Grey Blood Series

GREY BLOOD SERIES

Book I: Fate of Concealment

BY

TAYLOR SIDNEY

Copyright © 2001 by Taylor Sidney

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author.

ISBN: 0-7596-0593-9 (E-book)

ISBN: 0-7596-0594-7 (Paperback)

ISBN-13: 978-0-7596-0593-0 (ebook)

1stBooks-rev. 12/03/04

Contents

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

DREAMS OF YEARS GONE BY

FOR LOVE

NATURES’ BEAUTIFUL THINGS

GREY BLOOD

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

To Ket, Alf, Leroy, Gladys and Mama.

I appreciated all of your love and understanding. Also, for teaching me that perseverance and hard work do pay off. I know all of you will always be with me through the hard times of developing this series, if only in spirit. Although you will forever be in my heart, I will always cherish your memories.

TS

The bus ride seemed forever.

Chill-dripping rain with traces of snowflakes pattered against the foggy windows as tree branches beat the sides of the bus. It appeared as if we were taking a massive roller coaster ride. The roads seemed deserted with nothing in sight but darkness. Just huge masses of darkness.

The brakes shrieked loudly as the bus finally came to a complete stop. The blood circulating in my hands and feet had almost stopped due to restriction.

All right, everyone stand, she said, which was all I could do along with the others. With some assistance, I was, along with the others, led off of the bus. As we disembarked from the bus, a burst of cold wind went up my spine like a snake in heat. I had a tingling sensation all over my body and I could see the chill bumps on my arms. There was a large metal sign outside the building that read, Westcal State Women’s Prison. They escorted us into a large dingy gray building with huge steel doors and windows of stripe. The removal of the devices from my hands and feet made movement slightly easier at that point. The sound of the clamoring steel doors echoed down the hall as each shut behind the other.

With a guard on each side, I felt as if I was being dragged rather than walked down the hall. We went through so many doors that I lost count. We came to an open entrance that looked like never-ending bars. Open cell 27, the guard yelled.

The stench of rust and old building funk surrounded the place, This is where you will be; you’ll get the rest of your things tomorrow, said the other guard.

As I entered the cell the other occupant stared coldly. She was a big (both vertically and horizontally) ugly woman with the largest set of endowments that God could attach to a woman’s chest, neither the same size, I might add. She slowly approached me. It appeared as if she had been beaten so many times, her face disfigured until her eyes were moving in opposite directions.

You can take the upper bunk kid. By the way, my name is Maude. What’s yours? she said.

I’m, I’m Fuay, I answered.

She slowly handed me a small tin cup. Here kid, you look like you could use a cup of coffee, Maude said. I took the cup and slowly drank the coffee, for it was the first warm thing to enter my body in days; not that we weren’t fed on the bus, I just wasn’t hungry.

What are you in here for? Maude asked.

I couldn’t make myself reply. Now, you take me. I’m here for attempting to kill my old man or at least that’s what they say. They got no proof that I did anything. Is it my fault that a pot of boiling hot water mixed with sugar fell on him after he had beaten the daylights out of me? she asked sheepishly, smiling.

I felt tempted to laugh, although there was nothing funny about scalding someone.

Now kid, how about you, what did you do? Maude asked again.

I’m here, ah, I don’t want to talk about it.

Sure kid, but in due time you’ll talk; they all do.

It seemed as if time was standing still. As I finished my coffee, I thanked her and lay down across the bed. Days went by as I wondered to myself, what would have happened had I pleaded temporary insanity to the charges? I, I couldn’t let my true feelings be unveiled. Everything seemed to have backfired in my face.

Who would have thought I’d be sitting here waiting at death’s door? I’m so scared. I hoped God could find it in his heart to forgive me, I felt the need to tell someone my story. Maybe Maude was right. What harm could it do to tell her? After all, they had already convicted me.

Several days went by before I finally had enough courage to talk to Maude. Once the guard announced lock-up, I knew that was the time to tell her. I was slowly going out of my mind and I had to tell someone. Maude had been listening to her radio.

Maude, as I tapped her on the shoulder. I would like to talk to you; I want to tell you about, well, about why I’m here. But you have to promise not to say anything until I’m finished, I said, She nodded her head up and down and slowly removed the earphones from her ears. She looked at me attentively while one eye focused on me and the other, well, who knows where it was focused? It appeared as if she really wanted to hear what I had to say. I slowly cleared my throat and began to talk… .

It all started many years ago in the small county of Muran, Georgia with the death of my mother. It was a quaint little area that was almost like a city without all the problems of a city. Yet it was filled with old grandiose magnolia trees and surrounded by luscious green hills. Anyway, that was then and this is now. My real father died when I was nine years old. I never really got to know him. He was never home that much but mother always said that he was a good and gentle man. He left her his only worldly possessions, the land and the house we stayed in.

Mother remarried two years after his death. The man she married became my stepfather. I guess you could say he was the only father that I ever knew. He was horrible! He was a TFU man. You know; tall, fat and ugly. When she died it seemed as if my entire world fell apart. I had big dreams of being an actress. My dreams included making lots of money. My mother and stepfather would fight all the time, day and night.

She worked so hard all of her life trying to please him. I remember one day in December when he had been drinking all day. He asked her, Is dinner ready yet? She replied, No. He proceeded to ask her, What the hell have you been doing all day?

I just got off from work; you know that. Just as soon as I get undressed and change clothes, I will fix your dinner.

I don’t want you to fix me a damn thing. All I want you to do is get your things and get out of here, he said, as he forcefully kicked her on the leg and shoved her to the floor.

Mother braced herself against the floor slowly getting up with my assistance. She stared at him as if he was a vision of the slime of the earth. She then hopped to the bedroom and slammed the door. I ran after her but there wasn’t much I could do.

I became so worried, Where would we go? It’s snowing outside. God please let him stop cursing at her.

Well my prayers were not answered. She was packing her bags when he burst in, pushed me out of the way and asked her if she was really going to leave. She replied, Yes, even though it was her house.

Somehow I knew in his own way, he was trying to apologize. But I believe she had enough of him and his vicious and wicked ways.

She did leave but I didn’t go with her. She asked me to stay with my other brothers and sisters. I went to bed that night with tears in my eyes. I wondered if she was all right and where she would go. This also upset my grandfather, who lived with us because she was his only daughter. I gave my grandfather a big hug and told him everything would be all right.

He stated, I’ll be so glad when we have a house of our own. I couldn’t agree with him more; that way no one could tell us to get out. Well, two days went by and no word from mother. My stepfather even went out looking for her.

Two more days went by and she finally called and told us she was staying with a friend. My stepfather was so relieved. He even asked her to come back home and she said she would.

Things went on like this over the years; the shoving, fighting and cursing all night until the break of dawn. Finally, I guess God got tired of seeing her being abused. I could remember many times when my stepfather, particularly when he had liquor on his breath, would beat her and then later apologized, She would always accept him back as if nothing had happened. Every time I think about her, I get so angray because I wonder had she not gone back to him would she be alive today. She was always submissive to him. I guess she knew she was no match even when trying to fight back.

I guess one always wonders about these thing’s only after something tragic happens. I could remember as if it was yesterday. It is still hard for me to imagine that she’s really gone and not coming back. Sometimes, I would wake up in the morning and hear a noise and think to myself that it’s her making breakfast.

But it would later hit me that it is just my brother in the kitchen trying to make breakfast. You know, I have to wonder to myself if I had helped more with the chores, would she be alive today or would things at least be different. Would that have lightened the load on her? She died on a cold, rainy day. No one would have guessed this sort of thing would have happened.

That morning she had gotten up early and fixed everyone’s breakfast. She and stepfather were getting along just fine. It was her day off and she had decided to do some cleaning. Do you need any help? I asked. Maybe I could stay home from school and give you a hand with some of the chores. You know those tables can be awfully heavy.

You go to school and get your education, I’ll be just fine. Besides, those items that I can’t move, I’ll just clean-up around them, she said.

But mom, I really should stay and help you, I pleaded with her repeatedly.

No buts, now off to school, she said.

So there I was off to school with my lunch and books. After lunch, my fifth period class was study hall. I decided to go to the library and finish my homework for my sixth period science class. I thought it was the most beneficial of all my classes. Why, I don’t know.

There was something about the moon, the stars, and the planets that seemed to have always interested me. Anyway, while I was in the library, I fell asleep. When I woke up, my sixth period class had started. I raced down the hall-way. When

I got to the classroom door, I eased in the classroom and took a seat in the back of the room. Mr. Moore saw me.

He replied, Why are you late for class?

I hesitated for a moment and then admitted that I had fallen asleep in the library.

Where is your homework assignment? he asked with a sharp tone in his voice.

I haven’t finished it, sir.

You know that you will receive an f for not having your assignment, he snapped.

I sat motionless in the seat while the rest of the class just stared at me. Once the bell rang, I went up to talk with Mr. Moore. He told me he didn’t have time to talk with me because he had a meeting to attend. He then proceeded to pack his briefcase and walk briskly out of the room. With a burning wet sensation in my eyes, I slowly left the classroom.

Tomorrow wasn’t promised to me the way I thought. I went to my locker and got the rest of my books. On the way home, I thought to myself how fortunate I was to be blessed with both a mother and stepfather. There were so many children at my school that had neither mother, father or step-parents. Wasn’t that terrible?

As I walked on, I noticed the sky was getting dark, not like it was going to rain but like a gloomy day. It was as if the sky was sad. The more I walked, the more I could feel a chill crawling up my back.

An ambulance passed by me, I wondered where it could be going. I saw it turn into a driveway; that driveway was mine. I began to run as fast as I could. When I got to the house, they were bringing someone out on a stretcher, but they had the face covered with a sheet. Oh! My God, who is it?

One of the ambulance attendants asked me to step aside. Who is it, tell me, who is it? I raced through the house looking for mother. She was nowhere to be found. I kept calling her name but I couldn’t find her. I had a faint sensation all over my body; suddenly one of the neighbors grabbed me and hugged me. She told me there were some things I was going to have to face.

My body was shaking and I couldn’t stop the tears from falling. She asked me, What is your stepfather’s work number? I replied, Is she going to die? not realizing that she was already dead. She asked me again, What is your stepfather’s work number? I replied, I don’t feel well. After that, I could see nothing but blackness. By then my stepfather had come home. Someone had already called him.

I could vaguely hear him talking with one of the attendants. The attendant told him to let me sleep. I was hoping this was all just a bad dream or some type of nightmare. When I woke up, it wasn’t a dream or a nightmare.

My worst fear of losing the one person that meant so much to me had come true. The rest of the family was just as hysterical as I was. None of us could believe it, She was gone forever.

My grandfather made us wear black to school for six weeks. He stated that was the proper time of mourning. I really didn’t understand what he meant but nothing seemed to matter anymore. Somehow I felt I was to blame, even though she died from an aneurysm.

Months went by, and yes, the pain seemed to have let up a little, but not much. I wondered to myself, now who would I confide in? Who would I talk to when I was in trouble? Certainly not my stepfather. I could tell my sister, Jomese, was feeling the same way. We grew closer to each other because we had no one else to lean on but each other. Sure, I have an older sister but she is married and had her own family to take care of.

My brothers, well, boys sometimes just don’t show their emotions. I’m sure this had upset them just as much as it had us. But for some reason there was a special bond between Jomese and me. When we were upset, we would cry together and hold each other. As we both grew older, our interest in boys grew even more.

Since mother was not there to talk to or to tell us things about growing up such as boys, sex, or even marriage, we would read books and try to tell each other. It was sort of like the blind leading the blind, but it was the best we could do.

We took turns with the housework and the cooking. We both hated cooking and I especially hated ironing. My stepfather would sometimes cry at night with the door closed to his bedroom. We would listen and feel sorry for the days when we would complain about the housework. We knew he was doing the best he could. He would even work overtime to make extra money for the family.

Some days I would sit on the back porch step and just cry because I missed mother so much. I would wonder over and over again why God took her away from me. I tried so hard to be a good girl. Making sure that I went to church every Sunday, I just wanted an answer, Why?

My grades in school were pretty good. I could remember how much having a good education meant to her, so I was determined to do well so she would be proud of me. But then I would think to myself, What good would it do because she wouldn’t be here to see the good work I was doing. I don’t know, my moods seemed to change every minute. One minute I’d be very happy and the next I’d be very sad. I hoped one day all of this would change.

Well, the years went by and things did change. I began to think less of the pain of my earlier years of growing up and more on my academic performance in school.

I had just been promoted to the eleventh grade when tragedy struck again. This time, it was my grandfather. For some reason ever since the death of my mother, he had never been well again.

There was always something wrong with him. I’m sure he missed his daughter as much as the rest of the family. But he always tried to be brave, not showing his feelings. He knew the rest of the family depended on him.

My stepfather seemed to have grown bitter toward my grandfather. He confused me at times. One minute he was nice to him and the next, very mean to him, sometimes even telling him to get out, knowing full well there was no way he could get out. After all, where would he go? He was old.

I could remember times when my stepfather would want to fight grandfather, but I was always there to stop him. There was no way I would let him hit him, even though one night, he slapped me so hard for interfering that the ring he was wearing caused such a gash on the left cheekbone of my face that blood splashed everywhere.

Grandfather’s health seemed to go bad on him. He was having breathing problems one night. He hurriedly called out my name, Fuay, Fuay, please help me.

I called an ambulance for him, but they took their time coming or maybe I didn’t give them good instructions on how to get to the house. Anyway, when they finally arrived, he was taken immediately to the local hospital. We followed in a neighbor’s car because we couldn’t afford a car, even though I knew how to drive.

The doctor said grandfather would have to spend some time in the hospital. He didn’t specify how much time. Well, I spent almost every other day calling him or praying for him at the church, hoping that he would get well and come back home where he belonged.

It seemed as if God was taking all the good people in my family away from me and leaving the ones that were causing all the trouble, like my stepfather. Heaven knows that God could have taken him and I wouldn’t have minded a bit. No, that’s not true and I know it. No matter what he had done, I would always love him just as much as I did my mother. But why couldn’t he change? Why couldn’t he become a nice person?

The doctor gave me some good news; he said that my grandfather was coming home within a week. I was so happy that I couldn’t wait to tell Jomese and the rest of the family the good news. Since I had science for the sixth period, just once, I would sneak home early. I’d have to think of some explanation to give my stepfather as to why I was home so early and answered the phone. I decided to tell him I had called the hospital and talked with grandfather’s doctor and he gave me the news he was coming home.

That night I was so happy I got down on my knees and thanked God a thousand times over for the news that grandfather was coming home.

I told God I would wait on grandfather hand and foot if He promised not to ever let him get sick again.

When he came home, I was very careful not to let anything upset him.

I would make up happy stories just for him. But it happened again: not only did the shortage of breath return but he was having problems trying to walk. I became so frightened and scared for him. He told me to promise him that I would not let him be taken back to the hospital but it was out of my hands. I begged my stepfather not to send him back but he said it was in his best interest.

I wondered about that sometimes, whose best interest-grandfather’s or his. After all, Stepfather was already receiving government money to take care of us due to mother’s death. He was probably glad to see him go. Well, I had already talked with God and He promised me that he would be all right. Saturday, my two sisters and I went to see him in the hospital. You know, he was looking just fine and he even had a chance to talk with us. I told him how much we missed him.

I asked him, Grandpa, how are you doing?

He said, Much better than before.

I wanted to talk further with him but I could tell that he didn’t have the strength to carry on a conversation with me. When it was time for us to leave, my eyes were red and burning, tears came to my eyes for I knew he wasn’t happy. I knew he just trying to pretend for our sake just as we were pretending for his sake.

The days seemed like years without him at home. A few days before Christmas with snow on the ground, the phone rang early one morning. My sister answered the phone while the rest of us remained in our beds.

She went to my stepfather’s bedroom first and told him that grandfather’s doctor wanted to talk with him. When he put the phone down he asked all of us to assemble in the living room. He stated grandfather had died earlier that morning in his sleep. He said the doctor could find no reason for his death other than natural causes.

I went back to bed and cried myself to sleep because I knew the real reason for his death. I felt he died of a broken heart because we had left him in the hospital when he begged us