Twelve Days of Reign

By Lynnette Roman

Jacob Abrams, an old retired preacher, pays for the company of a prostitute named Reign. But when Jacob collapses from a heart attack and is given only a handful of days left to live, Reign steps in and changes everything. Secrets are revealed and ties are broken. Will twelve days of Reign's presence truly bring light into a dark situation or plunge Jacob's world into chaos?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lynnette Roman
• Release date: Jul 20, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386456407

Book preview

THE PREACHER

Traffic was light when the preacher came calling on my corner. I shook my head at the sight of his old beige Toyota as he parked in front of the alley. It was ugly enough to get stripped. The preacher got out, and immediately glanced over his shoulder at me. A smile was on his face showing pearly white teeth. Not too many of my old Johns had that: good teeth. He shut the car door and came around to the sidewalk, drifting into my space as if it were his personal property.

Reign, he called stuffing his hands in his pockets. What's your tonic?

I smirked, narrowing my eyes on the tip of my cigarette. It glowed like a lightning bug against the backdrop of night.

An old man's conversation, I answered, Helps me sleep.

A boisterous laugh broke free from his lips. I stared hypnotically at those full rounded lips of his and could not help but smile. I loved that man's laugh. It was honest, big and contagious, just like him. He smiled, easing off the inside joke. His brown eyes leveled on me, full of golden specs that even the darkness could not hide. The beams of pale moonlight would not let it. 

Well, what shall we eat tonight? My treat, he asked tilting his pageboy hat up enough to get a better view of me.

I took a drag and exhaled the smoke through my nostrils. There were only two places I liked to eat at around these parts. Pete's Café where they served breakfast twenty-four hours a day, and the little Italian place a block away from my corner. They had great manicotti.

I think I'm in the mood for eggs tonight.

I could use a cup of coffee myself, he smiled and extended his arm to me. Shall we?

I chucked the cigarette away and slipped my arm in the crook of his, letting him guide me like a gentleman to his car. He opened the door for me. I got in and fastened my seatbelt. Pete's Café was less than two minutes away but I did not trust the old car's brakes. It teetered on not braking at all.

The preacher got in, started the car and drove away. I listened to the sound of the muffler all the way to Pete's Café, commenting on how he should trade in the old jalopy for a new one. It was a common comment of mine. Just like always he smiled and said what he always said. I like this car.

"I see that,'' I laughed.

Dinner was long, close to two hours. I didn't mind though. It was nice to be inside a warm place for a while. Besides, he paid well for my time with him. Two hundred dollars for two hours of my company once, sometimes twice a week, depending on how lonely he was. I listened to him tell me about his day step by step. How he fed the birds, read the paper, visited his wife's grave, cleaned the church, spread out a few gospel tracks to some passerby's. He even shared with me the scripture of the day he read and its interpretation, the shows he watched and the lunch he had. Not a single detail was missed. Then when our time was up, he gave me a rose and took me back to my corner.

He waited until I went and stood under the streetlight so he could see me as he drove away. Once I was there, I waved goodbye and he left. I dug in my purse and tapped the Newports, taking one out of the pack. I dipped in my bra and pulled out a lighter, lit the smoke and drew in a drag. I wasn't one for guns and knives, but I would burn a John quick if I had to.

I leaned on the lamppost tugging on the worn black leather jacket I wore, thinking of the Preacher. He looked older to me tonight. Almost like he had turned into a great grandpa on the way over to get me. The bags under his eyes seemed to droop deeper than the last time I saw him, like he was exhausted. He kept running his hand over his left arm like it was hurting him, but he kept talking anyway, as if the conversation would be his last. He even asked me a few personal questions, things he never asked before, trying to get to know me better. That concerned me most of all.

I blew the smoke out through my nostrils, high on the burn. As a car pulled up I couldn't help but think how much the preacher reminded me of my own granddad just days before he died.

JOSEPH HEARD HIS FATHER come in the house nearly eleven o'clock at night. There was only one place where he would have been at such a late hour. With whores. Joseph flung the covers off himself and stormed into the hallway headed to his father's bedroom.

Dad! Didn't I tell you to stop sleeping with those prostitutes? he shouted rounding the corner, You're going to catch—

Joseph's heart stopped. His eyelids fell apart.

Dad!

Joseph raced to his father's figure lying flat on his face on the floor. He gripped his shoulder and rolled the old man onto his back. He was wet and sweaty like he had stepped into the shower. His skin was cold and clammy, and his breaths were as shallow as water on a counter.

Joseph leaped up and ran to the phone.

911, what is your emergency?

I need an ambulance. I think my father's having a heart attack!

JACOB WOKE UP TO THE familiar sound of a monitor beeping. The off-white walls and the smell of poop confirmed his suspicions. He was in