Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 119454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
She didn’t stop there. The verbal lashing and bashing continued… She was speaking as if she didn’t have a PhD, and was damn near feral. She sounded like someone off the corner who was lambasting the world, all decorum and class lost. He turned up the music, trying to drown her out. Gnarls Barkley’s, ‘Crazy,’ played at top volume. How fitting. His entire truck rocked from the loud music. He could see her out of the corner of his eye, but could hear no evil… All he could see was the vein in her neck jutting out, her finger winding around and around, close to his face, and her head bobbing back and forth in the way Black women sometimes did.
Yeah, he couldn’t hear her… not a single word. She was drowned out, like an awful song playing deep underwater. His head throbbed, his heart sobbed. Anger rose to the top of his mind like cream.
She began pushing the radio buttons then. Static… commercials… more songs…
He was surprised she didn’t just turn the damn thing off. Instead, she became crazy right along with him. Matching his insanity, turn for turn. They began to fight over the radio. He’d turn it off, she’d turn it on, then start changing stations over and over again.
“Stop it!” she yelled after acting as if she were going to bite his fingers. And then she growled, like some animal. He burst out laughing. Partially amused, partially in shock.
“You’re crazy! You’re really crazy, English! Like bat shit bonkers!”
‘I Can’t Go for That,’ by Daryl Hall & John Oates was now on the air, and she didn’t change the station. He looked at the radio, read the artist’s name and song title, and froze—then snapped out of his trance and twisted the knob.
“TURN IT OFF!”
She turned it back on…
Hall and Oates were right back at it.
“LEAVE IT OFF, ENGLISH! I’m serious!”
She turned it back on, this time, leaving it at a lower volume.
“This song reminds you of someone. Axel, talk to me. What is going on?”
He took several deep breaths.
“I don’t know why I’m surprised. I shouldn’t be surprised! FUCK!” He beat the steering wheel with his fist.
English adjusted her seatbelt, crossed her legs, and just stared at him. He quickly averted his gaze, for looking at her would kill him. He’d be exposed, once and for all. She’d see through him—but he had no doubt it was too late now.
She knows me too well… Just tell her. It’ll be easier that way.
“I told you about my teacher, Ms. Florence.”
“Yes. You said I remind you of her. What else?”
“This exact song was playing on the radio when I went to see her at the hospital… Like I told you, nobody knew she was sick. She kept it to herself. I went into that room, while Caspian and Legend waited outside. We all took turns talking to her in private. She was on a lot of pain medication. She took my hand, and she… she made me promise something…”
“Promise what, Axel?”
He drove a little faster, for his pain came a little harder. He was hearing a little more evil. And it hurt…
“Promise what, Axel?” she repeated, placing her hand around his neck and lightly massaging.
“Promise that I’d tell my father the truth ’bout how he hurt me. Promise to listen, and not block him out. I promised her that I would talk to him. But I never did…”
“And now she’s in your dreams.”
He nodded.
The music kept playing, and he was thankful when the song changed to something by Culture Club. It was strange how they kept ending up on this radio station, one he seldom listened to on his own. At last, they arrived, and he pulled into a parking spot.
“I want to warn you about something before we walk into this building, 800.”
“What?” She unsnapped her seatbelt.
“My father is a bigot. He wasn’t like Klan status or anything, but it was clear what he thought about non-White people. So, he might say somethin’ stupid, maybe even insulting. He probably won’t mean nothin’ by it, or maybe he will, and I will deal with it immediately should it happen, but I just wanted you to be on alert.”
English said nothing, but her grip tightened on her purse. He turned the truck off and helped her out of the passenger’s side. Once inside, they went through the detectors, then headed to the bail bondsman’s office.
“Hey, my name is Axel Hendrix, and I’m the son of Tommy Hendrix, a detainee here. He was arrested and booked yesterday. DV charge. I’m here to try and bail him out.” He pulled his wallet out of his back pocket to show his ID.
A guy behind the desk walked him through the process, and explained what papers he needed to fill out.
“Make sure you put Jefferson County right there at the top, too, and I need you to give his full name, and date of birth,” the man instructed.