Gateway

PART 1

Oh, What a Night

CHAPTER 1

R oyal rolled over. He tossed and he turned, scrambling his bedding. His animated feet disturbed his dog Maximus, who was asleep at the foot of his bed. The boxer shifted trying to recover his comfortable position. Maximus yawned widely, as Royal repositioned himself in his twin size bed.

Royal sighed as he fluffed his pillow. He was desperate for a good night’s sleep. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to shut out the odd visions that plagued him. Frustrated with his inability to slumber, Royal began to pray as he had done on many other nights.

Precious Lord, he began speaking out loud. Hear my cry. I thank you for giving me the rest I need, so I might do your mighty work. Amen. he prayed.

As always the prayer comforted him and quelled his frustration. Royal laid still in his darkened room with his mind wondering. He believed that prayer changed things. His faith was strong. He knew that it was just a matter of patience before his God removed these visions that plagued his sleep. He believed that God would not have elevated him to Assistant Pastor of his church, and leave him physically depleted. He could not hope to continue to minister at Gateway Baptist without sufficient rest. Though he had been praying about his sleep condition for years, he still believed in his deliverance from insomnia and nightmares.

However, Royal had to admit to himself that he was becoming impatient. This was because he thought it was a disgrace to be in the pulpit with his father with red eyes and yawning. Unfortunately, it was a situation his sleeplessness had placed him in too often, since he assumed pastoral duties a year ago. Prior to that time, he prayed with his father in the rectory before service. Supporting his father that way, his fatigue was not an issue.

Now, he was right in front of the congregation with his father ministering to the flock. From the pulpit, he was having a hard time hiding his fatigue from the congregation. At the age of 16, he felt like he should be bursting with energy, not struggling to stay awake. One Sunday he had even fallen asleep in the middle of his father’s sermon. An usher had to nudge him back to his senses. He remembered opening his eyes and having half of the congregation looking at him, instead of paying attention to his father’s delivery of the Word. Their disapproving eyes made a knot curl up in his stomach. Royal was embarrassed.

After service he was apologetic to his father. However his father did not chastise him. Reverend Monroe smiled instead and placed a reassuring hand on his son’s shoulder. The elder Monroe was more sensitive to his son’s sleeping problems than Royal was.

No harm done, Reverend Monroe assured Royal before attending to his post service functions: saying goodbye to the flock; tending to the trustee board; and checking in with the Deacons.

The Pastor’s simple words had soothed his son. Yet, Royal had still secretly considered asking his father to release him from his pastoral functions. He wanted to do this until he got his insomnia under control. However, he never got up the nerve to ask his father. He chastised himself for putting his own comfort before his ministerial duties. His father relied on him to be there in the pulpit. Sleep or no sleep, he would not let God or his father down.

Patience, Royal silently reminded himself. He was an ordained minister. He believed in the power of prayer. He had to have faith that it would heal his insomnia and the nightmares that haunted him. He had to see this as a test of his faith and his character. He could not become so big, and think he was not to be tested like his Savior was. Needless to say, members of the congregation were sure to remind him of that. Those Sunday mornings when he was visibly tired, someone from the congregation was sure to comment.

You alright, Sister Jenkins would ask with a concerned face. That father of yours ain’t working you too hard? She would ask, feigning concern.

Sister Jenkins was one of a number of congregants that was more interested in spreading the news of the day than the Gospel.

No. Royal would shake his head. I am alright. he would assure her. Blessed and able, doing the work the Lord has ordained me to do. He would add.

Jesus! He whispered to the darkness of his room. Please touch my mind, Oh Lord. And please let these visions be removed. I need the rest, so I will be prepared to serve your people this Sunday morning. He prayed. Lord let me sleep. He begged the stillness of his room as he closed his eyes.

Hearing his voice, his dog looked up at him from the edge of his bed. The old Boxer looked at his master with red eyes filled with sleep. The dog yawned wide mouthed, baring more empty sockets than sharpened teeth.

Well Maximus I’m happy one of us can get some sleep, Royal chuckled at the sight of his companion.

Maximus came to his feet and stretched. He scratched at the covers. Kicking Royal as he moved, Maximus walked around on the edge of the bed. He settled his burly seventy pounds into the covers and faded off to sleep. Royal shook his head and smiled. He could not help but smile when he looked at Maximus. He loved his dog. Maximus had been with him all of his life. Royal felt the dog was as much a part of his family as his Aunt Grace or Cousin Simon. He could not imagine waking up and not finding Maximus at his bedside.

Royal smiled. He reached down across his bed and rubbed at Maximus. His hand hit the red ruby collar that had adorned his faithful protector. He laughed to himself. On many occasions he wanted to exchange the garish collar for something more masculine. His father and Aunt would not let him. They made it clear to him that his mother had bought it before she died delivering him. Royal found this funny. It was funny to him that one of the few things to remind him of the mother he never knew was an ugly dog collar.

However, he supposed that had a lot to do with his father. The elder pastor preached constantly about not looking back, but to the glory of looking ahead. The minister in Royal understood how the message instilled hope in the congregation. Yet, this left the young man wondering about the mother he never knew. There were only a few trinkets around the rectory that he was told belonged to his mother. The only image of her was on his nightstand and it was taken from a distance. Royal unconsciously turned to face the image.

Always look ahead, His father was fond of preaching, God’s miracles and blessings lie just around the next bend in the road.

the words echoed in Royal’s ear. Royal had faith that God had a bounty of blessings for him for his service. Yet, the son in him could not help glancing back. He ached to know more about the woman that bore him. His father and his Aunt rarely spoke of her. There had to be more to her than a faded picture, a dog collar, and a rarely mentioned name: Lisa Monroe. Royal yearned to know something of the love that bore him. He knew his father to be a man of deep passion and love. He could not imagine being conceived by anything else. Yet, his everyday life bore no true evidence of it beyond himself.

However, he learned that it was a subject his father or Aunt would touch upon. Simon had no memory of his mother, since he was only three years older than Royal. All of Royal’s desire for conversation about his mother was quickly rebuffed. Thus, he learned to live with the emptiness he felt about knowing so little about his mother. Royal turned to the picture of his mother. He ran his fingers over the blurry photo. It was the only photo of her that he knew of in the rectory. He took solace in the fact that he had at least that.

The photo of his mother was in a park. It was taken from a distance, so her features were not clear. Over the years, Royal had studied the image in this photo many times. Though it was unclear, he was certain he could recognize his mother’s face anywhere. With one hand on his mother’s photo and the other on Maximus’ collar, Royal found a new comfort. After a few minutes he drifted off to sleep.

At first Royal found solace in a tender sleep that replenished him. Once he settled into the depths of slumber, Royal felt himself pulled away. He was pulled to a place that had haunted his sleep for as long as he could remember. Moving from the weightless sleep he desperately needed, Royal was pulled to a world he did not know.

In this world the sky had two suns. One sun hung higher than the other and was twice as large. They were both yellow. Beneath this canopy of light, there were huge trees with feathery leaves that cloaked odd sounding animals. Though he did not recognize these animal sounds, he could feel them in his spirit calling out to him. Before the calls of these beasts overtook his senses he began to move, soaring across the blue tapestry of this sun lit sky.

Now, he was beholding open plains with cracked dry ground with animals running across them that looked like horses. However, these animals were bigger than any horses he had ever seen. They were covered with a thick shaggy coat and had long fangs. Each one was ridden by a wild woman. While he could not make out thier faces, he could tell they were painted. Each of the women carried a sharpened weapon. He had seen these women before in his dreams, but for the first time, he could hear them cry a single word: CODA. These warrior women felt like a cross between Native Americans and Amazons. As he watched them ride, Royal was filled with a sense of freedom.

With the cry of these warrior women echoing in his ears, he moved again.

A red desert appeared. Though in this form he did not seem to have skin, he could feel the intense heat emanating from the sand. It was a red desert with huge rock formations rising from the sand. He had seen this place before, many times in his dreams from the past. However, this time he could see a single figure in the distance. The person was dressed in a hooded red robe that matched the color of the sand and hid his features. Though he was miles away, he was able to hear the man talking to him.

The man simply said: I am waiting for you.

, Royal said to himself in confusion.

However, before he could ponder the statement too long, the scenery shifted again. Royal found himself floating outside the huge black crystal walls of a city. In the past this was all he saw and the dream would change. However, this time he found himself moving through the city, traveling its streets and allies. Part of the city was made of an open market that looked like something from the middle ages. There were vendors selling food and wares he did not recognize. Surrounding the market were small clay houses that felt worse than any slum he had seen. The actions of the inhabitants were watched over by heavily armored soldiers that hurried them along their daily activities.

Royal was struck.

He was over taken by a feeling of sadness and gloom that permeated these people’s lives. He felt something call out to him from these people that he did not understand. In the face of such misery, he felt powerless. While these people looked as human as any member of his congregation, something inside of him told him they were different.

Then the scene shifted to the most dry and bleak terrain. There was a huge cannon with countless holes dug in its sides. It was a mining operation. There were children in rags banging against the hard rock and clay to uncover its precious minerals. They were watched over by dark armored warriors that pressed them to work faster with word and whips. Royal felt his stomach turn in the face of such brutality. Deep inside he wanted to scream, but he was stuck in this vision. Just when he thought he could take no more, his eyes focused on a girl. She seemed to stop her work and look directly at him. She reminded Royal of one of the orphans he saw on television from the developing world. His heart went out to her and even in his sleep tears slipped from his eyes. Just before one of the cruel overseers lowered a lash on her back, she mouthed a single word.

Jita!She said. Jita.

Though Royal did not recognize the language, he felt like it meant help.

Carrying the misery with him, Royal found himself sucked back toward the crystal blue sky. Once again, he hung above the city with the crystal walls. This time he could see a magnificent black crystal tower. The tower stood at the center of the city and twisted up toward the sky. Every street in the city led to this oddly shaped monument. The tower shined brightly in the glow of the two suns. There was a single terrace on one side of the tower. A person was standing there gazing out at the day. Royal could not make out the person’s features, but he knew intuitively it was a women. He also felt like she could see him, the same way he could see her. Suddenly Royal felt like he was in a vise grip. He could not breathe and he was being drawn to this person. Royal opened his mouth to scream, right before everything went black.

Royal rolled around in his covers as he felt his lungs fill with air. He struggled to come awake, but he felt caught in the dreams.

In the next dream, Royal was standing in the sanctuary of Gateway Baptist Church. The sanctuary was in shambles. The pews were splintered and tossed aside. The huge pipes of the pipe organ were broken and melted. The pulpit was riddled with bullets. Smoke filled the room from random fires. At Royal’s side Maximus lied in a heap of fur.

A few feet away, Simon was fighting alongside a man and a woman he did not recognize. They were battling a strangely armored warrior that was getting the best of them. Royal watched frozen as the two were tossed aside by the attacker. The barbarian began to move through the smoke toward Royal with a sword dripping with blood. Royal looked into the interloper’s eye. They had no pupils. They were pools of darkness.

Royal felt his blood run cold. He thought if he did not do something, he was surely dead. The creature was only a few feet away from him and he was raising his sword. Royal’s fear was paralyzing as he watched the interloper’s blade. However he felt something stronger than his fear move inside of him. It was a power he had never felt before.

Fire, Royal said, fire. he repeated.

He looked down at his hands and each was filled with flames.

Royal woke with a start.

He was dripping with sweat. He sat upright in his bed, trying to recall all that he had dreamed. He looked down at both of his hand. He expected them to be burned from the fire he saw in his last nightmare. However all he saw was smooth skin. Royal shook out his hands vigorously remembering the sensation of the flames.

It took Royal a few minutes to compose himself. He looked around his sparsely furnished room. He expected something to be different, but it wasn’t. Everything was in its place. Though his room was the same, his dreams had changed. They had never been that vivid before. Royal was in a panic. He was wondering if he was losing his mind. He thought about waking his Aunt Grace. She always took such an interest in his dreams. Telling her his dreams also calmed him down. Royal looked toward his curtained windows. It was still dark outside. It was early morning. He decided not to wake her because of the hour. He would speak to her in the morning.

Royal looked down at Maximus. He found him awake and alert. Royal reached out and stroked his fur. It calmed him. Royal reached in to his night stand and removed his bible. He cradled it on his lap as he stroked his dog’s fur.

Dear Jesus, he said softly. Help me.

CHAPTER 2

W isdom leaned back in the rickety chair. He wiped at his eyes. Slowly, his eyes cleared and his vision came back into focus. He looked down at the table in front of him. It was covered with small bags filled with rocky white pebbles, crack cocaine. It was Saturday night. Wisdom always cooked and packaged his drugs on Saturdays.

He pushed the bags aside. He found his cell phone on the table. Wisdom wiped the stray particles of drugs from the screen. He checked the time. It was 1:00am. He knew by this time his pitchers—his distributors—were getting low on drugs. They would be looking for him to come, pick up his money, and replenish their supplies. It was the weekend. There was a lot of money to be made in the streets of Baltimore. Wisdom knew that he could not afford to let any of his workers get low on supplies. He had to keep things flowing.

Wisdom also did not like his workers sitting around with full pockets of his money. Most of his workers were addicts themselves. They were afraid of him, but they liked their drugs more. He was not going to risk any of them messing with his money. If they did, that would bring out a side of Wisdom he did not like to show. Wisdom did not like violence. Yet, he knew it was a necessary tool of the trade. Fortunately, he had only been forced to show that side of himself a few times. Rumors of his past violent acts, when his money was not right, kept his workers in line.

Picking up his money and dropping off drugs was a daily ritual. Wisdom had been doing this ritual for five years, since he was 15. When he started he had only one person working for him, Old Ben. Now he had folk pitching for him all over Baltimore. There were neighborhoods that strictly sold his product. His signature bags, yellow with a black clover, littered the streets of these areas. Wisdom’s business was good. His flow of money was even better.

Unlike others, Wisdom cooked his own drugs. He had his entire operation set up in the basement of an abandoned building. The building was across the street from where his grandmother, Ms. Loretta Sims, went to church at Gateway Baptist. Wisdom believed his grandmother’s prayers were guarding his stash. He was superstitious like that.

Wisdom kept this space secret from everyone. The building was a husk. It was a burned out three story shell. The outer shape of the building was still intact, though all its window frames were filled with broken glass. On the inside, the three levels were a maze of charred timber. The building smelled of wet wood and rot. While the upper levels were unstable and riddled with decay, the basement was still complete and structurally sound. It was there that Wisdom stored his raw coke, turned it into crack, packaged it, kept his weapons, banked his money, and hid a body. He preferred it this way. He liked having one place that only he knew about. He liked having one place that housed his secrets.

One place. Secure. Well hidden. One person in charge.

He learned to do things this way from Malik Jones. Malik had been his mentor in the drug game. When Malik took him under his wing, Malik was one of the biggest drug dealers in Baltimore. Wisdom had accidently overheard some guys planning a hit on Malik. He had warned Malik. The same day Malik put a gun in his 15 year old hand, and they had taken the assassins out together. They were inseparable after that, bound by the spilling of blood. Malik had taught Wisdom everything about the making and the distribution of crack. Malik had given Wisdom his first pack to sell. However, over time the blood brothers eventually became rivals over turf and money. The rivalry ended with Wisdom putting a bullet in Malik’s head, and laying him to rest beneath where he sat.

Wisdom glanced over his shoulder. Deep beneath the floor boards, he had buried Malik’s remains. Having Malik’s corpse close gave him a comfort. It was a constant reminder of what he would never let happen to himself. Unlike Malik, he would never let anyone get close to his operation. Once he killed Malik, it was easy for him to fill the void. He knew all of Malik’s workers. He convinced them that the cops had taken Malik down dirty and he could protect them from a similar fate. After that, he found a better supplier for his raw coke and made a better product than his mentor. He upped the cut that his workers got, and any leftover loyalty to Malik quickly faded. Unlike Malik, Wisdom also kept everything about business. He never tried to make friends out of his workers or anybody on the blocks where he sold. Wisdom liked to believe that in his business he had no friends, only guns pointed at him. Thinking this way kept him safe and his pockets over flowing.

Pushing back from the table, Wisdom gathered the small packets into a huge bundle. He lifted a box of sandwich bags from under the table. He filled each bag with 50 packets. He created a packet for each of his workers, counting his profit as he worked. Once he was done, he scanned his work room to make sure everything was in its proper place.

Besides the table and chair where Wisdom sat, the small room was riddled with splintered wood and broken furniture. It was lit by a naked white light bulb that swung overhead. There was also another small table that housed two small hot plates. Wisdom used the hot plates to cook his drugs. He walked over to them, checked his pots, and made sure the cooking eyes were off. Wisdom then repositioned several boards. The boards concealed an old bank safe that he used to hold his drugs, money, and weapons. Wisdom remembered the effort it had taken him and Malik to get the old relic into the space. Before pulling the door of the safe closed, Wisdom took out two guns and two full clips. He put one of the guns in his back and the other in his sock. He sighed to himself and stretched feeling the familiar comfort of the guns. Now he was ready to go.

He gathered the bundles of drugs into his knapsack. He clicked the light off. Darkness filled the space. From memory he made his way up the steps and out of the basement. Once at the top of the steps, he slid several boards over the hole in the floor. He then repositioned several pieces of broken furniture and an old rug over the planks. He looked at the fixtures with satisfaction. He had hid his small world well.

From where he was standing Wisdom looked at the front of the building. He could see the street beyond. It looked like a clear exit. It wasn’t. Wisdom had Bobbie trapped the floor. Anyone taking that route out would find themselves in a tangle of wood and broken glass. He took no chances. Wisdom turned to the back of the building. He counted his steps as he went. Once reaching the back wall, he counted the planks that made up the wall. He removed the eleventh and moved into the alleyway beyond, pulling his knapsack behind him. He hurried down the walkway until he reached the avenue. He checked the street in both directions. It was clear. Wisdom made his way out into the summer heat.

His Black Escalade was right where he left it. He always parked in front of the church. He knew that everyone knew his grandmother went to the church. Anyone seeing his SUV would think he was there to pick her up, not replenish his stash. It was a cover he liked. Wisdom looked up at the steeple with disdain. He had not graced its pews since his mother’s funeral. She had died with a needle in her arm and drool falling from her lips. He was 14 then and still remembered that day clearly. When the pastor closed the lid on her coffin he also closed the lid on any faith Wisdom ever had. Wisdom could not believe in a God that would make him and his brother orphans.

His grandmother was a different story. She had been a church member of Gateway Baptist since the doors opened. She also volunteered on many of the church boards and took part in all church activities. She was a church fixture. Wisdom liked to believe she had enough faith for him too. Wisdom walked to his SUV. He was trying to get the memory of the smell of roses from his mother’s funeral from his nose. He thought of his grandmother instead. He smiled. He liked to believe her prayers sustained him. It was all the luck he needed.

Wisdom got in his car. He mentally mapped his route before he started his vehicle. For the next hour he made his way around Baltimore city. He drove slowly. He was sure to stop at every light and slow at every stop sign. He did not want to give the police any reason to stop him. He trans versed neighborhoods from Pig Town to Park Heights. His workers were waiting for him. They handed him wads of money. He handed them bundles of drugs. Wisdom said little and never counted his money. His workers knew that their next meeting would not be civil if the money was not right.

At last, Wisdom pulled up to a non-descript house on Ullman Street. He turned off his lights and honked his horn. After a few minutes an older Black man came out of the house. He walked slowly and paced himself as he came. It was Old Ben. Wisdom looked at him as he came. The man had not changed much over the years he had worked for Wisdom. He was the only person that worked for Wisdom that he bothered to be personal with. Old Ben had started it. The old man was in the habit of talking to Wisdom, with a good sense he found he could not ignore. It was for that reason Wisdom always made Old Ben his last stop of the night. Old Ben always gave him something to think about. Wisdom liked that.

Once they made their exchange, Old Ben lingered in the passenger seat of Wisdom’s SUV. Wisdom did not bother looking at him. Old Ben had that look on his face that meant he was thinking. Wisdom waited patiently for what the ragged tooth man had to say.

After a few seconds, Wisdom broke the silence, You got somethin’ to say old man?

Old Ben wrinkled his brow and cleared his throat before he spoke, it ain’t something I got to say, he began. It’s what you got to do.

And what is that? Wisdom asked.

He turned to him and asked, Seen ya boy lately?

The question surprised Wisdom. He opened his mouth to speak but did not know what to say. He tried to maintain his composure. He gripped the steering wheel and looked straight ahead. Old Ben had a knack for asking him things and saying things that made him think.

Most of us is in this game for all the wrong reasons and it eats us up. It makes us mean, Old Ben continued. Kids are a reminder that there is something else besides this. he concluded.

He did not wait for Wisdom to respond. He took his bundle and exited the vehicle. Wisdom watched the old man walk back to his house. Old Ben did not look back. Long after Old Ben was in his house, Wisdom sat with the motor running. Old Ben’s words were echoing in his ears. He thought about the man’s words before deciding what to do next. He had not seen his son in several weeks. He thought of little Wisdom daily and kept a picture of him on his dashboard. Wisdom hated to admit it to himself but he missed his baby’s mother Tisha too. Seeing them was worth the drama her parents put him through.

Unlike other girlfriends he had before, Tisha had been more than a nut. They spent time together. They did things that took both of them out of the ‘hood.’ With Tisha, Wisdom could relax. He actually began to enjoy the money he was making. Being with Tisha he was able to get his mind off the next pick up or the next batch of drugs he had to make. Then a year ago she gave him the most precious gift, a son. He never told her that, but everything for him changed when Little Wisdom was born. He stopped spending so much money. He saved instead. He wanted to give his little man a better life than the one he was living. With this in mind, he created a separate stash of money for his son. He hid it in his grandmother’s house. He wished that he could tell his grandmother about the money, but she was too deep in the church. He told Old Ben instead, just in case something happened to him.

Thinking about his son, Wisdom became anxious. He looked down at him staring back from the dashboard. He sighed to himself. Things were rocky between him and Tisha since their break up. Things were worse between him and her family. They never liked him or the fact that he was drug dealer. However, he had a responsibility to his son. He nor his brother ever knew their father. It was a pain that secretly haunted him, especially after their mother’s death. Wisdom was committed to being more than a memory or a conversation to his son.

Wisdom looked down at the clock on his dashboard. It was 3:00am. He hated to wake up Tisha and her family. He knew it would stoke their dislike of him. However, he needed to see his son. He pulled his car out of the space in front of Old Ben’s. He turned his car toward Tisha’s house. On the ride over he did not