The Cost of Freedom.

By R. N. Berry

Seaview Garden was considered a little world by itself with a big appetite for human sacrifice. The locale breed and bleed like the womb would forever attract the tomb. While some called this locality the watery grave from which every evil was resurrected, there were others who concluded trivially, no garden was without thorns.
However seen, the swell of sadistic justice left Joseph Mackintosh living on the edge, after the gruesome death of his father. When his older brother Reuben, appeared out of thin air, the syndicate decided they wanted him dead; but returning with a heart full of vengeance to avenge his father's death, Reuben was determined to give Reds and his henchmen an early retirement.
Reuniting with Shana, his childhood crush who is now a medical doctor, heated the devastating threat when the Dynasty Gods began taking out his associates one after the other. Shana must ride or die! But will she put aside her esteemed profession for the sake of love or prepare for her own funeral?
The mystery of each death was not leading back to the actions of Reds and that erected an awful desire to sink everything around the bull's eye before shooting directly at the warlord. The only crime worth committing was that of killing crime but little did Reuben knew, Crime had studied all his moves and already dug his grave. A cause to die for could not be altered. Reuben must wear the shoe of a private detective in order to end the killing spree; and pay The Cost of Freedom, if that's what it takes. It's a new world order but Reuben is taking no command, only pleas from his enemies on their knees.

Rallying the plots around the prevalent cash for gold and marijuana escapade unearth that unavoidable post-modern war - Victor Moore
Epic from the first page to the last; not only because every chapter has another extinction but intelligent killing - Jay Singe
The kind that leaves you wondering if it was a happy or sad end; a great psychological crime thriller - Natasha Mattis

• Language: English
• Publisher: R. N. Berry
• Release date: Mar 31, 2018
• ISBN: 9781370188901

R. N. Berry

Rodger was born a natural thinker, unearthing some of the deepest reality forming our society. Yonder years molded a meal of circumstances that left him Chasing the Chronicles of Childhood, and after detecting The Cost of Freedom, he admitted it was his unwavering mission to unveil The Invisible Mask. Despite embarking on that trilogy - with the first being an autobiography - all three books are heavily based on the real world.In his spare time, he's reading a book, listening to music or surfing the world. Rodger remains a work in progress; the carving of a masterpiece that creates peace of mind for those who come in contact with him or his work of Art.His free-spirited, fun-loving approach to life is one that encourages others to be bold; be brave and trust God because those are the formulas to discovering one's full potential.

Book preview

Prelude: Wrong Bullet

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! RA-TA-TA-TA-TA, EXPLOSIONS expressed their emotions from an M-16 with a Tech-9 seemingly replying. It had been a full ten minutes of nonstop encounter between lawmen and hoodlums but now, the reverberation were pulling closer. Joseph, who was at a friend’s house, squatted like a chicken between two pieces of settee for safety.

Ever so often the sound of explosions rattled his eardrum; the gathering, the wailing and not to mention, the dense atmosphere that prevailed after, made the air tangible. He had become desensitized to its effect. Still, the flight of fear that ripped through his heart would always awaken jittery from the very first encounter. Tremulously his curiosity guided him to the front window as he listened nervously to voices shouting on the outside. Boom! Boom! Another blast exploded.

Block the other end around the bend. The bastard dem just run inna dah lane deh, a law-enforcer cautioned his colleague.

Two armed gunners turned simultaneously to emit fire once more at the cops, hoping it would earn them more time to elude their pursuers. The blast lasted for seconds as if in Joseph’s ears. He dipped suddenly below the window post once more, but erected his head just in time to see the guerrillas attempting their escape through the pathway.

Another round of explosion blasted. This time Joseph watched with toaded eyes, the gory encounter that left one of the gunners collapsing before his face. Terrified by the scene of immediacy, his body froze to ice as he stood still watching the chum took off. Just then his stationary pose lurched to the side with a nose dive meeting the carpet.

The flying squad retreated; it was a delight to discover they clipped a wing. Identifying the dead body also confirmed he had been residing on the wanted list for the last five years. It was an excellent catch, they jubilated. Although his accomplice had made a successful getaway with both guns, they were gratified in the fact that there was one less perpetrator in the blood-thirsty turf to chase.

The siege was over, uniformed men scuttling back to their vehicles. Sirens were singing the usual unfavourable tunes as law-enforcers centipede their way through an angry mob of by-standers. A batch of cops was still on foot, watching as the phalanx of people disintegrated, heading back to their respective homes. When the cops arrived on Third Street where their vehicles were parked, the stretch was naked, motionless. Everything looked still. The stale air of dust had met and blended perfectly with the scent of gun powder to form a heavy mass of emptiness in the atmosphere.

You’re at the helm of attention again Brownie, a colleague praised another. There’s no doubt your name will be making it to the commissioner’s desk first thing in the morning.

I’ve been working my ass off for that promotion from three years aback, if ridding the streets of these damn bloodsucking parasites is the means, then I’m on it, Brownie chuckled, his belly jumping like a ball of jell beneath his chest. Only sorry we didn’t catch the other bastard, but I’m sure his day is near.

This bwoy is linked to so many crimes. I was beginning to wonder if he’s moving around town invisible, another added coldly, the others chuckled contemptuously.

Well too bad, today the seer-man saw him, Brownie grunted as they approached the radio car. The others grinned approvingly. By the way, there’s still an accessible fountain in the damn desert. I need a beer to wash the dust off my chest, he turned, spotting an opened grocery store across the road.

Who wouldn’t? another chuckled. These beasts knows how to kick up dust into people face.

The six cops marched across the road and entered the mart, taking seats at the bar section of the inclusive grocery store. The store keeper attended to them courteously then returned to the previous counter, hoping some customer of the sore would enter the store to at least occupy his attention. He could smell trouble, the nameless odour that was raring to crystallize the mind but wanted to taste none of it.

Outside the evening wane into nothingness as the cops revelled inside on a few bottles. Their nattering held no particular subject and the shopkeeper began to get uncomfortable. After sitting thirty minutes in wait to conclude the bill, he was drawn to the chattering when Brownie offered him a bottle. He left his seat with the intention to close the shed before joining them but Brownie indicated they were wrapping up now to leave. With that, he went straightway around the bar counter and sat in the conversations.

Just then a young lady walked into the store. She turned and left just as he was about to rise and attend to her. Five minutes went by, then a little boy not older than seven years old, stepped through the store door. This time it was obvious he came by only to see who was on the inside. He too was out before he was fully recognized by those on the inside.

1

An Inside Job

JOSEPH TILTED HIS FACE FROM THE GROUND, FEAR DIS-appearing in the air when he saw his friend standing across the hallway. The shootings were over, at least respite for now, he thought. His eyes dimmed and mind congested but not one word had the courage to flex his tongue muscles. His thoughts were too troubled to concentrate. Another day of listening to mommy scolding, he thought miserably. Just then, he gave his friend a lazy farewell and dashed through the front door. Closing the gate slowly, he cast his eyes on the bloody pavement before him. The substance from a familiar face, wasted, now an element of existence that was no more. His head felt heavy on his neck. Nothing in his cranium made sense as reminiscence forced a recap of the fragments captured. Again, it only created an anguish he could do well without.

When he arrived on Third Street, he recognized cops were exiting his father’s wholesale grocery store. He lowered his head on his reluctant steps as he press past the uniformed men and went through his gate, praying there was no need for an exchange. There was none. He managed to enter the house, went straight across the dining room and into his bedroom.

Is that Joseph? Mrs. Mackintosh asked as he closed the door behind him.

Yes mommy, I’m home! he exclaimed from behind the closed door.

Why are you just getting in? she opened the door before he could throw himself across the bed. How much more do I need to remind you of the danger in staying over Jermaine’s house until this late? You sure heard the catastrophe that went on earlier. I wouldn’t want to know you get caught in the midst of all that catastrophic encounters. Joseph looked at Margret’s face but heard nothing. His absent minded expression was rather looking straight through her. You hearing a word of what I’m saying! she chided.

Yes mommy, I did. he turned at once to look at the photo on the wardrobe door to hide the lie in his eyes.

You’re only twelve years old but that doesn’t mean you’re too young for the stigmatization of tragedy. The cops just killed Ray two hours ago; for what cause, I don’t know but one thing I know, this is the last time I’m going to warn you about staying…

The police… Joseph interrupted brusquely then caught his breath instantly. Mommy I’m tired, can we finish this conversation another time.

I just said this is the last we’re going to have this conversation. Don’t push it boy or I’ll just have to prohibit you altogether from visiting First Street.

Joseph didn’t say another word and as for Mrs. Mackintosh, she thought it was enough to leave him with. With that her exaggerative comment followed her out the room.

Nitty Gritty was the belly of Seaview Garden, a large community incorporating every rank of citizen. Planted on the smallest of five stretch of land, it was accessible to just about everyone around.

Over the last twenty years Mr. Mackintosh had established himself in the midst of a furnace. At first the shop was only a variety store but over the years, after recognizing how vital he was to the community, he expanded the facility to facilitate greater distribution. Now the small activity had moved into full maturity. Being the only store in the vicinity to sell in huge bulks, intakes and outtakes were always in motion. Sabbath worshippers swarmed the grocery store on Thursday evening and Sunday morning, gathering all the necessary household needs, and regular shoppers kept the cash machine bell ringing right around the clock. Oftentimes he sat back in his chair and smile at the transition that emerged through his capabilities.

The sinful salt of extortion and racketeering was immensely scattered across the community but he had manage to stay fresh like a fish, from the unlawful tax-bill that visited his associates’ desk fortnightly. Swindler emerged from cribs to set up their multi-million dollar business out of sharking. It might have been only fifteen to thirty thousand per fortnight. But with the numerous payrolls, extortionists were drawing in millions per annum. Some of his would-be paper suckers concluded it was because he was situated in Nitty Gritty, where even the devil had to knock before entering. While others rebuff, after discovering that even fraudster within his turf withheld their demanding arm from him.

Whatever it was, one thing was clear, he was a model of respectability and success. Still, he had to accept his fair share of fear and anxiety when crime and violence shattered the neighbourhood and rocked everyone into a silent mood. It was a deadly disease for just about every industrialist–except the morgue.

Occasionally gangs from Marley, Falcon and Train-line fought furious battles within their territory, over territorial positions and arms dispersals. Massacres and sudden tragedy was always the end result. But Nitty Gritty was different. Most concluded that enormity had pulled them onto the closest planet to the sun. With physical demonstration and psychological heat attesting to the fact, they moulded the perfect nightmares for dream lovers.

They represented the under-dogs with the most under-world activities, producing the fiercest set of thugs, the wildest set of hooligans and a warlord whose very name commanded respect. Everyone who was anyone in the underworld activities knew him and most contract killers and hit-men, who were hired by white-collar criminals could testify of his hand in their upbringing. Most were still taking orders from him or hanging onto some business assortment under his monarchy. Whether business or pleasure, everyone called him Reds. Matter of fact, it was the only cognomen they knew. And no one questioned the validity of his identity or sought to dig further into its origin. It was satisfying enough to know the name derived from his image.

Over the years, Reds had monopolized the guns and drugs trade, from all angles. Comfortably saturated in the fruitfulness of his labour, he allowed no one the liberty of livelihood, after stumbling across them skipping the script on him. Such cases were simply matter of interest, needing immediate attention. He had done his job well and now the rewards were following each other without needed effort. If you were ever going to survive in this damn world as a missionary for good or evil, it was highly dependent on a people-person personality, he often counselled. At any rate, good and evil both share each other’s creditability; it depended solely on which angle one was viewing the circumstances from. Deception was a rule to abide by, the only steps that led to higher heights in the game. So far so good, he knew he had played well. Third Street acknowledged his presence, the community reverenced his supremacy and his adversaries reviled cautiously.

There was still one problem; a big hindrance that would always interfere with operations. The law would always prevail. They were paid to sacrifice their lives one after the other with the hope that wives and children would receive their compensation in the long run. Reds didn’t give place to those occasions. His empire had earned the right to let others bleed. Friends and foes were all the same. Their grudge and greed for a piece of the pie was too eminent for him to consider any an exclusive or to put himself to them like bait on a string. The law was nothing close to what is was when the taskforce started back in....... Underpaid cops were struggling to maintain their threatened life. Most had become hustlers themselves; taking bribes from dignitaries to rid the streets of those they themselves could not touch with a long stick. Reds would have carrot the entire constabulary force if it was possible, but one could never put a price on loyalty. Furthermore, there was never a case in which one wins all at the same time. He was contented with those he had won. Still, occasions proved the community station to be no match for the Dynasty Gods. Often, encounters led to temporary closure as uniform men became wood-rats to the hungry hood-cats.

That evening, after the night waned into pitch-blackness, Reds sat in his office scowling as he lit a fresh cigar and turn to scan his list of enemies, in search of any who possessed the troops and expertise to stage a major skirmish in his backyard. Someone was playing with fire, betting on their mongrelized life and coming off scratch-free too often to now think they could launch an attack successfully. Coming to one conclusion, he returned the list to the black-book he had taken it out of and rose from the swivel chair to leave the office.

The Dynasty gunners were converged at the corner of Third Street. Above their head, the streetlight was out as they watched in silence, the candles burning from the sconce. It was a ritual, a muted ceremonial speech that occurred whenever a member went under. An hour later, Reds drove up on the scene and exited his vehicle. The flickering light from the candles glint from his eyes as he stared steadfastly ahead at them.

You’re one lucky bastard, he flashed, gazing at Crime. Ray was a loyal soldier but he gave his damn life away.

It’s crazy to even think about, Crime snapped pensively. When he fell by my side I wanted to turn and let them have it but the suckers were too great. It’s regrettable I had to leave him behind.

That’s the sincerity of any true soldier; we might possess bigger guns but it would be total ignorance to overlook the fact that they’re the ones licensed to kill?

It all happened so fast, by the time we made it to First Street the trap was on us. They would run through fire to get the damn weapons they can’t afford, Crime peeved. The others were still in meditation, head hanging low.

What is done is done, but his blood shall not go down in vain, Reds shoved off.

I heard that Tosh fellow up the road is responsible for accommodating their celebration, Crime twitched. It’s not a good look.

Did you mean to say, Mr. Mackintosh from the grocery store? Reds turned on the words to quiz.

The same, he replied.

What was he thinking to have remained open? Reds felt his streams rising. He knows the rules around here.

Naturally, his appetite has enlarged because he’s not on our income record. Crime knew the capitalist exemption from the payroll was due to Reds affable connection with the Mackintosh family. We should do something about it.

Reds stood to his feet, his ears tingling at the incredulous revelation. Making Mr. Mackintosh a public example for those who undermined him with the association of cops was the only alternative.

How sad, he concluded thoughtfully.

Fear and favour has no part in a betrayal verdict, Crime drove on, easily sighting Reds thoughts standing between two opinions.

No that’s an infectious disease that is bound to cause disaster at a later date. I know, the warlord affirmed.

Then we give him a visit tonight, Crime stuttered. The others rose to attention as though receiving a command.

There’s something to think about, he paused instinctively to think.

What’s that? Crime asked eagerly.

His licensed firearm, Reds cautioned.

We’re not sure if it sleeps under the pillow so we better reach him before he reaches it. In the long run the worst is still our advantage, he’ll be one against many, Crime knocked vindictively.

The hunger for vengeance grew excessively as they sat edgy on the corner benches splitting unrighteous justice. Eyes saturated with evil, gleamed triumphantly as cruel laughter fumed the environment. Finally, they had found a way to let Mr. Mackintosh pay and with so much in arrears, reimbursement was demanding nothing less than his life. The candles were half burnt, fire dancing faintly above. Reds still couldn’t believe his only son had met his demise at the hands of some spongy head cop whose heart hadn’t developed hard enough to be compared to ice.

Ensure this operation leave no trace of robbery. And waste no time in finding the weapon, he ordered, pausing to gather his motto. And remember, hesitating is regretting. Just then, he tucked the magnum in his waist-back and stepped off. I’ll be at base, call in a confirmation when it’s done. It was exactly what Crime wanted to hear. He had a baleful smile between his eyes that suggested he was ready to add another heinous felony to his title. Everyone rose to their feet after Reds disappeared.

Ironman, Squito and Ryngo, will come with me. The rest of you keep an eye open for any surprise that might emerge, he ordered.

Just then he turned into his residence, on the same corner, retrieving his assault rifle, a crowbar and a handy metal welder before returning to his partners. He handed the accessories to Ironman. It was two forty five when the four left the corner, walking side by side with one intention directing their driving force. Third Street was a cemetery without animal or insect, only sleeping houses, depicting embedded tombstones.

When they got to Mr. Mackintosh gate, Crime stopped in the middle of the road to scrutinize the stretch carefully. Assuring clearance, he leaped over the fence. The others followed. Ironman placed the crowbar and the welding torch in Ryngo’s hand and skipped over last. Squito pulled back the hammer on his revolver as Crime released the safety clip on his rifle. After scudding their way along the wall to the metal shed Ironman use the crowbar to burst the padlocks on the outside. Reds had told them it would be much easier entering the house from the grocery store because it would send less noise to the bedrooms. While Ironman burn the foot of the shutter with the handy fire torch, Crime lodged by the side of the house, watching for any light or strange sound.

It’s done! Ironman whispered five minutes later, his voice cracked.

You nervous nigga? Crime grinned softly as he scurried back to the shed.

You know what I’ve just done? This is high tech burglary. He rolled it up two feet from the ground.

Don’t bother with that shit! There’s no trophy giving out here or reward to retrieve. We’re going in, cut that bastard down and get our asses out at once, Crime spat before rolling under the shed. Less touching, less trace behind, he cautioned as soon as all was in.

They got onto the other side of the store and marched through silently, meeting the door to the alley. The metal door was an easy pick and they all made it successfully into the passage. It led to the living room; lightly lit by the chandeliers above, turned down to shadowed vision. The sight of expense shone from the ornamental decors, giving fascination to blood craving eyes. But it wasn’t a part of the plan. While Squito and Ryngo lingered behind, Ironman continued through the open hall, walking over to Joseph bedroom door. They’d all passed Mr. Mackintosh bedroom door the moment they exited the alley. Crime knew it as though he was an occupant of the house. He turned to Squito and Ryngo and flickered, indicating they should stand by then faltered on the toes of his shoes in the direction he was coming from.

Don’t move! he kicked the bedroom door open. Mr. Mackintosh jumped from sleep, blinded by a flashlight in his face and muted by the mouth of the Ak-47, already in his chest. I said don’t move! Crime reiterated for emphasis. Mrs. Mackintosh screamed. Shut up bitch! he blasted at her, poking the weapon at her face and back in her husband chest. Where’s the damn gun!

Don’t shoot, please, Mrs. Mackintosh squealed even louder.

Joseph jumped from sleep, shuddering from the horror she echoed. His jump was that of a frog when leaped from the bed towards the door, with the sheet dragging behind on the floor. Just as he was about to reach out and clutch the door handle, a shot blasted. Two followed immediately after. He turned instantly to pull the security remote from the wall and pressed it then crunched to his knees and slid under the bed. So close, he knew it was beyond his door. His bones shook the flesh from around them as he waited tremulously for the next sound.

Ryngo, who’d joined Crime after hearing the loud scream, opened the bottom drawer on the closet and retrieved the licensed firearm.

Let’s go! Crime barked. The masked men exited the room and were joined by Squito and Ironman in the passageway.

You heard that? Ryngo stopped in his track when they ended the passage and entered the store. Crime paused to listen. Feet were running to and fro on the other side of the shed. We’re trapped, Ryngo insisted.

We’re getting out, by any means possible. Have your guns on cock, Crime ordered calmly, fighting to hold his composure together.

Irons started warming on the outside. A bitter battle was ensuing with those they had left in watch but with whom. No man wanted to know at the moment. Now every man had to do whatever it took to hold his own life in his hand. The men split up into two groups. Crime seized an idea and head back to the passageway, seeking for a back room to dig through its window and make his escape. From the sound of bikes and exchange in fire, he knew it was security agents and that meant marksmen. There was no time to waste. When he hast pass Joseph door and another bedroom, Ryngo was right behind. The washroom was the last. He briskly pushed the door open and found a large enough window on one side of the walls, grilled with inches at one end. After bursting the lock with a single shot, Ryngo pulled a sheet from the clothe basket and freed the hot metal. Quickly they scraped through the hole, just in time to elude guards who were now encircling the house. Skipping the back wall, they land on foot into another property and continued until they knew they’d crossed the third property on the stretch.

Two hours later, dawn broke. Security bikes were still stringed out alongside the sidewalks as cops lingered in motion like disturbed roaches. The undertakers had just left with three assets, when Reds ended his conversation with the superintendent and stepped off towards his vehicle. A sloppy job, he thought. Earlier when he got the confirmation from Crime, he knew they had made a hash of the operation even before hearing a word. If Crime was the one who woke the Mackintosh from their sleep as he presumed, how could they have gotten the chance to trigger off the security bottom? he dug thoughtfully. Speculation of all sorts was running wild from stammering lips, and in the midst of this, two of his soldiers had kissed their filth. He was disturbed, angry.

He had buried his worst fear on a construction site some twenty years aback but now it seemed this was its reincarnation. The problem could not be fought from the middle, and he knew it. Someone was messing in his business, pining into his principality, and he knew just who it was.

Fire for fire. In time, the heat would dehydrate his adversaries and they would be the ones fading out eventually. He locked himself inside the vehicle, started the ignition and left the scene.

Joseph had earned the sympathy of most persons around him, but such gross revenue felt insignificant to him. Some thought it was because he was only twelve, too young to understand how important it was to be cushioned in a time of bereavement. But he was not naive, he knew the dead were gone forever and no Baptist sermons could resurrect his father from death. His best friend Reggie wouldn’t say anything more than what he had minced the moment he heard about the tragedy, and he wished everyone else could follow such suit. But no, they were welling up so much emotion that each time they came across him, it seemed only another addition to the long gone graveside songs.

Three weeks dead since he had been a fatherless child. Each day perpetuated the memory of that night he saw his father’s body stretched out on the bed with the sheet soaking up the wet crimson shade. His mother’s wail was still reverberating with the agonizing screams she echoed that night. It was a tape in his head, playing her voice repeatedly, begging for mercy. Like most of the residents, he too had long become desensitized to the destructive elements in and around Nitty Gritty. They’d grown to accept crime and violence as another contentious occupant; it was the best nostrum for the syndrome. Nevertheless, personal encounters took a totally different toll on the residence. It would always stir the dreadful anti-climax anew.

With a grimace expression, Joseph hopped carelessly from his bicycle and cast it aside. After groping his bag hastily for the keys, he opened the locks to the house and closed it behind him. His bright shiny eyes became overcast in his straight narrow face as the thought of shouting the usual good evening to his father passed swiftly once more. Vague vision led him timely over to the entertainment set where a big photo was sitting on top of the whatnot. He took the frame down to have a closer glance. This he did every day, since the passing of his father. There were days when looking at it was the furthest thing from his intention; days when he was pulled unwillingly across the floor by its presence. Without logical explanation it gave a sense of consolation to the hope of some sort of salvation.

For some unfathomed reason, something told him their father would still be around had Rueben been there. In his search for peace of mind, he suddenly remembered his mother stating three week ago that Rueben would be home in another two months time. One month and one week remaining, he mumbled as his hand tilted on his chest with the photo.

He was fast asleep.

Two hours later, Mrs. Mackintosh entered the living room and hurried across the floor to place the grocery bags on the table. It was then that she recognized Joseph’s body, lying stretched out on the settee in a sitting position. Her heart shook with fright as she turned fully and walked over to him. Joseph… Joseph! He opened his eyes slightly. Gosh! How many times must I scold you over the same thing? When you come in get those dirty clothes off, cool off then have a shower. Is that so hard to comprehend? He pretended he heard nothing. Boy its full time you take that uniform off and go get yourself a shower. And what are you doing with this over here, she took the frame from his hand. Aren’t you tired of looking at this now? Only God He knows why you’re so obsessed with this picture and numb to everything else. Joseph winked twice then opened his eyes fully before sitting up in the coach. Again the thought of a normal life teased but suddenly took flight. Why were you crying? she drew closer to examine his tear-stained face carefully.

Nothing mommy, he dismissed.

Nothing, I didn’t know people have tears to waste on nothing now, she gazed at him briefly. Look, I’ve had a hard day so I’m not expecting to get home and babysit; besides you’re a big boy now. You need to move around in the house when you get home in the evenings. She stepped off back to the table and began to unpack the bags.

She knew well why he was crying. His face painted the thoughts he was reminiscing on the moment his eyes were open. The tears. The photo. His lackadaisical mentality. They said it all but she wouldn’t bring up the conversation if she didn’t have to. Over the last few weeks it seems as though she had lived out a century; as though the conditions of being alone and feeling lonely was scuffing viperously at her soul. Grief had grieved her so much; it felt as if she had buried her husband alive. Life had become an unweeded garden that grew to seeds before her face. Still, she feared touching the subjects that were responsible for its ruin.

After emptying one of the bags, she turned to watch as Joseph past on clumsily on the other side. I’m about to prepare dinner. Hurry to the shower and return prepared for the table, she encouraged his effort.

Joseph didn’t say a word; instead he kept his head straight until he got to his bedroom door. Now that he could understand the reason for one being in person, he wanted to demand some answers for the many questions raffling in his head. The inability to do so pressed resentfulness upon him. It was impeding the very way he responded to her. More and more he felt misunderstood. Misplaced. Misgiving. Becoming more and more like a misanthropic child; with not much to hold onto he was certain his three little friends back at school understood him. They all had their bit of internal conflict to deal with at home. When he gave it a thought maybe that was the only reason they would always see eye to eye and cover for each other in their misdeeds. In their eyes, misbehaving didn’t prove they were miscreant. It was simply a way of getting their voices heard or to arrest the attention that was justly due. With Mr. Mackintosh not around, he was hanging on one arm now but he was determined to know more about his brother before he actually arrived.

Two hours later, dinner was a past event. Joseph and Margret sat in the settee but their attentions were in different locations. When she rose from the sofa and went to her room, he left and went on the outside. Dusk had already fallen, in light shades. Though she didn’t see when he left inside, he knew she was bound to be in his ears shortly, beckoning him to get back inside. As he stood at the gate, staring on the other side of the fence, he spotted the old lady who lived at the bottom of their street. He was just about to dig when she stopped on her third step and looked straight ahead at him. Her eyes glazed with exhaustion as if the unseen way of age was tangibly pressing down upon her. Not today again! he breathed beneath his breath. He resorted to gazing away but it was too late. Pinned by her eager-eyes staring beneath aged brows, he attached a plastic smile to his chin and watched as the old lady resumed her timely steps towards the gate.

Young man, how are you doing this afternoon? she looked across into his face.

I’m fine Miss Gwen, and how do you do? he attempted politeness.

I’m feeling as healthy as you’re looking son. The evening is a pleasant one and God is still sitting on his throne. That is more than enough to be thankful for, she smiled but it wasn’t strong enough to stretch the puckers in her face. Joseph went blank. Her cranky words were still processing in his head. It sounded like the introduction to some Baptist message than a respond to his simple question. He twirled to face the house, hoping Mrs. Mackintosh presence would fall in his vision but she wasn’t there. Is your mother here? she spotted the car in the driveway.

Oh’ sure, she is.

Might as well I stop by for a few minutes.

Yes you may, he hastened to open to her the gate. After closing it behind her, he hurried ahead of her to display the same hospitality at the door. Please, have a seat here, I’ll go call mommy. He whisked off. The old lady is here again to see you. He braked up in the passage, at Margret’s approach.

What old lady? Margret asked curiously.

Miss Gwen.

Then say Miss Gwen, don’t tell me the old lady when you know exactly who you’re referring to, she berated with disgust.

Ok mommy, she is out in the living room waiting.

Margret rolled her eyes heavenward and went around him disturb, wondering what in hell is wrong with children these days. Why, as soon as they begin to accumulate their senses they have to let the devil soil them, she thought contemptuously. Miss Gwendolyn, how are you? she stepped into the room beaming. Excuse me for keeping you at wait.

Oh’ that’s ok,