***
At 10:30 that same Saturday morning, all the inhabitants of Fathers House had finished their chores, showered, dressed, and had exited the house. They were headed to Calvin Leeson’s eleven o’clock funeral service. Everyone that was, except Cain, who because of his involvement in the boy’s death, had been excused by Uncle Mayo from attending the funeral.
The funeral was at Hope Christian Church-of-God-In-Christ, which was about a fifteen-minute drive from Fathers House. After the boys left, Fathers House was devoid of its usual assortment of voices and myriad activities. It was unusually, eerily, and completely, earplug-quiet.
Earlier when everyone was getting ready, Cain had feigned sleep, partly because he hadn’t wanted to talk with anyone, but mostly because he’d felt like a traitor and hadn’t wanted to look into the eyes of those he’d betrayed. Now that the house was empty, he sat up on the top bunk of his sometimes room, letting his feet dangle off the sides of the bed.
He was in the rare position of having a bed here as well as one at his mother’s house, which was about a ten-minute walk from Fathers House. His mother was a recovering addict. Back when she’d been deep in the throes of crack cocaine, Uncle Mayo had rescued him and brought him to Fathers House to live. It was an early success story when his mother eventually twelve-stepped her way back from the depths of drug despair and managed to hold onto her inherited house in the process. She’d sent for Cain immediately, claiming she’d needed him home with her.
However, his mother had cleaned up too nicely and had attracted a few suitors in the process. One in particular, Marcus Stevens, quickly nosed his way to the front of the pack. Marcus had a chiseled frame courtesy of three hots, a cot, and plenty of free time. He’d spent three years upstate on various drug charges. He was a recovering addict as well. Right from the start, Marcus and Cain had posted up on opposite sides of the ring. Cain didn’t trust the ex-con’s newly acquired soberness. But mostly, Cain just didn’t like Marcus. He was a rude, brash, know-it-all. But for whatever reason, Marcus made Cain’s mother happy and so, Cain tolerated him. But whenever he came around, Cain would get ghost. An understanding Uncle May kept an open bed at Fathers House for him which Cain would use occasionally, as he had last night.
He slid down from the bed and stretched, casually looking up at the ceiling fan. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was going to do about last night. In a moment of weakness, he’d felt sorry for Calvin and even sorrier for himself. So, he’d snitched, telling House and Disciple business to someone who wasn’t privy to that information. Yeah, he could rationalize it to himself, by repeating that Lovison wasn’t really an outsider, that he was family, that he’d been raised at Fathers House. But he knew that rationalization wouldn’t hold water. For one thing, according to Lovison, he had never been sent to the basement, and therefore, should have never been exposed to information concerning Fathers Disciples. And secondly, Lovison was so far removed from Fathers House and this neighborhood that he was no closer to either than any complete stranger would be. Yeah, Cain had fucked up and he knew it.
Whatever punishment Calvin had gotten, up to and including his death, had been deserved. You didn’t snitch. Not ever. Cain should have remembered that last night. He should have trusted Father to handle things. But he hadn’t. Now, there would be consequences. His only saving grace was that no one knew about his indiscretions except Lovison, and if it came down between Cain’s word and Lovison’s, Cain would just have to deny his ass off and claim that Lovison was somehow making all that bullshit up, that he’d probably gotten pieces of information from the FBI and was only trying to incriminate Cain to make him talk.
For awhile that idea seemed the reasonable route to take. But he soon realized that Father had a way of finding out things. No, Cain was going to have to confess his sins and hope and pray for the best, taking whatever punishment Father would deem appropriate. Besides, Cain had held back some information. He didn’t tell Morant’s or Jones’ real names. Sure, he had been partially truthful. The two of them were members of Duraleigh’s finest, but what police department didn’t have its fair share of rogue cops? In his mind, he hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true of just about every police department in America, if not the world.
Still, he felt uneasiness. Father knew. He always knew. It was a reality that Cain understood far too well, and so it was of no real surprise to him when his bedroom door slowly opened, revealing a man he knew he would have to face sooner or later concerning this situation.
The man walked casually into the room. Cain didn’t attempt to offer any explanations. At this point, he understood it would be of no use. His punishment had already been determined. His only hope was that it wasn’t the ultimate.
Unfortunately, it was.
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