Pretty Ugly Blues: The dark side

By A. Scottie Davis

Pretty Ugly Blues is the story of a man who has everything going for him. Good looks, charm, a beautiful wife and loving son. He is a law abiding family man focused on family and his career. He begins to lose everything he has worked for and spirals into depression. He begins to lose his mind as he sinks into a dark abyss when an alter ego emerges. Raphael is thrust into the spotlight and he is hell bent on revenge. Dive into this psychological thriller where no one is safe 

• Language: English
• Publisher: A. Scottie Davis
• Release date: Oct 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223424604

A. Scottie Davis

I'm A Scottie Davis and this is my first novel. I've been working on this story for several years and so pleased with being able to put it out into the universe. I truly hope you enjoy and welcome your feedback. If you like please check out my blog and podcast coming soon to DRSKITZO.com

Book preview

Prologue

I

f you read this letter, things must have taken a nasty turn. There are things I have done that you will discover long after I'm gone. Something that would undoubtedly make you see me in a different light. Maybe even change the way you feel about me.

For that, I am genuinely sorry. I wanted to spare you the discovery of my ugly truths without carefully constructed coatings, but I was too afraid I would lose you. I somehow knew that someday; I would have to let you go. I even scheduled it in my journal - but you beat me.

You were always a step ahead of me. I don't blame you. I should thank you. Over time, I had become someone I didn't recognize.

Somewhere along the way, I lost myself. I was dying inside, and well, my shell was beginning to wear thin. The strain of the pain that was going on inside was crushing my spirit while the guilt and the shame bloated my body.

We shared much joy with laughter and tears and lazed our way through Sunday afternoons. Sundays are different for me now. I need to get to the point. I'm not writing this to make you feel bad.

It's just that you need to know what you did was ultimately the right thing. None of this was your fault. I truly am sorry for everything you've been through and more for what you are about to do.

You deserve the best that this life has to offer. Just know that you are loved by so many, and I'm sorry.

I don't want to be this person, but somehow, life makes us into something else. Something unexpected. My advice to you. Don't be afraid to love again. It is by far the most incredible gift between people in this life.

Darius~I Raphael.

Chapter 1

Should i expect the reciprocity of honesty when i have none to give?

The camouflaged life that i lead masks the pain lying beneath my pretty surface.

And i wonder if you know just how it feels to have these simple fears of just being real

D

arius Pruitt steered the supercharged muscle car through then upper-middle-class suburban neighborhood. The traffic was surprisingly light for a Friday afternoon. The trees lining the streets were remarkably tall. The foliage was thick enough to obstruct the views of many homes behind them. Darius applied pressure to the gas pedal when he saw the forty-five-mile-an-hour sign come into view. The speed limit increase from thirty-five had been a welcome relief as he checked the clock on the dashboard. He was late again.

With a glance at his cell phone for missed calls, he rolled past a stop sign partially obstructed by an overgrown maple tree. Within a few seconds, a high-pitched siren wailed behind him, accompanied by flashing red and blue lights.

"Shit! damn it to hell, he yelled, smacking the steering wheel with the palms of his hands.

He pulled the silver Mustang Mache E to the side of the road, recalling the previous Friday's conversation with his wife.

'This car will either be the death of you or bankrupt us with all the speeding tickets you're going to rack up,' he remembered her saying. She had that sharp, disdainful look she would get on her face when he pissed her off.

He fished the license from his wallet and pulled the registration card from the glovebox. Looking in the rearview mirror, he cursed at his reflection and waited impatiently for the cop to leave the patrol car.

The officer finished running the temporary license plate number taped to the back window through a dispatcher. He strolled toward the car and pulled the wide-brimmed Mountie hat down to the top of his black tinted aviator glasses. Then, suddenly, he stopped and yelled.

Put your God damn hands on the steering wheel where I can see them! He bellowed as he pulled the gun from his belt and clicked off the safety.

Panic washed over Darius from head to toe, and he complied instantly. His heart raced at the sight of the 6'2" blonde-haired officer who had jumped into a crouched position with his revolver pointing toward him.

'What the fuck is going on? He thought.

With your right hand, reach over and open the door, keeping your hands where I can see them, he ordered.

Darius complied quickly. He waited and watched in disbelief. It had been almost a year since George Floyd was killed by police in Minneapolis. Since that fateful day, another black person would be killed and blasted all over social media and the evening news for weeks to come.

'Am I about to die?' He thought. 'Is this it?'

Now get out of the car, slowly turn around, and put your hands on the trunk where I can see them, the officer barked nervously.

Darius complied.

The officer pulled Darius' right hand behind him and cuffed his wrist tightly. Darius winced and hollered out in pain. His sudden flinch from the pain of the silver cuff tearing the tender skin on the inside of his wrist startled the officer, causing the young cop to return to his shooting stance. The revolver bobbled up and down nervously as he tried to level it but kept its target pointing to Darius' head.

Darius remained still and cautiously put his other hand, which was still on the trunk, behind his back. He surprised the officer by cuffing his left wrist himself.

Officer? Darius asked. Officer, I am unarmed. "He said shakily.

Shut yer mouth! yelled the cop. Ensuring the cuffs were in place, he patted Darius down and made him lean over the car trunk. While Darius' face was lying sideways on the trunk, the officer looked inside the driver's side window and pulled the license and registration that had fallen on the front seat.

Do you know you just ran a stop sign back there? What's your hurry, boy? he asked shakily, still pointing the 9mm at Darius' head.

I'm sorry, officer. My ...my...my son's soccer game. I'm late. I....I didn't see... Darius offered. His eyes were shut tight

against the scene that was unfolding around him. His heartbeat could be felt in his eardrums.

You just shut up and wait right there. Commanded the officer as he backed toward the squad car. He ran the driver's license number for any outstanding warrants while keeping the revolver trained in Darius' direction.

Darius hunched over the trunk for almost six minutes, which felt like an hour. When the Mecklenburg County police officer returned, he was pulled up from the car by the back of his shirt. The handcuffs were removed, and his license was thrown onto the driver's side floor.

Well, now, Mr. Pruitt, you just got yerself a $250.00 ticket. I could just haul your ass in since this school zone, but Seeing as how well you are cooperating; I will let you off today. He glared intently and tossed the citation onto Darius' lap.

Now you just git along now and have yourself a nice day, boy, the officer said as he walked away.

Darius sat stunned behind the wheel until the officer pulled off. Relief rippled through his tensed sweat, soaked body. He trembled, got nauseous, opened the door, and vomited the remnants of the Chik-Fil-A lunch he had eaten earlier that day.

After regaining his composure, Darius eased the car onto the road and drove two blocks to his son's middle school. He parked the car, popped a peppermint Altoid, and walked towards the soccer field. He was still reeling over the encounter with what he would later summarize as another bad day in America when he spotted her.

Melanie Pruitt sat hunched over on the steel bleachers, looking intently in Darius' direction. Her face was flushed, and her eyes narrowed when she saw him. She was pissed at him again. He made his way through the seated onlookers and sat down beside her.

Thirty-five fucking minutes? She seethed, clenching her jaw. She slid away from him as he sat down.

Mel, please don't start. Darius pleaded. I got pulled over by a fucking racist ass cop, and I thought he was going to shoot me.

He put his hands on his head and began massaging his still throbbing temples.

You got pulled over ? Melanie said mockingly. Well, tell me, Mr. Indy 500, what pray tell could it have been for? Her amber eyes arched in a furrowed, angry scowl.

I told you not to get that fucking car, and already you got a ticket. It's been what? A week? Damn you, Darius! She scolded, crossing her arms across her chest.

Mel, I said please. I got a fucking headache, so please just shut it down for now. And lower your goddamn voice." Darius said, looking around at the other parents sheepishly.

Shut... it ...down? she asked, emphasizing each word individually with increased volume.

Darius knew she was getting worked up, and he impulsively grabbed her upper arm.

Now look. If you're going to make a scene, I will leave this fucking game, and you can explain to our son why you would embarrass him at his first game. He warned with seething words between clenched teeth.

Melanie snatched her arm back and looked out toward the soccer field. She spotted the curly, black-haired nine-year old smiling up at them. She could tell in his eyes that he was now excited as he grinned in their direction. Despite his team's winning lead, he hadn't smiled the whole time on the field. She knew that his newly acquired excitement wasn't for her. Her anger deflated as she and her only son made eye contact. She decided then that the argument could wait. until later.

Sensing her mellowing mood, Darius put his hand on the small of her back and massaged it in a slow, circular motion. She always used to want him to touch her like that during her pregnancy with the center forward playing on the field. Today, she flinched. She slid a few inches further away from her husband.

Don't fucking touch me! This isn't over. She snapped.

Almost ten years prior, Darius and Melanie Pruitt were married on a gorgeous September day in a small church in San Diego. They were both twenty-five. Melanie, his senior by a little over two months, dictated the eminent union without waiting for his proposal. They both graduated college at the top of their class, where they had obtained their MBAs. They both were ambitious, good-looking, and in love. They were each other's equal in every way attractively. Darius remembered the first time he saw Melanie walking across the square college lawn in front of Maya Hall, like yesterday. He often regaled the story to colleagues and business partners during recent work dinners and social events they hosted or attended. He'd often say her beauty haunted him day and night because she appeared to be everywhere and all the time after their first encounter. He also said that she would never acknowledge his advances, which were many, until he gave up on her altogether. Melanie would always finish the story, as if on cue, that she was like a lioness and lionesses do all the hunting. They would finish by looking into each other's eyes, drawing Oooohs and ahhhhs from their captive audiences.

After the wedding, Darius moved them into a small but modest apartment a few blocks from Balboa Park. Darius landed a job in a start-up company specializing in financial solutions for failing companies. The company would often acquire these failing companies at a bargain, break them up, and sell them for a profit. He excelled at landing lucrative contracts based on his drive for success, partly because of his buoyant personality and strikingly handsome appearance. Standing 6'1", he honed his physique into an impressive lean muscular build through a daily rigorous exercise regime derived from the Navy Seal fitness program. His temp-faded, short curly hair, long eyelashes, and smooth almond-colored skin were the envy of many clients, both men and women. Darius' pearly white smile would light up the dullest meetings, and his infectious laugh would put people at ease immediately. He could strike up a pleasant conversation with just about anyone despite their differences in social status, gender, or political inclinations. Darius’s confidence was displayed in his walk and talk, making people gravitate toward him. This confidence had to be crafted over time because of his humble beginnings.

Melanie Soo-Pruitt matched Darius in every way aesthetically. She possessed a quiet yet distinct air of royalty. Standing an impressive 6' herself, she rarely found a use for higher-heeled shoes. Her lengthy, athletic body, accentuated by curves in all the right places, turned heads. But unlike Darius' blue-collar family, Melanie came from wealth. Her parents, Jin-Soo, a multi-millionaire tech investor, and Madeline Michaels-Soo, an English professor at Brown College, handed Melanie the world. She inherited her parent's fortune at 14 when they were killed in a car accident. Raised by her overbearing grandparents with strict upper-class decorum, she found making friends difficult and sometimes taxing. Along with her constant drive for perfection, her disdain towards everything was off-putting to people, and they thought she was bougie and looked down on everything and everybody.

Despite their personality differences, or perhaps because of them, Melanie picked Darius as her intended long before he knew it. There was a reason Darius saw her everywhere and all the time. Unbeknownst to her prey, the lioness was stalking his movements the first time she spotted him at orientation. She had managed to manipulate the college admission counselor into putting her in all the same classes as Darius. She had to make sure he would notice her beauty as well as her brain. She competed with Darius academically even though he was not competing with her. Her flawless, butter-colored skin tone contrasted strikingly with her dazzling white teeth and semi-slanted Polynesian eyes.

She wore Gucci and Prada, expensive perfumes, and enough jewelry to pay for several of her classmates' tuition for a year. Darius never stood a chance.

Three months after moving into their first apartment, Darius came home from work to find Melanie sitting in the living room surrounded by baby clothes, toys, books, and trinkets. Six months later, they would miscarry the second of two children in their first year of marriage. The third attempt drove Melanie to her bed for seven of a nine-month pregnancy. They cautiously celebrated the birth of Antonio Jerome Pruitt, a healthy baby boy.

A year after Antonio was born, Darius was promoted as a junior partner for a reputable finance firm in Charlotte, North Carolina. He convinced a reluctant Melanie to pack up their belongings and move to a three-bedroom house across the country.

The storybook marriage lasted over ten years when Melanie announced she wanted a divorce on a lazy Sunday afternoon. They had just had brunch with friends at a posh downtown eatery and were on their way home when she announced it as casually as asking him to stop by the store.

Darius, I think we should divorce. She said it so casually in his direction and then sat stone-faced for the remainder of the 20-minute drive home.

Darius had spent an entire week walking on eggshells around her since that infamous Sunday afternoon, and he didn't have the words to broach the subject. They avoided conversation for most of the five-day workweek. He left for work early and returned late into the evening, citing a fictitious project requiring devout attention. Their son's soccer game attendance was insisted upon by Melanie so that she could bring her desire for separation up in a neutral environment. Chaotic emotions of guilt, sadness, anger, and fear swirled around Darius' head.

I've contacted a lawyer, Melanie said suddenly.

Darius recoiled at the statement. He stared intently at his son, trying to ignore her attempts to have a conversation. Melanie peered in his direction for a response.

Just as he gathered the words to reply, the crowd around them erupted in clapping and cheers as they jumped to their feet. The Pruitt's remained sitting in silence.

Melanie and Darius left the soccer field stands to congratulate Antonio on his team's first victory. They agreed that he could celebrate with his team, permitting that he be home by his 9 p.m. curfew. After taking a few selfies, they parted ways with their son and walked toward the parking lot together.

Melanie allowed Darius to hold her elbow as they walked among the other parents to keep up appearances, but just as they approached her late model steel grey Mercedes sedan, she snatched his hand away.

I don't understand this blatant disrespect of my time, Darius, she said. I've put up with a lot. This country ass town, raising your kid while you live it up on my dime. I'm almost 35 years old, and what do I have to show for it? She rambled.

Not now, Melanie! Darius warned with a grimace Melanie had never seen before. He traced the angry red scratch on his right wrist with a look of confusion on his face.

Darius walked off, leaving Melanie incredulous over his indifference and subsequent dismissal of her presence. She was even more pissed when he glanced back at her with a weird smirk.

Oh, okay, you mother fucker. You want to talk to me like that and turn around and ignore me!? I got your number. You are playing with the wrong one today. She slammed the car door, put it in reverse, and almost hit an oncoming car. She didn't stop to hear the barrage of curse words hurled at her by the offended driver.

Darius did not return home that evening. Or three days after, in fact, and more importantly, he didn't remember a thing. He woke up in a Holiday Inn Express with a half bottle of vodka and three days stubble on his face. Bloodshot eyes peered back at him from the mirror opposite the bed.

His clothes were dirty and smelled like kitchen garbage left in the sun for several days. He realized it was Monday afternoon from the angry red digits on the radio clock beside him. He had missed an entire day's work.

'Did I piss myself' Darius thought to himself.

Reaching down between his legs was like touching damp linen not quite dry from a clothes dryer.

He stripped off Friday's work shirt and tossed his tee shirt in the sink. The hot water on his skin felt foreign to him for a brief moment. Pulling on his soiled dress slacks and wet tee shirt, Darius navigated