Deceit on Dorchester

By Rachel L. Sanders

The Chicago neighborhood around 76th and Dorchester has a rare quality. It is proud of being one of the few well-kept family-oriented neighborhoods on the East Side of town. However, the neighborhood experiences sudden tragedy when Felicia Blake the oldest daughter of one of the most prestigious families on the block disappears without a trace.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Palmetto Publishing
• Release date: Feb 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9781685159016

Book preview

CHAPTER

1

All Eyes on Me

"M

y name is Felicia Blake" was written on the long yellow legal pad on the table, written so hard that it left an indention in the pad and any subsequent pages. Felicia was now realizing who she was, and who she had become wasn’t who she had set out to be; her expectations of herself as a young child stood taller than what was now her reality.

As a medium-­tall, precocious African American young lady with soft brown eyes and a full smile, she stands erect, where one can see the perkiness of her young breasts, expressing that she is beyond the beginning of her teen years. She sports hair that is dark and silky, long enough to cover the smooth milky skin tone of her shoulders but highlighting the markings that her too-­small or too-­tight bra has left behind. A small birthmark on her chin that she keeps covered with makeup brings to question whether the fruit eaten by her mother while carrying Felicia in her womb to the time when the doctors were cutting across her abdomen to pull her into this cruel and disastrous world was none other than a pear.

Today she totes a large duffel bag with a camouflage pattern that sends the thought that military actions await her. She carries the duffel bag in her right hand and her purse over her right shoulder, even though she is left-­handed. Carrying her purse on her right shoulder has always sparked the curiosity of those who know the silent ability that she harbors, actually being left-­handed but doing many other things with her right; Felicia is what one would call ambidextrous. She continues walking and proceeds through the huge double doors that resemble the entrance to the kitchen of a swanky restaurant and walks into the small, stuffy former warehouse that has now become the east side office location of Amidex Customer Care Center. Felicia started working for Amidex as a summer hire, but her work ethic and customer service made way for her to be hired on as a full-­time employee. It has been over a year now; she loves her job, and the people there love her.

At the front desk, she signs her name, indicating the end of her workday, she tells everyone good night, and walks toward the front door; while making her way out of the building, Felicia takes a moment to look back at her colleagues—to quote the great philosopher Epictetus, It's not what happens to you, but how you react to it that matters.

She then turns around and walks through the front door, leaving nothing but a memory.

Felicia's walk home is as repetitious as anything could ever be. However, this day, as she walks, she becomes consumed in her own thoughts, which continue to play over and over within her mind like a broken record. She wonders when things will get better for her; she thinks about going to college but knows that a four-­year university is out of the picture unless she obtains a scholarship. Even as bright and smart as she is, the reality of obtaining a scholarship this late in the game just doesn’t seem feasible; she has missed so much school for several reasons, and catching up is not an option. Attending a junior college seems more practical, and she knows that there are several good junior colleges on the east side of Chicago; however, she realizes that if she is going to get away, junior college is not going to be her way of doing it.

As she walks, she allows the thoughts in her mind to talk to her. She thinks about how it seems as if everyone is against her for what happened to her. She was the victim; why was she being treated like the perpetrator? She was violated by the very person who allowed his reproductive cells to fertilize her mother's egg to create her. She thinks about how no one seemed to notice how she once venerated this individual as a small child or how she was the recipient of extra attention and gifts from him, but as a teen she despised every aspect of his being; she hated him. For many years Felicia endured the disgusting feeling when he was around, the way his breath would smell when he was on top of her, the strong smell of cigarette smoke and decaying teeth accompanied by the old smell of bourbon would be emitted from every breath that he would breathe, causing her to gag. She recalled the day she didn’t fight the gag any longer and allowed everything she had consumed that day and the day before to come up and out on him, hoping this would halt the uncontrollable, inappropriate attraction he had for her, but instead he was one step ahead of her. He would watch her eating habits and would sneak into her room early in the morning or very late at night when he felt that her stomach was free of any debris that would rain onto him during his odious act. She recalls the day she realized her molester's unsolicited reproductive cells had now initiated a relationship with her pristine adolescent eggs. She felt her life was turned upside down mentally and physically, and now she was left with an evocation of his transgressions against her. His responsibilities included making and maturing her, not molesting her. He was once her protector; he was the provider, but now his presence was detestable to her. She thinks about the countless arguments that she and her mother would have, how she hated being in the house, how she despised everyone she lived in the house with. Why, why, why? she asks herself. How did her mother not know? Why did she keep him around so long after being told of his nefarious behavior the first time? She feels her throat thickening and the inability to swallow causing a feeling of breathlessness within her; she places both hands around her neck as if to strangle the stress from within. Breathe, Felicia, she tells herself as she exhales.

The air on the walk home is thicker than normal, the sounds of the horns and cars riding past are muffled to her senses, the loud music of the restaurants and clubs that has often distracted her from her inner peace is now unobtrusive, as before, but what she notices is that she has walked farther than needed; she comes to a stop at the crosswalk, and out of nowhere the word now resonates in her spirit, and she gets an epiphany. Felicia suddenly realizes that if she wants better, if she wants things to change, if she wants to get away, she will have to make some drastic changes, and the changes has to be made now.

CHAPTER

2

BOLO: Be on the Lookout

"W

e are looking for a medium tall, African American young lady, around eighteen years of age, who disappeared on her walk home from work is what the officer sitting in his car could be heard saying over his radio. Police cruisers lined Seventy-­Sixth and Dorchester; one black car with no hubcaps was parked closer than any of the other cruisers; a tall, stocky white guy steps out. You can tell that he is a Chicago native because he is wearing a black blazer with a black T-­shirt underneath and black jeans with ultra-­crisp creases down the front. He proceeds to walk up to the house on the hill with the yellow siding. He passes Mrs. Abraham, Ms. Brooks, and Alicia's mom, who have convened at the front of the porch like some sort of security for Mrs. Blake. As he walks up, Mrs. Abraham makes a grunting sound that's a bit confusing to the others because no one knows if the sound she's making is because she thinks he's handsome or because she's in some sort of distress. He is directed through the front door and into the living room. Several officers are walking through the home taking pictures. One of the officers beckons for him to come over to where he is standing with Mrs. Blake. This is the mother, Earnestine Blake," he says.

He extends his hand to Earnestine and says, I’m Detective Madison, and I will be here to take your statement and to lead the investigation. Earnestine Blake shakes his hand and gestures for him to have a seat. Detective Madison takes note that Earnestine is very calm considering the situation, but as a veteran detective, he knows that jumping to conclusions doesn’t help the case at all. Ms. Blake, or is it Mrs. Blake? he says.

It's Mrs. Blake

Will your husband be joining us?

No, he will not, Earnestine says.

Detective Madison takes out a notepad and pen and says, Well, then let us move along; start by telling me exactly what happened.

Earnestine begins to tell Detective Madison that Felicia went to work as usual; she explains to him that Felicia usually arrives home by a certain time, but if she's going to be late, she notifies her. Unfortunately, Felicia hasn’t notified her, and she hasn’t been seen since leaving work. Detective Madison nods for her to continue.

That is all that I can tell you; I don’t know anything else, Earnestine says as she's fidgeting with her hands. Detective Madison notices that she has several photos around the home of three young ladies; he then asks, Are those your daughters? If so, which one is Felicia? Earnestine picks up the photo and points to the one in the middle and says, This is her, my precious Felicia.

Detective Madison's eyes are exploring the room while she's talking; he notices that there aren’t any pictures of Mr. Blake; therefore, Detective Madison says, Mr. Blake, is he at work?

Looking around nervously and irritated by his question, Earnestine says, No, Mr. Blake left us a few months back with a bit of brashness in her tone.

I’m sorry, Detective Madison says. Where are the other two young ladies that are in the photo? It would help if I could speak with them; oftentimes siblings know more about one another than the parents do.

No, they will not be joining us either; is there anything else that you need from me, sir? I have other things to do, and I’m just not feeling my best.

Detective Madison closes his notepad, stands up, and says, This is officially a missing persons investigation, and that will be all for now; our team will look into everything that you have provided; we will notify you if we have additional questions or if we find anything, but in the meantime, please feel free to contact me directly if you have anything that you can recall. Detective Madison hands Earnestine his business card and says, If you think of anything, even if you don’t think it's relevant, don’t hesitate to call me. Earnestine takes the card; she doesn’t look at it; instead, she stands up and escorts Detective Madison to the door. Detective Madison is about to step outside onto the porch when he suddenly stops, turns around, and says, Mrs. Blake, what do you think happened to your daughter?

Earnestine, shocked by the additional questioning, slowly begins to close the front door and says, She disappeared; that's it—she disappeared.

CHAPTER

3

Living for the Weekend

F

or a small child, living on the east side of Chicago wasn’t so great, but to live on Seventy-­Sixth and Dorchester, that's where the fun began. Seventy-­Sixth and Dorchester was one of the most tightly knit streets of the neighborhood Grand Crossing. It was rare to see an African American neighborhood that was so well-­kept and tailored. Seventy-­Sixth and Dorchester was the block that all the children would run and hang out on; it was safe and was positioned perfectly for easy access to the surrounding streets in the neighborhood. It was known that every year around the third week of June, the biggest block party for that area would be held, and it would be held on the backstreets of Seventy-­Sixth and Dorchester. The music would be blasting: I Heard It through the Grapevine or any music from Marvin Gaye, The Delfonics, The Temptations, and so on. The orange pylon traffic cones would be out at the beginning and the end of each street to mark where the block party began and ended but also to keep cars from careening through and hitting someone. The precinct captain, Mr. Harvey Foot Jamison, would work hard to ensure that the Dorchester block party was a success. He would guarantee that there would always be snow cone machines, popcorn machines, hot dog stands, and a candy table for the little ones. He would also make sure that there was a moonwalk and games for every age group to participate in. Foot didn’t leave anyone out; he would have portable basketball goals so that the youth could have two-­on-­two basketball tournaments, and the winner would win prizes as well. For the adults there would be tables set up for card games such as spades, bid whiz, or tunk; off to the side, he would have games of chess, checkers, and dominoes for those that were seasoned in age. Foot loved dominoes; he would often brag that he had held the title of the reigning domino champion for the past three years. St. Matthews catholic church would always open their lot so that the children would be able to ride their bikes, have pickup softball games or jump Double Dutch. Everyone was involved in the block party; Mr. Arnie made sure to supply all the cold pops and juices for the children; the liquor store, (that's exactly what it was called, the liquor store; it didn’t have a real name), supplied a few beers for the adults in a huge cooler, but once those were all gone, it was up to the individuals to get their own beer, but at least they received a discount. Each home was responsible for donating and paying into a fund yearly, and even though many complained about giving money and donating, they would eventually understand the purpose behind the donation once they arrived at the block party and set their eyes on all the festivities. Seventy-­Sixth and Dorchester was a wonderful block; it was known for the love that each neighbor had for others—as one would say, it was truly a village in which people looked out for one another. The one who was responsible for helping with food was none other than Mrs. Abraham; she was known for her homemade preserves; she would make apple butter and strawberry and grape preserves; she also had a beautiful garden where she grew collard, mustard, and turnip greens, cucumbers, spinach, squash, yams, carrots, peppers, watermelon, cantaloupe, and how could one forget, tomatoes. She had huge tomatoes that she would hand to the children; most of the parents said that their children only ate her tomatoes. It was believed that half of them ate the tomatoes because of how large and red they were; I reckon they thought them to be some sort of apple. Mrs. Abraham's husband worked alongside her in their garden, but his specialty was making that hog head cheese, which wasn’t really a cheese—it was absent of dairy—but was a shiny block of gel-­like meat made from the uneaten extra parts of a pig; to watch it being made was disgusting, but to eat it with a few saltines crackers, I must say was delightful, delightful enough that you ran and told others and made sure that your parents placed their order for New Year's Eve, and you could get it either mild or hot. It was said that Mrs. Abraham was originally from Louisiana; she moved to Chicago as a small child and moved to Dorchester as a young woman with her children when she met her husband, Mr. Abraham. Yes, she and Mr. Abraham were married, but for some reason, Mrs. Abraham was also known by her maiden name, Baptiste, particularly when the white lady with the briefcase would come around. At that time all the neighbors knew to refer to Mrs. Abraham as Ms. Baptiste; even the children knew that when the white lady with the briefcase came around, she was no longer Mrs. Abraham but Ms. Baptiste, and we knew to stay as far away from the house as possible when she was around—to us, she was around only to stir up strife. Mrs. Abraham wasn’t the only one that had to hide her identity from the white lady with the briefcase; there were others as well, but she never caught any of them because everyone warned everyone else whenever she was fancying around. Besides, it was Dorchester, and everyone on Dorchester stuck together. Then there was Ms. Brooks; Ms. Brooks was very smart, she was intellectual in her own right. She would always extend herself to help anyone that needed help with budgeting. She had her MBA and would let everyone know it, and if you didn’t know, she would tell you; no one ever took her up on the offer, which was weird, but considering that she had a reputation of having diarrhea of the mouth, she had secretly and honestly gained the title of being untrustworthy. Ms. Brooks was always trying to be of some help; she spent countless hours tutoring the guy that Alicia's mom called her nephew. Alicia has always said that he really wasn’t related to her and didn’t understand why her mom referred to him as her nephew, but he was very handsome—he had short, dark curly hair and wore a five o’clock shadow beard on his face; he was a muscular young guy and was always around. One time, for the Fourth of July in Alicia's backyard, he sat on top of the fence and removed his shirt from his body and placed in around his neck; that day all the ladies in the neighborhood started liking him and all the men in the neighborhood started hating him. He was the epitome of a sexy young man, and unfortunately a majority of the men in the neighborhood were going through or had gone through their midlife crises, and looking sexy or even young was no longer part of their daily makeup. Alicia's backyard was the largest; therefore, the Fourth of July celebration would always be held there. Everyone would bring their lawn chairs, and Alicia's dad would let off tons of fireworks; it was an awesome time and season for everyone, especially the families on Dorchester. But the greatest of the families were the Blakes; they had the largest home on the block—it seemed to topple all the other homes. The Blake Home is what everyone called it; it was that home, that house whose porch every child would sit on and that every child would play in front of. It was a huge home with bright yellow siding, until the Blakes decided to do renovations. It was the hangout house; it was where Earnestine and Lardro Blake resided with their three girls, Felicia, Charnetta, and Jade. The three girls were the glue that kept all the other children together; everyone really loved Felicia—she was smart and talented. During the block parties, she would always get a group of girls together, and they would come up with some dance routine to perform during the block party. They weren’t the best of dancers, but they were very entertaining, and everyone seemed to appreciate their efforts. Charnetta and her friends would impress everyone with their rendition of some R & B artist's song; they would dress alike in their homemade T-­shirts with some sort of writing on them and would sing. I recall the one year when they walked out of the house to sing and to display their creativity; as they walked out, all the adults were in shock, with their mouths flung open. Charnetta and her friends stepped out one by one and stood beside each other; displayed across their chest were words that coincided with the first letter of their name and a word that they felt described each of them. Each of them had one word, and the first letter of that word was capitalized in blue to match their shorts. For this performance the first to come out was Belinda—she had a B for being beautiful—then Innis, who had an I for being an intellectual; following her came Tamela, who had a T for being talented, then Charnetta, who had a C for being cute, and the final girl was Hanna, who had an H for always being honest. However, when they all stood beside one another, what they failed to realize was that their shirts spelled out the word BITCH. When they came out, no one clapped like normal, and no one cheered like normal; instead everyone just stared at them, until Mrs. Blake immediately ushered them back into the home, and they later came out in new T-­shirts. Mrs. Blake explained that the girls had