Angels of Death

9781623099053

Angels of Death

After sixteen hours of wiggling my cute little ass, and serving the locals at Smitty’s Bar and Grill, all I wanted was to go home and crash. My feet throbbed, my body ached, and I looked forward to the comfort of my soft, clean bed.

The cool November breezes filled my faded green, V.W. bug as I drove past endless rows of single-family homes that lined my Ft. Lauderdale neighborhood.

As I entered the house, I called out, Mom. I’m home. I heard my little sister Megan, crying and rushed to her room, finding her sitting against the wall; her face buried into her legs, hugging her knees. She looked up at me, ran across the bed and jumped into my arms.

Look, what he did to me, Marena, she cried.

I pushed her off. Blood dripped from her nose; her clothes were torn, including her panties. I laid her down on the bed, trying to be calm and said, Wait here. Then, I heard my mother crying. Please Paul, don’t. Nooo. Not again.

I screamed as I slammed the door to her room. That son of a bitch! I grabbed the Louisville Slugger I kept behind my bedroom door and glanced at the inscription I had etched in JFK High School Girls Softball Champs 2007. The best time of my life.

I marched toward my mother’s room. Rage shot through me. My muscles tensed; I gritted my teeth. My useless, drunk, piece-of-shit stepfather had my mother by the hair and pulled her back and forth like he was shaking a rag doll.

He slurred his words as he said to my mother, You lousy bitch. You do what I say.

His beer belly jiggled as he tossed her around.

My mother screamed and repeatedly pleaded with him to stop.

He stopped just long enough to growl at me and scream, Wadda you want-bitch?

Let her go! I ordered.

We stood eyeball to eyeball. The smell of alcohol and his body odor was unbearable.

I grabbed his arm. Get lost, you little bitch. He backhanded me across the face, knocking me to the floor.

Bitch! I hated that word because that is what he called my mother. In high school, I was suspended for a week for kicking a jocks nuts in for calling me that disgusting name. It made me crazy.

He grabbed my hair and hoisted me to my feet. I used all of my strength trying to loosen his grip, but no luck. Then I kneed him in the groin as hard as I could. He let out a scream and dropped to his knees. As I fought to catch my breath, I picked up the bat, looked at my mother and ordered, Go take care of Megan.

But, Marena. What….?

Go, right now.

She left the room. That miserable bastard held himself as he rolled around on the floor. Sweat dripped from his face and baldhead. He screamed, I’m gonna kill you. He crawled across the floor and reached for me, but I backed away. Again, he reached for me. I took a couple of steps back, and held the bat high.

I warned you. I crashed the bat over his head.

Moments later, he lay motionless. Blood and saliva dripped from his mouth and onto the worn, green carpet. My hands shook, and tears ran down my face. It all happened so fast, but I felt as if I was moving in slow motion. Nausea crept in; I ran into my bathroom, dropped to my knees and hurled my guts into the toilet.

Minutes went by, but it seemed like it took forever to muster up the strength to hoist myself up and look into the mirror. Blood spotted my shirt, face and hair. My legs felt like rubber as I leaned against the wall trying to hold myself up, but no use, I slid to the floor, cried and shook uncontrollably.

My mother screamed out, What have you done?

I grabbed the sink, pulled myself up, washed my face, rinsed my mouth and ran into my mother’s bedroom, and picked up the bat.

Mom. Stop it. I demanded.

Look what you did. What are we going to do now?

He went too far.

"What are we going to do now, Marena?"

It was always me. I was the one that had to take care of Megan, took her to school, helped her with homework, made sure she took a shower and had clean clothes. Every time he beat my mother, I had to clean her, heal her wounds, and wipe her tears. Over the years, she grew to be so weak and pathetic it made me sick. I had enough.

My mother met Paul after my father left, another abusive prick. My mother had just had Megan and to her, Paul was like the white knight. He took care of us and bought whatever she needed for Megan and me. His kindness was short-lived, because soon the real Paul came out, and that’s when the abuse started, again.

"We? No, you. What are you going to do?" I shouted.

She looked up at me, her face red from crying and her eyes swollen, What am I going to do? Why, where are you going?

I gotta run now. I can’t stay around here. They’ll bury me.

It was self-defense. You know they will know that. Don’t you? she begged.

Not after what I just did.

But, but. What about me…and Megan?

Time to grow up, Mom. Time to stop being a wimp.

Back in the bathroom, I whisked off my shirt and threw it in the trashcan, took a washcloth and cleaned the blood from my face and hair. I cleaned the bat with bleach and placed it by the front door.

A gigantic weight had been lifted from my family. I grabbed my gym bag, filled it with clothes, money I had hidden under my mattress, a few things from the bathroom, and placed the bag next to the bat. I slipped into my mother’s bedroom and took Paul’s .38 from the nightstand drawer. Would I ever see Megan or mom again?

Megan sat on the edge of her bed. Her tears mixed with blood made a horrible mess on her pretty face. I sat next to her, cleaned her face and wrapped my arms around her tight. If it weren’t for Megan, I would have left this hellhole a long time ago. She was a great sister full of life and fun. Megan was a kind and loving girl. She sure as hell wasn’t perfect and she could be a sarcastic little pain in the ass, but I loved her just the same. She had her special way of making me laugh even in the middle of all this turmoil.

She was twelve now, ten years younger than me. Megan was different, slower than many of the kids and had to be in special classes. Between the situation in my house and her special needs, it made her shy and weak. I think her innocence is what made her so much more lovable.

Her little girl voice trembled. "Is, is he dead?

Yeah. I think so, I answered calmly. She let out a sigh of relief, hugged me harder and begged me to go. Please Marena. Don’t ever forget me, okay?

I replied, Never. How can I ever forget about you? I love you. You’re my sis.

I love you, too. She pushed me and said, Now go before the cops come, go. I reached over, hugged her again and gave her a kiss on the cheek.

My mother sat at the kitchen table with her head in her hands. I bent over and kissed her on the head. What are you gonna do now? I asked her.

I don’t know. I guess I’ll tell them it was self-defense. This won’t be the first time the police were here, she said while holding a tissue to her nose.

They won’t believe that, I answered.

Yes, yes they will. The police know what’s gone on here. Please stay, Marena. Please.

No Mom. I’m not staying. The same thing happened to this kid in school. Now, he’s doing ten years for manslaughter. I’m not going there.

Please, please. Marena. I need you. Don’t go. We’ll work this out.

She grabbed onto my T-shirt and pulled me. The tears started again. I knew she was scared because she had never been alone and hadn’t made one decision that I ever knew of, but she’s a big girl and I knew she would figure it out. Staying here wasn’t an option, anyway.

I grew angry again and began to yell at her, "But, Mom. It was your fault! You never fought back. You let him do whatever he wanted to you. The same as dad."

No. No. That’s not true. I couldn’t fight back. He was too big. I was so afraid.

You don’t have to be anymore, I said, and let out a breath.

What am I going to tell the police?

Tell them whatever you want. The truth. Make it up. I don’t care.

What are you going to do? she asked.

I don’t know. I’ll just have to figure that out.

Are you sure you won’t stay? She looked at me with her sad, pathetic eyes, the eyes I had seen so many times before.

I got down on my knees and squeezed her, and I cried as she held me.

Go then. Be careful… call me, she said, and wiped more tears from her face.

This was the first time I had ever seen her take control of anything. My mother grabbed my hand and held it for a few seconds, as if she was saying, "Thank you." I stroked her hand, walked toward the front door, opened it, looked back and walked out.

Chapter Two

Detective Eric Jamison

Patrol cars, C.S.I vans, police officers, and neighbors hovered around the Marshall residence. Another homicide and just a normal night in Ft. Lauderdale.

As I entered the residence, I scanned the room. My mind was like a sponge, a computer. Whatever it took in stayed there. First, I rifled through the mail on the old kitchen table, then stopped and studied the family pictures, hanging crookedly in their chipped and worn frames. Some of the glass had been shattered from years of fighting. I studied the pictures, not the happiest family in the world. I stopped in the bathroom, looked into the trashcan, took out my pen and picked up a blood-spattered shirt. I gently placed it on the sink countertop and said, Officer, bag this. The officer took out a plastic bag.

A young girl, I assumed was Megan by the sign on her door, sat on the edge of her bed crying.

You okay? I asked.

She looked up and nodded. I knew better. A female officer stood a few feet away from me.

Take care of her. I pointed to Megan.

Yes, sir.

The officer took Megan by the hand, led her off the bed and began her inspection.

"Who did this to you? The officer asked.

My step dad, she said, with a trembling voice. She held her hands to her face and cried.

I leaned over and whispered in the officer’s ear, Take her to the ambulance.

What about SVU?

Don’t question me.

I walked into the bedroom where Paul Marshall laid face down. Blood and brains oozed out of a baseball sized hole in the back of his head. His eyes open, staring across the floor and small puddles of saliva and blood clung to his mouth. I tried to stay cool, but the truth is, blood made me sick.

Mrs. Marshall could never have done this; she wasn’t strong enough, mentally or physically. However, Marena, she could have. After seeing Megan, I knew what could have set her off. Marena played softball all through high school. She knew how to swing a bat and it looks like she may have hit a homerun. Too much assuming. It could have been anyone, but I wasn’t going to rule her out, not yet anyway.

I walked back to Marena’s room and stood in the doorway. I remembered our one and only date and still hurting from her rejection, still in love with her.

Marena wanted to go to a concert of the year. Everyone was going, including her best friend Andie. They knew I had two tickets and no one to go with. I was a skinny, pimple faced nobody in school and the one girl who said she would go with me went with someone else.

When I finally got up the nerve to ask Marena, she shocked me because she asked me.

I hear you have tickets for the concert and you wanna take me, she said, with her cocky, pretentious attitude. All I could do was nod my head.

Okay. Pick me up at seven. Later, she said, and bounced away.

Okay. Seven. Is all I could get out.

I was disgusted with myself, but my dream was coming true. I was going to be with the love of my life, Marena Angelika Marshall.

During the concert, Marena spent most of her time with Andie and came back to me on occasion for money. I didn’t care because everyone knew she was with me.

We had a buzz going from all the beer we guzzled and from the pot that filled the air. Then out of nowhere Marena says, You said your parents were gone for the weekend, right? Why don’t we go back to your place? Okay?

I still remember the way she stood in front of me. Her green eyes pierced through me, while she had her hands tucked behind her into the waist of tight, cut-off jean shorts. She positioned herself like that many times.

Um. Sure. Okay, I said, with a shaky voice.

Minutes later, we arrived at the house.

Where’s the, uh, little girls room? she said.

I pointed.

Go in the bedroom. I’ll be right there, she said, with a low voice.

Then, she licked her lips, turned, took off her blouse and bra, and walked into the bathroom.

I stared for a few seconds and then did what she ordered. This must be heaven. I couldn’t believe it, Marena Marshall in my bed. She came out of the bathroom with only her hot, red panties on. I smiled from ear to ear and prayed like hell I could hold on long enough to make this the greatest night ever. She ripped off the covers, put her hands on her hips and appeared to be inspecting every inch of me with her narrow, seductive eyes,

Not bad. Not bad at all.

She climbed on top of me, gave me a wet and passionate kiss, and worked her way down. We made love for hours. She made me feel as if I was the only person on earth and she gave me the best sexual experience of my life. Even though, there have been many after her, no one has ever made me feel the way she did, that one and only night.

That was the last time I ever saw her. No matter how many times I called or went by her house, it was always a dead end. Now it’s my turn, I’ll get even with her for using and dumping me.

Reality set in and I walked over to Mrs. Marshall, took a breath and said, ‘Mrs. Marshall, how are you? It has been a long time. Mrs. Marshall looked at me intently, her eyes swollen and red from crying. The combination of smeared mascara and tears coated most of her face, and she said, Eric? Eric Jamison is that you?"

Sure is, I said, and bent over and gave her a warm hug. We have a little mess here. Where’s Marena?

Oh, um, um. Marena? She’s gone for a couple weeks, vacation

Isn’t she working at Smitty’s?

Yes. She’s still there. My hard working little girl, she said, while she rubbed her hands together and bit her lower lip.

So I heard you tell the officer that this incident with your husband was self-defense. Is that right?

Yes. Of course. The officer knows our history.

Funny. I can’t see you doing something like this. I mean Paul is three times your size. So what really happened? He was slapping you around again, wasn’t he?

A few seconds later, my partner Darnell Washington, a heavy, black man with salt and pepper hair, the looks only an aged cop could have, joined us. He let out a breath to show us that he had seen this way too many times.

Okay. Wadda we got here? as he crouched to take a closer look at the body.

I crouched next to Darnell, This is Paul Marshall, 49. Looks like he was beaten to death

He interrupted, No kidding. Man, you’re really getting the hang of this, ain’t ya?

I peered at him through the corner of my eyes and continued, From the damage, whoever did this probably used a bat, pipe. Something like that. The wife told me it was a self-defense, but I don’t buy it.

Why’s that?

Well, I don’t think she’s strong enough or has the temperament. I think someone else did it and she’s covering.

How many times do I have to tell you to lay back? Don’t go in for the kill right away and show all your cards. So who do you think did it?

Not sure, I said, and looked away.

We stood up and walked toward Mrs. Marshall.

We won’t be bothering you anymore tonight. You and your daughter need to go to the hospital first. An ambulance is waiting, but we will need you to come by the station for a complete statement tomorrow. Is there someplace you and your daughter can stay tonight? Darnell asked, politely.

Yes. Across at our neighbor. We’ll go there right away. But, why does Megan have to go to the hospital?

Darnell looked at me and then walked away.

Um, Mrs. Marshall. Megan may have been raped. She has to be checked by a doctor.

Oh, my God.

This woman was either dumb or in denial if she couldn’t tell what had happened to her own daughter. I helped them into the ambulance and stood in the driveway observing everything that was going on. I started to walk toward my car, but Darnell stopped by shouting, Where the hell you think you’re goin?"

Home.

You stay here and clean-up this mess. You go home later. I’m goin’ home.

I snapped off a sarcastic salute, turned around, and walked back in. CSI technicians, medical examiner, police officers, and news people swarmed through the house. I made my way through the madness and nudged a reporter out of the way.

Let’s get this done. I sure as hell don’t wanna stay here all night. Get your butts moving, I ordered. A shit-eating grin came to my face. I liked being the boss.

A few hours went by and finally everyone was done. Police tape covered the front door. I was exhausted and wearily climbed into my black Crown Vic and drove home. The first thing I have to do tomorrow is go to Smitty’s and find out whether Marena is really on vacation. What a mess this is going to be and I’m stuck right in the middle. I pulled into the driveway, put my head back, and closed my eyes for a few seconds. Climbing out, all I could think of was Marena, what the hell did you get yourself into?

Chapter Three

My best friend, Andrea Postivich or as most people called her, Andie lived only a few minutes away. We met accidentally in high school, in the tenth grade and of all places. in the girl’s room. Three senior jocks surrounded her. One of them had her against the wall with a hand on her throat. Andie was thin and weak back then. It was before she started gymnastics and hanging out with me. I took a few steps closer with my fists clenched and said, What the fuck’s going on? Get your hands off her.

Mind your own business, the girl holding Andie said.

I cracked her across the jaw and knocked her on her ass with one punch. The others ran out as fast as they could.

Five years later we’re still best friends, we’re inseparable and now I needed her more than ever. She walked out of the front door as soon as I pulled up, as if she sensed something was wrong. She wore a Gators sweatshirt, and her long auburn hair glowed from the porch light. Andie put her arms around me, looked me dead in the eyes, and said, What’s wrong? We sat outside on a wooden bench swing and I told her the story. Her mouth stayed wide open. I put my head down, and said, I couldn’t let him keep hurting them.

What’re you gonna do now? The cops?

The only person who knows I know you is Megan and she won’t rat me out. Can I stay here a couple of days?

Sure.

But, what’re you gonna do, Mar?

I’m thinking ‘bout Atlanta. Maybe find a job waitressing or something. Why?

Well, can I go with you?

What about your mom?

She won’t give a shit.

Andie was an only child and her mother, Agatha or Aggie, gave her everything she wanted. Aggie was a real nut job. She was always into some kind of cause, animal rights, human rights, abortion or drugs. She had erratic mood swings and would flip out, rip into Andie one second and seconds later, she’d be singing and calm. That’s where Andie got her hot and cold personality. Aggie also loved to party and had a revolving door on her bedroom. Andie mentioned our trip to her mother and as Andie said, she didn’t give a shit.

Here’s some money, sweetie, Aggie said.

Thanks, mom.

Andie hugged her and then Agatha’s cell phone rang. Andie rolled her eyes and signaled me to follow her into her bedroom. She threw her things into a suitcase and we headed to Atlanta. I was relieved because I didn’t have to run on my own and Andie was excited to be anywhere, but home.

Hey, Marena. Do you think we could go to Six Flags Water Park?

It’s November, Einstein.

Oh, yeah. Then how about the Coke museum?

We’ll see. I have lot on my mind right now, okay?

Ten hours and about a million food stops later we were in Atlanta. Andie was an eating machine and we had to stop many times to feed her enormous appetite. Most people would weigh two-hundred pounds if they ate the way she did, but her abs were tight and she wore a size zero.

Andie needed to find a Bath and Body Works. I pointed, There’s a drug store.

She rolled her eyes, ran her fingers through her hair, and answered, You got to be kidding.

Her cell phones GPS gave us directions to the nearest mall. I hated shopping. It was never my thing to spend hours walking through the stores, trying on clothes and not buying a thing. If I had to go, I was in and out in less than thirty minutes.

We found Bath and Body Works. Then she had to go into another store, and another, so finally I had enough and told her to meet me at the car. As I opened the door to the parking garage, I scanned the sea of cars trying to locate my bug. A woman’s muffled screams echoed throughout the huge area. Then, I spotted a man dragging a woman. He had his hand covering her mouth and an arm around her waist. She attempted to pull his hand off her mouth. The only thing I could think of to do was call out, Hey, what the fuck are you doing?

Before I could say another word, I felt an arm go around my neck and a hand over my mouth. His warm breath moistened my neck. The disgusting smell of body odor and cigarettes made me sick. I rammed the back of my head into his face, he let go and drove his fist into my gut. Gasping for air, I looked up and saw my attacker. His eyes bulged out of his baldhead and his arms were covered with ink. Glancing away for a split second, I noticed that the other man had the woman against the wall with his hand on her throat. Something had to be done or we would be dead. My attacker wiped the blood from his nose and mouth with his hand and slung it on the floor. He smiled and said, You’re a dead little girl.

He reached for me as I pushed myself to my knees and was about to take a swing at his balls when I heard a blood curdling scream. Andie charged behind him with my bat.

Don’t touch her, she screamed.

She struck him on the back of his head repeatedly until he lay unconscious on the concrete floor. The other man let go of the woman, took off and she collapsed to the floor.

Andie? Holy shit. You saved my ass.

Don’t sweat it.

I didn’t say a word because I was still trying to figure out what just happened. We ran over to the woman; she was still breathing. I gently smacked her face and a few seconds later, she opened her eyes. At first, she was startled and snapped to a sitting position.

Where am I? Oh my God. What happened?

You were attacked, I said.

She came back to reality, stood up and pointed at the man lying on the floor. We slowly, but cautiously walked toward him. Blood oozed out of the back of his head. Andie became ill and vomited all over a pimped out black Escalade.

He’s dead, the woman said.

Yeah. I think we better get out of here, I said.

Good idea. She gazed into my eyes and put her hand on my shoulder. You guys saved my life. Follow me.

Andie took a swig of her bottled water and rinsed her mouth. We climbed into the bug and followed behind our new friend’s red Lexus Coupe for almost thirty minutes, driving through the elite part of Atlanta. She lived in a gorgeous condominium that resembled pictures I had seen of The Ritz-Carlton in New York. Lush, manicured landscaping surrounded the building. The doorman wore a full length coat with matching hat and when we walked into the lobby I stared in awe. Marble tiles covered the lobby floor and the thick glass tables had decorative etchings. There were dozens of potted plants, trees, flowers and best of it all, a waterfall stood in the middle of the lobby.

Holy crap, Marena. Have you ever seen anything like this?

I stared at the waterfall and said, Never.

I realized we were acting like a couple of peasants and said, Is there someplace we can clean up?

I noticed that she had a scarf around her neck, probably to hide her bruises and scratches and it looked like she had reapplied some make-up. She was still shaken up, but much calmer. Her breathing slowed and hint of coolness came over her. She seemed poised. Most women would be a wreck after an attack like that.

I need to clean up, too. Oh, and, by the way. My name is Regina, Regina Walker.

She offered me her hand and said, Marena Marshall.

Then, Andie shook her hand and said, I’m Andie Postivich.

Andie is it? Is your real name Andrea?

Yes.

Andie’s real name sounds like Ann-dree-uh. Regina said it with an arrogant tone, On-dray-uh.

Hmmm? What was going on here?

I interrupted, So, who were those guys?

I will explain. I don’t know how I can ever thank you for what you did for me.

I’m sure you’ll think of something, Andie said, with a smile.

Oh, On-dray-uh. You are the cutest.

Under my breath I said, Oy vay.

We rode in the Penthouse Only elevator. I had to admit, she really had things going on. My whole house could fit in her massive condo a couple of times over. Many d varieties of art covered the walls and