came this evening holding up pictures of loved ones lost during the various flashpoints of Atlanta’s hideous events. Many came wielding banners showing the names of the fallen, some conveying biblical passages, and a few…just a few wielded signs that ushered his father’s words from long ago that still resonated today:
Brothers and sisters, what do you see when you visualize our people’s future? And the next line always issued the same response. We see days filled with misery and pain.
And by all that was holy, Isaac Prince’s one surviving son could see all of that misery in the eyes of those that 411 had left behind. He could see the pain as they stood here together shoulder to shoulder out in this downpour.
And yet if one looked hard enough…you could see something else entirely.
Serena Tennyson’s Whirlwind had not taken the fight out of these people…it had not snuffed out the flame of their resolve completely.
A House in Chains wasn’t quite dead yet.
It was time for him to speak.
It was time for Christopher Prince to clock in with his new employer.
It was time for the One to continue the legacy that his father founded and that his brother had steered from a high level of honor and respect to an even elevated level of existence.
He took the short/long walk to the platform into the posting that had always by rights by his and his alone.
“Thank you for coming. It is good to see you all here in this most historic of grounds. This is a place where your ancestors and mine once walked to and then stood here in protest of our denial of the most basic of human and civil rights. Now, I know that most of you standing here in this rain this evening weren’t even born yet, but the facts in hand make the truth of what happened then no less relevant.
“I will apologize to all of you in advance before I go any further. I regret that I have failed to write a speech that will stir up emotions or perhaps that will leave its mark on history when people listen to it decades from now. My brother, a man that you all knew as Xavier Prince, once told me that I had a gift for words that he would never had. I loved my brother more than any of you will ever know. And yet, he was wrong in that assessment of his older sibling. Today I will leave speech and prophecy and innuendo to brighter and better men than the one who stands before you. The truth is all that I brought with me today.”
A woman shouted yes from his far left while he heard pockets of faint to polite applause every time he would pause for breath. And the rain had seemed to subdue with each passing minute making it easier for everyone to play closer attention to his words and not the elements.
“This is the saddest of all occasions we share here this evening. I don’t think that I need to tell you that. I look around this state capital and I see the pictures of our loved ones that we have lost forever. I see your pain. I feel your pain. We wear it together. The minister who prayed with you before I stepped over here is a wonderful pastor and an even better man. I know him personally. And as any good Christian would—he would remind all of us that if you except Jesus Christ as your Lord and savior that you will be with your loved ones again…you will see them again—“
Chris heard a dozen hallelujahs and the polite applause had increased in number and volume.
“I can only pray that I may become a better man—a better Christian so that I will see my brother Xavier again. I hope that I may lay my eyes on my father Isaac prince and the woman who birth me as well. I hope to see all of those who have gone on to eternity and left me behind to carry on.
“And yet, I know that this is likely unlikely because ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls I know that I am not a good Christian man.”
Laughter prevailed even after a thunderous applause dies down.
“I am prideful. I am sinful. I am resentful. But I have one redeeming value: I stand before you this evening carrying the truth with me. And that truth shall set me free.”
Christopher Prince heard a new roar of approval from those who had braved the storm—all of the storms that had befallen them to see him speak live this evening. He could see the bright lights of the television cameras in his face. And the rain had slowed even further, enough that when he wasn’t speakin
g, the grounds around the capital were virtually silent.
“A pessimist would say that a House in Chains had accomplished everything that it set out to do. He would tell us that there is nothing left for us to achieve. 411 knocked us down. The last minutes of Scar kept us down. He would tell us that it would be highly unwise for our House to ever exhibit such power and influence over the lives of so many ever again. I can tell you that I am an optimist. I can tell you that I don’t believe in such pessimistic lies. I can tell you not to believe in these lies either. Change comes slowly—but I don’t have to tell any of you this do I? Change comes slowly in the hearts and minds of men. It comes at a snail’s pace to nations and civilizations. My pastor would tell you that the fundamental inability to change is the reason we fail as human beings in the sight of our God.”
The roar of the 5000 or so that had come to hear him was deafening. Chris backed away from the podium to let his people have their vocal moment before he tried to speak again.
“Never forget that those who perpetrated 411 did so not because of hate, but because of fear. If you hear nothing else that I say to you today please remember this: It is their fear that fans the flames of hate and discord in their hearts. It is their fear that brought destruction to the Andrew Young Youth Center. It was their fear that brought a massacre to the Fox Theatre. It was fear that caused them to take away President Adolphus Sweet and Mayor Ernestine Johnson. And it was fear that allowed them to set a monster on our streets by the name of Keaton to terrorize our children…
“And make no mistake—they still fear us. And as long as that fear remains we must be prepared to do what we must to protect ourselves from their aggression. There are a few of you here today who have lived long enough to have followed my father. We honor you. We honor the patience and the resilience that you’ve shown. A great many more of you served my brother Xavier. I honor you. I honor your loyalty. Both of those great men of color died for what they believed in. They both shared the single minded purpose of making life better for every one of you who have come here today. I want you to know that their single minded purpose is my purpose as well. I have answered a higher calling. I am here for you. I am at last here in this place where I belong.”
The rain had stopped but Chris could feel the sweat pouring down his collar towards his chiseled chest as the crowd cheered and began to chant his name over the next several minutes.
He finally was forced to silence them the masses by raising his hands high into the dark of the Atlanta night.
“Our House has accomplished a many great deeds under my family’s leadership. In particular I feel that the liberation of the Carver Housing Projects from the thugs and drug dealers was the right thing to do. We saved our missing children by using any and all means necessary was the right thing to do. Striking back at any uncompromising, unrelenting and unholy enemy like Pandora who would oppose us is the right thing to do. Let no man tell you any different. Do not allow the media to tell you anything different. Do not elect officials that would tell you anything different.”
The crowd’s decibel level raised two fold and it took Chris a full five minutes to quite those who he himself had stirred to a fever pitch.
“Past is Prologue. The present watches us from the shadows. The future—the Vision of our Future is far from secure…still, I challenge each and every one to remember your feelings of pain, feelings of loss and feelings of suffering that you have gone through up until today. I am here for you if you will have me. I will continue to fight with my last ounce of strength for our people’s rights. I stand before you ready to complete what others in my beloved family have started. I am a Prince. I know that there are hundreds of Carver’s nationwide that need liberating. There are thousands of children of color that need our protection. Make no mistake though—friends and neighbors, boys and girls—those who believe in and would support the twisted ideologies of a Serena Tennyson and Pandora are out there ready to pick up the pieces of the broken pathetic banner of hate and violence. There is more madness to come. Just know that I have your back. A new Board and Circle who will govern wiser than before will have your back. A new detail of Peacekeepers who will be stronger than before will have your back. A House in Chains will rise from the ashes of what came before will have your back.
He held both of his arms up and spoke quickly one final time into another loud ovation.
“I was once asked a question: I was asked what I see when I visualize our people’s future—and someone answered for me that he saw days filled with misery and pain.
“That was a lifetime ago.
“The next time that your brother or your sister ask you the same—the very next time someone ask you what do you see when you visualize our people’s future.”
Christopher Prince…the One…the most dangerous man in the entire world paused only briefly.
“Tell them that I see days and nights full of joy and a thousand year reign.”
All who had gathered before him cheered his name and wept until their tears had long dried and sang songs of remembrance and danced as one giant body.
And then the leader of a House in Chains began to hop in place—stomp in open defiance against any and all who would seek absolution or forgiveness if they dared oppose his House.
5000 people stomped with him.
Thomas
Aerospace Hospice Care; Buckhead, Thanksgiving 2011
The good book stated over and over that the wages of sin resulted in death.
Juice spilled as Thomas Pepper carved meat away from breast bone of his turkey, tossed it on his plate next to his canned peas and instant mashed potatoes and pressed the PLAY button on his DVR again. He was watching the replay of Chris Prince’s speech from a month ago at the Georgia State Capital for the third time today.
This time however, he forwarded to the final five minutes that he had book marked. And then he took a page full of notes while he watched this portion over and over again to his satisfaction while he ate. He took particular notice to Chris’ facial actions and tried to match his words to those subtle but important things that had gone unsaid that rain soaked evening in Atlanta. When did you make this critical decision in your heart, Chris?
Thomas jotted down in his notes that he believed that it must have happened when he found his brother nearly dead in that compound. Guilt could be a powerful instrument for change. The wages of sin often result in death, he thought again.
And yet, was Thomas Pepper thinking of the man on his television screen or himself—
A terrible pain struck him in the midsection that forced his silverware from his hands.
Stubborn and determined Thomas sat himself back up. He sat the food aside and penciled in a few last notes. Chris’ speech would prove invaluable for him to finish the last chapters of his book. He rubbed at his bearded face which was quite the contrast of when he ran his fingers over the hundreds of sheets of paper of his manuscript. What he had written—what he’d personally experienced in far too many of these pages astounded him.
Thomas peeked at one of the many chapters that he had dedicated to Serena Tennyson. He rubbed his beard again. He wondered if the critics…and the public in general would look unfavorably at the shadow of sympathy that he cast on her—especially as her personal story drew to a close. Sympathy was not what he wanted. It damned sure wasn’t that would have been the voice she would have asked him to speak in for her. And yet, he was the speaker for the dead. The chapters on Louis Keaton and Xavier Prince…and Lucy Burgess were all told with his voice.
And then there was the problem of the living.
To this day, Thomas Pepper still wondered who this other wing—this other person was that Serena swore was her other half was. Thomas would have sworn on a thousand bibles that it would have to be Dr. Angel Hicks Dupree of course. That made the most sense. And yet, Thomas realized that very little of what came six months or so before made any sense, especially from the eyes of those who were not directly involve
d.
Serena Tennyson was a changed woman, especially after she and Danielle Rohm returned from their short trip to Memphis. And it was far more to this transition than Louis Keaton’s blood and flesh under her fingernails.
He ran his thick fingers across the finished pages once again. This was a book that his editor and publisher were impatiently waiting for. They had actually requested that he finish it a month or so ago so their people could handle the final edits, set the typeset and have the hardcover design put in place by tomorrow. Thomas Pepper couldn’t be angry with them for wanting to capitalize on Black Friday and the beginning of the holiday rush in the retail market.
And his publicist reminded him that although he had unequaled access to some of the game’s most high profile players he was facing stiff competition from others in both public and private life this go round. There were rumors of books coming from federal agents, CNN personalities and even a handful of Pandora sympathizers who had been ousted since a Whirlwind devastated Atlanta.
A Whirlwind, he thought while he sat back in his easy chair, not the Whirlwind. Thomas was unsure of what exactly that devastation might have been but it looked as if the country had avoided it thus far.
And he had continue to joke with his publishing brethren that it wasn’t as if he wouldn’t live long enough to finish writing this—
And then a pain with some depth and volume spilled his large frame over onto the floor.
20 minutes later Thomas Pepper wiped the tears away from his eyes and lifted himself up off of the floor.
They would have to wait a while longer for his manuscript and that was damned fine by him.
Although his store cooked bird had cooled he still savored the taste as he finished his meal. Even an unholy man needed to celebrate Thanksgiving in his own way. It was early afternoon for sure, but he would brave the chill in the air and the pain in his abdomen and keep at least one promise today.
He scanned his notes again. Watching the DVR reminded him to check on a couple of specific passages on Chris Prince. Thomas was convinced more than ever that the murder of the former FBI Agent’s step daughter was more than a footnote to all of this. He was also convinced that Keaton had little if anything to do with the young woman’s brutal killing as well. I do think that you know something, Doctor. Angel had refused to return his calls in the last month, especially with her official testimony to a Federal Grand Jury fast approaching. You are hiding something, Doctor, and that something falling into the hands of the Feds is the least of your concerns. She was fighting for her career and even perhaps fighting for her freedom as well—but Thomas would bet his life that wasn’t what had silenced her so far.
He finally worked himself over to his desk. He worked the combination of his safe until it popped open and stuck his work inside and slammed the door shut behind it. He’d interviewed more than a hundred people for their individual accounts of the events that had shaken a country at its core.
But he wasn’t suddenly trembling because of that acknowledgment.
Walking down his own personal memory lane of what happened to him, what could have happened to him and what happened because of him had been an exercise he didn’t want to repeat today.
He checked his watch and decided that it was time to change his clothes for his guest that would be soon arriving. He took four of his prescriptions after he had showered and used the bathroom. In his bedroom he picked out one of the two pair of jeans that he owned and grabbed the lone pair of old sneakers from off the shelf. He grabbed a jacket big enough to warm him but light enough to allow his arms and hands some freedom of movement.
Thomas had a job to do.
And then a new round of pains floored him.
He was forced to try to raise himself again from off all fours. I’m not going to be able to get up this time. He knew that there was a service button located near the bed’s headboard. If he could reach it…and that was a big if…he could ring one of the desk nurses who could start earning that time and half by helping him get back to his feet. And yet, Thomas did not crawl towards the button that would bring him aid.
Thomas Pepper prayed instead.
He knew that both of his doctors disapproved of his plans to truck out of this facility today—especially considering the chill in the air and the deficiencies in his immune system. He didn’t want to hand anymore ammunition to either one of those women that would endanger his chance to keep his promise.
He heard a knock on his room door.
He bit his bottom with determination as he struggled to stand again. He was feeling weaker and more disoriented than before. And his Thanksgiving dinner wasn’t sitting on his stomach right either.
And yet, Thomas Pepper smile was genuine enough to fool the three older women of color he saw when he opened his door. They said their hellos and seemed to notice nothing out of the ordinary immediate than anything that he’d chosen to show them before. Nothing was going to keep the four of them from their appointed rounds today.
Wearing two latex gloves on each hand, Thomas served his first bowl of soup to an older white woman three hours later. The line for the free meal was wrapped around the grounds that had been roped off that the new church would be built on in the spring. Most of downtown Atlanta was in ruins even six months after being declared a federal disaster area. Thomas knew that this large southern city wasn’t alone as many other high profile cities with highly urban populations had suffered similar fates.
Yet, Thomas Pepper knew the smell in those cities couldn’t be what it was here.
The rain totals had returned to normal levels. Thomas thought that perhaps it was God’s tears cleansing metro Atlanta from the hellfire it experienced. He knew for sure that it would be another 100 years before another earthquake with that scope and power tore through the southeast.
Yet, the charred remains of structures and landscapes throughout the city had proven to be its most jarring and unnerving reminder of what happened here. He fought back tears as he greeted each person who had come in search of meal and the fellowship that came as a side item. Both server and those who were being served were grateful for the experience.
The benches they used as tables were gifts from strangers in the city who had a kind a heart and the dime to spend.
The gift of a new church being built for Pastor Joe Washington and those who accepted him in its bosom at his greatest hour of need was from his.
The minister greeted him after he had finished his duties. The two men—one big and the other huge—hugged each other with all the force that their admiration for the other would allow. Pastor Washington whispered in Thomas’ ear that God loved him and that he loved him as well. Thomas said his thanks and slyly whispered back that they would find out soon enough about whether his first statement was true. Washington thanked him again for coming—and thanked him for the thousandth time for financing his church’s rebuild. Thomas shook the sentiments off for a thousandth time. He only harkened back to how afraid he was that night…how very afraid that neither he nor the country he loved would survive the tribulations until he saw the morning light.
He stood arm and arm with Pastor Washington. The smiles on both their faces were worth the new round of discomfort that was thumping him from the inside out. He looked out the area that the church would rise from the ashes and felt a burst of energy and a new resolve to live long enough to see its completion.
Perhaps he would live just long enough to walk the aisles towards the altar himself. Perhaps he would do just that. Perhaps his God could find room through his salvation for an unholy man like Thomas Pepper after all.
He found that despite the cold Atlanta air that he had worked up a good sweat as he had volunteered to sweep around the benches while the others washed the giant pots and pans. He could feel them watching him. Pastor Washington and the others knew his condition and prognosis. They wanted him to be smart and not overextend himself…
Thomas found that he had to stop for the secon
d time in as minutes as he was struggling to catch his breath. He coughed…and then he coughed again into his hands. And when he coughed a third time he found blood on dripping from his fingers.
And then his stomach felt as the walls lining his stomach exploded and all the feeling in his lower extremities failed him all at once.
And Thomas Pepper lay helpless and dying in the exact spot where Pastor Joe Washington promised the church’s new altar would stand.