Sweet Endings - Part II

When I arrived at the condo, I was pleased to see the renovations that I had followed via email and through the online system for the past few months. I wanted to come a few weeks prior to my hasty arrival for a quick rejuvenation but my schedule would not allow it. When I entered my foyer, I was again pleased to see fresh flowers and smell the fresh scent of linen. It’s always refreshing to know that the services and amenities that you pay for are available, and not contingent on your presence.


This particular residence has always been a source of escape and calm for me. Its open spaces allow for a bright and airy feel and most importantly, it offered a gorgeous view of the Atlantic Ocean. And this Atlantic Ocean looks and feels so much more inviting than the one up north. This ocean, blue, green and warm always welcomed my body into its vast abundance. I had given up my fear of sea animals simply to spend hours floating on my back staring at the sky and thinking about nothing other than the rhythmic motion of the ocean around me. Stung by jelly fish and nibbled on by small fish, I still treasured each moment in this ocean, among others around the world.

I made a quick call to my hair stylist and was lucky to get an appointment for later in the afternoon. I showered, moisturized and ventured out. I decided to head to David’s Café to grab a lunch before heading to the do some shopping. Two hours of retail therapy, 6 purchases and delivery instructions later, I left for my salon appointment. My goal was to reinvent myself; a new color, something dramatic, to get noticed. I arrived about fifteen minutes early for my appointment and had a few moments to look through the digital album which boasted thousands of cuts, colors and styles for clients to choose from. Before I could decide, I was being escorted to the wash station.

As the assistant washed and massaged my scalp, I remembered the first time I came to Miami. I was 25 and three weeks away from graduating with a dual undergraduate degree in Economics and Organizational Development. I had arrived very much in the fashion that I arrived this morning; fleeing, after committing murder. I let out a small laugh at the irony of my current situation. I closed my eyes tighter and recalled that spring day that changed the trajectory of my life and erased the two people that I loved deeply. He was my husband, she was my daughter. My name was Lacey Monroe and I lived with my husband and daughter in Southern California. We had a great life, or so I thought. On this specific day, I wanted to thank my family; my husband of 5 years for supporting and encouraging me as I pursued and met my educational goals, and my 3 year old daughter who loved my unconditionally and enhanced my ability to comprehend true love. I left the university library early, headed to the market and picked up the items for my family’s favorite meals. I even brought decorations and balloons for my princess and a bottle of wine for later with my king.

I remember feeling blessed, like the luckiest girl in the world. My thoughts, interrupted by the transition to the next station fast forwarded to my first visit to Miami after my blessed life in California came to a crashing end. It was warm and the air was thick when I arrived that first time. I navigated through the airport to the cab stand quickly I had no bags; not even a wallet, only cash and my identification. The cab driver was a sexy Cuban, with strong, wide shoulders, my weakness. His accent was thick, and I responded that my destination was his bed, when he asked. Not expecting the response, he stammered, then he accepted my offer. I only remember the smells, the colors, the sweat and the $4000 cash and handgun I’d obtained from that night. The next morning, I walked along the beach, still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, searching for a spot to sit and think.

I had serious decisions to make about my future, once so promising and vast, it now felt empty and honestly, it felt over. I would never be the same person, literally, I would never, ever be Lacy again. She was dead and could never be revived. My experiences make me, and me, I don’t want to be. At that moment, I knew that I could not think about the events of three days ago often, I would need to bury those memories and all memories of my past to move on. What moving on looked like, I was not sure, but as long as I had freedom and breath, I had to somehow press on. At this moment, a light breeze pushed past me, the sky growled and the rain fell. I imagined that God recognized my sorrow and pain and was granting me the opportunity to bury my past in my tears and prayers.

As I prayed aloud, I replayed the events of three days ago. When I approached the house, I immediately became nervous when I saw hubby’s car in the driveway, but quickly shook it off, as he hadn’t mentioned anything. When I entered the house, I noticed how quiet it was and assumed he was sleeping. I began to unpack the groceries, and stopped mid-way to check on him. As I approached our bedroom, I did so silently, so as to not disturb him. I open the door slowly and saw movement in the reflection in the mirror. I turned towards the movement and watch in horror as my husband sexually molested our daughter. My movements, like those of a robot, directed me to the kitchen. I grabbed the knife that I would have used later to cook dinner. I returned to the master bedroom, still motivated by an unknown force, I opened the door on the most heartbreaking sight I have ever experienced. Mechanical movements of my body proceeded to stab her father until my arms hurt. In my rage, I didn’t anticipate the weight from my attack upon him would result in not only him succumbing to death, but also my daughter. The weight and force were too much for my child to bear and when I rolled him off of my daughter, she was not breathing.

Her face, my baby; out loud I screamed for my daughters entry into heaven, for safe delivery of her soul, for her peace. I blamed myself because how could I not know. Had she tried to tell me? Did she not know this was wrong? My baby, I screamed for her to come back to me, for me to be delivered to her. My first-born, so lovely, always beautiful, so inquisitive, happy and funny. I thought I knew love when I met her father, but she taught me heart and engaged my soul. She is my heart, my girl, I will love her forever. The rain stopped and I soon learned that Miami presented opportunities for spiritual cleaning a few times a day. The humid air began to suffocate me so I stood, stretched and took the first steps into my new life.

Fraudulent passport, state identification and degree later, I was in Houston, Texas practicing my new identity as Janelle Pickard. Janelle was slightly younger and adventurous, fueled by a dangerous combination of fearlessness, anger, ambition and adrenaline; I was ready to embark on the ultimate do-over. I was brought back to reality by my stylist, she was telling me that she was finished. In the mirror, I stared at my straight black hair, my sharp bangs and shoulder length cut. The black color was another first, I always thought it would drain my complexion, I was wrong. It was perfection, sitting right there on my head. I paid and tipped well, then headed home to calculate my next moves. Unlike my first time in Miami, I have money, connections and options.