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Rabbit Punch (Part Seven)
 

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

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

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

 

I grabbed the briefcase off my desk and rushed out, excited to see my wife’s face after a long week of being stuck at the office. I hoped she was just as eager too see me as it’d been weeks since we’d been able to secure a night out together. The office lights were dimmed low and the floor was mouse-quiet as everyone had already left long ago. People had been discussing their New Year’s Eve plans all morning, and for the first time in a while, I felt ready for whatever was in store for me. 

I made my way to the elevator bay, and was inches away from pressing the button, when I noticed a light on inside Hampton’s office. I checked my watch and saw that it was well past eight. I was running behind, but I was curious to why someone would be in his office so late. He was notorious for leaving his door unlocked, but considering the circumstances, I worried someone was doing something nefarious inside and hoping they wouldn’t be caught.

I inched towards the door and turned the knob as slowly as I could, wanting to make sure I got the jump on whoever was trespassing. I jerked the door open and lurched inside to see him sitting there, sobbing violently with his head on the desk. “Hampton?” I asked with a confused face. “You’re still here?” He lifted his head slowly and seemed to stare right through me without bothering to mutter a response. I studied him closely, but he barely moved. I couldn’t even tell if he was breathing. “Hey, are you okay?”

He continued to look off into space for several more moments before seemingly waking from a daydream, finally acknowledging my presence in the room. “BISHOP! What’s good, my nigga!” He let out a loud laugh and poured a crimson elixir into a glass filled to the brim with ice. He took several gulps from the drink and belched loudly. 

I inched my way to his desk in disbelief. “What the hell are you still doing here? I thought you left a long time ago. And why are you drinking so hard? You know if Jessica is going to shit bricks if catches you like this.”

He stood and looked me squarely in the eye, swallowing the remainder of his drink. “You want some?”

“Ham—“

“Man, fuck Jessica! Okay? Be a man. Do you want a drink or not?”

I shook my head. “Hampton, I gotta get outta here. I can’t be fucking around tonight... Krystina is waiting on me. What’s going on with you?”

“Today’s a celebration, right? New Year’s Eve and shit—another goddamn year of the same boring-ass 365 days for the umpteenth time,” he spat out as if the words tasted bitter to his tongue. “This VP shit just doesn’t do it for me anymore... it’s time for Jessica to let me run this place in peace. I mean, hell, that’s basically what I’m doing anyway, right? And I could be doing a lot more if she just stopped giving me so much resistance. It’s a fucking embarrassment.”

I tossed him a concerned look. “What’s going on with you? You look like you’re going through it, man. I really need to get home, but I can’t leave you like this—are you sure you’re okay?”

“Maybe I should take care of it myself,” he said in a tone that didn’t sound like sarcasm. “I mean, what are the chances of me actually getting caught?“ He stared at me for several seconds before howl-laughing as my eyes grew wide. “Ahhhhhh, look at your face! You’re always so scared I’m going to do something to her—you still can’t tell when I’m fucking with you!” He swallowed more of the drink and tossed the glass back on the coaster so hard I thought it was going to split in half. “I really do hate that bitch though.”

“Hampton, hey... what’s up? Do you need to talk about something? You’re really not acting like yourself.”

He looked in my direction with a scrunched face. “I’ve never been better, man,” he said before belting out another loud laugh and pouring another drink. He tipped the glass in my direction. “You sure you don’t want any? This is some fire-ass shit.”

“What the hell are you drinking?”

“It’s called Rabbit Punch. I’ve been making it since college. You only need one sip and then—pow! It hits you right in the back of the head!” He howled another laugh. “You barely even see it coming. One minute you’re all there and then, bam, it’s all over... just that quick. Here man, sit down and have a drink with your boy. You’ll be all loosed and goosed when it’s time to give K the ol’ eggplant tonight.”

I gulped and shook my head no. “Are you sure you’re okay? I feel like you’re crying out for help right now or something.”

“Crying out for help? That’s what it feels like for you right now? I’m trying to keep things light with you and you’re being a real bitch about it. Crying out for help?! That’s what you think this is?!!” he roared, growing enraged as his nostrils flared. Almost instantly, the anger melted from his eyes. He breathed in deep and took a moment to compose himself before taking another sip from the glass. “So you want to know what’s going on? What’s really going on?” He shook his head and stared off into space. “Honestly... I’m just tired of this shit. Tired of living this phony-ass life. It ain’t worth it anymore.”

I looked at him incredulously. “Hampton, what are you talking about? You have everything any man could ever want—“

“What did you say? You think... this is everything?” he said, shaking his head as if he couldn’t comprehend what I was saying. “This... this is nothing. This is the tip of the iceberg. That’s what’s wrong with everyone around here. You all think so little of yourselves. You meekly accept whatever is shoved in your direction, no matter if it’s a pound of fish or a pile of shit. This company doesn’t even own the market share! And you think this is everything a man could ever want—that this is all I’m worthy of? How dare you assume such little ambition of me while not demanding enough from yourself?” 

He gulped down another swallow of the drink as I sighed. I wasn’t getting through to him. I had to try something else. “What about Jo, man? Your kids? They love you to death. You know how many people would kill to have a wife and family like yours?”

He went to pour yet another drink and I walked around the desk to intercept before things got even more out of hand. I could tell he’d had more than enough and it was only going to get worse if I didn’t stop him. I had my hand on the glass when he attempted to snatch it back from me, causing it to slip from his grasp and shatter against the floor. His eyes glared. “Fuck, Bishop! Do you have any idea how expensive that shit is? I should kick your ass!”

I ignored his anger, placing my hands on his shoulders. “Hampton, didn’t you hear what I said? What about Josephine and Brendan and your babygirl Nola? How would they feel if they knew you were in here talking like this right now?”

He began to sniffle and collapsed against his desk, sobbing and slurring his words. I couldn’t tell if I’d finally gotten through to him or if he was just heartbroken over his fractured glass. “I really tried to love her, man. Seriously... but Jo... she ain’t it. She ain’t the one.”

My eyes grew to the size of saucers. “What are you taking about? Jo is the perfect wife, man. She’s gorgeous and smart—“

He waved me off. “All that shit is artificial. It’s window dressing. Hell, there’s lots of women who are beautiful and intelligent from good families and all that other bullshit that they say is supposed to matter. But at the end of the day, it’s not what’s important. It’s about compatibility. It’s about laughing at the same jokes and wanting to be around one another. It’s about knowing you can trust them with the truth and being certain they have your best interests at heart. You know, before he left, my father always used to say your wife and your best friend are supposed to be the same person. But that wasn’t the case with him and Mama—and I’m beginning to see that it isn’t the case with me and Jo either. Because Daytona is my best friend... and I’m finally ready to accept that she’s right: I married the wrong person.”

“Whoa, Hampton—what the fuck? Are you really telling me you don’t want to be with Jo anymore? You two are perfect together! I can’t believe what I’m hearing.”

He slumped into his chair. “If I could just end it all tomorrow, I would. I’m fucking tired of it. I’m tired of it all! I’m tired of this job. I’m tired of trying to support her fucking lifestyle. I’m tired of living with the decisions I’ve made. I know so much more now than I knew back then—why shouldn’t I receive a bigger reward for that wisdom than just hindsight? Why should I have to live with my youthful mistakes forever? It’s fucking bullshit!” He picked up the crystal carafe containing the rest of the Rabbit Punch and launched it against the wall, shattering it into a million pieces. He slouched back into his chair, clearly beside himself. “I just... wish I could end it all, brudda. I’m tired of living this lie.” He began to cry again and this time the tears didn’t let up for several uncomfortable moments. 

I walked over to console him, but ended up only placing my hand on his shoulder. “Hampton, you can’t...”

He shook from my grasp and stood, pacing back and forth. “I know, I know... l can’t leave her. I’ll never leave her. Even if I’ve fallen out of love with her, we’re stuck together for life. I can’t let my kids grow up with divorced parents like I did. Don’t you see what that does to people? That’s why we’re all so fucked up now. Folks just drop their families off in New Lorraine and there’s no repercussions. I can’t let that be my story too. And I’m not going to do that to my kids.” He fell back down into his chair and sat still for several moments while I stared at him. He placed his head down against his desk, finally appearing calm and breathing normally. 

I let out a heavy sigh. I couldn’t believe what was going on his head or why he was so stressed. Hampton had a life that was the envy of just about everyone inside the company. I had to assume it was just the alcohol driving him to say things he didn’t mean. Drunk or not, I had to make sure he got home okay. As I was lost in my thoughts, I heard a light snore coming from the underside of the desk and saw that he’d fallen asleep.

I pulled out my phone to call Krystina, knowing she was likely to cuss me out as I was already running behind. “Hey babe, it’s me. Listen... don’t be mad at me, but we’re gonna miss our reservation. I’m still at the office. An emergency came up. Yes, I know it’s New Year’s Eve. Yes, I know we’re paying a driver $400 an hour tonight. Babe, 45 minutes tops, okay? I promise. We can still make the party, we just won’t have dinner beforehand. I’ll take you to Butter’s after. So now you’re too good for Butter’s all of a sudden? Babe, seriously... go ahead and finished getting dressed. Yes, I know your makeup took a long time to do. I’ll hop right in the shower as soon as I get there and we’ll be outta the house by 9:45 at the latest. Okay—okay... okay. I know... yeah, I know you want to kick my ass. I’ll call you as soon as I’m on the way. I love you too.” I shoved the phone back into my pocket before walking over to a semi-conscious Hampton and tossing his arm over my shoulder. I set a mental reminder to hire a cleaner to handle the mess in the morning as he snored in his stupor. I dragged him to the elevator bay and hit the lobby button, doing my best to keep him upright as he swayed in his drunkenness. 

“You’re a... you’re a good... you’re a good motherfucker, Bishop,” he let out with a bench, coming to for a brief moment. “I mean that, man. You... you always... you always do the right thing.”

“I hear you, man. I’m just going to make sure you get home without killing yourself or someone else.”

“See? I told you—you’re a good... a good...” his voice faded off as he started to fall unconscious again. The bell dinged loudly, indicating the elevator’s arrival and jerked him awake just before he fell to the ground. I pulled his full weight into the elevator and leaned him against the steel wall as we descended into the depths below.

***

“Oh my God, Bishop, stop it!” Josephine said, pushing my hands away playfully and pulling her dress back down below her waist. “You’re going to get us caught.”

“Who’s gonna catch us?” I asked slyly, running my fingers along her skin. “You knew what tonight was. You should’ve thought about that before you came up in here looking all sexy.”

“I’m not looking sexy,” she said feigning modesty. “These are just regular clothes.”

“Shit, that dress ain’t regular clothes. And you know what that color does to me. God created it specifically for your skin tone.”

“Oh my God, Bishop. You have to stop this right now. You know I’ve barely been out the house since I got rid of the baby. I’m not in the mood to be feeling all lusty.”

“I just miss you, Jo,” I said, running my hands along her body and smooching the nape of her neck. “I haven’t been able to talk to you or see that beautiful face in over a week. I wasn’t even sure you were still on for this until I saw you give the signal about the drinks.”

She sighed heavily. “Hampton’s just been hovering so much lately. I think he feels really bad that I didn’t want to keep it.”

“Do you think he knows?”

“Hell, I have no idea at this point. This is just... it’s so much. And it’s so fast. I can’t believe we’re really doing this.”

My face scrunched suspiciously. “Jo, are you getting cold feet on me? I thought you were ready to go away together? Life is short! Why would you want to keep wasting it with someone you don’t love?”

“Will you keep your voice down? I’m not one hundred percent sure everyone is passed out yet,” she said, pressing her ear to the door. 

“I just want to know what it’s going to take? I love you and Hampton doesn’t. How much longer are you planning to give me half of you? Because I don’t know how much more I can wait.”

She swallowed hard. “I told you we’re going to get there, babe. You’re asking... you’re asking so much of me right now. You and K don’t have what we have. There’s just a lot more at stake for me and the kids. I don’t know if I feel comfortable with you putting this kind of pressure on me.” I exhaled sharply. I was growing frustrated. It had been months since I’d revealed to her what Hampton had told me, and even though things had progressed quickly between us, she still appeared to be stalling on taking this to the level I wanted. “I just... I need more time. We just lost the baby and everything. I don’t know if I still want to do this. Just because everyone is passed out doesn’t mean it’s too late for us to turn back.”

“Fine! I thought you were serious about this,” I said, growing angry and shaking my head. “Take all the time you need, Jo. I told K to stay home, so I could sneak looks at you all night and you still don’t see that I’m willing to give it all up for you. I don’t care what it takes.”

“You really mean that?” she asked with a curiously raised eyebrow.

I looked her squarely in the eye and stood with her nose to nose. “I told Hampton a long time ago that a man would kill to have what he had—I meant it then and I mean it now,” I said sternly. 

She looked at me with a tear in her eye and shook her head. She had mentioned several times how much she loved and hated my persistence. Suddenly, a smile appeared beneath the crying as if it were a sun rising above the horizon. “That’s all I needed to hear, baby. I just wanted to make sure you were serious about this,” she pulled me close and kissed me deeply, pulling her blade from its sheath. “Let’s get this done. It’s been six minutes. The gas should’ve knocked everyone under by now.”

My eyes lit up. She gave me an excited smile and another quick kiss before hugging my neck and darting out the room. A sinister grin spread across my face as I walked over and grabbed my machete from its resting spot atop the desk. I bolted out the study, just in time to see Josephine hurdling over the incapacitated bodies and bounding up the stairs two-by-two.

***

I sat there frozen in my chair, still unsure if I’d done enough to convince the detective of my innocence. My fingers tapped against the metal table as I tried to recall exactly what I had said and the tone in which I’d said it. He had pressed hard about exactly how much I’d drank and which rooms I’d seen inside the house, which items I’d touched and all that I remembered before passing out.

I rubbed my hands together to ease the room’s bitter cold, contemplating everything I had done to Hampton the night before. Even hours later, it still hadn’t settled in my mind just how vicious I had become in the moment. The rage that lived inside me as I had carved into his body felt inconceivable less than a day later.

I don’t think I’d really considered what we had planned up until the moment it was time to hack the meat from his bones. But once I started the violence, it felt almost impossible to stop. It was like I was possessed. Before I’d been at it even a few minutes, half his ribcage was exposed and his flesh was bloody and ragged. A blind rage had taken over me and Josephine seemed shocked at my brutality as I inhaled several deep breaths. Hampton had been a decent enough boss, but he had never done anything to deserve that level of savagery from me. At first, I thought that maybe something was wrong with me or that I had some sort of unbridled bloodlust I hadn’t made peace with yet. But the more I looked at her face, even though it was frozen in fear at what I’d done, I began to realize that it had nothing to do with Hampton—he was just a means to an end. And that means was Josephine. I would do anything to see her happy and by my side.

As I sat inside the interrogation room waiting for the detective to return, I noticed Hampton’s blood dried into the palms of my hands and my mind drifted to his wife and how I’d managed to fall in love so quickly. It was so much better than anything I could ever imagine with K. Whenever I saw Jo, it was different than excitement. It felt like my insides were glowing with a celestial heat. It was like I had no control over my smile or how quickly my heart quivered when I was near her. She could’ve asked me to follow her to the ends of the earth and I would’ve done it just to bathe in her warmth of her presence. And once it settled in my mind just how much I cared for her, it became a lot easier to justify what I’d done to Hampton. With him out of the way, there was nothing stopping me and Jo from being together.

I smiled to myself wickedly just as Detective Giovanni burst inside the door. “Hey Mr. Faire, you’re good to go. Follow me,” he said plainly, exiting back out almost as quickly as he’d arrived.

I kept the smile plastered to my face as I walked out to the processing desk. The sun shined through the large windows and I could tell it was a beautiful day outside. I signed several forms with his deputy before being handed a bag containing two phones, my wallet and keys.

“We’re going to figure out who did this. I can assure you of that,” he said confidently with a shake of the hand. He looked down and noticed the dried blood still stuck to my palms. “There’s a washroom around the corner there if you want to wash up.”

“No thanks,” I said, waving him off. “At this point, I’m just ready to get home and lather up in my own shower.” I stepped out the door and took in a deep whiff of the warm afternoon air. Everything had gone to plan. I took a few steps down the walkway when I noticed Jo sitting in the parking lot, crying inside a police cruiser. I knocked against the glass and she quickly wiped her tears away before stepping outside the car. “Hey, you okay?”

“I’m just taking it harder than I expected, I guess,” she said somberly. “Like... things are so real to me now. He’s actually gone.” 

I gave her a warm smile. “It’s all over now, babe. I told you they wouldn’t be able to to hold us for too long. We just had to keep our heads about us. It happened just like I said it would.”

“I guess you have a point. I just never thought that—I don’t know... that I would miss him.”

I let out a sigh. I couldn’t make heads or tails of what Jo was saying. This should’ve been a victory for us, but she was making it feel like a loss. I reached out to touch her. “Babe—“

She shook her head and avoided my grasp. “Look, the deputy is going to give me a ride home in a few. I’m just waiting for her to come out.”

“Okay cool,” I said, trying my best not to feel rejected. “I can’t wait to get home and hit that shower. I really need some fresh clothes. How about I bring dinner over tonight for you and the kids?”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why not?”

She went silent for several moments before suddenly bursting into a fit of tears. “Bishop, I can’t do this!”

My face scrunched in confusion. “Do what? Hampton’s out the way. Now all we have to do is...”

“I can’t be with you.”

My eyes grew wide. “Jo, what... what are you saying? We just took care of the problem. He’s gone now!”

She shook her head and appeared distraught. “I can’t believe I did this to my kids. They don’t deserve this. I don’t know why it took all this for me to see how selfish I’ve been. What we did... it was a huge mistake. But... I just... I’m sorry, okay?”

“Jo—“

The deputy burst through the door and made her way towards the car. Josephine opened the door and slinked back inside the cruiser, sobbing deeper and deeper as I stood there with my mouth hanging open. The deputy asked if I needed a ride and I shook my head no, informing her I was going to wait for the bus instead. She gave me a weak smile. “She’ll be okay once she sees her kids.” She hopped inside, and almost immediately, the cruiser lurched to life and sped off down the road. I stood in the middle of the parking lot in disbelief, trying to piece together what had just happened. I couldn’t believe Jo was doing this to me after everything we’d done, after everything we’d been to one another.

I walked over to the bus stop and sat there in shock for several minutes, trying to make sense of things. I’d done exactly what she asked and it still wasn’t enough. All I wanted was to see her happy, but I’d still fallen short somehow. It felt like a kick to the gut. An older couple walked up to the bus stop, plopping down beside me on the bench. They kissed and cuddled and it made me feel like throwing up. I remember wanting to grow old with Jo and she’d thrown it all away on a whim, due to her own guilt. The more I watched the couple, the more my anger towards Jo began to grow. 

Before I knew it, an evil thought popped into my head and persisted despite my best efforts. I told myself to think better of it and just to make it home. I shook my head and a tear began to run down my face. No matter how much I wished the thought away, it refused to subside. I let out a heavy breath and stood from the bench before walking back across the street to the police station. 

Just as I stepped inside, I saw Giovanni coming up the hallway. “Detective, I need to speak with you,” I let out sternly.

“Hey there, Mr. Faire, is everything—“

“It was me. It was us!” I screamed loudly. “It was me and Jo!”

“What—“

“We did it! We were supposed to run away together next week. We’re the ones who carved him up. We’re the ones who spread his blood all over the house! Everyone else was knocked out downstairs. It was us!”

The detective’s face scrunched in horror. “You’re telling me you two conspired to murder Mr. Hamilton?”

“We’ve been planning it for weeks, maybe even months. Hampton told me he didn’t want to be with her anymore. I told her what he said, hoping they’d be able to work things out. But I just...” I paused, staring off into space. “I never thought things would get this far—I just thought I could make her happy. But I knew Hampton would never leave her and I was tired of living a lie! It was us, goddamit! Call your deputy and tell her she’s in the car with a killer!”

Detective Giovanni let out a sigh as several officers pulled their guns on me. “Mr. Faire, Mrs. Hamilton has already confessed to the murder.”

I looked at him in disbelief. “But I just saw her—“

“I know it’s unusual circumstances, but out of respect for her husband and all he’s done for the community, we allowed her a few hours to speak with her children and get some affairs in order before she turned herself in later this evening. She told us about the knockout gas, how she secured the code for Miss York’s bedroom, even how she had second thoughts throughout the night—but she never mentioned anything about a romance between you two. Or the fact that you helped her kill Mr. Hamilton. In fact, when we pressed her on it, she insisted that she acted alone.”

My eyes grew wide. “What? Wait, you... you knew?”

“My captain would take my badge if he knew I let a confessed killer leave the station. But it just didn’t seem right—“

“So you just let her go? You really think she’s going to come back here? You have no idea what she’s capable of!”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Mr. Faire. I‘ve seen first hand what she’s capable of. But I’ve also seen her crumple into a withering mess at the mention of what this will do to her kids. Even if she doesn’t deserve an ounce of pity, they deserve to see their mother one last time before their lives go to hell.”

I swallowed hard as tears began to rush down my cheeks. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “You mean she never even said anything about us? Not even a word?”

“If I remember correctly, she stated that she just wanted to be rid of a man who didn’t love her anymore. I gotta be honest—I was skeptical, but she didn’t let on that there was any sort of assistance. I suspected that Mr. McMahon may have been her paramour until I saw her reaction to such a claim. Not long after, she confessed to writing the suicide note... and everything else.”

I collapsed to the floor in a fit of rage. Not only had Jo discarded me, she didn’t even want to let on that we were involved. I wasn’t sure if it was because she never had any intention of us being together or if she was simply try to keep me out of jail. Either way, it didn’t matter now. 

Detective Giovanni walked over to me as I pounded the floor in a feeble-minded tantrum. “Mr. Faire, you are under arrest for the murder of Hampton Hamilton,” he said calmly, pulling out his cuffs. “You have the right to remain silent—anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.”

“No... no, this isn’t fair!”

“You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford to hire a lawyer, we will appoint one to practice on your behalf against the state of Mississippi...”

“No!”

The handcuffs clasped around my wrists and I felt like a fool as things finally became clear to me. She wanted to be totally rid of me and now she would be. Even if she’d confessed and actually planned to go down for Hampton’s murder, it wouldn’t have stopped me from calling and writing her in prison everyday. I loved her that much. But now, it was all for naught because I’d never be able to see or touch or kiss or talk to her ever again. Despite my best efforts, Jo was getting exactly what she wanted, and I never even saw it coming.


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.

Rabbit Punch (Part Six)
 

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

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

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

 

Being summoned to Mr. Hamilton’s office on a Friday afternoon fifteen minutes before the workday ended was odd. Arriving to find him waiting inside with another intern and a security guard was terrifying. As I eased down into the butter-leather office chair, I worried I was about to be fired. The door closed behind me with a sharp thump as I saw we were also being joined by my direct manager, Mr. Bishop Faire.

“Mr. McMahon, Miss Yancey... do you know why we’ve called you two into my office?” My face scrunched as I tried to remember who the young woman was. I’d definitely seen her around the office, but wouldn’t have been able to select her out of a crowd. I had to imagine she felt nearly the same about me. I shrugged as we faced each other blankly, trying to figure out the correlation. “Miss Yancey, when you first joined our coveted internship you had all the potential in the world. You’ve shown up early, stayed late, completed every task asked of you with resounding competence and a true zeal for this type of work that I haven’t seen in anyone since I walked through those doors for the first time. I’ve reviewed your work with Mr. Faire, and well, we’d like to offer you the opportunity to continue your career here with us for the foreseeable future.”

She beamed widely and stuck out her hand. “It would be my honor, sir. Working here has always been my dream. This is the best news I could’ve asked for.”

I stood there with my eyes wide. This couldn’t be happening. Were they hiring us on already? I didn’t think a decision would come for months. 

Mr. Hamilton turned to me with an equally confident smile. “And Morris, as for you, we also saw significant potential when you first began. Unfortunately, it has remained just that thus far. However, we see too much promise to let you go so quickly. So, while we get Miss Yancey’s systems and access ready for full use, we’ll be pairing you two on assignments together for the foreseeable future. You’ll be assisting her as administration. We’ll give you a few more weeks to improve your game. If you can prove you’re up to snuff by then, we can discuss extending your employment. Eunice, make no mistake—while we understand how your brilliance could easily rub off on Morris, we don’t expect you to carry his weight. Use him as needed, but make sure he’s able to stand on his own two feet. Don’t feel the need to coddle him... if he fails, it will be his failure alone.”

“Yes sir,” she said, seeming to grow more excited by the second. Meanwhile, I felt like a fucking idiot. I thought I’d been making progress during the internship, but now it felt like I was about to blow everything before I even had the opportunity to prove myself out in the field. I had to find a way to give them what they were asking for.

He turned back to me. “Morris, any questions? I don’t want this to be uncomfortable or emasculating for you. I just want to be sure we’re all on the same page.”

“No, I’m all good,” I mumbled, shrinking myself as small as possible. “I’ll be assisting. I get it.”

“Great. Thanks everyone. Hey Bishop, give me about ten for that little sit down, yeah?”

“You got it. I’ma go grab an energy drink real quick and give my love a call. I’ll meet you down at the lobby and we can head out. That way, we can beat the traffic.”

Mr. Hamilton smirked. “We’re going to have to move this building closer to my house one day or I’m going to start taking a helicopter to work. Anyway, thanks again everyone... sounds like we’re all on the same page. You all have a great weekend.”

Everyone began to empty out the office, beaming from a job well done while I continued to sit there, feeling miserable. I was certain it was going to eat away at me for the next two days. My weekend already felt wasted. 

As I stood and looked to follow everyone out the office, I felt guilt pulling me back. Mama had warned me not to let the week end before telling Mr. Hamilton the truth, and even though it was probably the worst time possible, I knew it was time to come clean. I walked towards the door and shut it quietly before turning back to face him. “Mr. Hamilton, can I talk to you? It’ll only take a minute.”

“People always say that and it never takes a minute,” he said gruffly, shuffling papers around on his desk. “What is it, Morris?”

I returned to the buttery leather and slid into the seat. “It’s just... I need to be honest about something. I’ve been feeling real guilty about it and my mother says it’s wrong of me not to say anything.”

His face scrunched in confusion before he shook his head, annoyed. “Let me guess—you or one of your family members is dying of some horrible disease and you really need this job? I’ve heard that from a different person every week for the last six years. You’re going to have to work hard just like everyone else. I love my folks, but I can’t hold you to a low standard just because of where you’re from... you still have to perform.”

I shook my head. “Uh, no it’s not like that. It’s just... well, I’m not sick, but—“ I swallowed hard to keep from stammering any further. It had been so long since I’d revealed it to anyone, I was out of practice. “When I was born, I had... um, I was born with a genetic... a genetic anomaly that...”

Suddenly, he looked at me and his eyes grew wide. “Oh my God, you have the RAAAGE, don’t you? Is that what you are about to tell me? Do you have a trigger? What is it?! Jesus, is it a word trigger! Have I said it already? Oh my god, don’t say it!”

He grew hysterical, continuing to ask rapid-fire questions without bothering to wait for a response. “Mr. Hamilton...”

“Look Morris, this is nothing personal, okay? This is a company. You can’t come in here threatening me, just because I haven’t given you a job. This is why y’all aren’t even supposed to apply for these kinds of internships. You’re not allowed to intimidate us this way!”

“I’m not trying to intimidate you,” I pleaded. “Look, my mother is an old, religious woman. She feels like people who have it should be honest and say so. Even if makes other people uncomfortable. She says letting people know your most authentic self is how you determine who’s really in your corner.”

“Your mother sounds like a smart woman. All I know is if you try to hurt me or any of my people—“

“I’ve never hurt anyone,” I said, raising my hands in surrender. “I’ve never even been in a fight.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

I let out a sigh and dropped my hands. “Look, I know the virus leads to memory issues and all that... but it’s not like I’ve ever woken up in a pool of blood or anything.”

His eyes narrowed. “Hmph, so you say. That’s what y’all always say. It’s like you all read from the same goddamn playbook or something.”

“I’m just being honest with you. And I’m honest when I tell you I really want this job,” I said, sitting up straight and looking him in the eye. “I’ve never cared about anything as much as I care about walking through that door every morning to help this company continue to flourish. I’ve dedicated every moment of my life since Junior Primary to getting here. I’m not looking to squander this opportunity. I’m willing to work as hard as I can to make this happen.”

“I’m telling you now—you better get your numbers up! Because our insurance is going to skyrocket now that you’ve revealed this little nugget,” he scolded as he reached down to punch a number into his phone. “All I know is you better not come in here one day threatening to kill a bunch of people, just so you can demand a promotion you don’t deserve.”

Despite pouring my heart out, he seemed unmoved and uninspired. I sat there dejectedly, fearful that I’d just made things worse for myself. But at the end of the day, I agreed with Mama—it would be wrong to win a job with the firm and then reveal my status as a Rager after the fact. It would make me look dishonest and threaten everything I’d worked for. They would simply have to weigh the risks before considering me for a permanent position. I stood and began to make my way towards the door, but he cleared his throat and called for me to come back. 

“Look, I get it,” he said softly, just as I returned to the seat. “And your mama’s right. It’s definitely better that you went ahead and told us, because it’s the responsible thing to do. But goddamn it, are you sure you really want this job? You could’ve sabotaged everything just now.”

I swallowed hard. Even if he didn’t feel like I was making much progress, I knew in my heart that I’d been improving every single day. I was proud of everything I’d done so far and ready for the challenge of everything yet to come. I realized it was time to step things up. “I would’ve sabotaged a lot more by saying nothing at all. I’ve never cared about anything as much as I care about this job. I don’t want or expect a handout—I want to be the hardest worker in the room. But I’m not going to be dishonest about something I have to take medication for everyday. I don’t want that to be an excuse or a way to bully you into employment. I just want a chance to earn it.”

He studied me closely, cradling the phone against his ear just as someone came on the line. “Mr. Warren, please. Tell him it’s for me and it’s an emergency...” he paused and turned towards me. “I can respect that, Morris. I really can. I appreciate your tenacity and your honesty. Life isn’t fair—but your opportunity to work here is. You’re doing decent enough work by New Lorraine standards, but now that things are even and you’re out here in the real world, you’ve gotta compete with folks who may have had advantages you can only dream about. And unfortunately, it means you will have to work that much harder to be a success. We’re pairing you with Miss Yancey for a reason. She’s the brightest star here. Learn from her, see what you can do to pull yourself up a little taller. You have the capacity, Morris... but you still have to execute. Now if there’s nothing else, I’d like to get on the expressway before it gets too crowded. I’ll speak with you on Monday.” He slammed the desk phone down and grabbed his briefcase, rushing towards the door just as his phone began to ring again.

“Marnie, that’s Mr. Warren calling—have him dial my cell... I’m gone for the day!” he yelled out to his assistant as he made his way out the office without even waiting for me to leave first.

I headed back towards the door, checking my watch and realizing I still needed to gather my things before the 5:03 pulled up to take all the interns back to New Lorraine. 

***

I sat uncomfortably inside Miss York’s expansive home, still frozen in disbelief at the beauty of the sumptuous estate. I gnawed at my fourth stuffed shrimp, taking a gander at the lush garden growing inside the courtyard as we all waited to be seated for dinner. I had been instructed to call everyone by their first names for the night so it wouldn’t be weird for the other guests, but it felt awkward, even though Mr. Hamilton—Hampton—had been pretty much MIA since we’d arrived.

“Well, hello again,” a young feminine voice asked from behind. “Fancy seeing you here.”

I turned to see the young woman Hampton had introduced to me a few weeks back at a company mixer. She was the photographer he’d hired for the event, and although he kept me at his side for the entire night as he introduced me to several of the county’s big wigs, I spent most of the evening catching spare glimpses at her. The only thing she’d been able to tell me was her name and that she lived in New Lorraine. Now that she was back in my presence, she was even more breathtaking than I’d remembered. I attempted to come up with something clever, but went into a coughing fit over a piece of shrimp and carrot that went down the wrong pipe. “Hey you... Dahlia, right?” I choked out as I tried my best to clear the obstruction without making it too obvious.

“That’s me. I never imagined I’d see you here. I thought I was seeing things at first—hey, are you okay?” she asked, passing me a glass of wine and running her hand across my shoulder blades as I bent over in a violent rage of coughs. “Here, have a sip.”

I took a swallow and was finally able to breathe freely. “Thank you so much. That made all the difference. Oh my God—I’m so sorry... I never thought I’d run into you again either, much less here. Did Mr. Hamilton invite you too?” I asked, wanting to make sure I wasn’t overstepping any boundaries.

“Oh no, this is my sister’s place.”

My eyes grew wide. “Wait, your sister owns this house? I thought y’all were from New Lorraine?”

“We are. I’m still living there, but she’s already on her way up.”

I ogled the house’s decor. “Yeah, I can tell. Holy shit, I had no idea.”

“Daytona has always wanted to have her own place like this. With the wrought-iron staircase, the huge garden... the glamorous chef’s kitchen. I’m just happy she’s been able to make it happen.”

“And what about you?” I asked, giving her a sly smile. “When are you getting your big-ass Gigglemug house with the kitchen and the garden and the expensive art on the walls?”

She shook her head and took another sip of wine. “Eh, this life isn’t for me. I just want to do my photographs and keep things simple. I don’t have time for the hustle and bustle. No offense obviously.”

“No, I understand,” I said, hoping I hadn’t inadvertently insulted her. “Not everyone wants to work twelve hours a day.”

“I don’t have a problem with working,” she said with a chuckle. “I just believe there’s more to life than meetings and exhaustion and impossible wealth-building goals and existential crisis. I guess I’d just prefer to spend my time enjoying the little things... the sunshine, the fresh air, the wildlife—you know... fun.

“I guess that makes sense,” I said with a shrug. I paused to stare at her. I couldn’t understand how a person who had a family member with a house like this would rather slum it out in New Lorraine. It honestly perplexed me at first, but the more I looked into her eyes and the more she smiled at me, the clearer her point became. I could’ve listened to her all night long. Just in the short amount of time we had talked, I could tell she was thoughtful and gorgeous and charming. I couldn’t let her get away again. “So hey... you live in The Wealth, I live in The Wealth—how would you like to go to dinner sometime? I mean, I know that...”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” a suited young Gigglemug stiff interrupted from behind, sliding his arm around Dahlia’s waist. “She’s... attached.”

Without a word, Dahlia rolled her eyes and walked away as the young man gave me a wide but insincere grin. I felt embarrassed. Of course she had a boyfriend. She was too incredible to be single. “Hey man, I’m sorry. I didn’t know—“ I started.

“No harm, no foul. I mean, it’s not on you. She should’ve told you someone was already invested in her. She forgets sometimes when she’s had a little too much wine.” I swallowed hard as he stared at me with a puzzling look. “My name is Walker. And you are?”

I extended my hand. “Morris... Morris McMahon.”

He looked at my hand as if he wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with it and took a step forward without shaking it. “Mr. McMahon, while I’m sure Dahlia may have given you some sort of impression that a future congress could somehow take place between the two of you, let me reassure you that is not the case.”

“What do you m—“

He lifted his hand for me to remain quiet and I was taken aback. “Furthermore, I don’t appreciate you entertaining a tryst with my beloved in the home of my future sister-in-law.”

“But I wasn’t—“

“Dahlia and I have been together for several years now. It would serve you best for our courtship to continue unfettered without any further interruption from a common man such as yourself. I can tell from the hem of your socks that you’ve never sniffed fresh Gigglemug air outside the confines of your job, assuming you even know what it’s like to work everyday. Do you really think you could afford a prize such as Dahlia York? Look at where you’re standing, boy.” He gave me a final glare and cleared his throat before turning his back to walk away. I gazed around the courtyard yet again and the opulence began to reveal itself to me even more. He walked off casually as the sting from his words hung deep inside my chest like a dagger.

“Hey don’t take it to heart,” Bishop said, walking up to give me a pat on the back. “He’s kind of an asshole to everyone.”

“You know him?”

“We’ve talked a time or two. He’s not exactly a people person,” Bishop said just as Walker made his way back inside the kitchen. “Come on... let’s get one of these drinks Hampton can’t stop running his mouth about.”

Dahlia and I caught eyes for a split second and suddenly, nothing made sense for me anymore. Bishop went to take a step forward, but I tugged at his elbow before he could get too far. “Do you think he’s right?”

“Who? Walker? Right about what?”

“About affording a woman like her.”

“She’s not a prostitute, Morris,” he said plainly. 

“I don’t mean like that. It’s just... I don’t know... every woman I know always talks about how they shouldn’t have to work... that a man should pay for this and pay for that... I just... I don’t know.”

Bishop looked me in the eye. “Listen, when you’re single, your only loyalty is to yourself. You have to keep yourself fed, clothed and healthy. But when you start talking about a serious relationship with a real woman, marriage and kids and all that... as a man, you have step up and make sure your woman is cared for, protected and looked after. That means physically, mentally, emotionally... and yes, financially. I’ve known Dahlia and Daytona a long time... and no, you can’t just step to them any old way. But would you really want a woman you could step to without having your shit together?” He let out a sigh as I contemplated what he had to say. “Man, look... don’t sweat it, okay? You get this job with the firm and you’ll make enough money to have your pick of women. You just have to—“

“I don’t want my pick of women...” I said, glancing at Dahlia yet again. “I want her.”

He looked at me and gave a slight chuckle. “You sound awfully convinced for a person who’s only spoken with her for a few minutes.”

“I mean, she’s... incredible.”

“Yeah, those York women are something else...” He followed my gaze, looking towards the kitchen. “Come on, let’s get that drink before Hamilton takes it all for himself.”

***

“The only thing I remember after that is throwing up in the bathroom,” I said nervously inside the freezing-cold interrogation room.

“I guess it didn’t take long for all that alcohol to start working its way through your system, huh?”

I shrugged. “Maybe. I assumed it was food poisoning or something, to be honest. I don’t really remember having too much of that punch. I‘m a bit of a lightweight when it comes to tequila, so I barely indulged past the initial toast.”

His scribbling stopped. “So you only had one drink the entire night?”

“For the most part. I mean, I shared that glass of wine with Dahlia—but besides that, it was mostly water for me. For the post-dinner toast, I just held up my glass and placed it back down without taking a sip. I knew I had to make it back to The Wealth. And I’m not stupid enough to get caught out here with liquor on my breath—the cops treat us bad enough when we’re sober and minding our own business. No offense obviously.”

“Hmph.” He started scribbling again. “One final question—do you have any reason to believe that someone at the party wanted Mr. Hamilton dead?”

I shrugged my shoulders. “If I’m being honest, I spent most of my night sulking about Dahlia. I was little more than a fly on the wall once she left—but from what I could tell, nothing seemed too out of sorts.”

“I see,” he said, scribbling down a final set of notes and closing his notebook before pushing it to the side. “Mr. McMahon, I’m afraid I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is I don’t think you had anything to do with the murder of our victim. You seem like a good kid who’s just trying to make it out. I can’t see why you’d risk all that by killing the man who could make it happen. The bad news is I’m not any closer to figuring this thing out than I was last night—so unfortunately, I have to let everyone go.”

My eyes grew wide. “Wait, what? So his murderer is just going to walk free?”

The detective let out a sigh. “For now, yes. We can’t hold anyone more than twelve hours without charging them with something. We’re hoping to discover more evidence in the upcoming days that will possibly lead to an arrest.”

I dropped my head. I was happy I wasn’t a suspect, but I couldn’t believe that nothing concrete had been determined yet. “What if they... you know... try to leave the state or something? Will you be able to pursue anything if that happens?”

He let out a long sigh. “Our jurisdiction doesn’t extend far beyond Pristine County, so that’s always a concern—but at this point, there’s simply not enough evidence for us to point the finger at anyone. I know you were hoping for justice, but don’t worry—we’ll find the culprit eventually. Things always shake out in the wash.” The look on his face told me how disappointed he was to have to let everyone go. I tried to think back to some tiny detail about the party that might break the case wide open, but nothing became apparent. He stood from the table. “I’m pretty sure Deputy Fernando is done processing your release paperwork by now. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

I stood and followed closely behind him as we left out of the frigid room and made our way towards the processing desk, where the deputy pounded away at her computer. “Hey Gio... just a few more things to enter and then he’s free to go.”

“Sounds like a plan. Thanks Dep. I’m going to go grab some coffee. Mr. McMahon, this shouldn’t take more than another moment. We really appreciate your patience.”

“No problem,” I said sheepishly. “Is there a bathroom close by? I need to wash up. I don’t want to freak out everyone on the bus with all this blood.”

“Yeah, it’s right around the corner there. In fact... hey Dep, can you toss him one of those old department tees? He can’t ride back to New Lorraine like that. I’m going to go grab some java before I pass out from exhaustion.”

“Oh yeah, sure,” the deputy said, reaching under the counter and handing me a shirt sealed in plastic as Detective Giovanni disappeared around a corner. “Your stuff from the early search is under here too—might as well go ahead and give you that as well.”

She handed over a large Ziplock bag with my jacket, some loose change, my New Lorraine ID and a nylon wallet. I thanked her and grabbed the items before heading towards the bathroom. 

I took off my blood-caked shirt and scrubbed my hands and arms as best I could. There was still a crimson tinge to my skin and nails, but it would have to do until I returned back home to take a real shower. I ripped open the plastic on the T-shirt and found it was at least two sizes too big, but at least it was soft, dry and not covered in blood. I opened the Ziplock bag and retrieved my wallet and the loose change, shoving them into my pockets. I pulled out my jacket and began to run water over the garment to scrub the blood that had soaked into it when an envelope I didn’t recognize fell out of the pocket. I studied it curiously before bending down to pick it up. I went to rip it open just as there was a knock against the door. 

“Mr. McMahon, Dep’s completed your processing,” Detective Giovanni yelled from the other side. “Just need your signature and you can head on out. There should be a bus back to New Lorraine pulling up in a few.”

“Okay thank you,” I replied, stuffing the envelope into my pocket and tossing the pieces of plastic into the garbage. 

I walked out of the bathroom, signed off on the paperwork and made my way outside, breathing my first bit of fresh air since the evening prior. I walked across the street to the bus stop, where an older couple had already situated themselves on the bench, happily caught up in their own conversation. I nodded a hello and once I was certain they weren’t paying me any attention, I pulled the envelope from my pocket. I ripped it open and began to read what was inside.

To my dearest Josephine,

I’m writing this to you because I don’t think I could ever find the courage to say these words aloud. I love you and I love our children, but I haven’t been happy in a really long time. I know you may not understand why things had to happen this way, but it’s the only thing I can think of to ensure that your life doesn’t become a complete waste because of my decisions. 

Please don’t blame Morris—he didn’t know what was going on... I just knew I wouldn’t be able to do this on my own. Please forgive me and don’t ever stop loving me. You should have everything you need to take care of the kids once the policies cash out. Just... be sure to live a happy life. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me—I just wish I was strong enough to be the man you needed. 

I love you. Forever.

— Hampton

I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was reading Mr. Hamilton’s suicide note. How it ended up inside my jacket was beyond me, but it was terrifying to read all the same. It had been me all along. I killed Hampton.

I held the letter in front of me, reading each word again and again in disbelief. This was all the evidence Detective Giovanni needed. And even if I didn’t remember what I’d done, I still had to be held accountable. Mr. Hamilton had a wife and children, friends and family and colleagues who loved him dearly: they needed to have closure. I had to turn myself in. 

I let out a sigh and gazed at the old couple in front of me. They were still cuddled up and giggling to themselves about something, perhaps an old memory they shared. I couldn’t imagine being so happy and in love with another person. I thought back to Dahlia and the things she said about spending time enjoying the little things. Talking to her had easily been the best part of my night. I still wanted the opportunity to take her out despite Walker’s warning. Maybe there was still a chance. She didn’t seem to be that happy with him, and she certainly wasn’t as happy as the couple sitting in front of me. I started to daydream about different scenarios where we could end up together. But I knew none of them could come to fruition if I ended up behind bars. 

I continued to contemplate what to do just as the bus came around the corner. The elderly man stood and held out his hand to help his wife up from the bench. She gave him a smooch on the cheek in return and happily hopped onto the bus once it pulled up in front of us. I stood at the bottom of the stairs, still trying to figure out what my next move would be. The driver cleared his throat for me to make a decision and I begrudgingly hopped up the short set of stairs. I took a seat all the way in back of the bus, slumping down in guilt and staring out the window, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

Once back in New Lorraine, I hopped off the bus and made my way inside the meager apartment I shared with Mama. I walked in and saw her with her feet up in front of our pot-belly stove, attempting to stay warm. 

“Well, there’s my big important businessman! Why didn’t you call if you were going to be gone all night? I was worried about you.” I walked over to give her a kiss on the cheek and she gave me a hug, breathing in deep to make sure it was me. “You smell funny.”

“Yeah, I need a shower, Mama. I partied so hard last night, I had to crash at Mr. Hamilton’s and then we went straight to work this morning. I’m sorry for not calling.”

“Well, it’s okay. I know it’s a different kinda world out there for you now. I managed just fine by myself, believe it or not. I may be blind, but I’m not helpless. You gon’ ahead and take your shower. I’m going to keep myself warm by the fire—I’m just glad LeDarrien stopped by to get it started for me. The house has had a wicked chill running through it since last night.”

“I’m glad too, Mama. I’ll make sure to thank him later this evening. I’m going to go hop in the shower, okay?” I grabbed another log and tossed it into stove to keep the fire going as Mama beamed widely. 

I had been telling myself the entire way home that I would turn myself in eventually, but I made a decision, right then and there. As the flames roared to life, I pulled the envelope from my pocket and tossed it into the flames, watching it crackle and char before disappearing into nothingness.


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.

Rabbit Punch (Part Five)
 

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

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

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

 

An urgent knock pried me from my afternoon daydream. Between friends wanting to sneak a peek at the estate and the constant stream of deliveries, the interruptions had been going on nonstop for the last three weeks. I sauntered downstairs and made my way to the door. To my surprise, an unexpected guest was waiting there for me. 

“Hey girl, hey!” Dahlia let out with a wide smile, holding a small leather bag at her side as I swung the door open.

“Hey little sister,” I said, extending my arms for a hug. “What brings you by?”

“It’s a beautiful day outside. Can’t I just stop by to see you?” I propped a cynical hand on my hip, letting her know she wasn’t getting by with such a bullshit answer. She sighed and shook her head. “It’s that damn Walker again.”

I rolled my eyes and stood to the side as she made her way over the threshold. “Jesus, what did he do now?”

“Do you have any wine?”

“It’s 1:15 in the afternoon, Dahlia.”

“I don’t have anywhere to be,” she said, making her way towards the kitchen. 

I locked the door behind us and set the alarm before following after her towards the kitchen. By the time I made my inside, she had already pulled a bottle of pinot from the fridge. “So what did Walker do now?”

“Damn Day. How do you ever find anything in this big ass kitchen? I feel like I’m in a bowling alley or something.”

I shook my head and walked to a drawer next to the refrigerator, handing over the bottle opener as she gave me a weak smile. She poured herself a glass and offered to do the same for me, but I waved her off. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“He’s still on that same shit as always. I don’t even know why I put up with it—I cater to that man and he just acts like nothing ever matter to him! I just wish he could recognize a good woman when he saw one...” She took a sip and settled into one of the stools at the kitchen island before letting out another long sigh. I’d heard this from Dahlia so many times it was starting to make my head hurt. Walker was a piece of shit and everyone knew it, even her. It appeared that everything she’d found mysterious and intriguing about him at the beginning of their relationship was finally starting to fade from her grace. “One of his boys hit me up and said he called me a slab the other day—right in front of a bunch of his friends! Like I’m just some ho off the street or one of them tricks from The Library or something. I’m just so sick of his shit.” 

She downed the rest of her wine and began to pour another glass as I boiled over. “That son of a bitch!”

“You know how these Gigglemug niggas are. They meet a cute girl from New Lorraine and act like they can say and do whatever they want because of where we’re from. I’m fucking tired of it! I just… I need a place to crash. Walker has been hounding me ever since he found out I knew, trying to make it seem like his friend is just making things up.”

“Say no more. I’d actually be happy to have some company.”

“Good. I just need to get low for a few days.” 

“No problem at all. In fact, you can help me plan this dinner party next week. I swear I’m in over my head on this thing.”

“Why do you always put so much pressure on yourself? People just want to show up, eat some decent chow and not die—no one said you had to be Julia Child.”

“It’s my first one in the new house, you know? I just want everything to be perfect. The grocer has been out of Irish butter for the past three weeks and I really want to make my special potatoes.”

“So use the regular stuff—it’ll be just as good. God, you’re such a stickler for things. How many people are you even inviting to this shindig?”

“It should be around ten or so. Hampton and Jo will be there, of course. He also mentioned bringing one of his interns... Morris something.”

“Oh, I know him,” she said with a smile as I raised an eyebrow. “Well, I don’t know him—but Hampton introduced me the last time I was at the firm. He was kinda cute.”

I smirked. “Do you really think you should be jumping from one guy to the next so fast?”

“Oh my God, Day. You can think someone’s attractive without it being a declaration at wanting more. Who else is coming?”

“Well, Bishop is dropping by soon. I’m going to see if him and the wife are free. Besides that, just the artists who are working on the gallery. And you, obviously.”

“Oh dope—did you go with any of the folks I suggested?”

“Yes, a couple have already completed their paintings, in fact. I still have one more I need to take care of though.”

“See? I told you using some folks from The Wealth was the way to go! These people out here don’t know anything about real art,” she let out excitedly, finishing off her second glass of wine. “So it sounds like this dinner is just going to be the family and a couple folks from around the way... remind me again why you’re stressing so hard?” I gave a small shrug. She started to gaze around the room and I found myself curious about what she thought. “I still can’t believe you actually bought this big ass house. I mean, don’t you feel nervous being here by yourself all the time? What if somebody breaks in or something?”

“Security was the first thing I took care of when I moved in. I have cameras, a high-frequency alarm and shatter-proof windows. I have three locks and a barricade on the back door that prevents it from being kicked in. My bedroom door is made of steel which locks from the inside automatically and requires a number code to enter. All it takes is the press of a button for me to turn it into a full-on panic room. Not to mention, I have a different weapon hidden in every room of this place and secret tunnels that connect to different rooms. I even had a consultant come in and help me assess all the blind spots I hadn’t considered yet. I’d never be able to sleep here at night without knowing I was fully protected.” Dahlia’s eyes grew wide at the mention of all my preventive measures as I shrugged sheepishly. “You can never be too careful, you know?”

“But even still, don’t you get tired of being alone?”

“I love the solitude most of the time. There’s just something about having your own space, living within your own aura... and being able to work from home every day has been life-changing. Everything operates on my own schedule now. It’s just...” I paused briefly before smiling to myself. “This is exactly what I’ve been dreaming of since I left New Lorraine: living in a big house, making real money, knowing I really made it on my own.”

She took another look around the room. “I guess I see what you mean. I’m happy for you, sis.”

We sat in silence for a moment, letting the conversation hit a dead stop. I couldn’t tell if I was imagining things or not, but I hated feeling like I was flaunting my wealth in her face. I was proud of my home and all the effort I’d put into it, but I didn’t want to be insensitive to her situation either. A loud ring from the doorbell interrupted my quiet thoughts.

I decided to ignore the awkwardness between us and gave her a smile. “Go on up, pick any room you want. Each one has a private bath with towels and washcloths and soap, if you want to shower or something. I have some work to do in the courtyard, so if you want to come back down and chill later, feel free.”

“Sounds like a plan. I’ma grab another bottle of wine and let my hair down.”

She gave me a tight hug, before retreating back to the fridge for a second bottle of pinot. Another urgent ring from the doorbell lulled me towards the entrance as I watched Dahlia slink her way upstairs, already appearing to look forward to her own form of solitude.

***

I rushed upstairs, pissed at myself for the way things had turned out. I felt hot tears stinging the corners of my eyes as I did my best to keep myself together until I was well out of sight. I punched in the code next to my bedroom door and pushed it open. Once inside, I laid across the bed, weeping and feeling sorry for myself.

I had spent months preparing for this dinner, and somehow, it had still fallen short. All the planning and money spent suddenly felt like a huge waste. A soft knock at the door shook me from my pity party. I was hoping they’d go away if I didn’t answer, but something told me they wouldn’t. “Who is it?” I squeaked out.

“It’s Ham.”

I let out a final sigh and wiped away my tears. I walked over to the door and opened it an inch wide to conceal my melancholy. “Is everything okay?”

“You tell me—wait, have you been crying?”

“No, I just...” I let out a sigh. There was no use lying to Hampton. He always knew the truth anyway. I opened the door wide and looked him in the eye, before dropping them back to the floor. He lifted my chin and I shrugged out a sigh. “I messed up the food. My potatoes burned because of that cheap-ass butter, the lamb was dry and half my buttonelles were still raw in the middle. I’m just... it’s fucking frustrating. I’ve been cooking since this morning, and somehow, things still didn’t turn out right.”

He shook his head. “Good Lord, Day—when are you going to stop being so hard on yourself? There’s barely any food left down there. People who lick their plates clean rarely have complaints.”

I shook my head. “It just wasn’t perfect.”

“Why does it need to be perfect? Everyone ate and got full. Why can’t that be enough?”

“It’s not just about what everyone else thought—I knew I could’ve done better.” He looked at me as if he wanted to say more, but ultimately kept whatever comment was brewing in his brain to himself. A long pause sat between us for several moments. Even though I knew he was probably right, I couldn’t combat the lump that was forming inside my stomach from falling short. 

“Well, look... we’re really missing you down at the party. Everyone keeps wandering where you went. Plus, Walker keeps telling his terrible jokes and making folks uncomfortable—I still don’t know why you invited him.”

“I didn’t. He’s been dropping by every other day, asking about Dahlia... I just couldn’t get him out the house this time. I figured once she left the party, he would too. He’s been weirder than usual tonight. I should’ve known everything would go wrong once he showed up.”

Hampton leaned against the doorway. “Want me to get rid of everyone? I can tell them you’re sick or something.”

I took in a deep breath and let out a long sigh. I was sabotaging my party for no reason. If everyone loved the food, I had to let that be enough, at least for tonight. I could always just make sure everything was perfect the next time around. I was just going to do my best to enjoy the rest of the evening. “I’ll be fine. I just... need a moment, you know? To get my head together. I’ll be down in a few, okay?”

“Promise?” he asked with a warm grin. 

I looked in his eye and let out a genuine smile. “Promise.”

“Okay cool. Take all the time you need. I think I’m gonna get myself some more of that punch.” He flashed me a final smile before turning towards the stairs. Before I realized what was happening, I caught myself staring at him as he descended back towards the first floor.

***

I sat there shaking, trying to make sense of what had just happened. Just like that, my best friend was gone. It had been hours since I’d seen the police wheel Hampton’s mutilated body to the ambulance waiting outside my house and it still felt like I couldn’t trust if what I’d seen had actually happened. It just couldn’t be true.

The steel door squeaked open and Detective Giovanni stepped inside slowly, seemingly wishing that he could be anywhere besides sitting across from me inside the cold interrogation room. 

“Miss York, please know that you have my deepest sympathies for the death of your friend. I’ve been told that you two were like brother and sister.”

I sniffled, convinced I was stuck inside a nightmare I simply couldn’t wake up from. I looked the detective in his eyes. “Hampton was the only family I’ve ever had besides Dahlia. He’s always looked out for us, ever since the day we were dropped off inside New Lorraine. I just... I can’t believe he’s gone.”

The detective sighed, pulling a small notebook from his pocket and clicking open a pen. “I’m going to try my best to investigate this situation in the most respectful manner possible, but I still have to ask you some questions you may find... uncomfortable. Do you understand?” I nodded, still stuck in a haze of grief. “Okay good. First, can you think of anyone who would’ve wanted to do him harm?”

“Absolutely not. We’re all like family. I mean, there were a couple guests, but for the most part—” I paused as my mind drifted off into an impossible assumption. Speaking it aloud would only make it sound more unbelievable, so I kept it to myself, even though it was the only explanation I could think of. I let out a long sigh before continuing. “Hampton hasn’t been happy for a long time. He’s got all this gambling debt he was trying to get out from under, they just lost a child... all he wanted to do was party and be a little carefree tonight. I never would’ve invited someone I thought he would have a problem with.”

“And what about his wife? Do you suspect any foul play on her part?” 

I sighed hard. My impossible assumption was becoming clearer and clearer the longer I sat there inside my own thoughts. “Hampton loved Jo from the first he saw her. They got married quickly, but they’ve been together a long time. He‘s always been a hard worker, always made sure his family had enough.” I cleared my throat and breathed in deeply before speaking again. “But he’s mentioned to me on more than one occasion that Jo never seemed truly happy with him.”

“Do you think she‘s capable of something like this?”

“Do we know what anyone is really capable of these days? I mean, I know it’s a cliche—but she has the most to gain, right? I’m sure Hampton has a big-ass life insurance policy worked out for her if something were to happen to him.”

“I’ve spoken with her briefly. She seems genuine for the most part.”

I rolled my eyes. “Yeah, I’m sure she gave you the whole ‘we’ve never been happier’ spiel.”

“Is that not the case? You seem awfully distrustful of her, Miss York.” 

“Jo isn’t a bad person—but Hampton made it pretty clear she’s checked out of their marriage and has been for awhile. He’s told me in so many words that they were only together for the kids. Hampton adores them and he knew he’d never get to see them if they divorced.”

“What exactly are you referring to?”

I let out a sigh. The more I spoke it out, the more I felt convinced that I was right. “Hampton always felt a lot of pressure to make sure Jo was happy. His whole family grew up in New Lorraine—but Jo moved to Gigglemug when she was five years old. Before that they were living in Johndale... her grandmother’s family has owned property there for generations. She’s never had to struggle... never had to eat fish everyday... never had to deal with racist-ass school officials just to ensure you can still receive your reparations... she’s never had to dream of what it’s like to make it one day. She’s had it made since day one. It’s why Hampton had such a gambling addiction in the first place. He never felt like he could make enough money for her—he was always trying to buy more and more of the things she claimed to need. It drove him crazy. I just wish he had the same luck with playing casino games as he did playing the market.” I shook my head yet again. I didn’t want to believe she could be so heinous, but nothing else made sense anymore either.

“Miss York, I’m hard pressed to accept a motive that Mrs. Hamilton murdered her husband in cold blood simply because he was born in New Lorraine.”

I shook my head. “I think she just wanted to be away from him. Even though he knew they were both unhappy, she also knew he’d never leave.”

“You seem pretty convinced that she’s the one responsible.”

I wasn’t sure if I really believed it or not, but it seemed to be the most plausible solution to me. “I just want justice for my friend. No one else would’ve wanted him dead.”

“Not even Mr. Gauff? He didn’t seem to have a kind word for him when we spoke.”

I sighed and shook my head. “Look, Walker is a terrible human being. He doesn’t have a kind word for anyone and most people are able to respond in kind—but murder? It seems farfetched, even for him. Not to mention, Hampton is twice his size.”

He leaned hard against the back of his chair and cleared his throat. “Are you sure you’re not attempting to cover for him... or perhaps your sister? I know they were involved. And she appears to be MIA. My officers have been trying to contact her all morning.”

“Dahlia couldn’t wait to be away from him for good. The only reason she even attended the dinner was because she assumed Walker wouldn’t be there. Frankly, I didn’t expect to see him either. I’d never cover for him if he thought he had something to do with this.”

“And why do you think he ultimately decided to make an appearance at your residence last night?”

I shook my head. “Walker is just... Walker. He operates on a different kind of social spectrum than most. He more or less does what he wants, no matter how uncomfortable it makes others. It’s like he doesn’t quite perceive how his presence makes other people feel.”

“Yeah, I kinda noticed that too,” Detective Giovanni let out with a chuckle. 

“It’s been going on for years and I still don’t know why my sister thought he’d be a good match for her. But I know for a fact that she didn’t have anything to do with Hampton’s murder. She loved him just as much as I did. It feels like a part of me is gone… like there’s a huge hole inside me. And once I let her know what happened, I’m more than certain she’s going to feel the same way. I just wish I didn’t have to be the one to tell her.”

“So you have no idea where your sister is? Or where she might’ve gone after she left your home last night?”

I shrugged. “As far as I know, she went straight home. She called me about twenty minutes after she left and said she’d made it in. I had no reason to believe otherwise.”

He studied me closely and cleared his throat. “You mentioned that you’d told your sister about some of the security features in your home—perhaps she doubled back and used that to her advantage.”

Rage began to glow beneath my eyes. “You really don’t get it... Hampton has been there for us a thousand times. He sacrificed himself and his own family’s needs to make sure we had what we needed growing up: clothes, shoes, toys, bundles of fish... I can’t tell you how many times he gave us money or produce when we only had grits and milk to keep ourselves fed. Even after all that, he taught us how to play the market, so we could make our own money. In fact, I was his very first client. If it wasn’t for Hampton, I never would’ve been able to leave New Lorraine in the first place. I never would’ve been able to afford that house. Everything has been due to him. Why the hell would Dahlia do something like that to a person who gave us so much?”

The detective scribbled something in his notebook and muttered under his breath. I couldn’t tell whether he believed me or not. I felt numb inside knowing Hampton was gone. I couldn’t imagine telling Dahlia what had happened. She would never be able to handle it. Tears fell from my eyes as it finally began to settle inside me that I’d never see Hampton again. There were so many conversations we hadn’t had yet. So many things left to discover about one another. So many things left unsaid. I looked at Detective Giovanni and felt helpless at the fact that I’d inadvertently invited Hampton’s murderer into my home.

He closed his notebook with a thwap and studied me closely. “Miss York, I want to be honest—I don’t believe you or your sister had anything to do with Mr. Hamilton’s demise. I can tell that you felt a great deal for him and I can’t see you treating him in such a manner. But there’s something that’s been bothering me ever since you first mentioned it.”

“And what’s that?”

He cleared his throat and sat up straight. “We found Mr. Hamilton inside your bedroom… so if a code is required to enter, how was he able to get inside?” I immediately stopped the tears streaming down my face and looked him squarely in the eye. “We also don’t seem to have any camera footage for the door in the rear of your house. Did you hand over all the files you had or just the ones you wanted us to see?”

I cleared my throat and crossed my arms. “I want to speak to my lawyer.”

“Excuse me?” he asked with his eyes wide, taken aback at my request.

“I’m not saying another word until until my attorney is present.” I leaned back and stared at the ceiling, refusing to avert my gaze until Detective Giovanni simply nodded and stood from the table with a smile on his face.

“Smart move,” he said with a smug grin. “I’ll make sure we inform your attorney as soon as possible.” He walked out of the room and I expelled all the air choking my lungs before bursting into a fit of tears.


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.

Rabbit Punch (Part Four)
 

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

 
Cover image by Виктория Бородинова from Pixabay. Cover art 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.

Rabbit Punch (Part Three)
 

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

 
Cover image by Виктория Бородинова from Pixabay. Cover art 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.

Rabbit Punch (Part Two)
 

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

 
Cover image by Виктория Бородинова from Pixabay. Cover art 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.

Rabbit Punch (Part One)
 

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

 
Cover image by Виктория Бородинова from Pixabay. Cover art 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.

Delamination
 

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

 
Cover image by Layers from Pixabay. Cover art 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.

The Funny Thing About Death
 

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

 
Cover image by Marta Docampo from Pixabay. Cover art 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.


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.

The Girl Who Dreamt Of Trees
 

BY GREGORY HEDGEPETH

 
Cover image by Эльвина Якубова from Pixabay. Cover art 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.


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.