Underneath the Deception Lies Reality

By M. S. Story

Maysha Leblancs world is taken on an irreversible commute to hell and back when she learns that her husband violated her youngest childs innocence. This revelation triggers her to revisit her own painful childhood experience with her own parents. With the unsolicited help of her alter ego Koko, Maysha takes this painful journey back down memory lane. As a result, She learns a valuable lesson - Underneath The Deception Lies Reality.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Aug 6, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453555552

M. S. Story

Marjorie S. Story currently resides in Dothan, Alabama with her daughter and foster children. She's a graduate of Hampton University with a bachelor degree in Business Management. She is the proud grandmother of her first grandchild, Kyleigh Desirea Story. She currently works from home as a freelance writer.

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Copyright © 2010 by M. S. Story.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book was printed in the United States of America.

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Contents

Deception In The 1st Degree

Deception In The 2nd Degree

Deception In The 3rd Degree

Deception In The 4th Degree

Deception In The 5th Degree

Deception In The 6th Degree

Deception In The 7th Degree

Deception In The 8th Degree

Deception In The 9th Degree

Deception In The 10th Degree

Deception In The 11th Degree

Deception In The 12th Degree

Deception In The 1st Degree

Without a formal introduction the clouds abruptly revealed themselves. The unwilling sun retreated to its secret place. The wind winced as it bullied its way down Ivy Lane. It was a breezy Saturday afternoon in mid March. Mrs Martha Bell was finally removing her Christmas decorations from the exterior of her home. Two of the Stevenson’s boys were out throwing their football in the middle of the street. The Baldwin triplets were riding their new bikes up and down Ivy Lane. Two of them paused long enough to witness the death defying wheelie by their third double. Mr. Terence McNally was in his backyard enjoying his favorite past time—grilling a couple of beefsteaks and drinking an ice-cold beer. You could hear John Denver’s Annie’s Song blearing from his outdoor speakers. . . . You fill up my senses like a night in the forest . . . the wind swiftly passed his house and immediatley encouraged the spring flowers to dance in unison. It was like a well chorograph dance routine performed by the one and only mighty Temptations. Even the dust and other fine debris danced and twirled down Ivy Lane. The wind dropped off a breeze at the Leblanc’s opened bedroom window. The uninvited guest ruffled the aqua-blue and white sheer curtains as it pushed its way into the spacious bedroom. The air immediately replaced the Hawaiian scented room with the smell of burning charcoal. Maysha Leblanc was lying in her bed asleep when she was awakened by the intruder. She was about to close her window, when the phone rang.

Hello.

Hey mommy? What’s up?

Nothing baby. Just resting and waiting for you to arrive. Where are you?

I’m at Grandma Lula Ethel’s house

What are you doing there? I thought you were coming home for your spring break.

I changed my mind at the last minute. I wanted to spend some time with Grandma Lula Ethel.

Why didn’t you say something earlier before I made all these plans?

I’m sorry mommy, I didn’t plan this. I’m sorry. It just happened. I didn’t call to argue. I called because there is something I must tell you.

Maysha was alerted by Whitney’s trembling voice. It was obvious whatever she had to say wasn’t good news. Maysha braced herself for the bad news.

What is it baby? Are you OK? What is going on?

Mommy, what I’m about to say is very hard for me to say.

What is it Baby? Just say it. No matter what, you know I have your back.

Mommy, Um well, When I was twelve, daddy molested me.

What! Do you realize what you are saying? Whitney! Baby, you need to come home this instant. We need to address this face-to-face. Over the phone is not the proper way to do this. Baby, come home for your spring break, we can work this out. Your father is away on a business trip. It will only be the two of us here.

The phone went silent. Maysha could hear nothing but silence.

Whitney, Are you still there?

Yes, I’m still here.

Did you hear what I just said?

Yes, but I don’t think coming home would be a good idea. Right now I want to be here with Grandma Lula Ethel. I need time to think."

TO THINK . . . .

Before Maysha could complete her sentence, she collapsed on the edge of her bed in shock. She sat there like an old worn out rag doll that saw better days. She couldn’t believe what she heard, but was too afraid to ask Whitney to confirm it. Her daughter’s words were scrambled in her head, like an egg. With tears flowing down her face and hands trembling uncontrollably, Maysha struggled to press the receiver even closer to her left ear. She wanted so dearly to hold her daughter during this horrible ordeal. She held the receiver so tight against her ear that her ear lobe began to throb. Her earring smashed her ear lobe with great force. However, that pain wasn’t as excruciating as the pain she felt from what she just heard from her baby girl. The thought made her sick to her stomach. With all her vocal cords on full alert, she mustered enough strength to blow out the words—THINK WHAT THROUGH?

Irritated at her mother, Whitney shouted into the phone your husband has been fucking me since I was twelve years old. The phone went silent. Whitney could hear Maysha sobbing loudly into the phone. Maysha pleaded with her daughter to come home but Whitney insisted that she was going to remain at Grandma Lula Ethel, her maternal grandmother’s house. Before her mother could respond, she quickly closed her flip phone.

Maysha was anxiously trying to get herself together, when Koko her alter ego emerged.

You heard what the hell that girl said. Your baby daddy has been knocking boots with her. What are you going to do about it?

Koko lets not rush to judgment. We don’t know all of the facts yet.

What facts do you need? I have all of the facts I need. Your daughter said . . . .

Shut up Koko. You are not helping things right now let me just get my head together.

May, remember me? We go way back to Mr. Hathaway’s 4th grade class. We’ve been together for a long time. I was there for you then and I am here for you now.

I know. I know. You don’t have to remind me. I know you were there for me then. I remember it as if it was only yesterday. I wasn’t sure what to do or say then. I just sat on that old worn out couch with my little hands cupped together while trying to make sense of what I had just witnessed. I was only nine years old, Koko when it happened. After the shock, I just returned to the living room bewildered. Trying effortlessly without success to understand what had happened.

I know May. That was the first time we met. Do you remember? I helped you out didn’t I?

Yes, you did. You gently wrapped your tiny arms around me and held me close to you. You made me feel safer than I ever felt. Did I ever tell you what happened?

No. You didn’t have to. Remember I was there. I was there when you walked into the room and saw him on top of her like a soiled blanket. He didn’t even bother to jump up or try to pull himself out of her. He nonchalantly looked over his left shoulder and told you to shut the damn door. You just stood there as if you were frozen in time. He told you again to shut the damn door. You shut the door and went back to the living room. After awhile she came out of the room wearing a tattered yellow and green flowered housedress. Remember she reeked of liquor. I was there for you then and I am here for you now.

I know Koko you have my back. But this is different Koko. We are talking about my daughter and my husband. We are talking about the ultimate betrayal of trust. We have been married twenty-eight years. How could I not know? After what I’ve experienced, I should’ve recognized it.

May don’t beat yourself up. It’s not your fault. It’s not always recognizable. People can be very cunning when they are trying to conceal an incestuous relationship. Unless that is what you are looking for, you may not see it. You had no reason to believe that Duncan would do something as sick as that.

Koko if you don’t mind, I would like to be left alone.

Ok. If you need me, I’ll be here.

Deception In The 2nd Degree

After speaking to mommy, I returned to the kitchen. I stood in the doorway and I just stared at my grandmother as she prepared her infamous Kejafa and orange juice a.k.a booty juice. She motioned me to sample her concoction. I took a sip, winked at her and smile my fabulous smile. Grandma Lula Ethel is an eccentric woman at times. She isn’t always direct when speaking. She would sometime speak in codes. You would have to read between the lines as she would say. I do a lot of reading between the lines when talking to her. If I must say so myself I’m pretty good at it. My mommy and her never really got along. It was never clear what caused the rift between them. Neither one would ever talk about it. Their relationship wasn’t unusual. Grandma Lula Ethel had issues with all fourteen of her children and all of her grandchildren except a few of us. Kevyn a.k.a Sean and I are among the grandchildren she gets along with.

As the story goes, she calls him Sean because that is what she wanted him to be named at birth. As a form of protest, she continues to call him Sean to this very day. If you referred to him as Kevyn instead of Sean when talking to her, she acts as if she doesn’t know who you are referring to. I go along with her without a fuss. You have to know how to handle a person like her.

I learned early on that Grandma Lula Ethel was very persuadable and moody. If you wanted to get out of trouble with her, all you had to do is focus her attention on someone she distasted more than you. I remember one time when I was about seven or nine. Actually, I was seven because she moved from Plumeria Gardens when I turned eight. She caught me in the bathroom smoking one of grandfather’s Marlboro cigarettes. She didn’t actually see me with the cigarette, but she could smell the distinctive odor that tobacco leaves behind. It was obvious. When she came into the bathroom, she asked me what was that she smelled. I told her that I wasn’t sure, but I thought it was Ms Odessa burning something in her apartment. That’s all it took. She forgot about me and focused all her attention and energy on the Jamaican lady downstairs. She would always say, That hussy leaves a nasty taste in my mouth. I’ll fix her ass.

Ms. Odessa was Jamaican and she practiced the art of witchcraft or should I say roots. She lived just below Grandma Lula Ethel on the third floor. Grandma Lula Ethel hated that woman with a passion. Not one day would go by that she wouldn’t be accusing her of sprinkling roots on the floor of the hallway, burning stuff or feeding ground glass to Mr. Odessa. Grandma Lula Ethel would sometimes sprinkle baking powder or flour on the hallway floor in retaliation.

On the surface her shell appears to be strong and unbreakable. But underneath that tough exterior lies a frightened lonely little girl who wants your attention and approval. She doesn’t get