told Liberty their story was slowly killing him. He wanted to die with her. Nothing had separated them since their escape, and he vowed that nothing ever would. They would be together forever on the other side. “I love you,” he whispered as he felt himself becoming drowsy as a weak sensation took over him.
“I love you more,” she whispered as she struggled to keep her eyes open. She was on the edge and was about to slip off. He felt his heartbeat slowing down, and he managed to release a small smile along with a final tear of joy.
They were about to die together. It was a beautiful death. They would both finally be free as birds with none of the ills that the world had to offer. None of their past burdens weighed them down . . . not MURDERVILLE, not Sierra Leone or the Rebellion, not even the harsh hand that the streets had dealt them. They transcended all of the pain as their bodies failed them. They lay in each other’s arms, and they both closed their eyes as they embraced, wanting to hold onto one another forever.
EPILOGUE
“TELL ME WHERE THE MONEY AT BITCH!” the goon said as he circled the girl who sat bound to the wooden chair. The beauty just sat there and cried in agony; the ropes were tied so tightly that they stopped her blood circulation. The masked goon grew frustrated and struck her across the temple with the butt of his gun, splitting her flesh open. The blood trickled down her face as she remained silent, but cringed in pain. “Tell me! Where does Po keep the money?!” he screamed as he ripped the ski-mask off his head, tired of waiting for a response. He knew that the money was somewhere in the house because he had been following her drug dealing boyfriend for two weeks and witnessed him enter the house with his street money, only to exit empty-handed. He knew that the stash was inside the house somewhere. The woman just cried in pain and never answered the intruder’s questions, only frustrating him to the brink of rage.
“Yo, if you don’t tell me where the stash at . . . I’m going to blow your brains all over your pretty little wall,” the goon said as he pointed the gun at the young woman’s head. He waited for a response, only to get nothing from her except the constant crying. The goon knew that he didn’t have a lot of time, and he had already searched the house from top to bottom and came up with nothing. He slapped the girl out of anger, taking her silence as disrespect. He put his gun in his waist and hostilely wrapped his hands around the girl’s neck and squeezed with all his might. He watched as her face turned blush red and she squirmed but there wasn’t much she could do because of the ropes restraining her limbs. The goon thought about how she had blatantly ignored all of his questions, and he wanted to see her die. In his twisted mind, it would be payback for her undermining his authority. He continued to squeeze her throat until the squirming stopped and her eyes stared into space, gazing at nothing. She was dead.
The goon loosened his grip, letting her chin fall into her chest. He breathed heavily and stepped back looking at the woman’s lifeless body. He then took one more look around the room and noticed a plaque on the wall. It was a high school diploma that read: Michigan School for the Deaf, with the name Scarlett Jones under it. That’s when it began to make sense to the goon. She couldn’t answer my questions . . . because she was deaf. She didn’t even hear me, he thought as he was overwhelmed with guilt. He quickly fled from the house empty-handed leaving the twenty-two-year-old beauty asleep forever.
* * *
James “Po” Taylor drove down the highway and yawned as he glanced down at the clock on his dashboard. He hated that he was coming home so late but it was for a good reason. He had picked up all the money he was owed in the streets. He finally had enough paper saved to buy the house he had promised his long-time girlfriend, Scarlett. He was deeply in love with her and had known her since she was a child. Although she was deaf, they had no problem communicating