The Dark Sister


(c) 2016 Jnaha

“Darkeesha, Darkeesha, you so ugly the boogeyman is scared of you!”

“Dark and Ugly, bring your butt over here.”

“Yo Darkie, pass me the ball.”

These were some of the kinder comments that Lovely was forced to hear at home, at school and at church. She couldn’t escape the enemies of her skin tone. Her siblings were always the meanest and cruelest with their rude remarks.

She couldn’t help it that she was so black. She couldn’t stand the fact that her 3 sisters and 2 brothers were at least five shades lighter than her. Her mama was fair skinned and her daddy, the color of blackened coffee. That’s who Lovely got her complexion from.

She loved her skin tone, though she wished those around her wouldn’t give her such a hard time about it. She had been picked on for as long as she could remember, and has grown skin as thick as steel, for the barrage of insults she faced daily. Her coping mechanism was silence. She said nothing to her attackers, not even in her own defense. She’d go quiet though her eyes couldn’t hold water. She hated them all. Wished them all a lifetime full of the same cruelty that they’d dished her.

“How come you never say nothing back to them Love.” Sister Bell was the nicest of the siblings. Only two years younger than Lovely, she saw how bad those mean words affected Lovely. But her being only 10 years of age, there was little she could do to help her big sister. She didn’t know any better, so she joined her siblings when they teased Lovely, until Bell noticed Lovely leave the room, or bow her head.

“Why YOU never say nothing?” Lovely fired back at Bell.

“Because I am just a kid. What am I supposed to say? Besides, they’re teasing you, not me.”

“Don’t make it right. You know they’re just going to keep at it if I even try to speak up against one of them. But that’s alright. I will get them all back.”

Lovely held true to that promise. When she was old enough, she moved out of her mama’s house. She was 17 ½ when she emancipated herself, moving in with her Italian boyfriend. She never introduced him to her family, and she had only met one of Tyler’s three brothers.

Two weeks into moving in with Tyler, Lovely began plotting her revenge, starting with her family.  She befriended her oldest sister’s boyfriend, TyQuan. He was the neighborhood weed man, which is how she was able to get close to him. Layelle gave her sister TyQuan’s phone number. Lovely slept with TyQuan a month later, then she sent Layelle a long and detailed letter, explaining why she did what she did. She made sure to remind Layelle of the hateful “darkie” days and the childhood bullying. She was also sure to emphasize her deep hatred and dislike for her sister.

On her other sister Lakeisha, Lovely played the darkest trick of all. When Lakeisha’s boyfriend went MIA for two days straight, she started calling around, looking for him. When she called Lovely, she was told, maybe JT had left her for the dark-skinned neighbor who she saw JT with last week. Lovely hadn’t really seen JT with the neighbor, she just wanted to play with Lakeisha’s head.

“What are you going to do about that Sis? I know you are not going to let him play you for a darkie?” Lovely instigated.

“Oh, if he wants that burnt skillet, he can have her. I bet you he won’t get no more of this!” She slammed the phone down, leaving Lovely with the dial tone.

Lakeisha left JT the second he wandered back home. She didn’t even allow him the opportunity to explain to her, how he got pulled over a few days ago, was arrested for violation of a stay away, and couldn’t get through when he tried calling her. Lovely never told Lakeisha the truth, and Lakeisha never took JT back. He eventually moved on with his life, and is now married with kids.

Lovely sabotaged both of her brothers’ relationships, with each of their girlfriends, by lying to both women, that Tay and Jay were cheating on them with the same woman. She even went so far as to secretly hook one brother up with her most sexual friend, who then slept with her other brother by a twist of uninitiated fate. To this day, her brothers have no clue that she masterminded the destruction of their partnerships/relationships.

It would be another five years, before Lovely would avenge her childhood against her high school classmates. The meanest ones still living and reachable, Lovely concocted a plot to gather them all together for a 10-year high school reunion rehearsal. When all 10 of her nemesis showed up, she locked everyone in a large room with a movie projector, playing for each of them, the evolution of their lives. Lovely was very clever in her research of finding out as many detrimental secrets as she could about each and every one of them, creating the mass video that they were forced to see.

One of the football jocks secretly cross dressed, while the librarian of the crew was secretly a very high paid escort. One classmate was a woman beater, while another was a heavy drug abuser who also happened to be the local church treasurer.

When the embarrassing video was over, Lovely unlocked the conference room, before safely escaping to her car and peeling off. All 10 of her ex classmates blew her cellphone up with hateful text messages and voicemail messages.

They’d hate her even more when they learned that she had also live streamed the entire scene, to social media. Oh, well, she’d be long gone by then. Off to the next state, to flee the wrath of her enemies.

She had yet to hear what the church had to say about the newspaper article that came out about them, siting the pastors abuse of power, as well as the written tithe requirement which had been forced upon the congregation.  There was a detailed account of the treasurers’ theft of church funds, along with pictures and text messages revealing the pastor’s affair with the deacon.

Lovely was racking up enemies like a morgue racked up dead bodies. She didn’t care though. They didn’t care that they had long ago created an enemy in Lovely, by their lack of tact and respect for her dark-skinned tone.

The wrath of a woman scorn, was the ultimate fate for Lovely’s closeted racist boyfriend Tyler. You see, Tyler only wanted to be with Lovely to fulfill his own sick and sinister fetish, of screwing a “N*gger b*tch.” Every chance he got, he’d call her the disgusting epithet, regardless of the consequences. This began about one year into their 10-year relationship. She’d broken up with him so many times, to the point that now she has her own apartment.

The last straw was a telephone conversation she’d overheard Tyler having with his father, last week. He wasn’t aware that she’d walked in.

“But Dad, that’s my “N*gger b*tch”. I know y’all hate her and that mom would love nothing more than to see her lynched from the closest tree, but she cleans well, and she’s a decent cook. She doesn’t do a bunch of talking, and laughs at all of my subliminal jokes.”

She couldn’t hear Tyler’s father’s reply, only Tyler’s response to it. “Ok. Ok. Give me two weeks and I’ll get rid of her,” shouted Tyler.

Lovely eased out of the kitchen before he could notice her. She didn’t cry, nor was she mad. By the time she arrived at her home office on the 2nd floor, she was laughing hysterically. She laughed for a good five minutes straight before she began plotting the plan.

“That Cracka will live to regret the day he chose me.”

Part ll.

“Lovely baby. You home?” Tyler hadn’t seen or spoken to his wife in seven whole days. She wasn’t responding to the many text messages he sent, and her calls were going straight to voicemail. He decided to drive over to her place to check on her, using the spare key that he knew she had hidden under the flower pot outside the back door.

Not that Tyler missed Lovely, he just needed to account for her, since her job, her coworkers, and her friends, had been calling him to learn of her whereabouts. Apparently, Lovely stopped showing up for work and stopped making contact with her friends, for about as long as she’d been MIA from him. He promised everyone that he’d look around for her, keeping them posted on any updates.

“Lovely are you here babe?” Tyler was standing in the living/dining room of Lovely’s eccentrically furnished, two-bedroom apartment home. He walked through to the kitchen, which was spotless; no dirty dishes, no food or beverages out. She was known for being tidy but she also always kept fresh fruit out on the kitchen counter top, green apples being her favorite. There were none. “Odd,” thought Tyler.

Continuing through the house to the hallway, he past the first full sized bathroom. A quick glance in, revealed nothing out of the ordinary. Landing on the 2nd floor, he noticed her office door was locked, and since he didn’t have a key to it, he moved on to her bedroom.

“Lovely. Where are you?” Tyler was starting to grow annoyed at the charade of it all. He remembered the last time he was here, and the conversation he’d had over the phone, with his father. He doubted that Lovely had overheard his conversation because when he got off the phone, he found her upstairs in her office engrossed in something. He has yet to fulfill his promise to his father, because he hadn’t heard or seen Lovely since that day. She appeared her normal self, laughing when expected, she even gave him a passionate kiss before he left her home that day. Everything was fine. Or so he thought…

Continue reading


Mortgages & Murder – 911


The Tea…

“Oh my God, she finally did it! She finally killed him!” Tryana wasn’t surprised that it happened; she was just surprised that it hadn’t happened sooner.

“Yep, she sure did,” stated Rhoda, as she, Tryana and everyone else on the 12th floor watched Quetta being escorted out of the building in hand cuffs.

There were 4 cops that came and got her. We all knew that someone was going down the moment we saw the police officers exit the elevator on our floor, we just assumed that someone was being arrested for fraud of some kind, like stealing a borrower’s bank information and using it. That is usually the only time that the FEDS or any law enforcement were ever seen in the office building.

When Tryana watched the officers approach Quetta’s desk, she knew then that there was yet another purpose for their visit other than fraud. Quetta was a lot of things, but a thief she was not. Quetta was too scared of jail for that. She knew that even if a person had succeeded in stealing a customer’s personal information; that the paper trail of that fraud would always lead back to the main source.

WFS Lending, had a zero tolerance for abuse of one’s access to personal information. 100% of every fraud case that started at this lending institution was found out, and the perpetrator, prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.

“Are you Quetta Jermaine-Tran, ma’am?” Asked a very handsome, dark-skinned police officer. He was at least 6 feet tall with the sexiest set of hazel eyes and he a beautiful soft chocolate complexion.

“Umm…. yes, officer that would be me!” Quetta’s usual cocky, snotty attitude was not evident in her tone. Instead she sounded nervous.

“My name is officer Rightly, and I’m going to have to ask you to please stand up ma’am!”, continued the handsome officer.

“Did I do something wrong? I know I haven’t committed any fraud, I’m sure that’s why y’all are here because that is the only time cops are seen in this building” replied Quetta.

“No ma’am, we are certainly not here on a fraud case; I can assure you of that! Once again Mrs. Jermaine-Tran; I am going to ask you to please stand up!”, demanded officer Rightly, with a look of determination and a tone of authority. As soon as Quetta stood up from her desk chair, the only female officer in the crew pulled out her handcuffs from her waistband and attached them to Quetta’s wrists.

Our manager, Nancy Mathers finally came from behind her cubicle. She had been looking and listening along with everyone else, but she hadn’t said anything up until now.

“Hello. I am Quetta’s manager Nancy Mathers, is everything ok?” Nancy looked just as shocked and surprised at the entire scene as the rest of us were.

“No ma’am. Mrs. Jermaine-Tran here is going to jail!” stated the female officer. She then turned her attention back to Quetta, patting her down and frisking her for weapons.

Officer Rightly stated, “Quetta Jermaine-Tran, you are under arrest for the murder of your husband Choy Tran. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say and do, can and will be used against you….”

Quetta cut the officer off mid spill.

“Murder!? My husband is dead!? Nooooooo!” cried Quetta. The female officer didn’t even flinch. She picked up where officer Rightly left off when he was interrupted and finished reading Quetta her Miranda rights, while at the same time escorting her out of the building.

“OMG! What!? Quetta killed her husband!?” I heard someone whisper.

“Don’t he work for 911?” exclaimed another coworker.

Rhoda and I both locked up our computers and headed for the elevators. We were hoping to catch the tail end of any conversation Quetta may have been having with the police officers. It was 1 pm too, so if anyone asked, we’d tell them we were on lunch.

At the Precinct

Quetta was shoved into the first open interrogation room. Tears flowed like water from a faucet, down her face. The nervous habit of biting her fingernails while rocking back and forth, in full effect.

“Good Afternoon Mrs. Jermaine-Tran, we are detective Graves and detective Torres.”

Two detectives entered the room, the last of which closed the door ever so carefully. Detective Graves appeared to be the leader of the pair. He stood 6’8, his hands cupping a notepad, pen and what appeared to be an audio recorder. His weapon resting comfortably in its holster, barely hidden beneath his suit jacket. He motioned for detective Torres to have a seat caddy corner to Quetta’s left. Graves taking his seat, directly across from Quetta.

“Is my husband really dead? How did he die?” Quetta was all shook up. She wondered if they’d searched her home already.

“I was hoping you could answer that for me, young lady.” Detective Graves smiled, then inched forward in his seat, hands clasped atop the table; the divider separating the civilian from the law.

“Sir I don’t know. I haven’t seen my husband in two days,” she paused.

“Yep. Two whole days.” It was as if she was reliving something or trying to forget something. She was in a daze, though she was fully in tuned to her present surroundings.

“Is that right? Is it typical to go two days without hearing from him?”

“No. But it is typical that he chokes me out whenever he feels like it. Three days ago, was no different. Only difference this time, is that he took a walk to blow off some steam, but he never came back.” Quetta was direct and tearful.

Detective Torres adjusted her seat, and cleared her throat at the same time. Detective Graves stared at Quetta in shock.

“Say what?” Maybe I am misunderstanding, thought Graves.

“You heard me. He does it because he knows that he’ll get away with it, that’s the reason I didn’t call around looking for him.” Quetta was both accusatory and brutally honest.

“What do you mean?” Torres questioned.

“Code blue, protects their fellow man, it’s true. Regardless of where they fall in seniority or rank.” She closed her eyes remembering the time Choy slapped her in front of two of his coworkers, at a restaurant three months ago.

All she did was nod her head, when one of Choy’s coworkers joked that Choy was a ticking time bomb waiting to happen. It wasn’t hard, but the embarrassment stung like he had slapped her with a pistol. His coworkers sat quiet, they said nothing. Neither did Quetta. She knew better. She had to go home with him, so she knew to shut up.

Choy worked as a 911 dispatch operator for the past 10 years, but if one never knew that truth about him, you’d think he was a Commander or Chief, the way he boasted and fabricated his career life.

Both detectives sat back stunned as Quetta unveiled years of verbal, mental and physical abuse at the hands of her husband. His threats to kill her and get away with it because he knew the law, was what kept her compliantly put. She advised them of the multiple police calls to their home for domestic violence, and how the results were always the same; she was asked to leave the home for the night and Choy was never arrested. She explained her attempts at filing restraining orders against her husband, but was denied because Choy was friends with the clerks and judges at the courthouse.

The police department was contacted two weeks prior, by a confidential informant, that Quetta plotted to kill her husband. There was no audio recording, however the CI was a trusted source whose word was the sole and only basis of Quetta’s arrest today. That and the missing person’s report filed by Choy’s mother, in the wee hours this morning.

The detectives couldn’t tell Quetta this, but the clear lack of thorough police work prior to arresting Quetta, could lead to this case being completely thrown out. After all, there was still no physical evidence that Choy was dead. And when the detectives questioned the arresting officers about this, they were told that they were just following orders.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if Choy plotted this whole scenario out so that I’d take the fall for a crime I did not commit. I had warned Choy last week that I was going to leave him and expose him to his boss.” The more Quetta thought and spoke, the more she wondered if she wasn’t digging her own grave by what she had told the detectives.

“Do you have proof of this Mrs. Jermaine Tran?”

“It’s all documented. I need my lawyer present before I continue any further with this conversation.” Quetta bowed her head in silence.

“Will do. We will be back with a phone so that you may call your lawyer.” Simultaneously, the detectives got up and exited the room.