She shrugged. “If he leaves a voicemail threatening me or my family, you’ll just say the numbers don’t match, and he’ll deny it was him. He’s been real careful this time around, ’cause the jails never kept him long, and he learned from his mistakes. All y’all did was train him to be a better demon. He’ll continue to beat the system because he knows it ain’t made for folks like me. It’s made to protect folks like him. And like you. And your daddies, uncles, and sons, ’cause God knows that men make these laws with all of these loopholes, and y’all gonna guard your own interests at all costs. I don’t expect an elephant to tell me how to take his tusks.”
“Now hold on, that’s not true, Ms. Price. These laws are made for everyone. Sex and gender aside. Race, too.”
She laughed at that, got to her feet, grabbed her purse, and headed toward the door.
She paused with her hand on the knob, and looked over her shoulder. “Officer Niles, I’m not going to end up on some program where people are using my death for a new law to be made, or an old one to finally be enforced. I’m not going to be in a coffin for my Mama and Daddy to bury and mourn.”
“I don’t think that you—”
“Y’all go on and wrap yourselves up with these lukewarm laws and half-cold regulations. Listen to me closely. You can take this as a warning, or whatever you wish, but I’m telling you right now: if he steps one raggedy foot in my general direction, it’ll be the last step he takes.”
“Now Ms. Price, you call us if—”
“No. I’m done callin’ y’all. You just remember that you put me in this position, and many more women like me.” She pointed at him, her blood boiling. “’Cause I don’t do lukewarm nothin’, Officer Niles. I’m either all in, or all out. I’m not that scared college student who’d fallen in love with the wrong man, joined his twisted cult based on racism and warped religion, and ended up brainwashed anymore. That girl is gone. She’s dead. Now, I stand here in her place. I vowed, after that treatment and grueling deprogramming program I endured, I would never let him or anyone else do me like that again. I’ll admit to you that when he first started texting me again after all of this time, I froze up, and that little girl in me tried to take over.
“All of that fear, as I’d felt when I was planning my escape at the risk of death and after all the abuse I’d endured, came rushing back. My heart was beating so fast, I thought I was going to shatter into a million pieces. That fear had me by the neck for several weeks, but then, I remembered who I am. The stock I come from, and how brilliant and wonderfully made I am. I had to shut that little scared college girl down…
“My name is English Price, and I’m about that life. Winter is comin’, Officer Niles, and I got that heat, and as God is my witness, the flames of Hell will be waiting for ol’ Master. I’m ready to send him back to his maker, and it sure ain’t the good Lord above. He’s going downstairs, to the ocean of flames, to drown in the hot ass river and lakes that he’s used to.”
With that, she walked out, closing the door behind her.
Axel splashed water on his face at the kitchen sink while his slices of bacon fried up crisp in the skillet. He’d had another dream, a visit from Ms. Florence, and though he wished to pretend he hadn’t, he knew she’d slipped in his ear while he slept to remind him of the importance of the preservation of life.
Grabbing a carton of eggs from the refrigerator, he cracked four of them open into a bubbling pan with melted butter, then scrambled them fast as he replayed the dream in his mind.
Ms. Florence was once again sitting, this time dressed in various shades of green, and with peacock feathers all around her. Her wooden chair was old and not as elegant as the others, yet, she claimed it was her favorite.
Axel reached for the salt and pepper and seasoned the eggs, then took them off the hot eye before they cooked too hard. Scrambled and soft. Just like most of the women in my life. Fuckin’ crazy, but give the best hugs ’nd kisses…
With a welling anger, he slammed a jug of orange juice onto the counter. As he reached for a glass from the cabinet, he noticed his damn hand shaking.
Ms. Florence told me new stuff ain’t always as important as the old stuff, ’cause the new stuff didn’t make us who we are. The old stuff stuck with us through thick ’nd thin. Made us stronger. Wiser. New stuff might be pretty, but it’s not as tough. Not built to last. New stuff hasn’t had time to prove its loyalty. She said that’s why she was in that old, wooden rocking chair, and if I would just listen, I would get an answer. An answer from the past.