Chapter 1

Lorraine Miller walked into her kitchen and stopped. It wasn’t a conscious decision; instead, it was merely her reaction to realizing that there was something different about the room today even if, at first, she didn’t know what it was. Still, she snapped out of her favorite daydream, the one where she wasn’t a 34-year-old homemaker and stay-at-home mom but rather an independent and confident woman with a promising career as a lieutenant in the Navy. In that world, unlike in her actual reality, she had the respect, admiration and maybe even a little fear of her male coworkers. And they should be afraid. For in her own fantasy, Lorraine was the toughest, smartest, most creative, and independent out-of-the-box thinker of anyone in the Navy. She knew it, all the other officers and enlisted knew it, as did everyone else. In this daydream, the one in which she preferred to spend as much time as possible, Lorraine was on the fast track to leaving her current inferior co-workers, who both worshipped and hated her for being so much more talented than they were, behind and obtaining the level of four-star general before the end of her career. Unfortunately, that life was just a fantasy and not her reality. No, instead Lorraine’s reality was that she was a 34-year-old stay-at-home mom to her three children; Aaron, 14, Cheyenne, 8, and P.J., 2. She had a lovely, if not huge, home in the suburbs, and a fulfilling and yet sometimes screamingly boring life as a homemaker, stay-at-home mom, and good Christian wife. Still, there was something wrong with her kitchen today. Maybe it was her peripheral vision that caught it or maybe it was a whisper from her subconscious, which then transferred it to the motor control center of her brain. For Lorraine had crossed through the archway separating the hallway from the kitchen and stopped and, for a moment, just stood there. In a fraction of a second then, Lorraine’s brain seized on what was different with the room as she turned to gaze at the round wooden table that sat in the kitchen’s corner. For there, seated at Lorraine Miller’s kitchen table was a stranger. A large black man now sat at one of the chairs, with his feet up on the table and his skin darker than any Lorraine had ever seen before. While she had grown up in a mostly upper class, white community, Lorraine had plenty of exposure to black people. However, up until seeing this man, the black people Lorraine had met hadn’t really been black at all. Their skin had been really a dark brown color, the color that always reminded her of the earth, when you had dug down and removed the leaves and moss that covered it. The skin on this man reminded Lorraine of the ink that ran out of her pen, a sort of black that seemed to swallow up all the light so that it would never be seen again. His clothes, while appearing clean, all gave the impression of being frayed as if he had bought them at the secondhand clothes store or even the Salvation Army thrift shop.

Everything he wore was a light brown; a tan color that was almost comical in the way that he had ensconced himself in it from head to toe. His scruffy brown loafers which he wore with no socks were tan, as were the frazzled corduroy pants. The long-sleeved crew neck shirt, also tan of course, had a fuzzy look to it as if it was made of nothing more than sewed together clumps of lint. It also looked like it was about two sizes too small for the overweight man. Where it covered his ample frame, it appeared to be stretching to the point of bursting. Where it didn’t cover him, starting about 4 inches above the waistline to his pants, it revealed a midsection swathed in fat, from the overly large belly that hung over his belt in the front, to gigantic love handles hanging over the sides. Finally, on his head he wore a tan hat. It was one of those flat hats that Lorraine thought she had seen golfers wear when she and her husband sat and watched the golf tournaments on weekend TV. It had always reminded her of an Americanized version of the French Beret, those flat hats with the bill that sat under the top of the hat and the back part that stuck straight down so that the hat didn’t slide off a person’s head. The black man seated at her kitchen table now wore one of these as he sat in the chair closest to Lorraine. His legs were stuck out to the side so that he faced the counter at an angle and almost was pointed right into the corner of the kitchen. Still, Lorraine’s mind couldn’t process what she was seeing. Why was he here? What did he want and how should she react? Yet, before she could decide on a reaction, the black man turned and met her eyes with his own.

“Hi Mrs. Miller. How are you doing?” he said as he now rose out of the chair and stood to face her.

In response, Lorraine remained frozen, unable to think of what to say. She had so many questions for which she didn’t have answers; she was unable to pick which one she should ask. And so she just stood there as he rose and moved toward her and Lorraine noticed that he wasn’t very tall; in fact he appeared to be almost exactly the height of her own 5’5” frame. Now, as he continued to move towards her, he smiled and his charcoal black lips peeled back to reveal disgusting rows of putrid brown teeth surrounded by blackish pink gums.

“I’ll bet you’re wondering who I am and what I am doing here,” he said. “Well, let me tell you. My name is not important but if you have to call me something you can call me DeShawn. That’s one of those silly names that black people are naming themselves nowadays, isn’t it? I guess it’s supposed to make us feel more African somehow, as if we are embracing some bullshit heritage that none of us ever really had in the first place. As if any of us would ever want to go back and live on that wretched continent anyway. Now, as for what I’m doing here. Well, that’s going to take a bit more time for me to explain. So why don’t you sit down at the kitchen table and I’ll tell you exactly what’s going on.”

“My kids...” said Lorraine “they’re still out in the car.” She had completely forgotten about them, Cheyenne and P.J. They were still out in the car which was where she had put them as she prepared to take them with her while she went grocery shopping.

“Yes, they’re still out in the car” DeShawn answered back. The smile was gone from his face now and there was something on edge in the way he spoke. Lorraine could feel herself getting tense as if she was going to burst out and run straight for the front door. “Your kids, they’re still in your car, but your car’s not here. It’s gone, and with it your kids are gone too.”

Lorraine did move then, bolting for the front door and then for her car; it was a desperate attempt to make sure her babies were alright. Lorraine reached the front door and quickly flung it open and then in her haste to get outside she crashed into the still closed screen door. In the end, Lorraine didn’t need to go outside to see that her worst fears had come true and the man in her kitchen wasn’t lying. Her car wasn’t in her driveway and its absence meant that her two youngest children were also now gone ... This sent Lorraine into a full blown panic and she blindly struggled to open the screen door. She needed to get outside and chase after her children even if she didn’t have the slightest idea just where they had gone. Yet, before she could get the screen door opened, Lorraine was grabbed from behind and was then jerked away from inside the screen door. One of the black man’s hands reached down into the back of her shorts, grabbing a fistful of the jean material and also her panties while the other seized a handful of her shoulder length light blond hair. The roots in Lorraine’s scalp now sang out in pain as her head was jerked back as he also yanked on her panties sending the fabric of both that and her shorts up into her ass. DeShawn then jerked her away from inside the screen door. He then shoved her down the hallway and back towards the kitchen

“Let me ask you a question, Lorraine”. DeShawn said. “Can I call you Lorraine?”

Lorraine remained silent as she now stood in the hall; DeShawn had shoved her so hard that she had almost fell to the floor. Lorraine’s sense was returning even as she remained in a panic and somehow, she found the wherewithal to answer his question.

“Please ... my babies. What ... what have you done with them? Please ... please give them back.

While she hadn’t answered the question DeShawn continued as if she had.

“Wow, that’s pretty informal of you considering we just met a few minutes ago.” DeShawn now said as he began to walk towards her.

“You want your babies back and you’re going to get them back if you do everything I say. So, let’s go back in the kitchen and I’ll answer all your questions. All that’s going to happen is we’re going to play a little game. That’s it. You play the game and you get your kids back. It is as simple as that”.

DeShawn let out a little chuckle as he made this last statement.

“Now go sit at the kitchen table” he said firmly and pointing with his right hand toward the kitchen.

Lorraine continued “Please I...”

“Do you want me to kill your babies?” DeShawn said. He was almost next to her now and the angry fire in his eyes and the steel tension of his jaw showed Lorraine nothing human. There was no indication of any compassion or conscience.

@@”What...? I...” Lorraine found herself unable to speak. Although her mind had time to adjust to the dangerous situation she and her kids were in, she still needed more than a few seconds to wrap her brain arounds questions such as did she want her children murdered.

“Come on you dumb bitch. It’s a simple question. Do you want me to kill your babies? You either say yes I do want you to kill my babies or you say no I don’t want you to kill my babies. Now which is it going to be??”

Lorraine was struck dumb. Unable to speak she could only make a small murmur. “Bu ... Bu ... Bu...”

“Uh-buh, Uh-buh, Uh-buh” DeShawn said now both mocking and mimicking her. “Listen to me you worthless hole. Unless the next words out of your mouth are I don’t want you to kill my babies you’re going to be the proud mother of two living children instead of three. Now, what’s it going to be?”