#1544

by Simone Kelly

Genres: African American Urban; Suspense

Synopsis

Go on a suspenseful and mystical ride in this twist-filled thriller about a father and daughter with supernatural abilities …
Ty Carter is at the prime of his career, making millions in Atlanta real estate, and his Cuban-Jamaican good looks and charm make him a hit with the ladies. One would think he was on top of the world; however, things are not always what they
seem. Recently divorced, he’s taking care of his grandfather, who suffers from dementia, and also trying to keep his sexual addiction under wraps.
Just when he thinks he’s got things under control, Ty is knocked down by a surprise visit from his past. Journey Salazar, his 22-year-old daughter, is eager to learn about her family roots and build a relationship with her father. Ty and
Journey realize they have a lot more in common than just looks. They both possess some unique supernatural traits. Their abilities of telepathy and astral projection help deepen a bond between them, but Ty will soon realize that
Journey likes to get what she wants, sometimes abusing her gift if necessary. As Journey demands to weave herself into his life, Ty will see things rapidly unravel before his eyes. Journey soon shows him that she is the master of control and manipulation.
Daddy’s little girl is not all she claims to be.

Release date: May 31, 2022

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

There was a light knock on the door. It was gentle as if they hoped no one would hear it. I froze for a moment. My hands shook slightly as I finished typing. I rose slowly from my laptop. Butterflies were fluttering wildly in my belly. I knew that once I answered it, there was no turning back. Part of me was afraid to open Pandora’s box, yet the curious side of me wanted to know for sure. Now, I would be faced with a new future and a huge reminder of my past.

Last week took me by surprise. Just when things were coming together in my life, I got the phone call that I knew I would receive someday.

A young woman’s cheery voice said, “Hi, I’m looking for Mr. 1544.”

“What? Who?”

“Fifteen forty-four. Does that number mean anything to you?”

I paused, “Uh, yeah, but how did you . . .?”

She said, “Well, I would like to meet you if that’s okay. I found you. I’m so happy I found you.”

The light knock tapped again, this time, a little faster, bringing me back to the present. Okay, let me pull myself together. I had to stop procrastinating. I would no longer be just a number—The unknown “Good Samaritan.” No longer just Mr. 1544. What was about to unfold before me I hadn’t prepared for. I never thought too much about the big day . . . Today was that day.

I looked through the peephole and saw two beautiful young girls and opened the door.

“Hi, Mr. Carter?” The Latina stood there with a nervous jitter in one leg.

I looked into her eyes. My stomach squirmed. They were big and honey colored, just like mine. Her eyelashes were long, like mine. She had full lips, and her hair was long and thick but still had curls, like mine. Mine. Mine. I mean, this was some wild shit. I looked into her face as if I were looking into a mirror. It was surreal. There was no denying that she was a part of me. My heart soared. I was so delighted, I just grabbed her and hugged her tightly.

“Oh, wow.” She was surprised I would be so welcoming. She hugged me back and giggled.

“I’m glad you contacted me, Journey. You really look just like my family.” I stood there in awe. “My God, you grew up so beautifully. Just beautiful. Come in, please, both of you. Come in.” I turned to her incredibly attractive friend. “I’m sorry, your name?”

“Oh, this is my homegirl, Natalia. She came with me for moral support. Also, in case you turned out to be a serial killer. She knows capoeira.” Journey winked.

I liked her already. She had spunk.

Natalia laughed. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Carter. Yeah, I’m like her big sis, even though she bullies me around.”

“Who, meeee?” Journey pointed to her chest innocently.

She followed me down the hall to the living room. “Is now still a good time to talk?”

“Yes, yes; sure, it’s fine. It’s not like I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I know, but I thought maybe you might change your mind.”

“Have a seat. You’re good. So, where is your mom from?” She looked mixed.

“She’s Colombian but raised in Miami. You know she was really nervous about us meeting and all.”

“Well, I can understand. It’s a bit awkward.”

“Yeah, that, and also that she lied about you,” Journey said flatly.

“How so?”

“All my life, I was told you were back in Colombia with a new family. All my life. But she got very sick a year ago, and I think the guilt was weighing on her. You know—if she died or somethin’ without telling me the truth.”

“Oh, so sorry to hear that. Is she okay now?”

“Okay? She’s back 120 percent. She’s always in court giving motherfuckers hell.” Journey covered her mouth. “Oh, sorry. She’s a beast in litigation.” She sarcastically cleared her throat.

I patted her leg. “It’s okay. I can handle it. Wow, a lawyer, huh?”

“One day, you’ll meet her.”

I nodded.

Natalia chimed in. “Are you single?”

“Yes, I am. Divorced.”

They glanced at each other and smiled. Oh boy, I hope they didn’t think I would get with the mother. That would be a stretch. I’ll have to put that idea to a halt very soon.

Journey and Natalia were both so beautiful, yet so different. Journey was cocoa brown like me. She had an urban hippy-vibe with her long, unruly hair shaved on one side. She wore a denim jacket with rolled-up sleeves showing a tattoo on her left hand and forearm. Dark eye makeup. Crystals. A big clear one around her neck, a large purple ring, and a few crystal-beaded bracelets. They were nice, but a little too much, I thought. I know crystals were for protection, but she sure was covered if that was the case. She had a strong dramatic presence. Definitely kin to me.

On the other hand, Natalia looked like the big sister. She was dressed sharply as if she just came from working at a corporate firm with a cream dress and blazer and her small Gucci clutch. Her hair was slicked back in a bun. Natalia . . . even her name had a soft, feminine presence. Her eyes made her look as if she were part Asian, but she was Black, probably from an island like most of us mutts.

Journey’s eyes scanned outside the tall windows of my living room. “You have great taste. You’ve done so well for yourself. This apartment is soooo beautiful.” She walked closer to the window. “This view is so cool. Come look at this shit.” She waved over Natalia. “Penthouse living. Legit boss moves. I’m inspired.”

“Ah, you can do it too. Just some hard work and focus.”

“Yeah, I know. I did my research. I read your bio on your site. Google is my best friend. You graduated magna cum laude from Columbia. Started as an investment banking analyst—Goldman Sachs and worked your way up to managing director. But then the stress of corporate America got to you, and you retired at the tender age of 35.” She took an exaggerated deep breath. “Theeen you went into real estate development and blew everyone out of the water with your keen eye for finding dilapidated buildings and flipping them into multimillion-dollar hipster condos. You’re the shit, Ty. I’m mean, really.”

I laughed. She was definitely a chip off the old block, doing her research. “Come on, Journey, you can pull it off. You can do whatever you want to do.” I was blushing now. “You got good genes,” I smirked. I really liked the idea of being a father now.

She laughed. “Oh, you funny toooo? I guess I get that from you. My mom is so serious sometimes.”

“Oh really? That’s interesting.” She’s probably one of those busy women that never took the time to settle down because they were so focused on their career. Those, I-don’t-need-a-man-for-shit kind of chicks. I’ll have to school Journey not to be one of those since she’ll end up alone. I’m glad I could help her out with my “donation.”

“Oh, just so you know, your great-grandfather is here. He’s been battling dementia for the last few years, so he can’t talk much, but I’ll bring him out. Have a seat.”

“What? I have a great-grandfather?”

I went and got Papa from his room. We walked over into the living room and said hello. He didn’t respond until I put the TV on and a commercial played. Then he tapped his hand to the beat of the jingle, staring at the 72-inch screen as if no one were around.

Journey whispered, “Is he always like this?”

“Pretty much. He rarely speaks, and when he does, it’s mostly in Spanish.”

“ Oh wow, so where do your parents live, my . . . my grandparents?”

“Well, that’s the thing,” I sighed. “We lost them both in a car accident many years ago, right on Cheshire Bridge Road. Drunk drivers, we think. It was a hit and run.”

“Oh no. That’s soooo sad.”

I patted Papa’s knee lightly. “Yeah, it’s not easy.” I pointed to the family photo on the wall when I was in grad school. “I’m the only one left to take care of him. My grandma, Mercedes, was his wife. She died a few years before.”

Journey leaned in. “How did you deal with that, you know, being there?”

My jaws clenched, and a chill went down my back. “Being there?”

“Yeah, at the crash.”

“Wow, I don’t remember it, but . . . how did . . . How did you know I was there?”

She shrugged. “Oh, I’m just weird like that. I just felt your pain.”

Natalia chimed in, “It’s her thing, Mr. Carter. She knows everything. It’s wild.”

“I haven’t thought about it in years, but you’re right. I was there. I don’t really like to talk about it.” The guilt of me being the only survivor still haunted me.

“Oh, I understand. No worries.” Journey patted my hand.

Natalia seemed impressed and asked, “You do it all by yourself? Taking care of him?”

“Oh no, no. I have a nurse that stays a few nights a week, and she’s here during the days when I’m at work. He has ample company. He’s quiet, but he’s a handful. No way could I do this by myself.” I walked over to my office door. “Come on over here, and I can show you some photos of the fam.”

Natalia said, “Hey, I’ll hang out in here with your great-grandad and keep him company while you two get to know each other.”

“He’d like that. He won’t be much company, but he does like to look.” I pointed at him. “Papa, behave, okay? Don’t get fresh.” I winked at Natalia.

Papa grunted as if to say shut up. I understood him, even though he rarely spoke. We had a bond, and I didn’t need to hear words. I felt him. I just “feel” people. Sometimes I can just hear what they’re thinking. It’s a wild little trick I play with myself, and it works.

Natalia’s voice was so soft and sultry. “Can I change the channel, though? It’s the news. Kinda depressing.” She tilted her head and smiled.

I quickly scanned her body. Nice legs too. “Sure, go ahead. But just a hint. He loves any of those court shows. Divorce Court makes him laugh. It’s like his whole face lights up.”

“Wow, that’s funny,” Journey said.

“Okay, I’ll find a juicy court show just for Papa.”

Papa surprised us all when he tapped his feet and mumbled, “Gracias.”

Natalia raised her brows at me.

“I think he likes yoooou.” I laughed and walked into my office with Journey.

“He seems so sweet.”

“He can be a grouch too, especially when he’s in pain, but he’s gotten better since we’ve had his nurse, Jocelyn. He used to be in a wheelchair, but he’s walking again due to her physical therapy. Slow, but walking nonetheless, with his cane. She’s great company for him. She speaks Spanish and cooks all his favorite meals.”

“That is awesome. What was he like before . . . I mean . . . before . . .”

“No, it’s okay. He was actually a lot of fun. He was a very charming man who would talk about everything from politics, technology, to astrology. He was an intellectual who loved a good debate. He loved talking about Cuba and his love/hate relationship with the island. He especially loved to stress that he was Afro-Cuban. He was so proud that many of his people were beginning to embrace their Black roots since, in his time, he was discriminated against so much for being a brown-skinned Cuban. He was very proud to be Black, and he ingrained that in me as well.”

“That’s amazing. I wish I had that growing up. It must have been awesome growing up and hearing his stories.”

“Well, many of them I heard a little later from my mom and aunts since it was more like family gossip. His real name is Pedro Garcia, but his nickname I heard all my life was Papi Ching-Ching. I used to call him Pa-pa Ching-Ching until I became a teen.”

“Oh, that’s so cute. I love that name. Where did Ching-Ching come from?”

“He had a lot of money, apparently. He was an engineer by trade, but at night, he was a musician. The rumor was he had ties to the American mob in the ’50s. You know, names like Lucky Luciano?”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that name.”

“Well, that was one of Papa’s boys. They hired your great-grandmother Mercedes to be the lead singer at the Hotel Nacional. The hotel is considered a national monument to this day. She got paid well, from what I hear. Papa was well connected with them. He started as a high-stakes gambler who was very lucky most of the time. It was to the point they used to call him a Brujo since he won so much.”

“Whaaaat! He was casting spells?”

“Not at all. He had a way of reading people, and they would keep him around to watch the other gamblers and catch cheaters.” I tapped my temple.

“Get out. That is so cool. It’s in the genes.”

“Yes, but the family didn’t talk much about his shady dealings with the Mafia. I just know he was lucky not to get killed or put in jail. They would have called him a ‘trader.’ That was one of the reasons they wanted to leave when Castro took over. His wealth that he accumulated from gambling was taken.”

“Wow, so much history lies within him. He looks so sweet and innocent. You would never know.”

“Nope. Now, he just watches the news, courtroom TV, telenovelas, game shows, or just listens to audiobooks. It’s sad to see his eyes drift off into space. I wonder what he’s thinking most of the time. But he has his alert moments now and then, especially when music is on. Okay, let me not depress you. Let’s look at some pictures.”

“Trust me; I love every minute of this. It’s not depressing me at all.”

I had a stack of photo albums; some mine and others were Papa’s. I knew they would give her some insight into the family tree. I was excited to show her them. She sat on the big leather love seat and looked up at all my diplomas and awards in awe.

“Daaaamn, you went to school—a lot.”

“Well, yes. My parents were tremendously big on getting a good education, and it was worth it. Now, I can work for myself. Papa was an engineer for the government and a musician in Cuba. And Papi—your grandfather—was a surgeon in Cuba and also a musician. Do you play anything? I play the piano.”

“I see. I saw that big grand piano in the living room. I don’t play anything, but I always wanted to learn guitar.”

“One day, I’ll play for you.”

“I’d love that. My family is so smart and talented! So, was college worth it? Student loans are a joke. I think it’s the government’s way of keeping us in debt forever. It’s a damn scam. Almost 70 percent of people who go to college never get a job in their field.”

“Okaaaay, I see you’ve done your research. So, what are you saying? You don’t want to go to college?”

“I did a year and a half, but some personal stuff happened, so I needed a break. Now, I’m on the fence. I figure if I can’t pay cash for it, it’s not worth it. For the things I have planned, I don’t know how much college I’ll need. I just need common sense and connections.”

“Oh, is that right?”

She was a confident one at such a young age. That’s me again.

“Just some stuff I’m brewing up.” Journey flipped through some pictures. “I’ll tell you when the time comes. I want to have it all together.” She turned to me and held up the album. “She is soooo pretty. Who’s this?”

“That’s your great-grandmother in Cuba.”

“She was hot stuff. What was this, like the ’50s?”

“Yes, her name was Mercedes, the singer I told you about earlier at that popular spot for the mob. She had some amazing stories. Papa snatched her up, and they were married for fifty-four years.”

“Holy shit. Now, that’s a commitment.”

“Tell me about it,” I laughed. “A bit much for me.”

“So, how long have you been divorced?”

“It’s been several years.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.” She flipped pages.

This was so surreal. I just stared at her. She was my flesh and blood. Journey removed her jacket and had on a tank top and revealed her entire left arm was tattooed.

“Nice tat. What is that? Feathers?”

She pointed to it. Her fingers were long and had the same shape as mine. I mean, down to the nail bed. Journey said, “A peacock. It represents beauty, royalty, spirituality, and protection. I needed it to remind me of who I was. She’s my protection.”

“Like your spirit animal?”

“Yes. Exactly. Let me find out you are into this stuff.”

“I know a little something.” I popped my collar.

“Well, my mom lost her shit when I got it, though.”

“Did you ask for her permission?”

Journey blew out air and rolled her eyes. “Permission? I was 19 when I did this. I paid for it. It’s my body,” she shrugged.

I jerked back.

She caught herself. “I mean, I mentioned to her before I did it, but she didn’t realize it would be a whole sleeve.”

I could see she could be a little bit of a brat. Her mom spoiled her rotten, I’m sure. She’s lucky I didn’t raise her. That shit would not be up her arm. That would not fly in my house.

She leaned in and asked, “Did your parents or anyone know what you did?”

I tilted my head, unsure of what she meant.

She made a jerking-off motion with her hand in the air and squinted her eyes tight.

I started laughing. “Reeeeally, Journey? Reeeeally? You’re a comedian, huh?”

“I’m sorry. That’s how it works, though, right? Don’t you put it in a cup, and they send you off to the freezer, and then they made me. Voilà!” She laughed as she . . .