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WHEN ANGELS BLEED & DEVILS LIE

AuthorHouse

Chapter One

The city was dead with sleep. Souls were drowned in the ocean of slumber. The street lights emitted a faint glow, only enough to illuminate the blind corners of the gravel pavement. The moon bloomed in the darkness of the night. Buds of stars grew from the petals of the night sky. Nocturnal Harlem was more active than any other city in the United States of America. The policeman on petrol was ever vigilant in this city where illegal activities thrived. Apprehending a thief in the city was as tedious as finding a needle in a haystack. Nevertheless, the Harlem Police Force has been commended and awarded many a time for being the Most Effective Police Force in America. As the policeman walked past a streetlight, a pair of eyes followed his shadow until it disappeared around a corner.

A sports car, as dark as the night, drew up beside him. He was dragged in and soon, found himself being scrutinized by several pairs of eyes around him. The dimly lit car comprised of a few people. He recognized a handful of them but there were new faces. In the ever-versatile environment, change was an inevitable constant. The pristine faces, which were as pure as white milk, could be the very faces to appear on the obituary page of the Harlem New Paper the next day.

"Where is Eliza?" he inquired in consternation as he searched the ring of faces for the most important person, Eliza Genre. Eliza Genre was the leader of the opposition party in Harlem. Harlem, a city stricken by extreme poverty and rocked by waves of severe climate change, was ruled by iron-fisted rulers who displayed no interest in the welfare of the common people. Instead, they were consumed in their political self interests and became wealthier as the poor became more destitute by the minute. Their rules were always in proud favour of their abhorrent motto "Justice shall Prevail". Their idea of justice was one in which bribery and slavery could thrive. There was no peace. There was disharmony and the people were living in utter disillusionment.

These corrupt barons were threatened by the very presence of Eliza Genre. She bore the immense agony of the ruthless actions of the barons. Her parents were both sold into slavery and she had to flee from her house to escape from the cruel clutches of fate. She resented these government officials, who were more than frauds. She was appalled by the people's inability to make the right decision when the first ever democratic elections were held two years ago. When the "All People's Party" won, Eliza was outraged and instantaneously created her own party, titled the "Party of the Poor". The moment she commenced the party proceedings, the party had received excessive publicity from the press and Eliza seized this golden opportunity to make her policies known.

He looked around the car at the circle of faces swivelling around him. There was no Eliza Genre. He turned to one corner and Alas! She was seated there in silence. That was bizarre and so very uncharacteristic of Eliza, who was outspoken and could never be muted, not even by the barons.

"Eliza?" he asked once again, his hand groping for hers. Another man seated next to him stopped him and said "That is not the real Eliza Genre. She is Stephanie James. Her appearance resembles that of the real Eliza. We have received news of rumours circulating about a possible assassination attempt on Eliza by the government officials of the "All People's Party". The incident should take place over the next few days. However, we are not taking any risks. All essential precautionary measures have been taken to ensure the safety of Eliza Genre ..."

As the name Eliza Genre was being repeated several times over, the young man's thoughts drifted away.

It was Christmas Day during the bitter winter. I will never forget this particular Christmas for the rest of my life. I had just turned twelve on the very eve of Christmas. However, it was not like other lavish birthdays regular twelve year-olds enjoy. There were no presents except the cupcake my grandmother had bought from the pastry store across the street. There were neither festive lights nor were there any Christmas trees or carols which resonated in other houses. All I was grateful for was having a roof over my head. My father had walked out on my mother a few days ago. They could barely make ends meet. Frequent quarrels and arguments made my parents the cat and the dog of the neighbourhood.

My father was a mere chimney sweep and he blatantly squandered the few measly dollars he earned each day on booze. The booze that retained his sanity, my mother would often remark. He would return home late each night and sink into the armchair in the living room. He would do everything as silently and as stealthily as possible, but nothing could get past my mother, who was as sharp as an eagle. (I should know, smuggling titbits from the kitchen would leave me grounded for a week no matter how hard I tried.) My mother would then come out of her bedroom and began yelling at my father who would whine and groan, still snuggled up in his armchair. "You are useless", my mother would end her lecture and that always tipped my daddy off. He would rise and rebuke her with obscene words even I struggled to comprehend. Whenever I saw this happening, I would hide under my blanket and recite a silent prayer from the Bible to restore peace in my family. Yet, the squabbles persisted. Sometimes, I would whimper as I wondered why my parents could not simply stop fighting and just sit down to resolve their struggles. It was a war of words every night, something I personally resented. Everything ended when my daddy left the house for good. Each time I looked at the door, there was renewed hope that he would come in for Christmas but the devious door ferried everyone in except my daddy.

On Christmas Day, my mother told me to pack my things. She was locking all windows, emptying drawers and stacking all the china in her torn When Angels Bleed and Devils Lie and tattered bag. Everything was very abrupt and soon, I found myself tearing down the posters of Abraham Lincoln and stuffing records of Aretha Franklin into my haversack. "What's happening Mama?" I asked. "Just pack up your things honey, they are coming" she snapped. "Who Mama? What are they going to do?" I asked insistently. "Honey, stop asking so many questions. Just pack up, hurry!" she replied hesitantly. I could sense that something was awfully amiss, but I could not lay a finger on it. As we left the house, my mother locked up the door. She went to the corner of the road to flag a cab but on Christmas Day, getting a taxi was as good as finding a billion dollar bill on the pavement. "Look after these luggages honey while Mama gets us a cab" she instructed me. She walked further and further till I lost sight of her shadow. It was mid-morning when she left and I was left standing there with the luggage to keep my company.

A few hours later, I saw a police car and an ambulance across the street. What had happened? I wondered. Curiosity got the better of me and I rushed to the vicinity. A stretcher with a white sheet placed over it was being carried across. People all around me were lowering their hats. Who was that underneath that sheet? I...