Murderville Page 0,7

eyes open and hear your voice for as long as I possibly can. Tell me the story,” she insisted.

“You know the story, Lib. You lived it with me, ma. Besides that story ain’t always happy,” A’shai replied.

“But it’s ours, Shai. The good, the bad, the ugly . . . it doesn’t matter because it’s our story, and I want to hear it again. That story is the only legacy I’m leaving behind. Please, babe. You know you’re going to end up giving me my way so you might as well just say yes and start talking,” she shot back with a weak smile.

There weren’t many requests of hers that A’shai wouldn’t oblige. He had spared her of nothing, and he couldn’t remember a time when he had told her no. Spoiled and well-kept whenever she was in A’shai’s presence, Liberty was his rib. He never wanted to hurt her because it would be like hurting himself.

He sighed because he knew that the tale he was about to spin would bring about a lot of emotions . . . stirring old ghosts. He stood and went to retrieve a box of Kleenex, knowing that Liberty would need it for the tears to come. He was about to unlock an old closet that had been stuffed with memories, mostly bad, but the sporadic occasion of good times that hid inside were so joyful that they outweighed all of the horrendous times that came along with them. He went into his custom wine cellar and looked around at all the bottles of aged wine that were neatly arranged inside. He scoured the shelves until he found exactly what he was looking for and pulled the old bottle down. It wasn’t the most expensive one of the bunch for sure, but at that moment it was exactly what he needed. When he returned he sat down, put the Kleenex on the nightstand, and gave her a knowing look.

“I’m not gon’ cry,” she defended with a laugh, trying to be tough.

“You always cry,” he replied as he kissed her forehead and took a seat. He took a sip from the drink he had prepared for himself and then said, “You ready?”

She nodded, the muscles in her neck so weak that her head bobbled back and forth loosely. She was trying to muster as much strength as she could because she didn’t want A’shai to worry, but everything was so hard. It took everything in her to get into a comfortable position on the stack of pillows behind her.

“Relax, Liberty. You don’t have to do anything but listen,” A’shai said as he helped her adjust.

He took a sip of his drink and began to tell her the last bedtime story that she would ever hear.

TWO

2001

LIBERTY’S DESPERATE EYES PEEKED OUT FROM THE back of the tarp-covered Jeep as she watched her old village burn to the ground. Her entire body shuddered as fear took over her. Gunshots rang out as the rebels whooped and hollered in victory, their testosterone-driven adrenaline justifying their immoral actions.

Liberty didn’t understand why she was being taken. Her home had been ransacked. Most of the women and children had been raped, tortured, then eventually killed, including her mother and siblings. Her young eyes had been a witness to the mass murders of her father and the other men in the village. Tyranny had erupted without warning and now as she was whisked away to a destination unknown she cried uncontrollably. She felt as if she had been spared, but what she didn’t know was that what the rebels intended for her would be worse than death itself. The men that surrounded her held automatic machine guns. Some of them could hardly be called men, their young faces revealed no more years than Liberty’s. She could not understand how someone her age could be so threatening . . . their faces showed no remorse, no signs of childhood antics . . . only malicious, cold-hearted eyes that stared back at her.

Liberty cried a river as she tried to stifle herself, her chest heaving up and down violently as tears cascaded down her face. The five-hour drive back to Sierra Leone was excruciating for Liberty. Too afraid to close her eyes she cowered in the bottom of the vehicle, her nerves attentive as the men bragged of their conquests around her. Other captives huddled together but none dared to speak, silenced by fear. The blood of her loved ones dried on her ashy skin, torturing