Trigger Warning: A portion of the following chapter contains a threat of sexual assault.
Part 2: The Return
3 months later
Growing up, I'd always believed in the concept of 'Expect the unexpected.' A simple supposition I know, but in that way, I managed to live with my guard up, always alert, always on the lookout. Never unprepared, never incompetent — My father's motto he'd adopted for his household. Yet, more and more, life's intrinsic, unpredictable quality never ceased to amaze me.
One night, with Mike's muscled arm secured around my skinny waist, I'd stumbled into my house, through my unlocked bedroom window. Sagging against his chest, a blanket of relief enveloped me when he, with warm, loving concern, agreed to take me home early from our senior prom that evening. My head began to spin, and I needed to leave. One minute, Andrea, T-Dog, Mike and I were laughing and dancing, singing 'Ready or Not' by the Fugees, at the top of our lungs in the heights of our revelry, and in the next, I felt ill—sick to my stomach and dizzy.
Which made no sense. I only had but one drink…Half really. 'Juvie Jessie' had bumped into me, spilling the remaining contents of my cup (T-Dog's concoction) to the floor, and I'd refused Mike's offer for a refresher. Prom night or not, I'd promised Mama to exercise restraint. In fact, I always did. I never succumbed to over-indulging myself, so I concluded my head spinning must've been due to something else.
Once Mike and I both plodded through my cluttered bedroom floor, I collapsed on top of my soft mattress with my eyes squeezed shut, trying like hell not to vomit my 'liver-strings' out. Thank god he helped me with untying my strappy heels, because at that point it was impossible to keep my head up. Not even for a few seconds. It was like I was weightless. Motionless. Yet, somehow floating upwards to the ceiling, as I looked back down, watching my attentive boyfriend take care of me.
Suddenly, without warning, there was nothing. My switch had been flicked off.
I don't recall how long I'd blacked out for, only that an immediate and desperate need to breathe, forced me to reawaken. Breathless, my eyes snapped open as something heavy was resting on top of me. Or rather, someone.
"Mike?" I gasped. My five-star boyfriend was pressing his lips all over my chest, my neck, my cheeks... He was sloppy, his kisses were cold and greedy, his Polo cologne, which to me usually smelt so damn good, was now a stifling stench. I pushed him away, or at least I tried to, again and again. "No," I said, wondering if he'd realized that I didn't want, or need, that amount of attention.
It then occurred to me, My arms, my legs…Why were they so limp? I was like a damn rag doll—utterly powerless.
"C'mon, let me do this," Mike said, his voice slurred, as he groped my breast. "My prom queen looked incredibly hot tonight."
I thought, Why was he being such an ass? "No. Stop." My words too, came out feeble and weak I wasn't even sure I had heard myself, so I swallowed hard, and tried once more. "Stop." No, nothing, still a mere whimper.
He laughed. Then stuck his hand up my dress. "I know you wore this for me."
It was weird, his voice vibrated and echoed, the room tilted, and time slowed to a stop. I was disoriented. I felt I must've been dreaming, I must still be asleep, but Mike's calloused hands, and alcohol-laced breath told me otherwise. This, was real.
That goddamned bastard! The second I got a chance I would rip his stupid throat out.
Mike Anthony and I had been dating for four and a half months. We fooled around sure, and I liked it. I liked him, but not like this. There was no way I wanted this. Not once had I allowed our relationship to reach that level because my parents had put the fear of God in both me and my younger sister.
I needed to move, I needed air. My body squirmed, a little. My heart pounded, a lot. "W-wait… just wait." I wanted him to stop.
And he did. Mike rose himself onto his forearms and glared down at me. "You can't be serious!"
I didn't shove him off, I didn't knee him in the groin… I blankly stared up at him. Somewhat unbelievable, but for a moment, I wanted to say "I'm sorry" when I saw disappointment crinkling the corners of his big brown eyes.
However, that emotion was fleeting, as pure anger hardened his gaze, and he turned mean and ugly.
Dread filled my stomach, my chest tightened with fear.
"I've been waiting for months Michonne," he said. "Do you know how hard it was for me, you tease?"
Before I could respond, he again dropped his restraining weight on top of me, trapping my hands between our bodies. When I gasped, he shoved his tongue into my mouth and I gagged, I nearly threw up. I struggled beneath him, to break free from the awfulness, but with one large hand Mike grabbed both my wrists and pinned my arms down hard above my head. He then forced his other hand between my thighs, his class ring ripping my bare skin in the process.
I winced in pain, but the son of a bitch didn't care. He had me incapacitated.
"No." I shifted my head away.
He grunted, pulling the delicate fabric of my underwear to the side. My eyes squeezed shut at the violation of his rough touch. Desperate, I jerked and fought so hard my stomach hurt, but I may as well have been lifeless, I couldn't do anything, I couldn't protect myself. I was not prepared. I was incompetent.
"You think I'm not gonna get a taste of this?" he said. "Before we leave for college? Relax. You feel amazing."
"No. Get the hell off of me!" I wanted to holler, but my voice was still lost, still refused to make much of a sound. Loud in my head, but a whisper on my lips. More than afraid, I was absolutely mortified.
The next thing I knew, I started slipping, fading off into unconsciousness. Terror now consumed me. Mind, body, and soul. My sense of self clawed to hold on to reality, and I began to do something I hadn't been doing regularly before…I began to pray.
'Oh God…please, help me...'
Lava-like tears streamed down the side of my face, puddling in my ears. And I begged, "Mike, please-please-please-please…"
He tore the thin cotton off of my body and used his knees to drive my legs apart, my drowsy gaze dropped to where he fumbled with his belt, and my body started to tremble.
"Stop-stop-stop. Please don't do this…" I sobbed. Whatever little strength I managed to scrape together, was then used to conjure a nightmarish scream from within.
In a split second, a rush of fresh air embraced me, and Mike was no longer there. There was a definitive thump on the ground and some sort of a scuffle. I didn't know what he was doing, but I didn't wait for him to come back. My shaky legs dragged close together, while I twisted my helpless body to the side. Above the pounding of my heart, I heard heavy dull blows, followed by a startling crash.
Through my watery eyes I looked back, and squinted into the shadows, just in time to witness Mike receive a solid punch to his head. I gasped.
Someone else was in the room. A man.
'But who? Daddy? Tyreese?'
No, neither one was at home. At least, they weren't supposed to be. But it was too dark and the edges of my vision were too blurry to recognize the second silhouette. In addition, tiredness was summoning me, and I was more than ready to answer the call.
Mike then echoed my own thoughts.
"Who the hell are you—"
Another cracking sound followed by a thud against the wall stopped his words in his mouth.
"Get out or I'll kill you," muttered the unknown, yet familiar sounding, assailant.
Mike scrambled across my room and staggered out the window. In that moment my eyes surrendered and fell shut.
Alone now with this mystery man, I heard him move closer to my bed before he touched me gently on my arm. Although warm, I shuddered at his touch.
"You okay?" he asked.
I felt the hem of my dress tugged down and something draped over my still vulnerable form. From the smell, I could tell it was my Grandma's blanket.
"Hey," he patted my face, "hey open your eyes Michonne. If you could just look at me and tell me you're okay."
"I can't, I can't." I moaned. My eye lids were weighed down, growing heavier by the second.
"Ty V poryadke? Posmotri na menya."
'Oh god.'
My already racing heart threatened to rupture out of my chest. "Adam?"
"Rick."
'Seriously?'
I then sank into oblivion.
"So… it was real."
Those were the first words to come out of my mouth, when I slipped back into consciousness, a few hours later. Except for the dim light from my bedside lamp, my room was still cloaked in darkness. However, there was no mistaking the other recognizable figure leaning against the wall next to my bedroom window.
"You okay?" asked Ad—no, no Rick. He turned and looked at me from across the room, concern creasing the lines on his forehead.
Still weak, but much more in control of the members of my body, I slowly pushed myself up into a sitting position, and leaned my throbbing head against the backboard. "I feel… like hell," I groaned.
He stepped over and sat at the foot of my bed. "Hey, take it easy alright. You've been out for like two, three hours now."
Even though I was more…alert? You could say…I must confess, that I half suspected this man to be some sort of apparition. Like seriously. He wore a tan jacket, over a denim shirt, and boot jeans. His beard had grown in. He looked…older. "How are you here?" I licked my dry lips. "Why?"
"I have something for your father." He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an envelope. "I'm better now, well, I'm getting there, and um, I wanted to let him know that. To say 'Thanks.'"
"You were just gonna leave that in the mailbox?" My father wasn't at home, which Rick already knew, and wouldn't be for hours.
"I wanted to check in on you… all of you. See if everything was okay."
'And clearly everything was not,' his eyes added, the way he stared at me with abject pity. My gaze fell hard and fast to my lap. A burning sensation on my inner left thigh served as a not-so-gentle reminder of the nightmarish experience I'd had only one dense, unbidden nap ago.
Rick went on to relay how he'd ended up being there with me. How he'd pulled up in his truck, right when Mike and I climbed through the window at the side of the house, and Rick didn't like the 'look' of my disposition. So, naturally, he'd hung around to allay his suspicions.
"And so you decided to just take a peek into my bedroom?" My voice came out angry, when I didn't mean it to.
But I was. I was angry, and confused and hurt and so fucking humiliated. And Rick was looking at me like an abandoned, wounded animal and I wanted to scream, I wanted to lash out. But instead I clenched my fists so hard, my nails dug into my skin. I didn't want to cry. Not in front of him.
"So," he continued, bypassing my accusation, my peevishness, my…everything, "you went out? Had too much to drink, and things got out of hand?"
I sighed in exasperation and smoothed my fingers over my brow. "No. It wasn't like that."
"Tell me then." He softened his voice.
"Yes, I went to prom but, other than the one solitary drink Mike brought me, I drank water mostly tonight. And even then, I didn't get to finish the alcoholic drink. I started to feel sick, and Mike agreed to bring me home."
He nodded, his expression contemplative as he pictured the scene, probably trying to fill in the details. How did Mr. Williams' daughter get from point A, to point B, to point C? How could she not have known? Why wasn't she more careful? How could she allow this? Is she stupid?
"Yes." I said out loud.
He squinted at me. "What?"
I shook my head at my internal self-deprecation, and swallowed my shame. "Nothing." I really wanted this night to be over. But then Rick went on to say the most preposterous thing…
"You should wake your Mom, and go to the police, " he said with a cautious tone.
'Oh God. Hell no.'
I scoffed so hard I nearly burst out laughing. Furthermore, my response made me realize how disconnected I was feeling.
On the other hand, he had no idea who Mike Anthony was – Class Valedictorian, star athlete on the basketball team, and come September, freshman at Howard University – not to mention, that both his parents were attorneys.
"It wouldn't make a difference," I said.
"It wouldn't?" He ran his hand through his hair, gave his head a slight shake and shrugged. "Why not?"
"It just wouldn't. Besides…" I glimpsed away, stretching my arm out to adjust the shade of my lamp. "…Nothing, happened," I answered, failing to even convince myself.
"Excuse me?" In an instant, he shot up to his feet, strode over to the light switch, and flipped the button on.
My haven became illuminated. Like my vintage movie posters, and my academic awards, I was on full display. My arms clutched my stomach, and I froze.
"You care to repeat that?" His voice now matched the harshness in his gaze.
"I don't want anyone to twist my words," I shot back.
He came and sat directly in front of me and gripped my shoulders. "Mrs. Williams, let me go get her."
"No." Let my mother see me like this? That was out of the question. I shrugged him off, drew my knees up, and hugged my legs to my chest. I felt nauseous again.
He rubbed his hands over his face in frustration. "I don't understand."
It was simple. "She'll cry." And that would make me feel even worse.
"She's strong. Let her be strong for you. She'd want you to go and report this. Your father at least. He would know what to do."
"Absolutely not! I could never…" My voice became gutted with emotion. I buried my face behind my knees. How could I share this ordeal with my parents? It would shatter them. Why didn't Rick see that? "Shut, up, about it. Please?"
I heard him release a heavy breath. "God I'm, I'm sorry. I didn't mean… It's not your fault is all I'm trying to say. None of this is."
"I know that." Or did I? Mike – I cared about him. I was convinced he cared about me too. Me. Not what he could get, or rather, take from me. "All I want to do is forget, okay?"
"Of course." He reached out and took my hand in his, and said, "I know that. I... know that."
Slowly, I looked back at him and nodded. Of course he did. He of all people would know what it was like to want to push the 'Big-bad-terrible' to the back of your mind. Whatever ugliness he had been exposed to, which I still had no clue about, undoubtedly marred his consciousness for life. I couldn't ever compare the two, due to my ignorance.
However, my 'bad night' lasted what? A few minutes? Under a haze? Maybe if I didn't dwell on it, dwell on the shock and the fear, the betrayal, maybe, just maybe, I could pretend it wasn't me about to be violated in my own bed. Rather, it was some B rated actress in a badly written horror movie.
God, I knew what I was thinking wasn't making a lick of sense, but that's how I felt.
"You're really gonna keep this to yourself?" Rick asked, brushing the tips of his fingers against my own. "You need to talk to someone. Anyone. You have to. Because on some random day, in some random place, at some random moment, it's gonna hit you Michonne. Hard. It'll be better for you to get it out there. It'll help you to carry on."
What he said, made sense, on an intellectual level, but I simply couldn't…process or whatever. I needed to go to sleep for like days, maybe a week.
After we sat in quietude for a long time, I whispered, "I need to shower."
"I don't think you should do that."
Ignoring him, I pushed aside my blanket, swung my legs over the side of the bed, and let my feet hit the floor. As soon as I stood up, my body shook uncontrollably.
Rick caught me. He hooked his arms around my back and under my legs, scooping me up against his chest.
"What did he do to me?" I whimpered.
"Think he may have slipped you something."
Rick spoke the words I wouldn't dare allow myself to think.
Turning my face into his shirt, I broke down, and cried.
Rick helped me to the bathroom, which was located right across from my door. After he was sure he could leave me, without having to worry about my collapsing on to the cold tiled floor, he gave me my first moment of privacy since I came home that night.
I knelt over the toilet bowl, puked, got in the shower, bathed, then came out and puked some more.
By the time I returned to my room, my bedsheets had been changed, the dresses I'd left strewn haphazardly over my desk were gathered in one of Rick's hands, their hangers in the other. Was he cleaning up?
"You don't have to do that." I took my belongings from him, as a different wave of embarrassment washed over me. I was an intrinsic slob. Quite peculiar for a child raised in a regimented household.
"Not a problem," he shrugged with a smirk. "More for me than for you."
Yes, must've been torture suppressing that soldier's need for order. Usually I would've pitched the clothing into the back of my closet, but he came and stood right behind me. With concerted effort I hung each dress back on to the damned plastic frames. My mother would've beamed.
"You look…better," he said.
"I am." No longer clad in my black lace prom dress, I donned a purple pajama pants and a white tank top. The lightheadedness and nausea were also no more.
Thankfully, he took a seat at my study area, reordering my stationery, and watched as I continued de-cluttering my space.
Despite my state of acute self-consciousness, we talked. We talked about everything major that happened within the last three months.
Mama's father, Grandpa Stockett, had a stroke one morning whilst arguing over a news article in the papers. Her time now was split between the two households – ours and that of her elderly parents – helping out with Grandpa's daily needs. Tyreese got drafted to a football team that was relatively new, 'Jacksonville somebody,' I'd said, at the moment I couldn't really remember the name. In any case, it didn't matter we were all so proud of him for making it into the big leagues. As soon as school was over, though, he'd be moving straight down to Florida.
Furthermore, with regards to me I told him I'd gotten into the school I wanted up in Atlanta, and as for Daddy, he'd brought home no other strangers since Rick.
In turn, Rick responded by opening up, as much as he could, about being a different type of soldier from my father. Never deployed to any of the publicized wars, rather, he was trained for special missions. The specifics of which he understandably couldn't elaborate, and neither did I want, nor needed him to.
He did, however, express his regrets.
"What it is they made us do," he said, his shoulders curled over his chest as he stared down at the floor. "It's not what we signed up for."
From across the room, I paused from restacking my Cds, and peered at him. "Us? How many made up your batch?"
"You mean my unit? Twenty-four. Not all of us American." He stopped himself and glanced up.
Recognizing that he wasn't supposed to say what he said, I ignored his last words and asked, "So, what happened?"
"It's better if I don't tell you."
With his eyes closed, he began rubbing at the middle of his forehead, as though his memories inflicted him with an instant physical pain. Sympathy seeped across my chest, his internal torment so apparent. Should I pressure him about it? I wondered. No. What good would that do?
Just as I had opened my mouth to change the subject…
He continued, uncompelled.
"But, there's only so much blood – innocent blood – a man can spill before he loses his humanity completely." His voice deepened with disgust and self-loathing. "You were afraid of me? You had every right to be. I couldn't take it anymore – The slaughtering, the casualties – So I ran. Went AWOL."
I swallowed hard at his confession. He hadn't been discharged, honorably, or dishonorably – yet. He was a deserter. And he'd deliberately kept that detail from my father who esteemed his life in the military. The stack of compact discs I'd held in my hands, was set down on top of my book shelf and I trotted across the room. "You didn't run alone, did you?"
"No. Ten of us got out, but we didn't all make it. We had to scatter."
Ten? Nearly half of an entire team gone, rebelled. Those men were probably dead. Rick thought so too. His brows knitted together as his gaze grew distant with guilt.
"Been running for about a week before your father found me. Agent Dixon was the last one left with me, but we got separated. In the woods, the soldiers hunting us caught up to us, they attacked and we fought back."
"The gash at the back of your head?"
"Yeah…Don't remember what happened after everything went black. By the time I came to, Dixon was gone, the men…dead on the ground beside me, and I was lost, with no memory. I just started walking, in no particular direction." He leaned forward, propped his elbows on his knees. "I don't sleep anymore." His hands fidgeted, and I stared at them, remembering how their tender movements only an hour ago soothed me. To him, those same hands brought about destruction and ruin. It was difficult for me to reconcile the two.
'He was a broken man, and we foolishly thought we could fix him with our simple, country living,' Mama commented once, whilst on the phone chatting with Tyreese. Was she right? Was this man beyond repair? A part of me couldn't believe so.
I sat on the carpet before him with my legs folded beneath me. "You should stay."
He stopped fidgeting, and glimpsed up for a second. "Yeah?"
Trying not to take offense at the suspicious glint in his eyes, I smiled and nodded.
His face went red. "I can't."
"Why not? They won't look for you here."
"Maybe not today, not tomorrow, but they'll come. And they'll find me. They'll find you." Stretching out his arm, he traced a finger alongside my face. "That guy from before."
I inhaled a sharp breath and held it. "Mike?"
"Don't ever let him touch you again, understood?"
"I won't." Not that I'd had much choice in the matter hours ago. But I wondered if Rick thought I was one of those girls. The type to forgive and forget even the most horrible grievances. Although I'd chosen not to officially report Mike's disgusting ass, it didn't mean I would've been willing to take him back either.
"If he comes round, tries anything –"
"I'll kill him. Make it look like an accident." I half-jested. My face, dead fucking serious.
He smiled. "God Michonne, no. Tell your father. You can trust him to take care of you."
"How about I just burn down his new car?" His pretty 'Bimmer' would've looked prettier on fire.
He dipped his head and laughed.
"Or knock him out," I further suggested, playing out the fantasy. "Drop him at the bottom of a lake?" I angled my neck to the side to recapture his gaze. "You could help me with that."
"Stop." He shook his head amused. "Let's not joke about that, because I'm already inclined….more than."
More than, he said, his eyes twinkling with delight as he gazed at me, and I blushed. We're kidding around about murder, sort of, and my stomach was doing that…funny thing again. This time though, that twinging and fluttering didn't fill me with fear. No. I breathed it in. This time I allowed it to sweep through my entire body.
Rick wasn't judging me, he never did, and only in that moment on that night, did I really let go of my conjectures and acknowledged his intentions as genuine.
"All those things," I said," you were saying before, about talking to someone, I take it you've been to therapy?"
"Well yes, and no. Where your Dad left me, they made me sit in a few sessions with a Doctor Monroe."
"Marilyn?" I joked.
"Deanna…" he chuckled, "…and no relation either. But I, I didn't stay for more than four days. Daryl – Agent Dixon – found me. It was the darndest thing. But then again, he was our best tracker."
I rocked back onto my heels fiddling with my hands in silence for awhile. "Mike, was the first person I'd called when I got my acceptance letter from Spelman. Not my parents, or my best friend Andrea. I called him. He was my guy. I didn't have to think twice about it, just grabbed up the phone, and started dialing, was so excited to share my good news with him.
"Hours later, he showed up here, with flowers, a new dress, surprising me by taking me out to dinner. Went to an upscale French restaurant downtown, just the two of us, and had a great time. That night, he made me feel so special. But tonight? I don't think I could ever understand what he made me feel like tonight."
Rick's gaze steeled with remorse. "I'm sorry."
"No, it's… Thank you." I hadn't said that to him for all the time we spent talking. How unacceptable, how atrocious of me. So I said it again. "No, really. Thank you, for…"
He cupped my chin. "You need to go back to bed, and get some rest."
Nodding my head, I complied. He turned down my sheets, and unfolded my blanket as I climbed in on top of my mattress. He tucked me in, bent over and kissed my forehead. And I let him.
"I'll keep your secrets and you'll keep mine," he whispered.
Tilting my chin I looked up into his eyes as he hovered. The air got sucked out of the room. A torrent of emotions towards him, rushed through me, the chief of which was gratitude. "One day." I thought that if given a second chance, I could prove to be more of a trusting friend, than a suspicious foe.
"Ahh…Your mother won't want that now. Having me here? And as I recall, which I do now—everything, quite explicitly—you weren't so keen to have me around either."
"I couldn't figure you out."
"Was hardly myself. I was…scared."
"So was I."
"And," he drawled giving me a mock quizzical look, "you're not anymore?"
Yes. Shitless. My body kept betraying me every time I looked at him. "No." I shook my head. "I-I'm glad you came back." My hand brushed the letter he wrote on my bedside table. "To let my parents know, that you're better."
He straightened up. "Not quite, like I said, but I've made a start. And well I owe them. I owe all of you."
When it was almost five a.m. Rick snuck back out, got into his truck, and drove off. An hour and a half later, our doorbell rang while we were all at the dining table. Daddy got up to answer the door and, as to be expected, with a bright smile and his arms wide open, he embraced Rick, surprised and touched to see him standing in good form on our front porch. What I didn't anticipate was the huge measure of relief reflected in my father's face.
I was glad I'd convinced Rick to change his plans, to stick around and thank Daddy, give him his letter, face to face for at least one minute.
However, Mama thought otherwise. "Well don't just have the man standing out there Jack," she'd said, as we all huddled together in the foyer. "Let him in."
"Uh actually, that's quite alright," Rick said. "Not here to stay Ma'am. Not this time."
She gave him an arched look. "We got a platter full of eggs and Blueberry pancakes, made from scratch, and at least five of 'em has your name on it."
Rick had cleared his throat in protest, but it proved futile. Mother invoked her authoritative voice whilst nudging me forward quite embarrassingly. "Michonne, tell this young man to come and sit with us for breakfast. Which is getting cold by the way."
"Just breakfast?" My shoulders lifted in a nonchalant shrug, when secretly I was a bit gleeful for my mother's obstinacy.
He glanced around at the four pairs of eyes trained on him in anticipation. "Yeah…O-okay. Just for breakfast."
"Ahh," With a wide grin, Daddy put his sizeable arm around Rick's shoulders and gave him vigorous shake. "Best not to say no to these Williams women. Things always work out better that way."
It didn't take long before Rick got settled in a chair with his own stack of pancakes dripping in Maple syrup, just the way he'd liked it, along with a tall chilled glass of Oj. As the morning meal carried on, the discussion bounced back and forth between Daddy bragging about Tyreese and his new team of high quality of players, and Sasha boasting about achieving her yellow belt before that dweeb Bob who poked fun at her in her karate class.
Rick slid into conversation mode comfortably, reestablishing his easy rapport with my family like he'd never left. He even confessed his real name to them. But they still called him 'Adam' regardless. Mama inquired where he was heading to afterwards, and Rick admitted he had his sights set on California. Mama's face lit up. She'd never been to the West coast, but heard from an old doctor friend whose sister's ex-husband's brother, had bought a beautiful house right out on the shores of Malibu.
"Who dat Penny?" My father asked. "Jimmy? Calvin's old man?"
"No, his name was something like…Bertram, I think. Anyways shush, you don't know the man."
"I know everybody from round here. And everybody knows me." Daddy grabbed the carton of juice and refilled Rick's empty glass. "Born and raised in this town with my five brothers and sisters, Adam. My roots go way back. Great-grandparents were original inhabitants of St. Joseph. Hardly any strangers I don't acquaint myself with."
Rick visibly swallowed. Just as he opened his mouth to respond, I interrupted by roping my mother into a separate conversation. "Mama wants me to get the hell out of this swamp state and go live in a big city."
"Ain't nothing wrong with spreading your wings baby," Mama wiped her mouth with a napkin. "Look at your brother Tyreese."
"I don't know about that, Mrs. Williams," Rick said, picking up his beverage. "No offense now, but she might surprise you. Probably would come right back here, design a few parks for this town and throughout the state."
I drew my bottom lip between my teeth, surprised by his estimation. He was right, that's what I wanted. But, how did he know that? I couldn't recall ever mentioning my dream of becoming a landscape architect, or that my preference was to live out the rest of my life in Alabama, staying close to home.
"I'm not saying no Adam, just she's young and bright. A young woman should see the world and what it has to offer before she takes up with a husband, and settles to build a family of her own. It's sickening to live with regrets."
I sighed. We've had this talk before. She was projecting again. "Mama, it's a different time. I can do both."
"Don't give me no lip Michonne," she said, just as the doorbell rang again. "That's not what I meant."
Before I could defend myself, she got up and answered the door. Two seconds later, Mama reappeared at the archway.
"Jack, baby? There's two men here to see you." Her honeyed voice was contradicted, however, by a thinly veiled expression of panic and confusion.
Daddy furrowed his brows and grunted. "At this time in the morning? Not Jehovah's Witnesses are they? Too early for them to come knocking…" His voice trailed when he swung around and took notice of his wife's alarmed demeanor. "Penny?"
Her fingers tucked in the back of her hairnet. "No. No, not Witnesses." She then shot Rick an unmistakable pointed look, and a stone dropped in my stomach. "Men in black suits…with a black jeep…They have questions."
Daddy sprung up and took one step towards Mama. He bent and kissed her on her forehead, and then whispered something in her ear. When Rick also jumped up out of his seat, Daddy held out his palm to him. "Hold on, now. Wait. May not be anything son. But, if need be, I'll – I'll stall them as long as I'm able." With a quick nod my father briskly headed to greet the early morning callers.
As soon as we heard the front door close behind him, my mother snatched Rick's wrist. "Quick, the basement."
Rick pulled back and shook his head. "B-but, how?"
"My husband's been stuck on you. You and your operation 'Adam,'" was all she whispered.
His face paled and dread flashed in his eyes. "That's classified," he said. "I have to leave. The woods."
Although her eyes darted back and forth between the kitchen side door and the front of the house, Mama didn't falter. "Alright then, upstairs." She trusted his judgement.
Mama released her grip on Rick and we all snuck across the narrow corridor before scampering up the stairway on our tiptoes, careful not to make much of a sound. A confused Sasha was shuffled into her room, instructed to remain quiet no matter what she heard and Mama dashed back downstairs. Meanwhile, Rick and I bolted down the hallway into to my parents' bedroom, shutting the door behind us. With my pulse thump-thumping at a hundred beats per second, I moved over to the window that led out into the backyard and shoved it open.
Both Rick and I peered down at the 15-foot drop and I asked, "Can you make it?"
"Yeah. Piece of cake."
Heavy footsteps shuffled around downstairs followed by my father's booming voice. "Make yourselves comfortable officers. You're free to look around." Our heads snapped towards the door.
'Shit!'
My throat went dry and guilt bubbled inside of me. I should've let him leave when he intended to. With a not-so-gentle nudge I urged Rick to get going. But suddenly, I remembered. "Your truck."
"Keep it. Drive yourself to Atlanta." He stole another glance at the door behind me, and in the next instant, his strong hands cupped my neck and he pushed his lips against mine. Once…twice… And I froze. His mouth was soft, and warm, and sweet, and I… I froze. Dumbfounded.
He then pulled away and smiled. Smiled! A complete switch in the middle of a nerve-wrecking moment. "I'll come see you," he whispered.
As much adrenaline that was coursing through my veins, my heart goddamned stopped, my mind went blank. "You should go."
He stuck one leg out of the small opening. "As soon as I get to some place safe, if I could write to you I'd like that."
I nodded. "Goodbye. And good luck."
A moment later, he swung out the window, scaled down the side of my house, and disappeared through the thick grove of Scarlet oak trees.
It would be a mere three weeks before I received my first letter from Rick. He and his buddy were on the road roaming from state to state., keeping a low profile, avoiding the authorities. Yet, a whole year…year and a half, had passed before I actually laid eyes on Rick Grimes again.
And only because, it was the worst day of my life.