Seeing Red - Chapter 24: Chapter 24

Hey this is Reece. Party boy, Dylan O'Brien's fuck buddy – just admit it Dylan – and Ashley King's smoking hot, white fiancé. Leave a message. By the way, if this is Dylan calling for some good dick, sorry man. Ashley would kick my ass.
"Reece, this is the fifth time I've tried calling you this week. I tried Red CORP, I tried the RED manor, and no one knows where you are. So, either you've vanished off the face of the earth, or you don't want to speak to me for some reason. Either one is cool." I shifted on my bed. "But just let me know that you're okay."
I rested the phone down beside me and stood. I crept over to my dresser, and slowly, one by one, put on my rings, put on my watch and tucked my tissue into my shirt's pocket.
I was already dressed in the black suit I was going to wear at Dee's dance recital. The one that would have to make due for his funeral today.
It had been a week since the shooting, and the news networks had still been latched onto the story. It surprised me. I wasn't expecting the shooting of a black man to resonate so much, and invoke so much discussion.
It made me miss the days where I sat behind my desk at Urban and typed away about the injustices we faced. It made me ache for the days when things were far simpler, when I could see much more clearly – literally.
But those days were gone.
The room door opened, and Kenzie walked in, wearing a white shirt, jeans and a pair of rays.
"Only assholes wear shades on the inside," I remarked.
Kenzie shrugged his shoulders and put on a hat from the collection of hats he had n the dresser. "And only a super asshole would wear a hat and shades insides," he retorted. "Guess what I am?"
I rolled my eyes at him. "You know," I began, as he fixed himself in the mirror next to me, "I got to be honest. I thought I'd be attending your funeral before I ever attended Dee's."
"Makes sense," he said, adjusting his collar. "To be one hundred with you, I've had my will written since I was 17 –you was getting my All Eyez On Me album."
I leaned against the dresser. "At least they haven't forgotten about Dee yet," I mumbled. "The news, the black sites, everyone is still upset about his killing. The cop was suspended."
Kenzie shrugged. I mocked him. He must've caught it in his peripheral because he did it again, more cartoonishly. "Big whoop."
"Big whoop?" I repeated, voice rising. "That's your response to our friend igniting a social movement?"
"Yeah," he said. He was fixing the hat now, spinning it around, like a sideways clock,. "He's dead. He don't know it."
"But we do," I muttered.
Kenzie stopped. "You know what bugs me?" he asked. I allowed him to continue. "If I got shot?" He snorted. "A dark skin black man like me? They'd be rushing to demonize me. Use everything in my past against me. But Dennis? He was a shade darker than white. He's as close to them as we can get. A mixed looking brother. It's easier for them to sympathize when they see his picture because he's a redbone. He's the Beyoncé; I'm the Kelly fucking Rowland. No one would give a fuck if it were me. Not them news stations that still hanging onto this."
"Are you seriously blaming Dee for being born with a lighter skin tone?" I barked.
Kenzie looked at me, straight lipped. "Don't you do the same shit with white people?" he snapped. "Ain't your light skin ass always goin' on bout how they have it better 'cause they white? News flash, Mr. Sharpton: inside the black community, you're the white person. You got girls all over you since you redskin, you can walk more freely; you and write about the injustices of black people all you want, but how many of those injustices have you yourself experienced? It's like a white person writing about the black experience. They don't know shit about it." He turned back to the mirror. "You too righteous for your own good, baby bro. It's gonna cost you."
I clenched my jaw. "I don't want to argue about this today," I said. "Not today."
"We ain't got to argue about it all," he replied. "But don't act like you aren't the privileged class within the black community, redbone. There's a reason why Drake sells more records than any other hip-hop brother."
"We never talked about what lead to Dee being shot," I started – going on a tangent, I know. But I had to get off of that topic.
Kenzie stopped moving his hat. "And we ain't gonna talk about it, either."
"Why not?"
He looked over. "Because I don't want to, aight?" he snapped. "I don't got time to be sitting down discussing my feelings, regrets and shit. I got a business to run, I got a A1 to say goodbye to then I got to get back on my grind. You can sit back and write your articles on what happened all you want, I don't got the time for it, okay, Ashley?"
Kenzie went over to his drawer and took out a pistol, checking to see if it was loaded, before tucking it inside of his belt.
"Is that really called for?" I asked.
He looked back and snorted. "Like I said, Ashley. You really are an indoor slave."
Hey this is Reece. Party boy, Dylan O'Brien's fuck buddy – just admit it Dylan – and Ashley King's smoking hot, white fiancé. Leave a message. By the way, if this is Dylan calling for some good dick, sorry man. Ashley would kick my ass.
"He's probably alright," Lola said, seated closest to the window in the back of the limo. We were on our way to Dee's funeral and Mrs. Devon got a limo for her family and Dee's closer friends. She asked me if I wanted to sit with her, but I opted out.
Kenzie might have worded it poorly, even offensively (which was expected). But maybe I was a bit privileged, even if this exact situation didn't apply here. After all, I was reciting a eulogy for him, when Kenzie arguably knew him better than I did. This, in hindsight, was probably why he was so pissed at me.
"Today isn't about the love sage between Reece and Francisco," Kenzie muttered, hiccupping from the wine was drinking.
"When Mrs. Devon said we had liberal use of the bar in this thing, I think she meant after the funeral," Pete muttered.
Kenzie stared him down, and Pete turned as red as a tomato. "I get crunk at funerals, at weddings, at graduations and births to hide my crippling depression and lack of self-worth. Knowing that I will die younger then I should because of poor choices and decisions that I make, that endanger both myself, and the ones I love."
It got quiet.
Kenzie snorted out some wine. "Y'all too fucking easy," He laughed, wheezing. "Existential crisis, character development, white people problems," he mocked. "I drink because wine it's great, niggas and Pete."
"If you weren't my brother, I'd actually hate you," I mumbled.
Kenzie pointed back at me. "You probably right, Black White Man." He gasped. "SHIT. If you ever become like a superhero or some shit, that should be your superhero name. Black White Man! Blurring the lines between social justice and ignorant egoism, one cop killing at a time."
"You're gross," I groaned.
"Okay, anal sex-haver," he snorted.
"We're here," Lola mused.
"Thank God," Nikko muttered. "Anymore of this brother-on-brother, weird sexual tension that is wafting off of the both of you, and I was going to strangle myself with my own hair."
"I swear if they play break every chain, multiple people are getting shot," Kenzie said, getting out first. "And he started it."
I climbed out after him, rolling my eyes. "How did I start it?"
"You decided you had to be born, that's how," he barked. "You shudda let sperm #2 win. That nigga was probably good at basketball – and had darker skin." He started massaging his chin. "You think you adopted, though?"
"Whatever," I mumbled, walking away.
"I'm just saying, blood!" he shouted after me. "You the only light-bright in our household!"
The parking lot was filled. Which didn't really surprise me. Dee was the friendly type. And, as much as I hated Kenzie for saying so, Dee was friends with a lot of white people.
Not that there was anything inherently wrong with that. But he was friends with the type of white people that spewed phrases like 'I don't see color.'
Those were the kind of white people that were more dangerous that the more overt racists. At least you knew where the overt racists stood.
Those are the ones that want to will themselves into thinking they are okay with race, but suppress the fact that they are friends with a black man so much (I don't see color) that they forger entirely that he is just that: a black man. Then more casual forms of racism slip in. The fist bumps, the 'brother', the Madea jokes, the hot sauce in bags, the constant asking of what 'on fleek' means.
It's dangerous.
It's toxic.
And it's annoying.
Maybe Kenzie had a point.
I shook those thoughts from my head, and took out my cellphone again. No new messages. Or calls. "What's happening with you, Reece?"
Reece
"Reece, this is the fifth time I've tried calling you this week. I tried Red CORP, I tried the RED manor, and no one knows where you are. So, either you've vanished off the face of the earth, or you don't want to speak to me for some reason. Either one is cool." There was a little pause, and I heard a bed squeak. "But just let me know that you're okay."
Liza rested my phone back on my nightstand as I flipped myself onto my back to stare at the ceiling.
"That is the millionth time he has called to check on you, Reece," she said. "You're going to have to talk to him sooner or later."
"I'm CEO of a powerful company, a billionaire... and a white male. I don't have to do anything I don't want to," I responded, as dull as an overworked pencil.
"If you're worried about... the mark-" I threw her a look. She stopped and sighed. "I know you don't want to talk about the mark, but Reece, it's there. Right now, what we need to do is focus on ripping Preston, Declan and whoever else a new one."
"How?" I groaned. "I fired Mom and our advertisers are pulling ads," I said. "We're losing money, our stocks are falling. Preston's Dad is now more powerful than I am."
"That doesn't make Preston above the law," she noted. "He's still just a citizen of this country, not some untouchable child of a demi-god." I felt the bed sink next to me, and a few strands of Liza's hair tickled my ear. "Are you going to just sit here and watch Game Of Thrones all day?"
"Why would I?" I asked, maybe just a bit bitter. Maybe. "Anna wasn't exactly a martyr for a cause. And yes, this is the red wedding episode, in which everyone is basically killed."
Liza shrugged. "I was just asking." She lied down next to me. "Frankly, I couldn't stand her, didn't know how you stomached her and I'm secretly moonwalking inside my head that that she's dead – which makes me an awful person – but still. Anna was no saint."
"Didn't mean she should have been killed, though," I mumbled.
Liza huffed. "Look, I can't be the one running this ship anymore, people are starting to question if you're still alive, Woodrow."
"Tell then to suck my nuts," I grumbled. "I'm taking a well-earned sabbatical."
"This isn't the time for one," she said. "Mother will rise again, like Satan from the Pit and she will be out to absolutely destroy you, Joy."
I looked at her. Her golden hair, sunlight trapped within it. "What do you propose, Pride?"
"You have to fill her position on the board and do it fast," she said. "Before everyone starts selling off their shares and we're stuck on a sinking ship."
"Fill it with whom?" I asked. "Who has the business acumen to run a big company that you or I know of?"
Liza smiled. "Kenneth King."
I snorted. "Okay, now I know you're crazy."
"He runs a successful drug empire," she added, as if that was meant to be a positive attribute.
"My observation on the state of your mental health still stands, Liza," I said. "He's unpredictable, he's dangerous and he's black."
"You're unpredictable, you're dangerous and you're gay," she flicked back, with a light shrug. "The state of this company is changing. We can do it for the better. We can go from being a conservative news station, pushing propaganda, to a fair and balanced news network."
"I'm not putting Kenneth King in charge of my board of directors, you looney tune," I barked.
"Then I will,' she threw. "I'm acting Chairman and acting Chief Operating Officer, since the actual CEO of this company is having a severe bout of pussying out."
I sighed. "Absolute power corrupts, absolutely."
"Okay, Shakespeare," she said, "now are you ready to get up out of your slouch or am going to have to rip the organs out of this company for you to get it together."
I groaned. "When is the next board meeting?"
She cracked me on my forehead. "Whenever you say it, doofus. You're the freaking boss."
"Oh, right," I snorted. "Mom usually did that stuff. All I had to do was look pretty."
"Well, you fired her – or she resigned to spend more time with her ailing husband, as the official memo reads – so those days are over," she blurted. I felt her sit up in the bed. "I'm choosing your side over hers, since your side is the morally correct one, Reece. But, you have to prove yourself to be a capable leader. Or everything we've built will sink into the ocean, like Atlantis."
"Would that be such a bad thing?" I grumbled.
Liza grew quiet.
Ashley
Out of the parking lot, and in front of the church it wasn't hard to distinguish who had been invited to the ceremony and who were there to protest.
Mourners poured into the church, whose bells were tolling; ringing for death. Protesters were off to the side, blocked off by blood colored tape, with their picket signs, some chanting and raving about justice, others with their hands up and their mouths taped.
Their hearts were in the right place, but it wasn't the place or the time. I wanted to tell them that, but I couldn't. Mainly since I had been on the other side of this crimson tape too many times myself, with the same rage fueled chanting, and I'd thought myself righteous too.
I walked through the doors of the church, and the chanting had been smothered by the organ music. It wasn't as melodious as I thought it should have been. It reeked of solemnness – of sadness – and Dennis would have hated it if he could hear it.
He always said that he wanted a celebration instead of a funeral in case he died. But his mother had other plans.
Speaking of, Mrs. Devon, wrapped in a black dresses soiled with grief, a black veil over her face, was at the very front of this big church, near the coffin, whose feet I could see, since she was blocking the top half.
Kenzie was the first beside her, and she at least gave him little attention. She never did like him. I'm not sure which parents of Kenzie's friends liked him. They always sort of favored me, even though they had no way of telling which one of us was the bad influence on their son.
I made my way up to the coffin, with everyone standing – silently watching me as the organ plays a song that sounded like a death march. I had forgotten I was a celebrity of sorts. The black guy that was engaged to the white guy. A traitor to my cause, who had the audacity to show up at the funeral of the black man he had rejected in favor of the white man.
They didn't know the second part of it, but I did. And the guilt had filled my stomach to the brim and was starting to work its way up my throat.
I had dreamed about the day Dee was standing at an altar in a church, with Kenzie beside him as every stood while I came down an aisle. But, this was far from what I had envisioned at sixteen.
By the time I had reached the black coffin, Kenzie moved to wherever he was to be seated, and me and Mrs. Devon stood at the helm.
"He looks peaceful," she said.
I had yet to look down at him, but I offered her a nod. "If I were away from this awful place I'd be at peace too."
"You haven't cried," she came back with. "Or have you gotten it all out like I have."
I shook my head. "Dennis has made me cry enough over the years," I mumbled. "I don't think I have any more tears left for him."
"He's sorry for whatever he did, I'm sure," she said.
"He was," I replied. "He said it a hundred and one times and I'm sure he meant it every time he said it."
Mrs. Devon smiled and looked like she wanted to continue, but a pair of heels clicking against the ground grabbed her attention and she spun. I followed.
Erika was wearing a black dress that flowed like black flames when she moved. She were a single red rose near the top of the neck line, its stem removed.
She stopped in front of me, at the very end of the coffin, peaking over my right shoulder before returning. "I'm sorry for your loss, Mrs. Devon."
Mrs. Devon, blind to the truth, smiled. "Thank you, Erika."
"Yes," I said. "What was the last thing you and he spoke about, Erika?" I asked. "I wasn't aware of how close you two were until your recent chat with Marie Luther."
Erika's small smile blipped on her lip. She scratched her cheek and eyed Mrs. Devon, instead of myself. "Our last conversation was about telling his mother his plans. He was trying to get into a dance academy." She looked back at me. "He also wanted you back. I tried to tell you, Ashley, that sometimes people will look you in your eyes to convey the truth to you. He did love you."
I felt Mrs. Devon squeeze my shoulder, before it slid off –like water of wings. Erika's head cocked to the side. "Trying to throw me off my game is not going to happen, Beautiful."
"What are you really doing here?" I spat at her, as quietly as I could. Eyes were often more than not on us, standing up here, while the mourners who had not yet been seated found their seats. "You didn't even like Dennis."
"Neither did you for a while," she answered. "I came to make sure that you were alright."
I shook my head at her. "I pity you, Erika," I said. "You're crazy."
She laughed, demure, regally. "I'm the sanest person in this room, Ashley. You know it, I know it."
"I'd equate you to the Joker, but at least he knew he was insane," I muttered. "You're delusional. And your sense of right and wrong is murkier than a god damn mudslide."
"See," she sighed, "that's where you are wrong, Skywalker." She adjusted the red rose on her dress. "I'm well aware of what I'm doing. I'm no Martin Luther King Junior, but I'm willing to become this decade's King if the end justifies the means ."
"What end is that?" I asked her.
"Bringing down the Reds," she said. "In case you haven't noticed, it's working perfectly. Their stocks are down and Reece is nowhere to be found. His mother resigned, and it's only matter of time before everyone abandons ship."
"And Anna had to die why?" I barked.
She shrugged. "Can't make an omelet without cracking a few eggs." She paused. "Or maybe just one blonde bitchy egg." She shrugged her shoulders. "The metaphor still works, so whatever."
"What do you think is stopping me from telling everyone that you're behind Anna's death?" I said.
"Because they won't believe you?" she snorted. "It'll be OJ all over again, Beautiful. Whites vs Blacks. The black woman on tv defending the death of a black man accused of murdering some blonde entitled bimbo. And Ashley King, the fiancé, the traitor to the cause – a black man marrying a white one – has been sipping that sparkling cider that they offered him. He's sold his soul." She hummed. "I love my black people, but Jesus Lord do they love their conspiracy theories. The illuminati this, Bill Cosby couldn't do it since he was so nice on tv and the white devil is trying to bring down our black idols – Michael Jackson didn't do that to those kids the white devil is just trying to bring down our black idols they just love and eat up that bullshit."
"You're deifying yourself in a church?" I muttered. "How far gone are you, Erika?"
She blinked. "Far enough to never be saved, Mr. King."
Reece
"Maybe a tattoo can cover it up?" I asked Liza.
She stopped typing. "That's not possible. But makeup will do the trick."
"I can't believe Dec betrayed me," I whispered. I had at least sat up in bed. "He was my best friend."
"I'm your best friend, asshole," she muttered. "And I tolerated Declan because I thought he was harmless, if a little ignorant to anyone that didn't share his wealth."
"He is harmless," I said. "He's just a follower. And Preston is the new Supreme."
"Well go all Fiona on his ass and murder him before he gets a chance to 'surprise bitch' you," she said, before clearing her throat. "Metaphorically, speaking."
"I think he's already accomplished that," I replied, pointing to the kkk symbol engraved in my skin. Dark, and scabbed. It was purple and I was sure it would have gotten infected if Liza hadn't found me, curled up in a ball crying on the kitchen floor of my apartment.
She grimaced when she saw it. "If I were you, I'd explain this to Ashley as soon as possible, to avoid any miscommunication."
"He's at a funeral," I mumbled. "For his ex-boyfriend. I don't think now is the time to bitch about my problems to him, when he just lost someone he cared about."
"Maybe," Liza hummed. "Kenzie seems like he's in good shape, so my guess is Ashley might be too."
I raised a brow. "How would you know?"
She shrugged, but a small smile itched her lips. "We...talk sometimes, okay?"
I rested back on my elbows. "Y'all fucking?"
She slammed her laptop shut. "Yes, he eats me out like kimchi noodles, is that what you wanted to know?" she barked. I dry-heaved. "I didn't think so."
"You could have worded that so much better," I responded.
"I could've," she said. "But I don't really care, so." The smile fought its way back. "He's actually great guy once you get passed his liberal use of slurs, calling every girl he sees a big booty ho and calling me Jessica, for some reason."
"Don't forget the drugs."
Liza snapped her fingers. "Knew I was forgetting something."
I snorted. Then I sighed. "Maybe I should call him." I picked up my phone. "The press might be wondering why husbands-to-be aren't together."
Liza nodded slowly. "I've been getting questions about it all week," she noted. "I've spun so much, I'm dizzy."
I chuckled a bit. "I'll call."
She smiled. "Good."
"How much worse can it get anyway?"
Ashley
"Declan?"
"Hey," He retted, with a small smile. He looked dressed for a funeral. This funeral. "I'm sorry about Dennis."
We were in the middle of the walkway. The reverend had just finished his speech, and it was almost time for me to eulogize. "Why are you here?"
His small smile collapsed into a frown. "I'm here on behalf of Reece."
I folded my arms over my chest. "And why isn't he here himself?"
"He's been a bit busy," he said. "He's been burned by a few peple...advertisers pulling out and such and he needs to deal with that."
"Too busy to pick up a phone and call?" I barked at him
Declan raised his hand a bit. "I'm just the messenger," he said.
"And what message are you here to deliver, Gabriel?"
He sighed and pushed his hands into his pockets. "He fired his Mom after the death of Dennis. So-"
I stopped him. "The engagement is off."
"He wanted me to tell you that it's not personal," Declan said. "It's just a lot of tough decisions have to made. A few eggs need to be cracked to make this omelet."
I nodded; jaw clenched staring him in the face, instead of looking away. He looked like he wanted me to look anywhere but his face. Tough shit. "Message delivered. You can leave now."
He nodded. "Again, I'm sorry." He sighed and looked around. "But at least he didn't die in vain. The protests are kicking into high gear. The news stations are still covering it."
"Everyone's sorry," I replied. "It's a nice gesture."
He nodded, bowed a little and started for the door.
I in turn started to walk back to my seat, near the stage.
But then I stopped.
Omelets. Eggs.
I spun around. Men were closing the door, as Declan walked out. My eyes flew to Erika, who looked at me with a narrowed glint. She looked confused herself. Break Every Chain started to play. That was my cue to the pulpit. The three men in the suits guarded the door, hands locked in front of them. The song started to play louder and louder, until I could barely hear myself think.
Then a single man in the last row stood up, and walked into the middle of the aisle. Dom.
"Kenzie!" I shouted.
The first shot went into the air. The music was so loud that it had barley sounded like a clap. It wasn't until the second, the third, the fourth, the ninth, the eleventh shot was fired that people starts to react. Screaming finally overpowered the music loud enough for it to be stopped.
Benches were turned over, people started to scream.
I ran to the front of the church, where Kenzie had already begun to fire back, behind the first pew. "What the fuck!" I screeched. "What is Dom doing here?"
"The fuck should I Know?" he shouted back. "You lucky my boys here!" he screamed, trying to overpower the hysteria.
I wasn't breathing properly. My phone buzzed and scared me half to death. I threw it out of my pocket and watch as it slid toward the casket. Towards two feet. Mrs. Devon was covering Dennis's casket. I could hear her wailing from here as everyone screamed around the church.
"Mrs. Devon!" I shouted, but she would not hear me.
She stood there, cradled over her dead son, until a bullet struck her back. And then another. And then another and another. Until she crumbled to the floor, taking the casket down with her, Dennis spilling out on top of her.
I almost vomited, but held it as much of it as I could.
"We gotta get out of here," I mumbled to myself.
I dared to look back up over the pew, as Kenzie reloaded his pistol. For any exit that would allow us to get out of here.
But my eyes were torn away from looking for an exit when I saw Dom, with a silver pistol in his hand, slowly walking up the aisle to a woman. Erika.
"Erika!" I shouted. "Get the fuck down!"
Her hands were to her sides, fingers curled out, shaking slightly. She was in shock.
I stood up, but was immediately gripped back down by Kenzie. "Don't be a fucking idiot, bruh," he sneered. "She's dead!"
"No she's not," I bit and clawed myself from his grip.
"Ashley!" he shouted after me.
I ran down the hall, and ran and ran and ran and pushed Erika's dumb ass out of the way and then-