Page 38 of The Prodigy

13

Jakari

Istepthroughthefront door on high alert. I know something’s wrong, but I don’t have the details. I hear my mother crying. At least, I think it’s my mother. Before I see anything, I smell blood. It’s so strong, I can taste the metal on my tongue. My stomach churns.

Everything in me is telling me to run, but I press forward, one foot, then the other, until I see. My heart sinks. My eyes water and blur. It’s my father.

Oh, no.

So much blood.

I woke up with a start, gasping for air and drenched with sweat. Malika was still knocked out on her side of the bed. I was glad. I didn’t feel like explaining my disheveled state. I wanted to forget everything, but I knew it wouldn’t be that easy.

The nightmares were back.

I hadn’t had one since I moved to Atlanta. Eight whole years of freedom. That couldn’t have been a coincidence. But now? I was haunted once again. His face. Her face. The blood. The fear. The confusion.

I scrubbed a hand down my face and laid back down, still dazed, my heart still pounding.

Coming back here was a big fucking mistake.

IstoodinGrayHightower’s two-story foyer and looked around me. Gray had the kinda house that was designed just to impress you. It didn’t look like a place where people actually lived. It was big as fuck, lavish, and kitted out, but cold. Nothing like my parents’ house.

“So how long’s it been?” he drawled after we shook hands.

“I don’t even know. Last time I was in Midling, you were in…Chicago?”

“Toledo,” he corrected.

“What’s in Toledo?”

“Not a damn thing, I’m afraid.”

We shared a laugh at that, and Gray began leading me toward the dining room. He was a strange man, but then again, he was white. Not cool, down-ass white like some of my boys from high school. Gray waswhitewhite. Country club, ivy league, ancestors pulled up to this bitch on the Mayflower white.

White like cocaine, too. My daddy said he learned the phrase “hookers and blow” from Gray and his circle. He was drunk when he told me that. He never would have, otherwise.

“Mimi made something good,” he said. “We’ll sit and talk over dinner. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Yeah, man. Starving.”

As soon as we were seated, Mimi appeared. She was in a black and white maid uniform and smiling bright, almost like one of those black women you see in those old racist movies. Like the maid onGone with the Wind.

“Gentlemen,” she said with a nod. “Tonight, I’ll be serving braised pork shoulder, roasted rosemary new potatoes, green vegetable medley, and honey butter cornbread.”

Gray rubbed his stomach. “Sounds amazing, Mimi. We’re ready.”

She grinned, and I wondered if she was really that damn happy to be cooking and cleaning for these white folks.

Anyway, when she shuffled off to get our food, I scooted my chair forward and raised my eyebrows.

“Not yet,” Gray said. “Let’s wait for the wine.”

I nodded. I could small talk for a little while.

“So, how are your kids? Cece and…Brent?”

“Brett,” he corrected. “They’re fine. Cece got married last year. I fucking hate her husband.”

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