“I hear you callin’, here I come, baby, to save you...” R. Kelly’s sexy voice echoed around the room.
In a flash, Suave strode over to the small CD player on the nightstand and whacked the off button. R. Kelly disappeared, and then Suave marched over to the candle and blew it out like the big bad wolf. There was nothing romantic about this hookup. There never was.
The full moon that night peeped into the solemn bedroom.
“Get on the bed,” Suave snapped.
Pat obeyed, dropping the bathrobe to the hardwood floor and went to lie on the bed, facedown.
Suave walked over to a closet and pulled it open. He reached inside and took out a long, thick, rubber belt, resembling a piece of truck tire.
At five foot nine, Pat’s long, smooth legs stretched out on the king-sized bed, with that cute buttock in the air. She began to tremble.
Suave approached the bed with blood in his eyes. His nostrils flared like a bull, his chest rising and falling as he breathed deeply.
“You disgusting piece of—!” Suave brought the belt down hard on Pat’s bottom. One lash right after the other, over and over.
Pat’s screams were muffled in the pillow, tears leaking out. There was a lot of pain, but for Pat, there was also that titillated rush. Being whipped by a tall, strong, sexy man was a perverted bliss.
“I told you to leave me alone.” Suave was now sweating, huffing and puffing as he whipped Pat’s behind. “Didn’t I? Okay, I’m going to show you not to mess with me.” Whip! Whip!
It was really hurting now. Nothing was exciting about this anymore. Pat was getting scared. The blows were now raining down on Pat’s back, legs, and buttocks. “Woieeee,” Pat yelled out after receiving a sharp whack across the head.
“Shut up!” Suave was leaning over the bed, beating Pat as if his life depended on it. In a way, it really did.
“No. Please, wait a minute.” Pat rolled over and scurried away from Suave.
Suave had a disgusted expression on his face as his eyes ran over Pat like an x-ray machine. He scanned the thick, curly Afro, gazed over the lovely, chiseled face, his eyes passed over a taut, smooth chest, and moved down to settle on the erected penis.
Patrick Walters, a.k.a. Pat, looked up at Suave in anguish and said, “The beatings are getting too bad. This is no longer fun. Please—”
“Shut up!” Suave’s face was ugly with rage, his tall, muscled body shaking at the furnace boiling up inside him. “Turn over, and don’t look at me! I don’t want to see your disgusting face.” Suave was no longer talking to Pat but a ghost that had been haunting him for years from the grave. The same ghost that kept on leading him to this house against his will, over and over again.
As Suave called Pat every derogatory name under the sun, Pat rolled over onto his tummy, trembling, his body aching. He knew deep down inside that it would only get worse unless he could once again tame the demon that was now rearing its ugly head in Suave.
“I hate you,” Suave yelled before he lunged himself on top of Pat on the bed. “I’m going to kill you again. This time, you’ll stay dead.”
Part Two
Chapter Thirteen
Kingston, Jamaica, West Indies, 1974
“Good morning, Pastor Ralph,” twelve-year-old Suave mumbled in a hoarse voice, his red, puffy eyes fixed on his feet.
Pastor Ralph stood in his doorway, looking at his nephew, his eyes filled with concern. “Good morning, son.” Everyone called him Pastor Ralph, including his family members.
“Good morning, Pastor,” Sister Winnie said from behind Suave. She shoved Suave a little closer to the front door and went to stand beside him. “I know you heard what took place last night.” She tsked her teeth, shaking her head. “What a tragedy.”
“Can’t say I’m surprised.” Pastor Ralph reached out and briefly touched Suave’s shoulder. “I’m sorry for your loss. How are you holding up, son?”
Tears sprang to Suave’s eyes. He used the back of his hand to wipe his face, his eyes still planted on the ground.
“The poor child is still in shock,” Sister Winnie replied. “I let him spend the night with us, but you know I can’t keep him. I already have nine mouths to feed, and I can’t take on another. So, I took a bus to bring him to you.”
Pastor Ralph replied, “You did the right thing, Sister Winnie. I just finished breakfast and was coming to see about him. I’m all the family Suave has left now. Come in and tell me what exactly happened.” Pastor Ralph moved aside and allowed Suave and Sister Winnie to enter the dingy living room of the small, dilapidated, two-bedroom house. The house leaned a little to the left as if it were in pain.
“Suave, you go and lie down in the back bedroom. You hungry?” Pastor Ralph asked.
Sister Winnie answered, “I gave him some fried dumplings and salt fish this morning, but he hardly touched it. I don’t think he wants any food right now. Poor child.”
“Well, he has to eat. Go and get some rest, son.” Pastor Ralph pointed down the narrow hallway.
With his head still hanging low, Suave shuffled away.
“I’ll fry some fritters for him in a few minutes.” Pastor Ralph walked over to a lumpy couch and sat. “Sit and take the load off, Sister Winnie.” He patted the space beside him on the couch.
Sister Winnie groaned as she lowered herself onto the couch. “This arthritis is giving me a hard time.” She rubbed her knees. “But anyway, George done lost his mind and killed Gloria last night. Then the old fool turned the gun on himself and put a bullet in his own head,” she said of Suave’s parents. “Can you believe it?”
Pastor Ralph sighed loudly and stared off into space. “I have been telling Gloria to leave that
