BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

Cover image by Виктория Бородинова from Pixabay. Cover art by Gregory Hedgepeth.

I was at my wits’ end and tired of waiting for answers. It was time to start demanding the truth. I rapped my knuckles against the glass a fourth time, wondering what was taking her so long to answer. Suddenly, a face appeared in the glass and I gave a smile. 

She shook her head and rolled her eyes before finally opening the door. “What is it, Walker?” Daytona asked solemnly. 

“Damn, you’re not even going to invite me in though?” I asked. She let out a sigh and moved to the side as I strolled across the threshold. “Have you talked to your sister today? She hasn’t returned any of my calls.”

“I’m sure that was done on purpose,” she said, closing the door behind us. “Maybe she doesn’t want to be bothered.”

“Bothered? What makes you think that’s what I have in mind?”

“All I’m saying is that maybe she wanted some time to herself.”

I scoffed. “Hmph, why can’t she just say that then?”

“Walker, why don’t you just give her a break? She’s got a lot going on right now.”

“You think I’m not aware of that?“ I asked irritatedly. A knock at the door broke through our conversation, and she scurried off to answer it while I plopped down on the sofa. The room smelled light and feminine—probably some sort of floral nonsense, knowing Daytona.

“No, it’s fine,” she said, coming back around the corner followed by a man I didn’t recognize. “I’m not up to anything important.”

“I tried to tell Hampton we could probably do this another day, but he insisted.”

I scoffed at the mention of Hampton’s name. “No surprise there.”

“Excuse me?” the man said with an upraised eyebrow. 

“Ignore him, Bishop,” Daytona said with a wave of the hand in my direction. “It’s no problem at all. I know how particular he can be about these things.”

“That’s one way to put it,” I said rolling my eyes.

“Do I know you?” the man asked.

“No, but I do know Hampton. I’m not surprised he’s inconveniencing you to complete a trivial task on his behalf.”

“Almost like how you’re inconveniencing me by being here,” Daytona let out. 

I was taken aback. “And how am I doing that just by sitting here?”

Daytona shook her head. “Just wait here, Bishop. I’ll be right back.”

She walked off, leaving the two of us alone. Bishop took a seat in a leather arm chair across from me, clearing his throat but remaining steadfast in his silence. 

“So you work with Hampton?” I asked. 

“Yes. I’m one of the junior associates at the firm.”

“How interesting,” I said, feigning a yawn. “So instead of real work, he has you running around, completing his errands and whatnot?”

“It’s not an errand,” he said, adjusting his glasses. “He left an asset here—I’m just retrieving it.”

“An asset?” I asked, growing suddenly interested. “Do tell.”

His face scrunched in confusion. “Who are you exactly?”

I smirked. “My name is Walker Gauff. Daytona’s sister is my fiancé.”

“She is not your fiancé,” Daytona let out suddenly, returning to the room. 

“Well, we might as well be engaged.”

“You haven’t asked her anything and she hasn’t accepted anything. You’re just playing around and keeping her from moving on with her life.”

“Jesus, Daytona,” I said mockingly. “Is that anyone to talk about your future brother-in-law?”

She shook her head and turned to Bishop. “Here you go,” she said simply, handing over a small USB and a manila folder. “Let him know that I could’ve dropped it off though—he didn’t need to send you.”

“I’ll pass along the message, but you know Hampton. Thanks anyway, Daytona. I see the new spot is coming along nicely. You have it looking like a real home in here.”

“It’s no problem at all. And oh yeah, I’m having a dinner party next week. You and Krystina should come! It’ll be fun. I haven’t seen her in ages.”

“Are you making peach cobbler?” he asked with a wide grin. 

“I may bake up a pan or two,” she said slyly. 

“Then we’ll definitely be in attendance. Thanks for the invite.”

“No problem—I’ll walk you out.”

I was left to my own devices yet again, taking in the decor of the living room. Most of the items looked cheap and novel. Daytona had always made decent money, so I never understood why she didn’t buy more top-of-the-line items. I was just glad it hadn’t rubbed off on Dahlia. 

“So are you planning to stay here all afternoon?” she asked, coming back into the room. “I actually have things to do, believe it or not.”

“Did my invite to the dinner party get lost in the mail or something? I’m a fan of your cobbler as well. I don’t remember hearing about a gathering.”

She placed her hands on her hips and gave me a stern look. “Walker, I’m really not in the mood for this today.”

I studied her closely. “Are you sure you haven’t heard from Dahlia? You guys talk ten times a day, and suddenly—now that I’m looking for her—you two haven’t talked?”

She let out a heavy sigh. “I’m not her keeper. If she wanted to talk to you, I’m sure she would. Now, I have an artist who’s going to drop by any moment—I’d prefer it if you weren’t here when they arrived.”

I cleared my throat, looking for something to say, but ultimately deciding to keep it to myself. “I guess I’ll make myself scarce then. I should probably get back to the office anyway. If you hear from your sister, how about you tell her I dropped by?”

She gave me a smarmy look. “Yeah, I’ll do just that. Have a great day, Walker.”

I stood and made my way to the door with a sly smile, checking the time on my watch before heading out into the sun and returning to my car. I dialed Dahlia’s number, and yet again, it rang unanswered. Just as I hit the end button, I noticed the shade lift slightly in an upstairs window before dropping back down almost immediately. I smirked, convinced I was seeing things. I studied the house a final time before turning the key in the ignition and speeding off once the engine roared to life.

***

I had been sipping on Rabbit Punch for the past hour. I was already feeling the pull of gravity against my forehead, but I still remained fairly upright. Hampton couldn’t do much, but he could certainly make a decently strong drink. I stumbled into the front study, and leaned against the desk, mesmerized by all the books displayed across a single shelf. I moved closer to examine the titles, when I noticed Dahlia walk by out of the corner of my eye with a wide smile. I placed my glass on the desk and stumbled out after her, determined to finally have the conversation she’d been avoiding.

“Babe,” I said simply. Her smile faded and she began to rush off with a tray full of appetizers. “Dahlia, don’t be like that—can we just talk please?”

“We have nothing to talk about,” she said, making her way back towards the kitchen. “Why are you even here?”

“So you’re not even going to let me explain?”

“I’ve heard everything I needed to hear from you.” 

I stopped in my tracks. I couldn’t believe how unreasonable she was being. “So we can’t even—“

She let out a sigh and turned to face me with a roll of the eyes. “Can’t you just leave me alone? I don’t have anything to say to you!”

“Just let me explain—“

“Explain what? Why you continue to make me look stupid? Why you should get another chance after all the times you’ve fucked up? Why you called me a slab behind my back? Which is funny to me because didn’t you tell Daytona I was your fiancé last week? How am I supposed to reconcile all that when it’s clear you want to keep playing these games?”

“Dahlia, listen—“

“No, you listen. You’ve made a fool of me for the last time. I’ve told you repeatedly that I don’t want to deal with you anymore and you refuse to take no for an answer.”

“Look, you’re not a slab, okay? I was just—“

“You think I’m not aware of that? You really think I need you to confirm something I already know about myself? You continue to assume that no one’s opinion matters but your own! A real man would’ve never let something like that even come out of their mouth! Just leave me alone.”

She attempted to walk off again and I reached out to grab her elbow. “Babe—“

Her eyes glowed with anger as she jerked her arm away from my grasp, nearly spilling the tray of food. “Do. Not. Touch. Me. Do you understand? Don’t put your hands on me ever again.”

I stood there silently and began to notice how many people were suddenly staring at us. My plan was backfiring. I held my tongue and let out a loud sigh as she walked off. I saw her place the tray on a small side table and whisper something to Daytona. Soon after, she left out the front door without once looking in my direction.

***

The detective looked at me with a scrunched face. “I still don’t understand—what the hell is a slab?”

I let out a sigh. “It’s a name me and my friends came up with...”

“Which means?”

“A slab is a girl you are just messing around with, someone you aren’t really serious about.”

“But I thought you told Miss York—“

“Look, I didn’t mean it, okay? I was just joking with my dickhead friends. I didn’t think they’d actually go back and tell her what I said.”

“Hmph,” he said before jotting down something quickly in a small spiral notebook. “And what can you tell me about Mr. Hamilton? You didn’t seem very fond of him.”

“That’s because I wasn’t. He always walked around like his shit doesn’t stink.”

“You two seem to have quite a bit in common.”

I swallowed my retort before it escaped. “Look, Hampton never cared for me dating Dahlia. He always said I was a bad influence. He acted like her big brother or something. But if you ask me, he had no right to stick his nose in my relationship.”

He studied me curiously. “And do you blame him for the demise of your relationship to the younger Miss York?”

I swallowed hard. “I didn’t say that. Look, I didn’t like the guy—but I didn’t kill him.”

“Mr. Gauff—“

“I don’t understand all this sorrow for him anyway!” I let out, growing frustrated. “The guy was a fucking asshole, cheating folks out of their money! Hell, anyone could’ve murdered him and they would’ve been in the right!”

The detective placed his pen down and studied me closer. “And what exactly does that mean?”

I realized I’d said too much. “Nothing.”

“Mr. Gauff, let me remind you that this is a murder investigation—now, you need to explain what you mean and explain it right now!” he snarled. It was too late to take it back. 

“Hampton’s been dicking people around for years. Everyone loves to act as if he’s some folk hero, supposedly saving all these poor folks from the grasp of New Lorraine. All he’s really doing is tricking everyone who doesn’t know any better into giving up their entire reparations, so he can ‘teach them the game.’ Whatever the fuck that means. It’s all horseshit.”

“Lots of business people charge folks for their expertise—especially the younger kids. How else will they learn the trade?”

“I hear you... the only problem is Hampton didn’t have any expertise. He just follows the index.”

“The index?”

“There’s always a list of the most profitable stocks in the country floating around at any given moment. Hampton just studies the list, drops the bottom 90% and switches the order around to make it seem like he knows what he’s talking about. People say he’s a guru, but he’s not doing anything special. Anyone with half a brain and an Internet connection could do the same thing.”

“He beats the market every year, so he must be doing something right.”

“Beats the market according to who? His company?” I scoffed. “I’m sure they’ll go along with anything that helps him bring in new clients.”

The detective looked at me as if he wasn’t sure I was telling the truth. “So if you knew this information, why didn’t you speak up before now?”

“I’ve been telling anyone who would listen for the last three years what he’s doing! But everyone thinks he’s God’s gift and I’m just—“ I paused briefly. “Look, he’s not who everyone thought he was... I’m not surprised someone finally realized the scam he was running and put him out of his misery.”

He scribbled something into his notebook and remained silent for several moments. “Do you remember what happened before you passed out?”

“I barely remember anything about last night. I was drunk off my ass before Dahlia even arrived and I’d been trying to call her for hours, but she refused to pick up. I just... I really fucked up. I know I shouldn’t have said what I said. I should’ve ran out after her, but I was too drunk to drive anywhere.”

“Interesting,” he said, pulling a sheet of paper from a folder. “Your phone records show you didn’t call the younger Miss York at all last night. Instead, we show 28 calls over a five-hour period to an escort service in Alpine. When we called to confirm, they said you would just yell into the phone for several seconds and then hang up.”

My face turned white. I felt like an idiot. “Fuck, so she doesn’t even know I was trying to reach her?” I said to myself, shaking my head. “That goddamn Rabbit Punch.”

“I’m sure that’s exactly it was,” he said with a smug smile. “I’ll be back in a moment, Mr. Gauff—be sure to make yourself comfortable. We’ll resume with questions in a bit.” He let himself out and I laid my head against the cold metal table, attempting to ease my impending migraine while I waited for his return.

---

Gregory Hedgepeth is the editor-in-chief of Vital Narrative Press. You can follow him on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. Feel free to follow on all three. Or maybe just two. Yeah, two’s probably good—he’s not that interesting. Gregory Hedgepeth is also the author of MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT SUNRISES, THE YEAR THAT ANSWERED and A COLLECTION OF ECHOES. BUY THAT SHIT.

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

Songs For People Who Smoke in the Shower 10 is a playlist I created because I like to play music when I smoke in the shower. I cut the lights low, turn the music up and let all the stress of the day melt away. Most of these songs have been played ad nauseam over the past year or so, and although theres no single cohesive theme among them, once you spark your lighter and let the music take you away, I think you’ll immediately get the vibe.

UGK  — “Int’l Players Anthem” (feat. OutKast)

“I have no idea how this didn’t make it on one of the first nine volumes, but do I even need to explain how incredible this joint is? Four classic verses from four classic MCs (not to mention it’s arguably Three Stacks’ best and most memorable). This is one of those songs that makes me light up as soon as it starts. I HAD to start number ten off with this one.”

Dr. Dre — “Keep Their Heads Ringin’”

“This is one of those Dre songs that I always seem to forget about for some reason, but it’s such a dope track. Dre’s production is flawless here.”

Kem — “Love Calls”

“This song always reminds me of my wife because we’ve been wanting to see Kem in concert for several years and haven’t had the chance yet. It’s just such a beautifully performed song—it forces me to slow down for a moment and really get in tune emotionally.”

Tupac Shakur — “Picture Me Rollin’”

“This joint reminds me of my little brother Jamal because back in the day, even though “All Eyez On Me” is one of my all-time favorite albums, I always used to skip over this song until he put me on. “I got keeeeeys... coming from overseeeeas!” is still my favorite part.”

Rick Ross — “Nobody’s Favorite” (feat. Gunplay)

“One of my all-time favorite songs is Gunplay’s “Blood On The Dope” (peep SSS3 if you haven’t heard it for some reason) because of the pure energy on the song—not necessarily because of the lyrics. But this shit here? THIS SHIT RIGHT HERE NIGGA?! Gunplay MURDERED this verse. Dude continues to be highly underrated and Ross does what he always does on this type of track.”

Listen to the playlist below or simply click the link.

---

Gregory Hedgepeth is the editor-in-chief of Vital Narrative Press. You can follow him on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. Feel free to follow on all three. Or maybe just two. Yeah, two’s probably good — he’s not that interesting. Gregory Hedgepeth is also the author of MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT SUNRISES, THE YEAR THAT ANSWERED and A COLLECTION OF ECHOES. BUY THAT SHIT.

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

Cover image by Виктория Бородинова from Pixabay. Cover art by Gregory Hedgepeth.

I knocked at the bright yellow door a second time, taking in the expansive estate’s exterior in awe. A lush, multi-colored tulip garden took up most of the front yard and several large lemon trees provided shade from the warm Mississippi sun.

I raised my fist to knock a third time, when I saw the home’s owner making her way to the door through the frosted glass inlay. I cleared my throat, ready to put on my best fake smile and hoping it wouldn’t turn out to be another dead end. 

She pulled open the door and extended her hand, giving me a wide toothy smile. “Hello, you must be Donovan.”

“Yes, hello,” I said cheerfully giving her hand a shake. “Most people call me DQ.”

“It’s nice to meet you, DQ. My name is Daytona York. Welcome... please come inside.”

I stepped over the threshold, taking in the interior, which was even more breathtaking than the outside. There were several large framed paintings and photographs covering stark white walls and a number of modern amenities were furnished throughout. It only took a few glances to confirm that she really had taste where most folks in Gigglemug simply had an eye for what was most expensive. “You have a beautiful home, Miss York,” I said. 

“Thank you so much. Lord knows it’s taken me months to get it this way—you should’ve seen what it looked like when I first moved in. It’s been a painstaking process, but I’m happy it’s all starting to come together.” She continued to beam her trillion-watt smile and I could tell how proud she was of her home. It was definitely different than I was used to with most Gigglemug residences that relied on professional decorators to illuminate the space. She seemed most gratified to have selected each item herself. “Let me show you where you’ll be getting started,” she said, beginning to walk off.

“Wait, just like that?” I asked taken aback. “You don’t want to interview me first?”

She seemed confused by the question. “Is that standard? I’ve already seen your work.”

“Almost every time I’ve done a piece for someone out here, they’ve grilled me on the kind of paint I’ll be using, which colors they need in the space, the shapes they expect...”

She shook her head. “I’m not interested in hindering your natural ability. I’ve seen the work you’ve done for other people’s homes and it’s... nice. But I love your raw work. Like the portfolio you sent over—I have to imagine that’s the stuff you create for yourself, right?”

“It’s the work that means the most to me.” 

“Well, I don’t want three purple squares or a portrait of some naked woman because I’m looking to fill a space on a wall... I want you—the real DQ.” I grinned sheepishly. I had never been given the opportunity to do a custom piece for a client that was solely in my image before. Daytona continued to flash a wide smile as I found myself astounded at the freedom she was offering. “Follow me. I’ll show you to the gallery.”

I followed behind her closely, still awestruck at the innate beauty of the home. When we arrived at the gallery, it appeared to be the one room that was unfinished. The wood floors were halfway pulled up and there was a large tarp draped over the rest. To my surprise, she’d already hung two of my pieces in a far corner. We stepped into the middle of the room where three nine-foot canvases took up most of a large wall. “I have two other commissions coming in next week—this is your canvas,” she said, pointing to the middle one. “Fill it with whatever your heart desires and be honest and passionate about the work. Can we agree to that?”

I took a step back and eyed the large canvas. It was almost too good to be true. “And you’re sure about this? I can do anything I want?”

“I don’t want you to put anything on that wall that doesn’t fill you with a sense of pride. Lean in and give me your best work.” She reached into her pants pocket and pulled out a check. “Oh and before I forget... here’s your payment.”

“This is a really large space. It may take me a while—a few days even.”

She beamed another warm smile. “Great art can’t be rushed, right? Take all the time you need. I’m going to step out into the courtyard for a bit. I have a few plants I need to attend to. Once you’re done for the day, just let me know.”

I shook my head in disbelief and reached for the check. My eyes grew wide at the amount listed. “Most people only give me a deposit upfront. Plus, this is double the price we agreed on.”

“I trust you,” she said simply. “You don’t strike me as the type of person who would abandon their work halfway through just because you were paid first. By the way, there’s plenty of food and drink in the kitchen. Feel free to help yourself to anything you find. I can’t wait to see what you come up with!”

She walked off giddily as I stood there with my mouth hung open. I couldn’t believe my luck. A completely custom piece. A huge payday. Not to mention how warm and inviting she’d been. She was the perfect client. Suddenly, I realized the daunting task I was faced with: I had no idea what I was going to paint. I took a step back, and stood there for several minutes taking in the space and its aura, determined to discover my point of attack. Once the idea began to materialize, I found myself overcome with a wave of inspiration. I grabbed my paintbrush and began to slap long strokes against the canvas, excited for what was to come.

***

“Man, you must get so much ass,” Walker said matter-of-factly while his eyes scanned the room. “I wish I had the temperament for that artist thing... I’m just better with numbers and whatnot, ya know?” I scrunched my face in annoyance, remaining silent as he continued. “Not to mention the shitty pay—I mean, who wants to be a starving artist? No offense, of course.”

“I’m actually not starving by any means,” I said taken aback as he waved me off. “Some artists do quite well for themselves, myself included.”

“You live in New Lorraine though, right?” he scoffed. “How hard can it be to stay fed when everything is paid for?” 

I rolled my eyes and walked off. Daytona had been incredibly kind to invite me to her dinner party, but thus far, it was turning out just as I expected: another pretentious affair filled with rich people who loved nothing more than the sound of their own voices and the weight of their opinions.

I made my way past the kitchen which was clamoring with activity and smelled incredibly enticing. I was excited to eat something besides fish for the night. It was the only thing that ever made these shindigs worth attending. I sauntered towards the gallery, where three men stood in the middle of the room, observing the three canvases against the wall. I hadn’t yet taken the chance to see the other pieces Daytona had commissioned and decided this would be as good a time as any. I was holding out hope the other artists had been invited as well, so I’d have someone to discuss art with, but neither had made an appearance yet. I never liked to compare my work, but I couldn’t deny being excited to see how it stacked up against the others.

The piece to the far right was a random amalgamation of purple and pink splotches against a bright yellow background with splashes of silver dripping from the top. There was a signature in bright red near the bottom right corner, but I didn’t recognize it. Overall, I was impressed with the piece. The artist’s use of color didn’t match my personal preference, but I could appreciate the effort. 

I made my way back to the front of the room as the men stood squarely focused on my piece when a comment from one of them caught my ear. “I just don’t get what it’s supposed to be,” he said, taking a swig from a flask. “So many of these so-called artists swear they’re doing something mind-bending but it just ends up looking like a bunch of nothing.” The man chuckled to himself as the other two just stood in silence. “Hell, Bishop—your dog could probably shit out better stuff than this if you didn’t feed him Pupper Supper.”

I had heard derogatory comments from ignorant people before, so I knew it wasn’t worth the time to defend my work. I rolled my eyes and decided to focus my energy on the piece to the left. The canvas had been wrapped in gold leaf. Painted over it was a simple green triangle outlined with a wide orange border. It was understated, but I loved the way it came out. I checked the signature and saw it was done by a young lady named Necole, a well-known artist who had completed different murals around the county. I almost felt intimidated knowing my work would be hanging next to hers, especially in a private residence.

“And don’t even get me started on that elementary-ass triangle over there!” the man said with a laugh, growing even more belligerent and taking another long swig from his flask. “I can’t believe Daytona really wasted her money like this.”

“You just don’t know how to appreciate art, brudda,” the man he’d called Bishop let out as his phone chimed.

“Ain’t nothing worth appreciating on this wall. I  sure wouldn’t have paid anything for it.”

“Oh shit, I’ve gotta take this, Hampton,” Bishop said, quickly heading out of the room. “I’ll be right back.”

Hampton waved him off as the young man next to him seemed impressed with the piece. “I actually think it’s pretty nice,” he said. “I mean all the different shades of blue show a bit of melancholy... but I think the red and the yellow display a grasp at happiness.” I smiled to myself. I was actually kinda impressed with the observation. It wasn’t exactly what I’d been going for, but it wasn’t far off.

“Oh please, Morris. This is bullshit. All of this is bullshit. It’s just paint thrown against a wall. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Actually, it’s not just paint thrown against a wall,” I said, finally speaking up. “I put real thought into this.”

“Shit, I can’t tell,” Hampton said, waving me off after another swig.

“Wait, you’re DQ?” Morris asked with his eyes wide. “I know you, you’re the one who—“

“Nobody gives a fuck who he is,” Hampton said, belching loudly and beginning to slur his words. “You hear me? Nobody... gives a single... a single fuck who you are!”

“Hey, Hampton, chill man,” Morris said, trying to quell the situation. “DQ is like a legend in The Wealth. He’s done stuff all over Mississippi—some of his stuff even made it to the state museum.”

Hampton scoffed. “Is that supposed to be some kind of accomplishment? Should I be impressed?”

“Is being an asshole an accomplishment?” I asked with an eye roll.

He took another swig off the flask before dropping it to the floor. “What did you say?”

“I don’t recall being hesitant with my words,” I said matter-of-factly. “You heard exactly what I said.”

“Do you... do you know who the fuck you’re... you’re talking to?”

“Hey Hampton—“ Morris started, attempting to deescalate the situation yet again. 

“Get off me!” Hampton let out, pushing his hand away. “See? I was just playing with your ass. But now you’re trying to run your mouth and make this into something you don’t really want. I ain’t one of these Gigglemug softs! You need to show some respect!”

I looked him up and down with disgust. “What’s there to respect?”

“You keep flapping those gums and I’ma slap fire out your ass!”

“Yo, Hampton chill, man—“

“I’m outta here,” I said, turning to leave. 

“Don’t you turn your back on me!” he let out with his nostrils flared, grabbing at my shoulder. 

“Don’t touch me, nigga!” I yelled, yanking my shoulder from his grasp as Morris moved to get between us. I didn’t know what was up with him, but it had to be more than whatever was in that flask. 

“Move, Morris! I’m tired of this little motherfucker!”

My fists clenched on instinct, but I wasn’t about to give him the satisfaction. “Whatever. You ain’t worth my time. If I had known Daytona was going to invite assholes, I coulda stayed home tonight. I’m outta here.”

“Yeah, you better leave!” 

“Fuck you,” I spat out, darting past a woman who had just rushed into the gallery, presumably to figure out what all the commotion was about.

“No, fuck you!” I heard Hampton scream out as I made my way out the room, shaking my head in frustration.

***

“Look, I know how it sounds,” I said calmly. “But I didn’t have anything to do with the guy getting killed. I barely saw him again after that. Once his wife came up to me and apologized, I was done with the situation. I wasn’t about to let him fuck up my night.” The detective looked at me as if he wanted to believe me, but I wasn’t sure if he did. 

“So, Mrs. Hamilton apologized to you, but not Hampton?”

“After dinner, he came up and belched out some half-assed apology. It was probably just the liquor talking though—hell, between the flask and his punch, he was drunk most of the night. I just tried my best to avoid him. I was happy that Daytona had overpaid for the work, but I was still hoping to connect with another client or two.”

“And did you?”

“Not really, I chatted up her sister a bit, but she didn’t seem to bite. No one else really seemed interested in the artwork besides Morris.”

“Ah yes, Mr. McMahon... perhaps, he could be a future client?”

“Doubtful. He lives in New Lorraine just like me.”

“That doesn’t mean he’ll be there forever. From what I’m told, he’s had a promising internship so far. He was under the tutelage of Mr. Hamilton himself.”

I scoffed. “I guess that’s supposed to mean something.”

“You really don’t know anything about the Hamiltons?”

I shrugged. “They’re just Gigglemugs.”

“Not by a long shot. Hampton Hamilton is second-in-command at one of the largest brokerage firms in the state.”

“Okay—and what’s that’s supposed to mean?”

“He’s not exactly small time,” the detective said simply as my face scrunched in confusion. “The guy has beat the market every year since he got reparations.”

I shrugged it off. “Everyone in Gigglemug thinks they’re somebody special—he was just some drunk asshole at a party as far as I’m concerned.”

“I see,” he said, scribbling something down in his notebook. “So what did you and Dahlia discuss exactly?”

“Nothing particularly important, I guess. She said she admired my work. Told me she was the one who initially suggested me to Daytona. I told her I was grateful for her eye. We didn’t get to talk much though—her boyfriend was hovering most of the time until she left.”

“Boyfriend?”

“Yeah... the other guy. Walker... something.”

He flipped through several pages in his notebook. “Mr. Gauff? He and Dahlia are an item?”

“You wouldn’t be able to tell by the way they interact with one another. She seemed to enjoy the company of others a lot more than his, but any time she was talking with someone, he’d come and interrupt.”

“Interesting,” he said, scribbling more notes. “Is there anything else you remember about their interactions?”

I shrugged. “Not really. They got into a big blow up before dinner and she left out.”

“What was the blow up about?”

“I’m not certain to be honest. Something about a slab.”

“A slab?”

“Yeah, he just kept yelling ‘you’re not a slab’ and before I knew it, she was out the front door.

“I see,” he said, taking a pause. “Do you recall what happened before you passed out?”

“Not really. Just remember feeling a little ill. That punch was way too potent. And I already don’t really drink like that as it is. I don’t see how Hampton could stand it—his liver must’ve been made of steel or something.”

“Can you think of anyone at the party who may have wanted to harm him?”

I shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. Dude was an A-1 dick in my opinion... but he seemed to be endeared by everyone else there.” I paused for a moment, lost in thought before shaking my head. “I guess that makes me suspect number one, huh?”

“And what makes you say that?”

“You know... motive and all that jive...”

He finished scribbling and looked me in the eye. “Hmph, I guess you have a point. Sit tight for me, won’t you?” He slid the notebook back into his pocket and headed for the door. “Actually—I do have one more question: did anyone at the party strike you as a Rager?”

My face ran white. “A Rager? You think a Rager murdered Hampton?”

He shrugged slightly. “I’m playing a hunch.”

I searched my memory for anything that may have indicated anyone with the RAAAGE. “No one comes to mind. I just... I mean, you never know who’s who these days.”

“I guess you have a point there.” He gave me a final once over and then a half-smile before leaving out without another word.

---

Gregory Hedgepeth is the editor-in-chief of Vital Narrative Press. You can follow him on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. Feel free to follow on all three. Or maybe just two. Yeah, two’s probably good—he’s not that interesting. Gregory Hedgepeth is also the author of MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT SUNRISES, THE YEAR THAT ANSWERED and A COLLECTION OF ECHOES. BUY THAT SHIT.

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

Cover image by Виктория Бородинова from Pixabay. Cover art by Gregory Hedgepeth.

I sat inside the bathroom with my face in my hands, regretting the decision I’d made. I stood to wash my hands and caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror. I felt unrecognizable. I wasn’t sure who this woman was staring back at me. It had been almost a week since I terminated my pregnancy, but I was still feeling the pangs of guilt and anguish. I shook my head and took a deep breath. “Get your shit together, Jo,” I whispered aloud, wiping the last of my tears away. I tattooed a fake smile across my face and pulled the door open, determined to make it through the evening.

I made my way back to the kitchen, where I’d already set up a dozen empty glasses near the punch bowl. I placed a few ice cubes and a cherry into each glass, before filling them with the potent elixir. I looked over at Daytona, who was fixated on her spinach puffs with an obsessive eye. The sweat coming from her brow and the determined look on her face told me she was consumed with having everything perfect. Personally, I would have ordered a caterer for such an affair, but knowing her, that wouldn’t have stopped her from hovering over their shoulders the entire time anyway. Her food was always delicious, so I wasn’t sure why she was worried. It’d been a while since I’d attended one of her dinner parties and this was the first since she’d moved into her new house. I still couldn’t get over how glamorous and pristine the kitchen was. 

We continued our individual tasks in silence, which only made the thoughts inside my head grow louder and more malicious. I figured I’d make things easier on myself by engaging in a little small talk. “Girl, I don’t know what you got cooking in that oven, but it smells divine.”

She looked up for a moment and gave me a half-smile. “Thanks so much, Jo. It’s just a roast. I used my grandma’s recipe. They were out of Irish butter, but I’m hoping my potatoes still turn out okay.”

“They always do,” I said offering a genuine grin. “Everything looks amazing.” 

“Damn, Day!” Dahlia said, walking into the kitchen with a bottle of wine in one hand and a paper bag of groceries in the other. “You got it lookin’ like Thanksgiving up in here. They were out of brioche by the way.” Daytona let out an audible groan as her little sister dropped everything on the counter before walking over to give me a hug. “Hey Jo. You’re looking fit—that dress is hugging you in all the right places.”

“Thanks girl. I’ve been on the Stairmaster twice a day, trying to get back right,” I said with a smile. Dahlia had always been sweet and thoughtful to me. For her to be so young, she carried herself like a woman ten years older.

“Why did you bring wine?” Daytona asked her, moving the items from the counter to the fridge. “I told you Hampton was bringing Rabbit Punch.” 

“You know I can’t drink that shit. I always end up with a two-day hangover, and knowing him, he probably tried to sneak some extra tequila in there.” I gave a chuckle and began to pour another glass of punch when I heard a commotion coming from the gallery. The three of us looked at each other with concerned expressions and I placed the ladle back inside the bowl. I rushed out of the kitchen to see Hampton yelling at a man I hadn’t yet been introduced to.

“No, fuck you!” Hampton yelled out as Morris attempted to hold him back. 

The guest stomped past me in a huff as I stood there confused. “Babe, what’s going on?” I asked concerned. 

“It’s nothing,” he said, waving me off. “Little motherfucker can’t take a joke.” Without another word, he made his way out of the gallery as Morris just stood there, shaking his head. I let out a sigh and called out after Hampton, still wanting an explanation. I returned to the kitchen and saw him making his way outside in silence, presumably for a smoke. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d seen him so angry, especially in the company of a stranger. 

I began to chase after him, but Daytona stopped me. “I’ll figure out what’s going on,” she said, placing the final spinach puff on a serving dish and wiping her hands on her apron. “He knows how important this night is for me and I’m not about to let him ruin it.”

I let out a frustrated sigh, relenting to her offer to fix things. I wasn’t in the right headspace to corral Hampton’s mood anyway. She made her way outside and I decided to pour punch inside the remaining glasses to keep my mind and hands from turning idle, beginning to regret that I’d agreed to attend. It was the first time I’d been out of the house since leaving the clinic and being around people was already beginning to get to me. Once I was done pouring the punch, I glanced outside to see Daytona and Hampton sharing a laugh. Within a few moments, she returned to the kitchen while he remained outside to continue his smoke. 

“Everything’s fine,” she said, coming up to me. “Looks like he just got into the punch a little early... I’m going to call everyone in so they can be formally introduced. Do you mind making a quick toast? It would probably ease the tension.” I nodded that I would as Daytona gathered everyone into the kitchen. They each selected a glass except Dahlia who insisted on sipping her wine instead. Hampton returned from his smoke and gave me a quick kiss on the forehead before grabbing a glass of his own.

“To Daytona,” I started, lifting my glass in the air. “Congratulations on your beautiful new home, your much-deserved promotion and...” 

“And don’t forget that big-ass raise!” Dahlia let out with a laugh. I gave her a quick wink and Daytona blushed as the guests raised their glasses.

“To Daytona!” everyone cheered in unison. I Iooked Hampton deep in his eyes and gave him a kiss on the lips as he smiled at me, unaware it would be the last one we’d ever share.

***

“So that’s the last thing you remember?” Officer Giovanni asked inquisitively as I nodded inside the interrogation room. “And you made everyone’s drink?”

My face scrunched at his question. “Yes—well, Daytona asked me to. She always handles the food. Taking care of the drinks is usually the only way I can feel useful.”

“Why is that?”

“She’s just extra particular about the way everything looks and tastes. It would probably ruin her entire night if I made an appetizer the wrong way.”

“I see,” he said, scribbling into a small notepad as I shifted uneasily in my chair. “And Hampton brought the punch?”

“He insists on bringing it to just about every type of festive event we attend. He’s been doing it since college.”

“It’s pretty potent from what I hear.”

“That’s an understatement. No one knows exactly what he puts in it—just that it’s a lot of liquor and little of anything else.”

“So you don’t even know what he puts in it?” he asked with an upraised eyebrow.

“He keeps it a secret and almost always makes it the night before. Hampton is—was a nighthawk and I’m an early bird. I was usually in bed long before he made it in. He preferred to work in the evenings. He always said the world was quieter then.”

His brow furrowed and he scribbled down more notes. “Mrs. Hamilton, I need to ask you something that may be a little difficult, but I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t.” I swallowed hard in anticipation. “Were you ever unhappy with your husband?”

I sat and thought about all the times Hampton and I had argued over money or the kids or spending enough time together. It all seemed so arbitrary now. “Are you married, Detective?”

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Me and Fat have been together almost fifteen years.”

“And have they all been happy years?”

Now it was his turn to think. “Personally, I’ve been happy since day one. Not sure if I can say the same for her. She spends a lot of time by herself.”

“Why is that?”

He let out a sigh. “Mrs. Hamilton, you appear to be avoiding the question—do you not want to answer it?”

I sighed heavily. “Hampton is... was the best man I’ve ever known. He made me happy everyday. We argued, of course—but there was never any malice. He worked hard, he always stepped in with the kids when I needed it. He gave me everything I desired and treated me like a queen. I couldn’t have asked for a better husband.”

He scribbled something else into his notebook as I let out a sigh. I still couldn’t believe he was really gone. “Mr. Hamilton’s murder was especially savage. Whoever did this must’ve had a real problem to carve him up so brutally. Can you think of anyone who would want to cause him harm?”

I searched my thoughts for an answer, but none came to mind. I shook my head. “Hampton just wanted the best for everyone. A lot of people assume that folks born in New Lorraine become ruthless once they get their reparations and move to Gigglemug—but not him. He always reminded folks of where he came from and tried to help everyone that he could. That’s why he took Morris under his wing and kept pushing him to absorb as much knowledge as he could during his internship. He saw so much of himself in that kid. It was probably why he invited him to the dinner party—Morris always seemed so overwhelmed and out of place. Hampton was teaching him how to carry himself.”

“You sound proud,” he said.

“Well, Morris has come a long way. I remember when he—“

“No, I was referring to your husband,” he said, scribbling into his notepad and taking a long pause. “What exactly is your relationship with Mr. McMahon?”

My face scrunched in offense. “Excuse me?” I asked.

“It’s just—well, you seem a little preoccupied... maybe you saw Hampton in him just as much as your husband did?”

“Are you... are you really trying to imply that I killed my husband, so I could run off with some penniless intern who still lives with his mother?” I asked taken aback. 

“I didn’t imply that you’d killed anyone. Or that you intended to run off with someone else,” he said calmly, studying me closer than ever. “I just asked you to explain—“

“Morris is a brilliant young man. And I’m happy to see him reaching towards his potential. But that’s where it ends. I have no interest in him and I have always been devoted to Hampton. Always.” Anger inflamed inside my chest as I leaned back against the aluminum chair. I knew spouses were always the main suspect when a murder took place, but that didn’t give him the right to accuse me of anything salacious.

“I understand,” he said with an almost irritating calm. “I apologize if I’ve struck a nerve, but like I said, I wouldn’t be doing my job if—“

“Do your job by finding out who murdered my fucking husband! Not by accusing me of colluding in a heinous plot with some nothing who can’t even afford to pay my weekly salon bill!”

He closed his notebook quietly and clicked his pen before returning it to his pocket. “You’re absolutely right, Mrs. Hamilton. I apologize for my insinuation.” He stood and walked over to the door, reaching the knob before turning back to me. “Your husband seems to indeed be a great man, but it also appears that he made a grand error in choosing a partner. Perhaps you should learn to think as highly of people from New Lorraine as he did.” I opened my mouth to speak, but swallowed my retort as he exited the room, leaving me to battle with my preconceived notions.

***

By the time I was let out of the interrogation, I only had a half hour to get home, wash the blood off me and change clothes. I was just grateful the kids had gotten up on their own and made it to school. Despite all the time I’d spent in my own head since the night before, I still had no idea how I was going to tell them that their father had been killed.

When I pulled up to their school, I had talked myself through a thousand different ways to say it, but none that I thought would ease their pain. Suddenly, a wave of children exited from the building and shook me from my brainstorm. I recognized my son and daughter almost immediately as they marched towards the car.

“Hi Mommy!” Nola yelled excitedly, hopping into the front seat and giving me a tight hug. “I didn’t know you were picking us up today.”

I wiped away the tears forming in the corner of my eyes before they noticed. “Hey Babygirl,” I said as cheerfully as I could muster as her brother simply slumped into his seat. “You doing okay, Brendan?”

“Yeah,” he let out somberly, keeping his eyes focused out his window as we pulled off. 

“You sure? It looks like something is bothering you.”

His eyes met the floor. “I’m fine.”

“He’s upset because Stacey Baker rejected him,” she said with a stifled giggle.

“Why don’t you be quiet!” he spat out violently. “You weren’t even there!”

“Who is Stacey Baker?”

“She’s no one,” he said, looking back out the window.

“She’s a girl in his science class. He loooooves her.”

“God, will you shut up?”

“Brendan, that’s not nice. Don’t be mean to your sister.”

“She’s been bothering me since lunch,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. “She thinks it’s funny, but it’s not.”

“Oooh, Mom—can we go to the bakery and get some banana pudding?” Nola asked as her face lit up. “Please, please, pleeeeeease!”

“Sure,” I said, giving her a warm smile, happy for a little more time to figure out exactly what I was going to tell them. 

“Yesssss!” she exclaimed as Brendan remained silent. I could tell this Stacey Baker situation was really getting to him. 

“I know it doesn’t feel like it now, son... but you’ll find someone one day. And you won’t even think about Stacey again.” He was unmoved by my words, so I decided to let it go, allowing the radio to fill the car’s silence for the rest of the drive.

Once we arrived at the bakery, we walked inside and I ordered banana pudding for the three of us as we took a seat near the large window that peered out into the parking lot. Nola happily dug into her dessert as Brendan took a single bite and swirled the rest with his spoon, still lost in his own thoughts.

“So do you want to tell me what happened?” I asked. “I can tell it’s bothering you.”

He sighed and took another bite of pudding, before clanging his spoon inside the small bowl. “Mom—“

“I just want you to feel better, that’s all. Sometimes it helps to talk things out.”

He took another spoonful and let out a heavy sigh. “I wrote her a letter, telling her that I liked her. That I thought she had beautiful eyes and a pretty smile. That she was funny and smart and a nice person. I told her that I thought we could be good together. When I walked into class, I handed it to her and she just kinda gave me this weird look and put it in her pocket. I figured she would read it and give me an answer when class was over, so I just went to my desk and tried not to think about it. When the bell rang, I made my way to her desk, but she was already gone. When I walked out, I saw my letter crumpled inside the trash can.”

I could the see the agony etched into his face as I stammered out a response. “I’m sorry you had to go through that, baby. At her age, sometimes girls just... it’s one of those things that... but, you know—”

“There’s more,” he said somberly. “After gym, I was walking to the cafeteria and... and her boyfriend threatened to punch me in the face if I ever talked to her again. Everyone just stood there and laughed at me.”

My eyes narrowed. “Wait, she has a boyfriend?” He took another small bite of pudding and released a heavy sigh as tears began to fill his eyes. “Well, son it makes sense why—“

“It’s just not fair!” he let out through angry tears. “He doesn’t treat her right. He yells at her all the time and she just... she just takes it. She should be with me! She doesn’t deserve to be treated that way.”

I sighed and examined his face. He was hurt, not just because she’d rejected him—but because he wanted to save her. “I’m sorry, son. I know it hurts. But she’s made a decision. If she wants to be with him, you have to accept that, okay? It doesn’t mean you’re a bad person.”

He shook his head and began to swirl his pudding again as Nola continued to munch away happily. “You just don’t get it,” he mumbled with a shake of the head. I expected him to say more, but he just clammed up and remained silent. 

I sighed and scanned the room at all the families laughing and sitting together inside the bakery. It reminded me of the first time the four of us had come together. Hampton had convinced us it was the best dessert in town, and although I’d never been a fan of bananas, I couldn’t deny how amazing it tasted. Nola finished her bowl before everyone else and Brendan ended up eating two servings before we left. Hampton beamed with pride for proving himself right. 

A loud cheer inside the bakery brought me back to the present as I noticed Brendan had given up finishing his dessert and was clearly distraught. I finished the rest of my pudding and placed my spoon inside the bowl, staring at nothing out the window. Once Nola was finished, I began to gather our things. I returned the dishes to the counter and turned on my heel to make our way out to the car.

“Mommy, aren’t you going to get Daddy some to go?” Nola asked innocently. 

“Not today, baby,” I mumbled out, choking back tears. We returned to the car and everyone buckled up. 

Brendan slumped into the seat, steadfast in his self-imposed silence as Nola looked down at her feet and then up at me. “Won’t Daddy be upset if he finds out we went to the bakery and didn’t get him anything?” 

I still didn’t know exactly what I was going to say, but it seemed as good a time as any to inform them of what had happened. “Guys, there’s... there’s something I have to tell you. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say to anyone—it’s something that will change everything going forward.” I let out a sigh and did what I could to keep the tears from falling down my cheeks as I backed out of the parking lot and made me way down the street.

---

Gregory Hedgepeth is the editor-in-chief of Vital Narrative Press. You can follow him on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. Feel free to follow on all three. Or maybe just two. Yeah, two’s probably good—he’s not that interesting. Gregory Hedgepeth is also the author of MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT SUNRISES, THE YEAR THAT ANSWERED and A COLLECTION OF ECHOES. BUY THAT SHIT.

BY TERRY CLARK

We asked Terry Clark to curate a Spotify playlist for his book, None But The Righteous, and he selected 34 incredible songs featuring Curtis Mayfield, Marvin Gaye, Miles Davis and Stevie Wonder.

You can listen to the entire soundtrack below or on Spotify.

---

None But The Righteous is available here.

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

Cover image by Виктория Бородинова from Pixabay. Cover art by Gregory Hedgepeth.

I made my way into the apartment after another long shift chasing down killers. To my surprise, Fatimah was still waiting up for me. She greeted me with a quick kiss as I slumped beside her on the couch in an exhausted heap. 

“How was your day?” she asked simply. I was too tired to answer with anything but a nod. “Wanna talk about it?”

I shook my head. “I’d prefer not to.”

“Care for a drink?”

“That would be perfect, babe. After the day I had, I really need one.” She stood and walked over to the minibar, switching her hips with every step. She poured the amber elixir into a couple short glasses and sauntered over to me with a sultry look. “Thank you so much, beautiful,” I said with a smile and a lingering kiss. We clinked our glasses and took a sip. A simmering warmth ran through my body as I eyed her seductively.

“Anytime,” she answered. “It’s been a long while since we’ve been able to share a drink together.”

“I‘m truly apologetic for that, my love. These cases always have me working the craziest hours and you’ve been so patient through it all.”

“It’s what we signed up for, isn’t it?” 

“It may be what we signed up for—but that doesn’t mean it’s a joy to endure,” I said, hoping to convey how apologetic I was that my career was steadily getting in the middle of our time together. Although she had always tried to tough it out for the sake of keeping things civil, I could see that it was beginning to take a toll. I’d been a detective for almost nine years, and during that time, we’d spent far more nights apart than together. Even something as simple as sharing a drink had become tedious.

“Eventually, we will have all the time together that we want. It’s not like you’ll be a detective forever. As soon as you turn that badge in, we are doing all the things we’ve been talking about. Starting with finally taking that trip up to Junot Falls.”

“And taking a morning run on the beach in Hawaii?” I asked with a smile, moving in closer as I attempted to lift the mood. 

“And moonlit dinners at Regine Tower... kite running in Kitana... and parasailing on the Neville too,” she replied, returning my smile. “It’s the least you can do for leaving your wife alone every other night to chase after all the boogeymen in Pristine County.”

“I suppose that’s true—but are you actually willing to wait that long?”

She paused in deep reflection before another smile crawled across her face. “I’d wait forever. Even if it meant—“

Just then, a familiar till from my mobile phone cracked through the air, halting the conversation in its tracks. I checked the time—11:47 PM. We exchanged glances, both knowing what it meant: there was another dead body nearby and I was being summoned to figure out who did it and why. I mouthed an apology and flipped open my phone. “Gio here. I understand. Okay. No, it’s fine. I need the overtime anyway. Yeah, I can leave in a—wait, what did you say? What do you mean there’s seven of them?” My wife’s eyes grew concerned as my face scrunched. “What’s the address? Okay, I’ll be there as soon as I can.” I flipped the phone closed and let out a deep sigh. “Babe—“

She waved me off. “Just be safe, yeah?”

I gave another boyish grin, hoping she’d hold true to her claim of unwavering patience, grateful for all she’d afforded me thus far. “Always. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” I gave her a sympathetic look before kissing her forehead and rushing out the door. 

***

I pulled up to the swanky Gigglemug mansion and took in the scene in awe. The residence almost looked majestic with floor-to-ceiling windows, a large circular driveway filled with several cars and a wide wraparound porch that enveloped the entire house. I hopped out the car and walked up to the door. Despite the yellow tape and the number of officers circling the property, everything looked almost normal outside, but as I crossed over the threshold, the scene transformed into something out of a horror movie. There was blood smeared all over the floor and walls with various items scattered across the place. I saw Deputy Fernando kneeling down over a woman who was covered in blood nearly head to toe. Our eyes met and she stood to greet me in the doorway as I gazed on. “Fernando, what the hell is going on here?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I’ve never seen anything like this before, Gio. Especially not here.” She turned on her heel, rushing down the hallway of the residence as I followed closely behind. It was beautifully decorated like most Gigglemug homes, but I could tell there was a true warmth about it where others felt fabricated. “The body was found in the master bedroom. I figured we’d start there.”

“Wait, the body? They told me there were seven on the phone.”

Fernando’s eyes lowered. “Well, things changed a bit while you were en route.” I raised an eyebrow as she continued. “Like I said—I’ve never seen anything like it. When we walked in and saw seven bodies drenched in blood, we just assumed everyone had been slaughtered. But then...”

“Then?”

“Uh, I don’t know how to put this exactly, but... one of them woke up.”

“Woke up? You mean like a zombie?”

“No, more like... he came to. It appears he was just unconscious. Claimed they had all been rabbit punched. That’s when we took a closer look at the other bodies. We’re not exactly sure where all the blood came from or why everyone is covered in it.”

“Rabbit punched?” I asked with an unsure grimace.

“Apparently, they all had some kind of drink that made everyone pass out. There was a little left when we arrived, and before I even got close to the punch bowl, I could tell it was pretty lousy with hooch.”

I sighed again. “And who is this guy that woke up?”

She checked a small notepad and flipped back several pages. “His name is Bishop Faire. Says he worked with the victim at Owen Tech. Two others came to as well.” She flipped several pages again. “An intern named Morris McMahon. The kid barely looks a day over 21. The other is a Miss Daytona York—she owns the home.“

“Anything pertinent with those two?”

“They were both pretty distraught obviously. Once they calmed down, Mr. McMahon explained that he reported directly to the victim. Apparently, he had took him under his wing and was trying to position him for something more permanent. Miss York says she and the victim had been friends since Junior Primary—they were more like brother and sister, so she’s taking it especially hard. We’re still waiting on the others to wake up.”

“Well, maybe our vic will wake up too,” I said, continuing to survey the frantic scene.

“Trust me, there’s no coming back for that guy—he’s toast.”

“You seem certain.”

“You will be too when you see him. It’s... well, I’ll just let you judge for yourself.”

I sighed hard. This was getting stranger by the minute. “Okay, I’ll get everyone’s statements in a few. I need to see the body. Maybe that will provide some clarity to all this craziness.”

Deputy Fernando waved for me to follow her upstairs. The master bedroom was even more distressing than the scene downstairs. Blood was sprayed across the walls. It had pooled into the carpet and the sheets appeared to be completely soaked though. Despite the metallic scent emanating in the air, the stench of liquor was just as strong. “The victim’s name is Hampton Hamilton,” she started. “As you can see, he was found laid across the bed with lacerations across the neck, chest and ribcage. There’s splatter all over the walls. I can’t imagine any weapon that would’ve left these kinda marks. It‘s like he was attacked by a wild animal...”

“Or a Rager,” I said, kneeling down to examine the body up close.

“A Rager?” Fernando let out as her eyes widened.

“I mean, just look at this. A knife or a dagger wouldn’t have left these kind of marks. The scene downstairs is bloody, but this... this is a goddamn massacre. This guy was ripped apart. And look at the way fear is frozen into his face—he looks horrified. He probably never even saw it coming.” Her head dropped as she weighed my words. A murder was bad enough, but a Rager loose in Gigglemug would cause mass panic. “How the hell does something like this happen? What kind of party was this supposed to be anyway?”

“According to Miss York, she was hosting a dinner party to celebrate a recent promotion. She brokered some sort of deal that made her company six million dollars which led to a huge bump. Maybe someone felt overlooked and decided to crash the party.”

“Yeah, maybe.” I rubbed my temples. “Has any evidence been collected?”

“Everywhere but the master bedroom—we wanted you to see it first before anyone went inside. As you can probably imagine, fingerprints were found all over the place downstairs. We found all the doors and windows locked from the inside. Various items had been knocked over across the entire first floor, but according to Miss York, there didn’t appear to be anything missing. I noticed cameras around various areas of the exterior—she let us take the footage in for processing. We’re just waiting to hear back.“ 

I shook my head and a commotion echoed throughout the house, coercing us to rush back downstairs. We ran to the gallery where another body had suddenly reanimated. “Fuck, my head is killing me,” the man let out, beginning to notice the police milling around. “What’s going on? Is... is everything okay?”

“Far from it,” I scoffed. “We thought you were dead until a little while ago.”

“It sure feels that way,” he said with a groan.

“You mind telling us your name?” 

“Donovan... Donovan Quincy. Most people call me DQ.”

“Hey, I’ve heard of you before. You’re a photographer, right?”

“Painter, actually. I did a few of the pieces hanging inside the gallery.” He let out a grunt, attempting to stand before slumping back to the ground. “Holy shit. I’m too old to still be partying this hard. Hampton should’ve warned me about that punch.”

“Hampton?” Fernando asked with an upraised eyebrow. “Hampton Hamilton? He’s the one who brought the Rabbit Punch?”

“Yeah, Daytona told me he always brings it when there’s a celebration. It’s got enough liquor in it to bring down a small army though. I’ll have to tell him to take it easy on the extra tequila next time.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to worry about that,” I said nonchalantly. “We just found his body upstairs.”

“His body? Wait, Hampton is dead? Are you sure?” Our eyes met the ground to indicate that we were. He shook his head and placed his face into his hands. “I can’t believe this—fuck, what the hell is going on?” 

Before we could answer, an officer called out from down the hallway. We rushed to the guest bathroom where another person was beginning to stir. There was vomit in the toilet and he groaned in pain. “What’s going on?” he asked as we began to gather around. “Is everything—oh my God, is that blood? Is that my blood?!” he screamed out, attempting to wipe it away, smearing it down his arms and into his clothes.

“Sir, we need you to relax,” I said calmly. “What’s your name?”

“W-Walker Gauff.”

“Mr. Gauff, my name is Detective Preston Giovanni. We were called in for a noise complaint. But when officers arrived, we found you and several others just like this. We’re still trying to piece together what happened.”

“Is this some kind of sick joke?” he screamed, standing to his feet.

“Unfortunately not. We found a body upstairs. A Mr. Hampton Hamilton.”

His eyes grew wide. “You mean he’s d-dead?” 

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way. Were you two close?”

“Not even a little bit. Frankly, I can’t stand him. I’m just... surprised.”

My eyebrow raised as another officer knocked at the door. “Hey Gio, the last person just woke up.”

We rushed out the door and into the kitchen where a young woman was sitting against a cabinet with mascara-smeared tears running down her cheeks, which told me she’d already been informed of what was going on. “I just... I can’t believe this. We were supposed to—oh my God, this can’t be real.”

“Ma’am, do you mind telling me your name?”

“Jo-Josephine,” she stammered out. “Josephine Hamilton.”

My eyes grew wide. “You’re Hampton’s wife.” She shook her head yes. “I’m so sorry for your loss, ma’am. We’re going to do everything we can to find out what happened to your husband.” She looked as if she was going through shock. I decided not to ask anything further for fear she might completely break down.

I left out the kitchen, down the hallway and back out into the night air, trying to make sense of it all. I’d been there almost an hour and was no closer to knowing what had happened. I felt a migraine beginning to sear inside my skull. 

A few moments later, Fernando came out to join me, shaking her head and likely just as frustrated as I was. “I don’t know what to make of this, Gio.”

“That makes two of us. With the doors being locked from inside, it had to be one of them,” I spat out defiantly. “It’s gotta be.”

“Any of them seem like a Rager to you?”

“It’s nearly impossible to tell at this point. And nobody seems to have a clear motive—at this point, everyone seems just as innocent as the others.” I placed my hands on my hips, unsure of what to do next until an idea began to formulate in my mind. “Dep, round them all up. We need to get statements and get to the bottom of this.”

“It doesn’t sound like anyone saw what happened. Everyone is claiming they were knocked out by the Rabbit Punch. I don’t know if witness statements are gonna be of any use.”

“We’re not getting witness statements—we’re taking them in as suspects. All of them,” I said simply as I began to make my way to the car. “One of these people brutally murdered our vic—and I’m going to find out who.”

***

I walked out of the last interrogation room, shaking my head in frustration. I walked over to the coffee pot without a word and poured the last of it into my mug before returning it to its place inside the coffeemaker. I took a sip and sat in the chair behind my desk, placing my face into my hands. 

Deputy Fernando noticed my frustration and walked over in an attempt to provide a little comfort. “You good?”

“Not even close,” I said somberly. “I’ve been at this for ten hours straight. If I don’t come up on something solid in the next two, we’re going to have to cut everyone loose. Cap picked a hell of a time to go on vacation.”

“I don’t mind stepping in if you need a hand with interrogations.”

“I appreciate it, but I’ll get it figured out.”

“Do you have anything solid at all?”

“There’s honestly not much to go on. They finished dinner, shared a toast and then no one seems to remember much after that. We don’t have any witnesses to the actual murder and there’s no way to tell the sequence of events. Hell, I don’t even know who passed out first or if they all hit the ground at the same time. I’m just... at a loss.” I let out a sigh. “Hey, was there anything on the footage Miss York provided?”

“Nothing solid. There’s nothing on the rear camera other than a couple people milling around the backyard periodically. There was nothing at all on the side cameras. The two in the front show everyone arriving to the house and little else. A young woman left around eight, but never returned. After that, no one came to the house and no one else left out.”

“Fuck, Dep! When were you going to tell me? That might be our killer. She could have doubled back.”

“Unlikely. Miss York claimed her younger sister left a little early. Apparently, she got into an argument with Mr. Gauff and headed out before dinner even started. Phone records show she was at her residence the entire night.” 

I let out another sigh. “Just about all these folks make enough money to leave the county, Dep. And once they do that, we’re fucked. If I let them outta here, the murderer could be in the wind before the day’s out. I just can’t figure out...” Suddenly, my eyes lit up with revelation. I had been overlooking the most obvious piece of evidence. “Holy shit, that’s it!”

“What’s up?” Fernando asked.

“I have a hunch, but I need to return to the scene of the crime to be sure. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Keep them comfortable for me until then.”

“Copy that.”

I gulped down the rest of the coffee and grabbed my jacket, racing out of the station since I knew time wasn’t on my side. If I didn’t hurry, a murderer was going to walk free and this would be over before it even began.

---

Gregory Hedgepeth is the editor-in-chief of Vital Narrative Press. You can follow him on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. Feel free to follow on all three. Or maybe just two. Yeah, two’s probably good—he’s not that interesting. Gregory Hedgepeth is also the author of MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT SUNRISES, THE YEAR THAT ANSWERED and A COLLECTION OF ECHOES. BUY THAT SHIT.

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

Cover image by Layers from Pixabay. Cover art by Gregory Hedgepeth.

I flew through the air with a determined look and a huge smile on my face. I was finally going to pull it off. I continued to soar through the air with a million thoughts running through my mind. Just as the front wheels kissed the ground, I lost focus for a split second and crashed to the asphalt, busting my elbow wide open.

“Fuck!” Royce yelled out in horror, running up to me as I wiped away the blood beginning to leak out. “You straight?”

I winced and grabbed at my elbow which was already throbbing in pain. “Yeah, I’m cool.”

Rob skated up to us, shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “I told you your ass was lifting up too soon. That’s why you landed on your elbow.”

“Lay off him, Rob. He was close.”

“Not close enough.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m getting thirsty. Let’s go get a soda or something. I got a little change. We can split it.”

“Man chill out. Tommy will be done in a few. Then, we’ll all be able to get sodas,” Royce said as Rob rolled his eyes again and I did my best to ignore my busted elbow. 

“So y’all think he’s really going to take us with him?” I asked.

“Of course,” Rob said with a smug smile. “We’re all the family he’s got. Why wouldn’t he?”

“I don’t know, you hear all kinds of stories about bruddas reneging once they get that check in their hand.”

Royce shook his head. “Tommy wouldn’t do us like that.”

I stood from the asphalt and dusted the gravel from my jeans. I’d been trying to pull off The Impossible for the last three days, but I just couldn’t land it cleanly and my body was definitely paying for it. I had so many abrasions the day before, I didn’t even bother trying to clean each wound individually—I just sat in a steaming alcohol bath until the water ran cold. I went to grab my board which had rolled several feet away and noticed it beginning to fray at the seams. “Fuck,” I said, examining the board up close. I’d repaired it a million times, but it looked like it was close to dying on me. Even still, I was hoping to pull off the trick by the time Tommy came back outside. I just wasn’t sure what would give out first—my body or my board.

I made my way back to the edge of the parking lot. I placed the board on the ground and began to skate as fast as I could. I neared the jumping point, picking up more and more speed. Once I hit the point, I flew through the air again and twisted the board around to prepare for the landing. Just when I thought I was coming in too fast, the board connected with the ground and I managed to stay upright. I couldn’t believe it—I’d pulled off The Impossible. Royce let out a loud yell in celebration as a huge smile spread across my face. Almost as quickly, the board snapped under my weight and I went stumbling into the asphalt yet again. I began to laugh, delirious with the fact that I’d finally landed the trick even though my arms and hands were caked with grime and blood from all the falls and scratches. I stood up and grabbed the two pieces of my board, just as Royce made his way over to give me a high five. 

“I told you he’d pull it off!” Royce said to Rob with a defiant smile. 

“Yeah, but check his board. It’s completely fucked.”

“It’s all good,” Royce said with an annoyed look. “He can get a new one once Tommy comes out. Hell, we can all probably get one.”

Rob sucked his teeth and took a seat on the curb. I went to join him, still brushing the debris off my jeans from the many falls of the day. I was on top of the world. I hadn’t been skating as long as the three of them, but I’d taken to it quickly and it finally felt like I was starting to catch up. “So y’all really wanna turn pro next year?” I asked.

“Hell yeah!” Rob let out. “We coulda been pro three years ago if we didn’t live in the Wealth. They never host invitationals here, but if we had the money to travel... shit, we’d be just as poppin’ as those other niggas. Hell, I pulled off my first 900 when I was fourteen. Plenty of them pro-am dudes still can’t do that.”

“What about you?” Royce asked, glancing in my direction. “You gonna try out too, right?”

“Eh, I don’t know,” I said with a sheepish smile. “I still have a long way to go. Maybe I can just be like an apprentice or something for a while. I’ll be ready after a year or two.”

“Fuck all that,” Rob said, waving me off. “Time is money. And the longer you take to make your money, the longer you’ll have to work for it. Shiiiit, I’m trying to get these sponsorships poppin’! I know y’all saw that Milky Smith just got another shoe deal for three mil—that’s the kinda money I’m trying to make.”

“Shit, we‘re all gonna have shoe deals,” Royce said confidently. “I already know what I want my first one to look like. I’ve been designing it since Junior Primary.”

“Damn, that long?” I asked with my eyes wide. 

“Yup. Them shits gonna be fire, G. I’ma make sure I come back and give everybody in The Wealth a pair. Let these niggas know I’m really out here stuntin’!”

Rob shook his head. “That’s a waste of money. Most of these fools out here don’t know nothing about sneakers. They still wearing skips from the fish market.”

“What’s wrong with skips? We used to wear them back in JP.”

Rob smirked. “Exactly. When we were little kids. It’s mostly grown niggas out here rocking them now though.”

Royce waved him off as I gave a chuckle. “Whatever, fool. I know one thing—I’m starving. We should catch the bus out to Butter’s once Tommy comes out.”

“Shit, I’m always down for an OG,” I said with a smile.

“Bet,” Royce said. “Next one should be by in like 20. Hopefully he’s done by then.” Almost on cue, Tommy walked out with a big smile that seemed to fade more and more the closer he got to us. “What up, brudda?” Royce let out excitedly. “You get your mule?”

“Signed and sealed,” Tommy said, shoving his hands into his pockets. 

Rob smiled for the first time. “Man, it’s about time. You was in there for almost an hour. We’re gonna head to Butter’s to celebrate. Grant finally pulled off The Impossible, but he busted his board. We gotta get him a new one while we’re out at the mall.”

Tommy smiled weakly as we continued to celebrate the newfound wealth. I caught the unease in his stature while Royce and Rob continued to chat eagerly amongst themselves. “Yo, you good man?”

“Yeah, I’m... uh, I’m cool.”

“You’re being weird as fuck, bruh. What’s going on?” Rob and Royce stopped their discussion and looked on at Tommy.

He cleared his throat and looked in the distance at nothing. “I just... um, I... I made a decision that... uh... you know—“

“You’re not taking us with you, are you?” Rob asked simply. Royce and I looked at each and then at Tommy whose eyes were pointed at the ground.

“Of course he is,” Royce said simply, waiting for Tommy to confirm the plans they’d had in place almost as long as I’d known them.

Tommy shifted uneasily back and forth as we waited for an explanation. “It’s just... I got this big opportunity... you know, to make something of myself. And... and, I just want to—“

“Tommy, you’re fucking kidding me right now,” Rob said coldly, taking a step forward as Tommy continued to avoid eye contact. “We’ve been talking about this shit everyday since we learned to skate and now that it’s finally here, you’re trying to cut us out?”

“Cut y’all out? This is my money—this is my chance! Y’all coulda stayed in school just like I did!”

“You motherfucker!” Rob said, pushing him back against the concrete. “You wouldn’t have even made it through school if we didn’t give you food and a place to lay your head every night! Your mama left you high and dry and we took you in without even a question. Now you got the balls to puff your chest out and act like you’re better than us?”

“Look, man,” he started with tears in his eyes. “I know y’all looked out for me. And I ain’t trying to cut y’all out... but you know we only get one real chance to make it outta here. I just—”

“I don’t wanna hear anymore of this shit!” Rob said, grabbing his board and beginning to walk down the street. 

“Yo, I thought we was going to Butter’s!” I called out after him. 

Rob didn’t even turn around. “Man, fuck that shit! I ain’t eating nothing with that cornball-ass nigga!”

Royce and I continued to watch him walk away as Tommy just sat there, clearly upset with the decision he’d made. I knew he was between a rock and a hard place. Even though we had made plans, everyone in The Wealth knew it was never official until the papers were signed. In the back of mind, we all knew there was a chance Tommy would choose to leave without us. 

“So what’d you choose?” Royce asked. I could tell he was pained by the decision, but still trying his best to be happy for our friend. 

“I’m going to Wright State,” he said simply. “They got this administrative program—once I graduate, I can start out at almost fifty grand a year.”

“Wait. You skipped out on the pro-am to bullshit around at Wright State?!” Royce said suddenly growing angry. “Are you fucking kidding me? You could’ve spent it on anything and that’s what you chose? You’re just giving the money right back to them fools!”

“Look man... it’s not like—“

“Nah, you know what? Rob was right. I can’t believe you sold us out for some lame-ass college shit!“ Royce grabbed his board and began to skate away in the opposite direction, leaving the two of us to talk.

We remained silent for several moments as people continued to file in and out of the building. “You hate me too?” he asked somberly without glancing in my direction. 

“Nah, I don’t hate you. I mean, of course, I wish you had chosen differently, but...” I shook my head and gave a heavy sigh. “Look, I get it... it’s The Wealth, right? You wanna make it outta here just like everyone else. I can’t be mad at that. And you’re right... at the end of the day, the money is yours to spend on whatever you want.”

He smiled weakly, but I could tell he was still in anguish. “I just wish I could do both, you know? Go to school and take y’all with me.”

“I get it. But you can only worry about yourself, brudda. Someone will always have something to say about the decisions we make. But if you believe in something—and more importantly, if you believe in yourself—then do what’s in your heart, G.”

He finally stood and gave me a bump on the fist. I gave him a half-smile and grabbed the two ends of my board before retreating across the street to the bus stop. I began brainstorming on how I’d fix it since it didn’t look like a new board was coming any time soon. Tommy sat beside me and put his arm around my shoulders. “Thanks for understanding, man. It’s nothing personal.”

“It’s cool, bruh. I hope things work out for you at Wright State.”

He gave me a weak smile. “Hey, you still trying to hit Butter’s? I have about $200 left over. I can get you an OG if you want.”

“Yeah, let’s do it.”

“Aight bet,” he said as his smile spread across his face just as the bus rounded the corner and the sun came from behind a cloud to shine its brilliance across New Lorraine.

---

Gregory Hedgepeth is the editor-in-chief of Vital Narrative Press. You can follow him on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. Feel free to follow on all three. Or maybe just two. Yeah, two’s probably good—he’s not that interesting. Gregory Hedgepeth is also the author of MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT SUNRISES, THE YEAR THAT ANSWERED and A COLLECTION OF ECHOES. BUY THAT SHIT.

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

Cover image by Marta Docampo from Pixabay. Cover art by Gregory Hedgepeth.

There were fifteen minutes left in the workday and I couldn’t be less excited. It was our fourteenth anniversary and I knew John hadn’t planned anything special for the two of us. He hadn’t even called on his lunch break like usual. “Probably another dumbass meeting,” I muttered to myself. I considered working late, so I could pretend that we’d both forgotten again—but the truth was that I was fed up with his carelessness. I wanted us to do something romantic for once. But I knew if I didn’t take the lead, it wouldn’t happen and I had grown tired of a loveless marriage.

When the clock hit five, I begrudgingly shut down my computer and retreated to my car. I drove home in silence, trying to keep myself from getting irritated at another anniversary come and gone without any romance. I let out a heavy sigh and began to blame myself—I knew the man I’d married. And I couldn’t expect an old dog to learn new tricks. 

After zipping through traffic quicker than expected, I hopped off the expressway and pulled up at home within minutes. Almost immediately, I noticed something different. Our porch light was dimmed and there were rose petals leading up the walkway. I found myself almost delirious, double-checking the number on the front of the house to make sure I hadn’t inadvertently pulled into someone else’s driveway. I stepped out of the car and heard soft music emanating from the dining room. I went to the door and fished out my key, ready to see what awaited me on the other side. I opened the door and smells of roasted chicken, carrot soufflé and baked zucchini wafted through the air. I saw candles lit on the mantle above the fireplace. I couldn’t believe my eyes. 

I sat my keys and purse on the antique table next to the door his mother had given us as a wedding present and made my way into the living room. Placed atop the ottoman was a small blue box with a white ribbon and a handwritten note: To my dearest Charmaine, thank you for fourteen beautiful years together, here’s to a hundred more - John

I opened the box and inside lay a shimmering diamond bracelet. I was bewildered. This had to be a dream. I stepped away from the ottoman, determined to find my husband and greet him with the kiss of his lifetime. I couldn’t remember the last time he’d done anything so thoughtful. I made my way down the hallway, calling out his name excitedly but receiving no answer. 

I stepped into the bedroom, and suddenly, the smile faded from my face and the bracelet dropped from my hand. I fell to my knees and let out a guttural scream as I saw John laying there, propped against the bed with a large knife sticking out of his chest.

***

Charmaine was the sexiest woman I’d ever met. From the moment I’d laid eyes on her, it seemed that we were destined to fall in love. I saw her a dozen times before we ever spoke, but she always caught my eye somehow, whether it was a bright pair of heels or a dress that hugged her curves just right. I always imagined myself flattering her somehow with a sincere compliment or engaging in some witty banter—but whenever I saw her, I’d immediately clam up, put my head down and simply keep walking by as if I didn’t notice her. 

One day, I finally felt compelled to stop and ask her a question before I lost my nerve. As she was set to pass me, I cleared my throat and gave a small wave to get her attention. She stopped and looked at me with a puzzling gaze. I felt myself clamming up again, but before things got awkward, I blurted out a question. “If you could spend the rest of your life doing one thing, what would it be?” 

She seemed even more puzzled for a moment, before giggling at me. “And what makes you ask me that?” 

“It would tell me everything I want to know about you.”

“Then, why don’t you just ask me what you want to know?”

“Because then you may only give the answer you think I want to hear. And I want to know what’s real.”

She gave me a sincere smile and took a half-step forward. “And answering your question will tell you that?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

She took a step back and her eyes met the ceiling as she contemplated her answer. She was even more beautiful up close. Her eyes were walnut brown and her lipstick was perfectly applied to full lips. She had on a tight purple dress with lavender heels that fully accentuated her breasts and hips. It took everything in me not to stare. “If I could spend the rest of my life doing one thing, I would probably just sit in my home office and read all the books I own,” she said with a smile. “I never have enough time to do that these days. And it would be nice to stop faking how well-read I am.”

“Interesting,” I said, rubbing my chin inquisitively. “That’s not what I assumed you would say.”

“Well, what did you expect?”

I shook my head. “I’m not sure honestly. Shopping, I guess. Or maybe traveling... you know, something... exciting.”

“You don’t think reading is exciting?” she asked as I shrugged my shoulders. “What’s your favorite book?”

My eyes rolled back, trying to think of a suitable answer, but nothing came to mind. I don’t think I’d read an actual book since Junior Primary. “I guess I don’t really have a favorite.”

“Hmph, that explains why you don’t think reading is very exciting—you haven’t found the right book yet.”

“So what’s your favorite book?” I asked with a smirk. 

She paused for a moment, contemplating her answer. “Their Eyes Were Watching God by Zora Neale Hurston. Have you heard of it?” I shook my head. “You should find a copy and check it out. You might be surprised how much you like it.”

I gave her a genuine smile. “Maybe you’re right.”

“So what’s that tell you about me?” she asked with a smirk. “You know, reading every day for the rest of my life.”

“It tells me you’re smart with a great imagination... and that you’re a hard-worker who probably doesn’t have much time on your hands.”

“That’s all true. I guess you were right about my answers telling you what you wanted to know.”

I shrugged and gave her a shy smile. “It usually gets the job done.”

“Usually, huh? So how many girls from the office have you pulled that line on?”

I was taken aback. “What makes you think I’ve asked anyone who works here that question before?”

“Are you saying you haven’t?” she asked with a raised eyebrow. 

I gave her a laugh and a sheepish shrug. “Okay, maybe once or twice.” She joined in the laugh and we continued to talk as I walked her back to her desk. 

We spent the next few days chatting on our lunch break and discussing her dreams and mine. The way she looked at me sparked something inside that I had forgotten about for a long time—I couldn’t believe I’d finally met such a perfect woman. If I had known things would go so well, I would’ve approached her months earlier. She was everything I could ask for and I fell for her hard. That was until she told me she was married to some asshole named John.

“I’m sorry for not saying something earlier,” she stammered out apologetically as I attempted to keep my composure. I glanced down at her bare left ring finger and she caught me looking. “John didn’t want us to wear wedding rings after we got married. He said whenever people from New Lorraine know you have a spouse, they treat it like some kind of disease. Like you’re not smart enough or ambitious enough to make it on your own.”

I understood her reasoning, but I was still heartbroken. “I just wish you’d told me.”

“You just... you flattered me. And that doesn’t happen that often,” she explained with her eyes meeting the floor. “At least not anymore.”

I shook my head, attempting to make sense of it all. “If you’re unhappy, why don’t you just leave?”

“I didn’t say I was unhappy—John is just... John. He has a way about him. It was charming at first... and even though it’s worn off, I still love him.”

“I see,” I said simply. I sat back against the chair and let out a frustrated sigh. I felt like a fucking idiot.

She reached out and touched my arm, with an apologetic look on her face. “I’d still like to talk during lunch... if that’s okay? It doesn’t have to be anything salacious. I just really enjoy our conversations.”

I shifted uneasily. Everything in me wanted to say yes. Husband or no husband, she was still breathtaking. And I probably enjoyed the conversation even more than she did, but it still felt wrong. “I don’t think that’d be a good idea,” I muttered.

She took a step back, dejected. She swallowed hard and dropped her eyes. “Okay, I understand.” She turned and walked away, looking back a single time. Our eyes met and I suddenly felt guilty for being so harsh. She continued to make her way back to her desk, and before I knew what was happening, I jumped up from my seat and began to chase after her. 

***

I rushed into the office, irritated that I was running late. I tossed my messenger bag across my desk and rushed off to grab a cup of coffee. Just as I returned the carafe to its place, my assistant approached with a confused look on her face. “Uh, hey John... I didn’t expect you to be here today.”

“Just running a little late, that’s all. Some asshole got hit by a bus over at Frankie’s and caused a huge traffic jam.”

The confused look remained. “John, don’t you remember what today is?” Now, it was my turn to carve a confused look into my face as she shook her head. “It’s the 24th... your wedding anniversary? I put it on your calendar, so you wouldn’t forget.” I checked my phone and immediately cringed. I felt like a huge asshole for forgetting again. There was no way I could let Charmaine down two years in a row. She wasn’t fooling anyone when she pretended she had to work late last year to make it seem as if we’d both forgotten somehow. 

I told my assistant to cancel my meetings for the day—if anyone asked, I had a bad cold and didn’t want to risk getting anyone else sick. She gave me a smile and told me to have fun.

I hopped in my car and headed to Boudreaux’s Flower Shop to buy three bouquets of yellow roses and her favorite assorted chocolates. After leaving out, I called to make reservations at Rosalyn’s, promising a two-hundred-dollar tip to the maître d' for the best table in the spot.

I pulled up at home and raced inside to take a quick shower. Just as I made my way out, there was a knock at the door and a young man stood there with an uneasy smile and a slacked demeanor. “Can I help you?”

“Are you John?” he asked nervously.

“Do I know you?”

“Today’s your lucky day, John,” he said unamused. 

“Huh?”

“It’s your anniversary, right?”

“How do you know that?”

“Your wife Charmaine... she works down at Municipal Gardens. I work there too. She’s been miserable all morning, because she thinks you forgot... again.”

“Excuse me? Who the fuck—“

“Look, I’m here to help, okay?” he said, looking almost worried.

“I don’t need your help. And for your information, I didn’t forget. Her gifts are right there.”

He took a quick glance and scoffed. “Flowers and chocolate? You really think that’s what she wants after all this time? I bet you made a reservation somewhere too, huh?” I swallowed hard. Who the hell was this kid? “Look, you’re going about this all wrong. She doesn’t want some cliché ass anniversary. She wants something from the heart. Something from you, John. Something that shows you actually thought about her—and not just something you decided to get on the way home. And I’m more than certain she doesn’t want to share you with a bunch of people at some fancy-ass restaurant out in Gigglemug. She wants intimacy... just you and her. I mean, when’s the last time you even cooked for her?”

“Who are—“

“Look, if you don’t so something soon, you’re going to lose her.”

“What?” I asked bewildered. The young man turned on his heel and returned to his vehicle without a word. I shook my head, trying to make sense of it all, glancing at the gifts I’d laid out on the table. He was right. I returned to the bedroom and pulled on new clothes before grabbing my keys and heading back out the door.

***

I saw his car pull into the driveway and my heart immediately jumped a beat. He hopped out with a huge smile on his face before retreating to the back of the car and pulling several items from the trunk. I unlocked my car door and walked up to him, ready to demand what I was owed. “John, we need to talk!” I yelled louder than I meant to.

“Quianna?” he asked bewildered, holding several bags in his hands. “Wh-what are you doing here?”

“You know why I’m here.”

He let out a sigh. “We can’t do this today. Charmaine gets off at five and it’s our anniversary tonight.”

“You mean, it’s our anniversary tonight,” I let out with disgust. John was such an asshole sometimes. 

“When are you going to let this go? Seriously... it was a huge mistake—it never should’ve happened.”

“But it did happen, didn’t it? And now you act as if I’m just supposed to forget everything!”

He shushed me. “Can you keep your voice down?” he growled. “I don’t need my neighbors to overhear your craziness.”

“So I’m crazy now, huh?” He was pushing my buttons. He always did that so well, but I refused to give him the satisfaction. “You’re a real piece of work, you know that? Why don’t you want to acknowledge what we had? What we have, John?”

“We don’t have anything anymore.  I never should have done it in the first place. It was wrong from the jump. I admit that and I’m sorry for hurting you... but I love Charmaine. And I owe it to her to keep trying... to be the man she married.”

“And what about me? My feelings don’t count for shit?” He sighed. He could tell he was breaking my heart all over again. “You said you were going to leave her. Or was that all a lie too?”

He sighed a second time and rolled his eyes. “Why are we doing this again?”

Tears filled my eyes unexpectedly. “Because I love you. Are you trying to stand here and tell me you don’t feel the same way?” His head dropped and I could tell he wanted to say something, but he refused. Typical John. “Say you don’t love me. Look me in the eye and say it! Go ahead and break my heart already. It’s not like you give a fuck anyway.” I was so disgusted with his ass. He closed the trunk and attempted to walk by me, but I refused to let him pass. He would have to say it for me to believe it. 

“Can we just—“ He paused and bit his lip, second-guessing whatever he was about to say. “Look, you’re an amazing person, Quianna. And last year, we had an incredible time. It was the most fun I’ve had since... hell, I don’t even know. But it was also something that I’m going to regret for the rest of my life. Because I love Charmaine and I needed to recommit to her. And only her.”

The tears began to flow again. “Fuck you, John! You hear me? Fuck you! You have no right to treat me this way!”

“Look, you’re right. I never should’ve approached you. Never should’ve kissed you. Never should’ve kept our situation a secret. I just—”

I scoffed. “Our situation? Oh, I’m a situation now? Wow. I can’t believe you really just said that.”

He sighed yet again. “Can’t you just let me go? I acknowledge that I was wrong. But showing up here—today of all days, at that—it’s not okay. We just... we have to end this for good. I’m sorry.”

I swallowed hard and he rushed past me. I shook my head, hating the turmoil that had built inside me. I’d been trying to forget about him for the past six months, but nothing had worked. I turned and watched him walk inside the house with somber eyes. I shook my head and realized he was right. It was time to let him go and end this for good. I walked back to my car and sat inside, tears filling my eyes as reality began to set in. I slapped the dashboard and punched my steering wheel, wondering why John couldn’t realize what a catch I was. There was no way his wife loved him as much as I did. 

I wiped away my tears and cleared my throat. Fuck it. If John wanted to do things this way, then fine. I pulled out my phone and the line tilled until Gruff’s voice came up on the other end. “It’s time?”

“Not yet, little brother. Give it an hour or so. I still need to gather a few things before I head to Effervesce. I don’t want to be anywhere near the city when she finds the body.” I heard him exhale a puff of smoke. “Motherfucker won’t even know what hit him.”

“Most of the time, they never do. That’s the funny thing about death—it can be right around the corner and you won’t even realize it until it’s too late.”

“Just make sure you finish the job. The last thing I need is him waking up in a hospital somewhere, telling the police I came by his house today.”

“Say no more. Me and Jah will come through in a few.” I hit the end button and returned the phone to my pocket. I slid the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. I let down my window and sped away from the curb, allowing the wind to dry my tears as I headed back home.

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Gregory Hedgepeth is the editor-in-chief of Vital Narrative Press. You can follow him on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. Feel free to follow on all three. Or maybe just two. Yeah, two’s probably good—he’s not that interesting. Gregory Hedgepeth is also the author of MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT SUNRISES, THE YEAR THAT ANSWERED and A COLLECTION OF ECHOES. BUY THAT SHIT.

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

Cover image by Эльвина Якубова from Pixabay. Cover art by Gregory Hedgepeth.

The screaming had finally stopped. I was covered in blood, sitting quietly inside the principal’s office wondering what would happen next. I kept seeing people walk by, peering in at me and I could tell no one wanted me there anymore. One kid walked by imitating gun shots with his fingers. I just swallowed hard and tried not to cry. 

Soon after, the principal came in, looking disheveled and distraught. He sat behind his desk slowly and cleared his throat before speaking. “Aubrey, I need you to know that you’re not in trouble, okay? I just... I know you didn’t mean to...” He stopped suddenly and ran his hands over his face in frustration. “Okay listen, the kids in your class told me what happened. But I want to hear your side before any decisions are made.”

I was doing everything I could to keep myself from bursting into tears. Everything had happened so quickly—I could only imagine what the other kids had told him. I shifted uneasily in the chair before sitting up straight and doing my best to remain calm.  “I... I was just trying to... finish my math sheet. I had to go to the bathroom halfway through the lesson, and I had kinda fallen behind... I was just trying to catch up. And then...” I sniffled, feeling the tears grow hot yet again. 

“It’s okay,” he said calmly. “Take a deep breath. It’s just you and me in here. There’s no rush, okay? Take as much time as you need.”

I did as I was told and relaxed enough to finish telling him what happened. “Almost everyone else was done and I still had two rows of problems left. Then Donnie... he... he came up behind me and knocked the pencil out my hand and he and his friends started laughing.”

His brow furrowed. “Why do you think he did that?”

“I don’t know. He and his friends mess with everyday. They push me and dump things out of my book bag. Sometimes, they come up to me at lunch and stick their fingers in my food. Last month, he stabbed me in the hand with a pen.”

“Have you told your teacher about any of this?”

The hot tears finally began to flow down my cheeks as I recalled all the memories of Donnie and his torture over the past year. “Y-y-yes, but... she just doesn’t seem to care. She just says that boys will be boys. That he only acts that way because he has a crush on me and doesn’t know how to express it.”

He let out a frustrated sigh. “What did you do after he knocked the pencil out of your hand?”

“I tried to ignore them. I went to the other side of my desk to pick up my pencil. But once I bent down, Donnie came over and pushed me on the ground.”

“Where was the teacher?”

“She had just stepped out to escort Elijah to the nurse. He threw up during the lesson and she was worried something was wrong with his stomach.”

He let out another sigh. “Then what happened?”

I put my face in my hands and shook my head. “I don’t want to say.”

“Aubrey, in order for me to help you... I need you to tell me what happened.”

My tears became heavy and uncontrollable, and before I realized it, I was sobbing louder than I ever had before. I knew what would happen if I told him the truth, but I knew it would be even worse if I lied. “I didn’t mean to...”

“What did you do to Donnie?”

I did my best to hold my raging tears at bay yet again, wiping at my eyes and clearing my throat. “When I was on the ground, he and his friends started laughing and throwing their pencils at me. When I tried to stand up, he... he pushed me back down. And then they took the jar of rubber cement that the teacher keeps on her desk, and they... they poured it all over my hair. I tried to get it out, but I just made it worse—so I sat there and cried. My heart started to beat so fast, I thought I was going to pass out. I just felt so angry and helpless. No one even bothered to help me or tell them to stop. I just... I was just tired of them always picking on me. And then...” His eyebrow raised, anticipating what was coming next. “I stopped crying and stood up. Then, everything went black. It was like I could barely see. I felt so out of control. By the time I realized what was going on, Donnie was laying on the ground with his face all bashed in and he had scratches all over his arms and his neck. I looked down at my hands and they were bloody. Everyone was staring at me. When the teacher came back in, they just pointed at me and started telling her what happened. I didn’t... I didn’t mean for it to happen. I just wanted them to leave me alone.” I continued to sob as he rose from his desk without a word and walked slowly to the door. 

He turned the knob and pulled the door open, revealing a tall, gray-haired man in a navy suit. The man walked in and gave me a warm smile, placing his hand against my knee and taking a seat in the chair next to me as the principal returned to his seat behind the desk. “Hello, Aubrey. I understand you had an altercation in your class earlier. Is it okay if we talk about it?” I nodded amid the tears. “Your principal has to follow certain protocols when things like this happen at your school. Are you aware of that?” I nodded again. “Good. You don’t have to be scared. I know your classmates may be frightened, but you needn’t worry. We’ve called your mother and she’s on her way, so we can get you the proper treatment.”

I shook my head. “I just want to go back to class.”

“I’m afraid that’s not possible. Not anymore.” 

“But why not? It wasn’t my fault! They wouldn’t leave me alone! I didn’t mean to!” 

He and the principal could tell I was becoming emotional, but he was doing his best to remain calm. “Aubrey, you’re a unique child—do you understand that? You’re not like the others. You’re... well, to be frank, you’re better than them. Stronger. Smarter. You have gifts they can’t even fathom.”

“No, I’m not,” I said, shaking my head. “You don’t even know me.”

“You’re right... but I know others like you. I bet I can guess some things about you.”

“Like what?”

“Like the fact that this work is way too easy for you, but you’re scared the others will judge you if you let them know how smart you are. Even though everyone already treats you like an outcast and you’ve never known why. I bet even your teachers act as if there’s something wrong with you.”

My eyes widened. “How could you—?”

“The only person who seems to understand is your mother, right? She loves you regardless of what the others think. She loves you even more than the other parents could ever love your classmates. Because she sees in you what I see in you. Your gift.”

I looked at the principal. “You told him—“

The principal lifted his hands in protest when the man said something that knocked the wind out of me. “Tell me about your nightmares, Aubrey.”

My eyes returned to the man in the suit. “What?”

“You have them every night, don’t you? Nightmares about random acts of violence. Beasts who transform in the night. Fires. People bleeding, people dying. War.“ He said it all so matter-of-factly, as if he were making statements and no longer asking questions. “And you get unbearably painful headaches every time you feel sad or angry.” I couldn’t believe my ears. How could he know that? “But it wasn’t always that way, was it? You didn’t always have nightmares, did you?”

“No,” I squeaked out. 

“You used to have beautiful, sweet dreams, right?”

“Yes.”

“What was your favorite dream? Do you remember?”

I sighed. I could never forget. “I used to dream about my grandfather’s house all the time. He lived in a big white house right outside of Effervesce. I used to sit on the front porch and watch the peach trees sway back and forth. I used to love visiting him. It was so far from here. And he always smiled when he saw me. In my favorite dream, me and Mama lived there with him. I was sitting on the porch, watching the trees, when he came and sat down beside me. He gave me a huge smile and said the house would belong to me one day, but the trees were already mine because I loved them so much.”

The man smiled as tears filled my eyes. “But then he died and you got scared you would never see that house or those trees again. And now there’s all this turmoil building inside you that you don’t understand.”

I nodded again. “How... how could you know all this?”

“It’s because you have a condition called Rare Arrhythmia Anxiety with Acute Genetic Endemica. And unfortunately, it causes your body to react in extreme ways to emotional triggers. It makes your heart rate spike to dangerous levels. The visual cues that live inside your brain become unstable. It causes your body an immense amount of pain... and that pain forces you to become overcome with anger and fury. Which is why Donnie got hurt. I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it, but... it’s just not safe for you to be around your classmates right now. We need to get you somewhere where you won’t endanger others.”

“But I won’t hurt anyone else!” I screamed. “I promise! I’ll never do anything to anyone ever again, no matter what they do to me!”

The man sighed and stood from his seat. “But you will, Aubrey. It always gets worse before it gets better. Especially in a high-pressure situation like spending seven hours a day inside a classroom where everyone treats you like you like you don’t belong there. But the best part about it is: you don’t. And they’ll never understand what it’s like. That’s what always happens.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “I know, because it’s what happened to me. It’s what happened to all of us. And it’s what will happen to you... unless you come with me. And I teach you how to control it.”

This was too much. I just couldn’t handle it. I couldn’t listen to anything else he had to say. “I want to go home,” I said simply, shaking my head and standing to my feet.

“Now, Aubrey, let’s remain calm. Your mother is already on the way. With your gift, comes a great responsibility. Not only to yourself, but to—“

“I said no!” I screamed. The principal’s eyes grew wide as I ran for the door and the white-haired man attempted to grab my wrist. I wrestled away from him and made my way out of the office and out of the school. 

I had to get away. I thought about my mother and how disappointed she would be in me for fighting and running away from school. Then, I thought about my grandfather and how no one had ever smiled at me the way he had. The man in the suit was right. I missed him terribly. Everything had gone wrong since the day he passed away. I looked to my left and my right, having no idea which direction I was headed in or where I was even going. I just ran and ran until my legs grew heavy, and suddenly, everything went black again.

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Gregory Hedgepeth is the editor-in-chief of Vital Narrative Press. You can follow him on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. Feel free to follow on all three. Or maybe just two. Yeah, two’s probably good—he’s not that interesting. Gregory Hedgepeth is also the author of MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT SUNRISES, THE YEAR THAT ANSWERED and A COLLECTION OF ECHOES. BUY THAT SHIT.

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

Songs For People Who Smoke in the Shower 9 is a playlist I created because I like to play music when I smoke in the shower. I cut the lights low, turn the music up and let all the stress of the day melt away. Most of these songs have been played ad nauseam over the past year or so, and although theres no single cohesive theme among them, once you spark your lighter and let the music take you away, I think you’ll immediately get the vibe.

Cozz  — “Knock Tha Hustle (Remix)” (feat. J. Cole)

“Cole’s last verse really stands out to me here when he spits about his survivor’s guilt in relation to his brother with these lines: “My flesh and blood, hauled off to the cell/I search for heaven as I see him getting lost in this hell/Headed for coffin or jail/To never try is the ultimate fail/But love is wanting more for someone than they want for themselves/Deep/I guess I love a lot/Because the more I do my thang, the more I feel the guilt and shame, that my brother’s not.””

Freddie Gibbs — “Crime Pays”

“Madlib’s production on this song (like everything else off Bandana) is goddamn flawless. I want him and Freddie Gibbs to make music together forever. I seriously can’t get enough of it. Gibbs has been my favorite artist of the last couple years not named J. Cole or Kendrick Lamar and this is one of his most stellar records. ”

Sunshine Anderson — “Lunch Or Dinner”

“Sunshine Anderson attended North Carolina Central, so every time I hear this song, it reminds me of that for some reason. This is one of those fly, flirty songs that always hits. ”

Action Bronson — “Baby Blue” (feat. Chance the Rapper)

“I wrote a poem years ago called “Minor Inconveniences” which always reminds me of Chance’s verse here (obviously his version is way better, but I always loved to perform it nonetheless). Action always makes music I fuck with even though I rarely think of him as one of my favorite rappers. I’m not sure how that works out.”

Mos Def — “Ms. Fat Booty”

“Mos has so many cerebral songs that educate and inform and make you think. And then there’s this jawn which is just a song about a girl with a nice ass he met one time that turned his world upside down. We’ve all been there before, amirite? This song always slaps and just shows how effortlessly Yasiin Bey does this rapping thing. ”

Royce Da 5’9” — “Overcomer” (feat. Westside Gunn)

“This was one of those rare times when I saw the video for a song before hearing the audio by itself, and almost immediately after it started, I knew it was going to be the first song on SSS9. Everything about this song is incredible from Gunn and Royce’s flows to the beat changes to the usual lyrical shenanigans. Royce’s verse literally starts off with: In search of right/like the birth of Christ/Breakin’ every generational curse in life/Perverse concise/make sure the verse is right/Return who adverse to the Earth/Make sure that my hearse is white.” C’mon man. I need more Royce and Griselda on records together.”

Thundercat — “Dragonball Durag”

“Just fucking listen to it. That’s it. That’s the tweet.”

Listen to the playlist below or simply click the link.

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Gregory Hedgepeth is the editor-in-chief of Vital Narrative Press. You can follow him on Facebook, Instagram or Twitter. Feel free to follow on all three. Or maybe just two. Yeah, two’s probably good — he’s not that interesting. Gregory Hedgepeth is also the author of MISCONCEPTIONS ABOUT SUNRISES, THE YEAR THAT ANSWERED and A COLLECTION OF ECHOES. BUY THAT SHIT.