Secret Keeper
Executioner
Part 1
She drove her car slowly to the apartment Raymond and John shared. She shook all over with anticipation of the weekend to come. They had been planning this now for almost five months. She couldn't help but be distracted nor could she help the shaking, so she drove slowly to be as safe as possible in traffic.
When she got to Raymond’s apartment complex she parked her late model Lexis some distance away and hid the key so she wouldn't be carrying it.
She took in her surroundings. All around her rose three level gray brick apartment buildings surrounded by parking lots and small dying trees. Many places in Baltimore look like this. On the other side of a chain link fence black and Latino children splashed joyfully in the late afternoon sun, still high in the sky.
Wearing her bright summer dress, she gave no hint of her plans. She mounted the sidewalk, running the script through her mind.
As she walked to their place she was conscious of all the things she had, one dress and two shoes, three items of clothing. She wore no panties and carried no purse. Her pedal pusher shoes were not leather.
As she walked, she passed a man and woman arguing noisily about child support and visitation. In a car next to them cowered the new girl friend and toddler in question.
A little further she passed two men. One gray headed the other her age. They talked quietly in Spanish, the older man shaking his head, 'no.'
As she stood across the street looking at the low rise apartment where Raymond and John lived, her heart pounded in her chest. It pounded so hard she could feel it shake her slender body. She could see their door way through the open air stair case. She knew what she planned was dangerous. She knew she could be killed. She remembered again why she was doing it. She remembered the public reason and the secret reason. 'Do it now or spend the rest of life in regret,' she thought.
She stepped out into the street. Immediately a car hit her. Her body slammed upon the hood. Instinctively she curled up and rolled off the rusted fender, landing on the sidewalk in bare feet. The pedal pushers had gone flying.
The driver stopped immediately. A thin young man with dark skin and ropes of dreadlocks on his head popped out. He wore a shirt that said 'Pizza Hut.' “Lady! Lady! Are you OK!” he shouted.
She looked at herself standing bare foot on the sidewalk and then nodded to mean yes.
“You sure? Don't worry, I'll take you to the hospital,” he shouted again.
“No, sir, I am OK. I need to be somewhere,” she said sounding calm.
Being addressed as sir by a white woman, older than him, too, left him speechless.
Another voice now entered the conversation. “You OK?” asked Raymond. Raymond looked big compared to Mr. Dreadlocks.
“I didn't mean to do it,” pleaded Mr. Dreadlocks.
“I am well, sir,” she said.
“Good,” said Raymond. Placing a collar on her neck, he then attached it to a lead. Wrapping the lead around his hand a few times he lead her across the street with a mild jerk.
The hot pavement burned her feet as she crossed. Mr. Dreadlocks shouted, “I'll get your shoes!”
Raymond said back, “She won't be needin' 'em where she's going.”
When she got to his door she tugged back on the lead. She felt the fear moving inside her. He pulled her inside and ordered, "Strip."
Dutifully she obeyed taking off the last item of the three she had carefully inventoried as she left her car.
Naked with the dress shapeless at her feet, Raymond closed the door. Returning he looked at her like a piece of artwork. He did not kiss her.
He bound her wrists in front of her, took her to the bedroom, hung her by her wrists in the empty walk in closet, turned out the light and closed the door. She would hang there alone with her burning feet until the John got there with the guy from Chicago....
She drove her car slowly to the apartment Raymond and John shared. She shook all over with anticipation of the weekend to come. They had been planning this now for almost five months. She couldn't help but be distracted nor could she help the shaking, so she drove slowly to be as safe as possible in traffic.
When she got to Raymond’s apartment complex she parked her late model Lexis some distance away and hid the key so she wouldn't be carrying it.
She took in her surroundings. All around her rose three level gray brick apartment buildings surrounded by parking lots and small dying trees. Many places in Baltimore look like this. On the other side of a chain link fence black and Latino children splashed joyfully in the late afternoon sun, still high in the sky.
Wearing her bright summer dress, she gave no hint of her plans. She mounted the sidewalk, running the script through her mind.
As she walked to their place she was conscious of all the things she had, one dress and two shoes, three items of clothing. She wore no panties and carried no purse. Her pedal pusher shoes were not leather.
As she walked, she passed a man and woman arguing noisily about child support and visitation. In a car next to them cowered the new girl friend and toddler in question.
A little further she passed two men. One gray headed the other her age. They talked quietly in Spanish, the older man shaking his head, 'no.'
As she stood across the street looking at the low rise apartment where Raymond and John lived, her heart pounded in her chest. It pounded so hard she could feel it shake her slender body. She could see their door way through the open air stair case. She knew what she planned was dangerous. She knew she could be killed. She remembered again why she was doing it. She remembered the public reason and the secret reason. 'Do it now or spend the rest of life in regret,' she thought.
She stepped out into the street. Immediately a car hit her. Her body slammed upon the hood. Instinctively she curled up and rolled off the rusted fender, landing on the sidewalk in bare feet. The pedal pushers had gone flying.
The driver stopped immediately. A thin young man with dark skin and ropes of dreadlocks on his head popped out. He wore a shirt that said 'Pizza Hut.' “Lady! Lady! Are you OK!” he shouted.
She looked at herself standing bare foot on the sidewalk and then nodded to mean yes.
“You sure? Don't worry, I'll take you to the hospital,” he shouted again.
“No, sir, I am OK. I need to be somewhere,” she said sounding calm.
Being addressed as sir by a white woman, older than him, too, left him speechless.
Another voice now entered the conversation. “You OK?” asked Raymond. Raymond looked big compared to Mr. Dreadlocks.
“I didn't mean to do it,” pleaded Mr. Dreadlocks.
“I am well, sir,” she said.
“Good,” said Raymond. Placing a collar on her neck, he then attached it to a lead. Wrapping the lead around his hand a few times he lead her across the street with a mild jerk.
The hot pavement burned her feet as she crossed. Mr. Dreadlocks shouted, “I'll get your shoes!”
Raymond said back, “She won't be needin' 'em where she's going.”
When she got to his door she tugged back on the lead. She felt the fear moving inside her. He pulled her inside and ordered, "Strip."
Dutifully she obeyed taking off the last item of the three she had carefully inventoried as she left her car.
Naked with the dress shapeless at her feet, Raymond closed the door. Returning he looked at her like a piece of artwork. He did not kiss her.
He bound her wrists in front of her, took her to the bedroom, hung her by her wrists in the empty walk in closet, turned out the light and closed the door. She would hang there alone with her burning feet until the John got there with the guy from Chicago....