From My Soul to Yours by Dywane D. Birch

Author:Dywane D. Birch
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Simon & Schuster
Published: 2007-07-15T00:00:00+00:00

When the phone rang early this morning—two a.m. to be exact, I actually thought I was in a dream when the strained voice on the other end said, “Grace is dead.”

“What?!” I asked, rustling out of my warm bed to go into the bathroom to speak. Tee stirred lightly in his sleep. I blew out a sigh when he didn’t wake. “When?” I whispered into the receiver, closing the door behind me. I pulled down the lid to the toilet, then sat down, crossing my legs. Excitement raced through my body. This was too good to be true.

“I found her last night.” There was a slight pause. My heartbeat raced with anticipation. “She died on her knees.” Apparently she had gone to bed around seven p.m. because she wasn’t feeling well. When he went up to check on her—about four hours later—he found her on her knees with her head facedown on the bed, as if she had been praying.

Humph, I thought, picking my cuticles. Good for the bitch. Given the situation I decided it was best I kept my remarks to myself. Particularly since nothing I felt was kind. I know him calling me was hard enough, considering how I feel about his wife. Cockeyed bitch.

“So when’s the funeral?” I casually asked.

“The day after next.”

Please. After the three years of hell and torment that woman put me through she’s lucky she lived as long as she did. I squinted fury from my eyes, rubbing the small cigarette burn neatly hidden by hair at the nape of my neck. The smell of burning flesh has haunted me for many years. The best thing he could have ever done was move back to Grenada with that ugly, beady-eyed woman; otherwise, she would have been disposed of a long time ago. Fortunate for her, I do have a heart.

Well, don’t give me that look. I didn’t want to take her life, anyway. I wanted her to always remember what she had done to me. I smiled to myself, remembering back over thirteen years ago when I made the call to have her tortured for beating and abusing me.

Well, most of you already know all this. But for those of you who don’t: Yes, I had the bitch’s arms chopped off. See. Without arms, she’d never pose a threat to another child’s safety. She’d never be able to pick up another object to strike or beat anyone else.

“I see,” I said, yawning. “Oh excuse me. Well, as much as I would like to be sympathetic to your loss, I can’t say that I am. There’s no love lost on my part.”

“I didn’t expect there would be,” he slowly replied. “I just thought you’d want to know.” I closed my eyes, taking in his words. Even though he speaks English very well, I’ve always found his Caribbean accent delightful. But he still makes me sick.

“Well, thanks for sharing.”

“Indera, I stayed because it was the right thing to do.” His guilt must have been eating at him.

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