The Demise of Alexis Vancamp 2

by Karen Williams

Genres: African American Urban

Synopsis

After becoming involved with sexy, thugged-out Santana, good girl Alexis Vancamp followed him down a destructive path that landed her behind bars. Five years later, her case is overturned, and she is released from prison.

Now mature, humble, and newly reformed, Alexis goes back to her hometown, trying to get past the death of someone dear to her. She wants to do the hard work of rebuilding her life and repairing the relationships with her family, friends, and the church. Determined to right all the wrong she has done, Alexis vows not to give up. 

When things seem like they are headed in the right direction, Santana reemerges with a vicious plan to finish where he left off. This means causing destruction to Alexis and all she loves. Secrets are revealed about Alexis’s mother and her relationship with Santana’s father that blow Alexis away. Lives are lost, and Alexis, framed by Santana, finds herself back in prison. Will she be able to escape the madness he brings this time, or will he destroy her for good?

Release date: May 28, 2019

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

January 3, 2017

I heard the iron gate slam shut behind me. It was the last time I would hear that oppressive sound. For the past five years, I had called this place home, but now I was standing on the other side of the barbed wire–lined wall. I took a deep breath. The air smelled fresher on this side. Inside, the air was stale with desperation and hopelessness. Even in the yard the air never smelled right to me. I stretched my arms out to my side and arched my back. The sky was brighter. I saw a bird fly over my head and watched it fly out of sight. I smiled. Five years ago, a bird flying over my head signified that it would always be what I wasn’t: free. Now it signified the fact that I was just as free as the damn bird. I had a new lease on life.

There’s nothing to do in prison but think, and five years locked up gave me plenty of time to do just that. No matter what I was thinking about, my mind would always wander back to Santana. He was the reason I had ended up in prison. My life can be broken up into two sections: before Santana and after Santana. I don’t think I will ever feel as free as I had felt before I met Santana. I had everything a woman could have wanted, hoped, or dreamed for: a handsome fiancé in medical school, a solid career with no risk of ever losing it because my dad was my boss, economic stability, an Infiniti car, my own place, friends, and great family. I had a bright future. That was taken away from me the moment I allowed Santana to dickmitize me. Stupid, stupid I was.

“Baby! I’m here.”

I smiled as my mom ran toward me with her arms outstretched. We squeezed each other tight. It was the first time in five years we didn’t have a corrections officer breathing down our necks while we hugged. I didn’t want to let go.

When we finally separated, I said, “I missed you. How are you, Mom?”

She cupped my face in both her hands and stared at me almost as if in disbelief. Tears streamed down her face. She touched the long scar across my neck, a souvenir from my time behind bars. It was a permanent reminder of the awful hell of prison. Knowing that scar was there made me appreciate that I still had a voice and should savor every moment I could sing. I placed a hand over hers.

“Aww, don’t cry, Mom.”

She waved a hand at me and wiped her face. “I can’t help it! I never thought I’d see you outside of these walls.”

I wasn’t sure I’d ever see her outside of the prison either. My release was a bit surprising. My sentence was twenty to life, and here I was, getting released after five. Miraculously the appeal we had filed was approved, and my charges were reduced. I thought I was dreaming as I sat in the courtroom that day. My lawyer had presented a great case on appeal and convinced the judge that it wasn’t premeditated murder and it should only be considered involuntary manslaughter. It took about a week for it to sink in that I would be getting out early. After everything I had done, I thought for sure karma was going to come back and bite me. I kept waiting to wake up from my dream or to have my lawyer tell me that the judge was only joking or he had changed his mind. But it was real, and the proof was right behind me in the form of a massive brick wall and threatening iron gate. I was standing on the freedom side of that wall.

I looked at my mother, then back at the prison.

“Looks like it’s just hitting you too,” she said.

I chuckled and wiped a tear from my cheek. “Yeah.”

“Come on. Let’s go home.” She grabbed my hand.

We got in my mother’s car, and I got settled in the passenger’s seat. She pulled away from the prison, and I reflected on the past five years. I’d always thought prison was terrible and heard stories about the horrors of life behind bars, but twenty-four years of life didn’t prepare me for what I went through in there. My introduction to prison life was guards beating my ass into submission. Once word got out in the yard that the new bitch got tightened up, it was a free-for-all against me. Soon after, I was raped by a few guards, then a couple of the female inmates took their turn and forced me to lick pussy and ass. I was getting my ass beat on the regular, until I decided to take matters into my own hands. I began standing up to my bullies, and after countless black eyes and busted lips, I learned how to fight back. I went from someone who sold nothing but woof tickets, threw rock with force, and ran, to a woman who could defend herself and win fights.

Deep down, while the beatings were taking place, I knew it wasn’t just because I was new and needed to prove myself. It was my own karma for the messed-up things I had done to people. People just couldn’t get with how self-absorbed I was, how everything was always about me, me, me. I had it so good and hadn’t dealt with any real struggle my whole life, yet there I was, locked up for fucked-up choices that hadn’t needed to be made.

As I looked back on my time in prison, I realized I learned to look at myself, recognize my faults, and change. I learned not to dwell on what I conquered, and in the same vein, what I failed at. It was the past. There wasn’t much need to give it any further thought. Prison, in so many respects, matured me and made me better.

So, as my mom drove and the institution became smaller and disappeared behind me, I looked ahead, and my mission became bigger.

My mother’s house seemed like a mirage as we pulled up. She had been filling me in on the gossip in the neighborhood—who’d moved out and who’d moved in, who got divorced, and who died. I was half listening while I got used to the fact that I wasn’t pinned behind bars. Seeing the outside world was a strange experience. It looked the same but different. There were many businesses that had shuttered, and new ones had opened. But after my experience in prison, I’d look at the world with a different perspective. People were zombies and didn’t understand what life was about. I still felt like I was figuring life out, but I had a better understanding than all the “free” people on the outside.

We walked into the house, and sitting on the couch was my best friend Arianna. She jumped out of her seat the moment I walked through the door.

“Ooooh, girl! Out my way! That’s my best friend.” She rushed me and wrapped her arms around me. We squeezed each other as if we wanted to crush one another.

“I can’t believe you’re home,” Arianna whispered in my ear.

“I can’t believe it either,” I answered.

We pulled apart and held each other’s hands. I looked at her beautiful face and cried. She had been a loyal friend while I was in prison. She came to visit every month I was locked up. She kept me connected to the outside world, made me feel like I still had a life. During her visits, she would share every detail of her life. She even let me be involved in her wedding planning, being so kind as to let me give advice on color schemes. I was so proud when she brought photos of her beautiful day. She was a gorgeous bride.

I still remember the day she told me she was pregnant with twin boys. We were sitting in the prison visiting room and as we talked, I could see that she was distracted. She was forgetting what she was talking about, and when I would say something, she was nodding along even when a nod wasn’t called for. I finally asked her what was up.

“I’m pregnant,” she said. “Twin boys.”

I damn near jumped out my seat I was so excited for her. She said she was nervous to tell me because I was in lockup, and she wasn’t sure how I was going to react. I was honored because I was the first of her friends she had shared her news with.

The rest of the visit, we went back and forth with baby names. Even though I wanted her to use the names I liked, I told her it was her decision because those boys would be stuck with their names for the rest of their lives, so she shouldn’t go too exotic. Keep it classy, I said. When she told me she was naming one of her boys Alex after me, I damn near had a heart attack. When I got back to my cell, I became depressed. I cried deep, soul-crushing sobs. Arianna was out there having a life, while I was stuck inside for being stupid and selfish.

“Where are the boys? I asked.

“I wanted to bring them, but they are spending the weekend with their grandparents. And they don’t play when it comes to spending time with their grandkids,” she said, chuckling. “But I was hoping sometime this week you could stop by and meet Alex, Ashlynn, and Jabari officially.”

I hadn’t met her husband, Jabari, or her sons. She had never brought them to the prison to visit. She didn’t want the boys to be exposed to the system and be around the energy of a prison, and Jabari was more than happy to stay home with them because he didn’t do institutions because of his job, which I understood. He was a supervising prosecutor for the county.

I was lucky to still have my bestie after everything I had done. She made it so comfortable for me to be back home. I wished I could go back to the days when we would cut it up at my father’s house and laugh like hyenas, but I knew we were way beyond that. Too much had taken place, and I had done too much damage to ever be able to get back to the way it was. It was a new relationship between me and everyone. I was grateful to have a second chance. I would live with the guilt of how I had treated Arianna for the rest of my life.

“Come on, you two. The food is ready,” my mother said from the kitchen.

“Mom! You didn’t have to do all of this,” I said when I entered the kitchen and saw the amount of food she had prepared. “When did you have time to make all of this?”

“I wanted to make my baby’s homecoming special,” she said.

She had made pizza, chili cheese fries, tacos, chips and guacamole, fried pork chops, fried chicken and waffles, macaroni and cheese, buttery biscuits, mashed potatoes and fried cabbage, bacon grilled cheese sandwiches, ribeye steaks, and a freaking crab boil with crawfish, shrimp, sausage, and lobster. It was a mish-mash of all my favorite foods.

I laughed and grabbed a plate. I started with the chicken and waffles. It was better than Roscoe’s, and I thought nothing could be better than that. I made a mental note to visit Roscoe’s as soon as possible. Man, I missed that place. Arianna piled mac and cheese, pork chops, and biscuits onto hers.

My mom sat across from us and watched me eat with a silly smile on her face.

“What?” I asked.

“I’m just so happy to have my baby back home,” she said. “Your hair grew back so long and pretty.”

I nodded before biting into the chicken. I closed my eyes, savoring the flavor. Prison food was awful. This was the first time in five years I’d had a homecooked meal, and it was delectable.

My mom chuckled.

After chewing and swallowing, I said, “Yep, it did.”

“You had no more problems with it?”

“To be honest, I wasn’t having problems with my hair like I told you. I had to cut it because it was putting me at a disadvantage.”

“What do you mean?” my mom asked.

“When I first started getting in prison fights, the other chicks would go straight for the hair pull. I needed to cut it to give me a chance.”

“Prison fights?” Arianna said.

“Alexis, why didn’t you tell us?” my mom asked, tears in her eyes.

“I didn’t want to worry anyone. It was my burden to bear. Don’t worry now. I’m out and never going back.”

“Of course I’m worried. I’m your mother.”

“And I’m your best friend,” Arianna added. “Now, tell us how you beat ass in prison.”

I laughed. “Oh, stop.”

“Serious, girl. I wanna hear some realness from behind bars,” Arianna said.

I rolled my eyes. “You crazy, but okay,” I said. “I had come back to my cell after getting beat on the yard by three bitches who had targeted me right from jump. This one fat lesbian, Whosie, decided she didn’t like me and made it her mission to torture me. Personally, I think she was attracted to me and wanted to make me her bitch. Anyway, she and two other bitches jumped me on the yard. I came back to my cell lookin’ a mess. My cellie, Cashmere, was laying in her bunk. She was a bad bitch, so she had the bottom bunk with no argument from me. You know what I’m sayin’? So, Cashmere says to me ‘If you don’t fight back, you’re in for a long, miserable life in here.’ ‘I know,’ I said. ‘I’m fightin’ back, but I can’t take on three at once.’

“Cashmere wasn’t having it. She got out of her bunk, went into her locker, and took out electric clippers. She wasn’t allowed to have them, but she had pull with the guards, so they looked the other way when it came to Cashmere. She took the clippers, had me stand over our sink, and began to shave my head. I started to protest, but Cashmere overpowered me. To be honest, I didn’t protest too much, especially when I saw myself in the mirror. Shaving my head did something to me. I felt like an African warrior.

“Cashmere said, ‘Tomorrow on the yard, I’ll handle the other two. It’s time for you to take care of Whosie’s ass. She won’t know what to do if she can’t pull your hair. It’s the only way that fat bitch can win a fight.’ The next day, Cashmere and I stepped up to Whosie and her girls. Before anyone said a word, I swung on Whosie and clocked her in her jaw. She reached for my head but had nothing to grab. I easily avoided her and started going ham on her. Cashmere didn’t have to do anything because the other two were so stunned they didn’t fight. It was the last time anyone fucked with me.”

“You bad ass, girl,” Arianna said.

My mother looked stunned.

“You okay there?” I asked.

“I just hate to think of you having to survive like that,” she said.

“It was my own fault I was in there.”

To tell the truth, I really didn’t want to talk about prison. I wanted to put it behind me. Thoughts of prison brought me back to thoughts of Santana and the piss-poor decisions I made because of him. I was naïve, stupid, and selfish. The way I had treated people was inexcusable, and it was all because of a man I had no business dealing with. Back then, I didn’t give a shit. But after five years in the pen, I sure did.

My mother looked over my shoulder to something behind me. Her face turned from concern to elation. I turned around to see my sister with her husband. They stood in the doorway of the kitchen, my sister’s husband holding a baby girl.

I let out a squeal, dropped the chicken wing on my plate, and stood from the table. It had been five years since I’d seen my sister. I would write her and send her cards every holiday, congratulating her on milestones in her life, the most important being her wedding and the birth of her daughter. She never responded, but that was okay. I didn’t hold any ill will toward her. Not at all. My goal at this point would be trying to establish a relationship with her because, truthfully, we’d never really had one.

I went to embrace my sister first. She took a step back to block me. There was a coldness in her eyes. Embarrassed, I backed up a little, nodded, and smiled.

“Hello, Bria.”

She looked away without acknowledging me. I’d always thought my sister was pretty, but she had grown into a very beautiful woman. Her slim figure was fuller, less young girl and more mature woman. I attributed that to the baby weight. Her face was a little rounder, and her skin was clear. Looking at her, you would never know she had battled a drug addiction.

Her husband, Casey, who was our pastor’s son and now the current pastor, embraced me and said, “Good to see you, Alexis.”

In the time since I’d been away, he’d gone from a young boy following his daddy around, learning the scripture, to a grown man leading the flock. By marrying Casey, my sister became the first lady.

I reciprocated his affection, pulled away, and smiled. “Same to you, Casey.” I looked at the baby in his arms.

“Is this my niece?”

He chuckled. “Yes, it is.”

She was so pretty. I smiled down at her little face as her wide eyes mean-mugged me. She had a set of golden, almond-shaped eyes and incredibly chubby cheeks I just wanted to bite. How adorable she was. I forced myself to block out any bad thoughts and bask in the cuteness o. . .