The Devil Made Me Do It

by Colette R. Harrell

Genres: African American Christian; African American Urban

Synopsis

The voluptuous Esther Wiley has always known that she is special. She’s a tiara-wearing, wand-carrying kind of Cinderella princess in disguise. The problem that her very own Fairy Godmother, the Prophetess Mother Reed, struggles with is getting her to live like it.

Briggs Stokes is the reluctant heir to his father’s worldwide, multimillion-dollar televangelist ministry, yet he yearns to be his own man. His past mistakes have caused him a private life of hurt and loneliness.

Esther and Briggs meet and develop a deep soul connection, until tragedy strikes and the two are thrust apart. Their separation leads each down a different path scattered with emotional minefields. While each step they take brings them closer to who they were always meant to be, the devil is on assignment. He sends in reinforcements to usher in confusion and create chaos, and soon no one is safe. The members of Love Zion church reel from the rumors, innuendo, and downright sabotage that is going on around them.

When others devise evil schemes to seek the destruction of Esther and Briggs through jealousy, greed, and murder, only divine intervention can save them. As an all-out battle for dominion breaks out in the heavens, will Esther and Briggs become a casualty of war?

Release date: July 1, 2014

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 288

Sample

The Detroit pollution and cold, foggy weather covered Esther Wiley’s shivering body in crisp, arctic shades of blue gray, reminiscent of watercolors dancing in the jelly jar after her arts and crafts class. She shivered, but stubbornly refused to let her mother put a scarf around her small head. She was going to be Cinderella. Cinderella didn’t wear an old ugly scarf. Well, maybe when she was cleaning, but she wasn’t trying to be that kind of Cinderella. No ashes to ashes and dust to dust for her. She was all about glass slippers and diamond tiaras.

Esther’s round cheeks were rosy from the wind, her hated freckles beet red glowing in contrast to the caramel cream of her skin. Her knobby knees were pressed together whenever she wasn’t bouncing from foot to foot in the frigid air. She was on a mission. She wasn’t allowing a hideous scarf to mess up her hair in exchange for a little warmth. She had endured two hours of “hold the grease jar lid on your ear pain” that produced silky pressed hair. There was torture in the quest for straight tresses. In her seven-year-old mind, her priorities were clear.

Esther’s petulant voice screeched. “Mama, how much longer do we have to wait? I can’t stand it. I want to try on the glass slipper—right now.”

“Mind your manners. In a moment, I’m going to give you what your Grandma Vic used to call a private deliverance in a public place.”

A curl of warm breath escaped when Esther sighed. She turned away, rolled her eyes, and then stared defiantly at her mother. The same hands that calmly cuddled her at night now moved restlessly after giving up trying to place a warm scarf on Esther’s head. Esther didn’t dare speak. She had badgered her mother to bring her and her two best friends to downtown Detroit for the Cinderella contest. When they arrived, the line to enter the historical skyscraper snaked around the building. Two hours later they still couldn’t see the front entrance. As the wind bellowed, time stood still, but because of her mother’s mood, she resisted the urge to tell her she was freezing.

She peeked at her friends’ reaction to her mother’s scolding. She could see Sheri and Deborah were indifferent to her embarrassment; their faces tense as they craned their necks to see the start of the line.

Esther puffed warm breath into her mittens. “Y’all shouldn’t have come if you didn’t want to wait.”

Sheri’s elfin face was etched in anxiety. Her shoulders sagging, she grimaced at the time on her watch. She leaned forward in a panicked whisper. “You know I had to sneak out of the house to come. If my mama finds out I’m here, I’ma get a whipping.”

“You should have told her,” Deborah smacked her sour grape gum, then twirled it around her finger.

Sheri’s jaw tightened. “I tried.” She pointed her finger in a mock role play of her mother. “‘Ain’t no such thing as Cinderella, and sho’ ain’t no Prince Charming. Get in them school books. There isn’t anything worse than being ignorant.’ Y’all know how my mama gets.”

Laughing, Deborah slapped her hand against her thigh. “Uh, uh, uh,” she stuck her gum back into her mouth and popped it. “Girl, you sounded just like your mama.”

With hands on her small hips, Esther swung her head toward Deborah. “Well, what about you? You could have stayed home.”

“Oh no, where you two go, I go. You can’t leave me out. I can stand this girly stuff for one day.” Deborah eyeballed her and popped her gum for emphasis.

Esther sighed in her trademark dramatic fashion. “Please stop playing with your gum. That’s just nasty.”

She wished her friends cared as much about the Cinderella contest as she did. Sheri was the smart one, but her whippings from her mama were the talk of the block. Deborah was the tomboy; she had seven brothers.

Esther’s older sister, Phyllis once said, “Deborah’s mama better take that chile in hand quick ’cause if she don’t, she gon’ end up funny.”

Esther tried to explain that’s what she liked about Deborah—that she was funny. Phyllis just stared at her with small slit eyes, sucked her teeth, and told her to get out of her room.

She didn’t know why Phyllis always said that because half the drawers and closet space were hers, and she slept on the bottom bunk bed. But before she got pinched—or worse—she’d leave the room.

Esther understood her friends’ mood; it was her mother she couldn’t figure out. Mrs. Wiley reminded her of herself when she had to go to the doctor and get a shot; frightened.

Esther swallowed, summoned her courage, and pulled on her mother’s coat sleeve. “Mama, what’s wrong? Why did you say we might have to leave before I try on the slipper?”

Her mother’s eyes blinked in rapid succession. “I—well—I—girl, quit asking me questions.”

In a huff, Esther folded her arms, and clamped her lips tight. In a snail-like increment, thirty minutes dragged by, and finally they entered the department store.

It was so beautiful; Hudson’s department store had turned the tenth-floor lobby into a lighted winter wonderland. In the center of the room, a handsome prince with dark hair and sapphire eyes kneeled before each little girl as she sat on the white, satin bench and tried on the glass slipper. To a young heart, it was breathtaking.

Esther was so excited that she peed—just a little—in her underwear. When it was her time to approach the bench and sit down, she closed her eyes, folded her hands, prayed, and waited for the miracle that her grandmother had assured her God could deliver.

“Yes. Yes . . . Yes!” she squealed. The glass slipper fit her small foot perfectly.

Her mother cried out, “Oh my goodness; you won, you won.”

Her friends danced around, and they all jumped up and down together. It took them a few minutes—the silence around them incredulous—to notice that they were the only ones celebrating.

Esther hugged her mother around the waist and peeked at the crowd. Somber pale faces reflected shock, anger, and disbelief; it was plain that their small entourage’s happiness lacked the crowd’s support.

The distressed prince rose, his back ramrod straight. He confidently looked over at the tall, austere man who seemed to be in charge.

“I am sorry, miss,” the man advanced on Esther’s mother, his hawkish nose tilted in an imperious manner. “It isn’t a proper fit. Please relinquish the slipper to the next person. You and your daughter are holding up the line.”

Esther wailed in protest. “But, Mama—” Her mother placed a finger over her mouth and used her other hand to wipe her burgeoning tears.

Mrs. Wiley’s voice was soft and gentle, her hands tender in their ministrations of comfort. “Shush, baby, let’s go.” Her face was strained, and her eyes inflamed with a century of unspoken words and kindled rage.

Esther discerned something unspeakable had happened, and she should not ask about it. She grabbed her mother’s hand and placed her other hand in Sheri’s, who then took hold of Deborah’s. They were linked; one.

The friends were confused; somehow they had done something . . . wrong. The swirling abyss in their stomachs paid homage to their guilt. Shame hovered over them like the Detroit factory’s smokestack stench. They huddled together, drawing comfort from each other. Stiff and silent, they exited the store into fresh falling snow. Esther felt the chill of the cold air all around her. She released Sheri’s hand and with tears frozen on her face, spoke in a meek, trembling voice. “Mama, my face is cold.”

Her mother reached down and slowly tied the ugly floral printed scarf around her silky pressed hair.

As the small, dejected group hurried down the street, a shadow followed along the wall; its long form slithered between the cracks of worn buildings as it hissed along the way. It was oblivious to the noise of traffic and other people rushing to and fro. It was a single-minded creature, and they were not his problem. He was only concerned with his assignment.

Today had been a good start, and he was pleased but not satisfied. He was like The High Master in that regard. Until the fruit from the vine was spoiled, his job wasn’t complete. For each of his young assignments, he was just beginning. He knew from experience it was better to catch the fruit before it matured. He watched as they scrambled forward, seeking solace in each other’s presence. As he followed, he wore a look of utter contempt for his charges. His yellow eyes gleamed eerily with a malignant delight against the growing darkness of the day. After all, it was a job well done.

1988

The odor of musty bodies and stale beer could be smelled from anywhere in the gymnasium. The music blasted from the speakers, and the crowd of crushed college students swayed to the incessant beat. Bobby Brown was singing about things being his “Prerogative.” Young athletic bodies were sweating to the song as though it was the new black anthem.

Deborah was shaking her rump like her clothes were on fire. Her acid-washed designer jeans hugged her hips and her matching shirt rode up with each bounce of her curved body.

Esther cupped her hands around her mouth and called over to Deborah, chanting, “Work that body, work that body! Make sure you don’t hurt nobody!”

Deborah acknowledged Esther’s call out by throwing her hand over her head and rocking from side to side as she began to prance around Jay, her date for the evening. Her footwork was so flawless, that others dancing watched Deborah on the sly.

Esther laughed out loud and continued to rock the house with her own moves.

While navigating the dance floor, Esther continued to keep her eyes on the door for Sheri and Briggs. She bit her lip and thought about Sheri and the way she always studied so hard and how she constantly worried that she would disappoint her mother. Sheri was an A student. How could a person be better than perfect?

Esther smiled when her thoughts shifted to Briggs, and the butterflies started spinning in the pit of her stomach. He was the stuff her dreams were made of. His nose was Roman in appearance and his low cut, waved, fade glistened like black gold. His cleft chin was a perfect fit for her index finger. He was tall, Hershey smooth milk chocolate and “smack yo’ mama” handsome. Esther liked his looks, but even more, she loved who he was.

Briggs was ambitious. He had set goals for himself, and he wasn’t stopping until they were met. He was a business major and knew he would have his own company one day. She wanted to help people with their problems and was majoring in social work. Many times they sat and talked and dreamed long into the night. It was those times that Esther knew they were meant for each other.

Their biggest issue was Briggs’s father. He was a world-renowned televangelist and Briggs thought he walked on water. Esther was glad he loved and respected the man, but she tried to tell him that nobody was perfect and that living up to perfection was an impossible task. He and Sheri always seemed to seek others’ satisfaction. Esther called it hoop jumping. And, in Briggs’s father’s case, the hoops had fire on them. There were times she sat and waited for Briggs, while he jumped hoops. It was a circus act with no safety net in sight.

Esther hoped this wasn’t the case tonight since next to homecoming, the new semester icebreaker was the biggest dance of the year.

The song ended, and Esther thanked her dance partner. She never noticed the disappointed look on his face as she walked away to get herself a drink. Esther smiled as she glided up to Deborah who was already in line.

“Girl, you were working the fool out on that floor.” She clowned on Deborah as she tried to imitate her style.

“Honey, you know you can’t do me,” Deborah made an intricate dance move.

Esther looked at the sweat pouring down the side of Deborah’s beautiful mocha coffee face with its delicate features. This was her girl, her ace in the hole. She handed her a tissue. “No, you’re one of a kind.” Esther moved forward and paid her thirty-five cents for a cup of soda.

Deborah grabbed Esther from behind, “Hey, don’t look now, but your Romeo just showed up.”

Esther turned and watched Briggs as he strutted into the gymnasium; he was definitely looking good, and she loved his confident swagger. The brother made her molten hot.

“See ya, I hear love calling,” Esther said in a singsong voice as she touched and fingered her hair and swiped lip gloss across her lips.

“Awesome, I’m going to go check on Sheri. You know she can forget it’s okay to have fun and not just do schoolwork.”

Esther nodded, already distracted as she sashayed to Briggs with an exaggerated sway to her hips. It was time to play.

Colgate pearly whites advertised her glowing smile. At twenty years old, she was five foot five and stacked in all the right places. Her asymmetrical haircut was a sign of the times. Her hair was fluid and with a flip of her head, its sheen shimmered in the blinking disco lights. Her luminous, amber complexion was the canvas for her cute turned up nose and wide, generous lips. Over the years, her hated freckles had faded to a memory. She carried a determined air and her dark golden cat eyes broadcasted her every thought.

Briggs watched her approach with an appreciative gaze.

Esther leaned in, placing her hand on his chest. “Hey, I almost thought you weren’t going to make it.”

Briggs pressed her hand over his heart. “Me, stand you up and live to tell it? Do I look crazy? I would hear about it forever.” Robust laughter rumbled through his chest.

“Aw, sweetums, we gon’ be together forever?” Esther whispered, inhaling his woodsy scent.

Briggs viewed her in the incandescent light, his eyes caressing her. “I’m really feeling you.”

While Anita Baker sang “Good Love,” both sighed contentedly.

“That’s my jam. Come on, let a brother get closer.” Briggs pulled Esther into his arms, and she burrowed into him, seeking her niche, her special place. He kissed her hair and took his turn to inhale her sweet fragrance. “When I think about my future, I always see you right there beside me. You’re the compass that keeps me on track. You know my father—”

“The very honorable Bishop Stokes,” Esther teased.

“Uh-huh. Anyway, he advises us that it is better to marry than to burn. But, baby, right now, I’m burning for you.”

With Briggs pressed so close to her, Esther felt her determination to stay a virgin until marriage faltering. On the one hand, they were both adults; Briggs was a senior and had recently celebrated his twenty-first birthday. She was a nineteen-year-old sophomore. And, yes, she loved to have a good time, but she was pressing to stay in the will of God. How could someone make a person feel so good, and it be so bad?

Esther accepted Christ as her Savior when she was ten years old. Right now, with Briggs so up close and personal, she needed to stay on her toes. Her problem was she was feeling Briggs, all of him, straight through those same toes. Like her pastor always told her, a person’s body could betray them if they didn’t put the Holy Spirit in charge.

“Baby, you feel good to me too. Can’t we just enjoy this song?” Esther kissed and blew into Briggs’s ear. She loved his kisses, but was the taste of his kiss greater than her commitment to her virginity? Lord, I’m so weak.

Briggs guided her into the shadows of the gymnasium and slanted her head to the left before he gently sucked on her lower lip, then kissed her fully on the mouth. Both moaned, and Esther took as much as she gave. Jesus, I’m a Rehab. She opened her eyes and looked into Briggs’s brown ones. His questioned if she would take the next step with him. Her hands sweated, and her pulse raced. A little help, please, Lord. She hoped Deborah would return soon with Sheri. She needed some divine intervention. Her resolve to do what she was taught, versus what she felt, was fading fast.

Deborah approached the front door to their dorm room with her key out. “Sheri better not be bent over some book when I get in here,” she said in exasperation. She couldn’t believe she had to leave the party to rouse her from schoolwork. Her key easily turned, but she was annoyed when the door wouldn’t budge.

What the heck? Deborah banged on the door, “Sheri . . . Sheri, open up. Hey, quit playing.” She continued to shove against the door as it inched open. “Finally,” she maneuvered her body sideways and slipped through the sliver of space.

The room was pitch-black. She reached for the light switch, and her heart plummeted. “Nooooo . . .” The sight before her was a macabre scene from a Hitchcock movie. Sheri, a broken doll caricature, hung from the living-room light fixture.

Deborah raced forward grasping Sheri’s legs fighting to untangle her from the clothesline noose. She was too short, and the noose too difficult to reach while she struggled to support Sheri’s body.

Tears streamed down her face, and her eyes burned as she leaped on the desk and pulled at the once harmless all-purpose rope Sheri had made into an instrument of death. She swung her body into the rope to get momentum, pulling with everything she had, when Sheri, the light fixture, and the ceiling plaster, crashed to the floor. Plaster particles covered her hair and clung to her eyelids as she sobbed in terror.

“Please, God.” she kneeled beside Sheri’s pale, waxy body and shook her. Cold, dark eyes stared vacantly, while she desperately searched for a pulse. In mindless panic, she flew blindly into the hallway. “Help, help, somebody, please, please!”

Several students peered from their dorm rooms and ran into the hallway along with Ms. Renee, the dorm counselor. Her cherub face filled with concern as she intercepted a hysterical Deborah.

“Deborah, what’s wrong?” she gripped Deborah’s trembling shoulder to slow her down.

“It’s Sheri, she’s not breathing,” Deborah tugged at Ms. Renee’s arm wildly. “Hurry.”

They ran the short distance down the hall. When they entered the room, Ms. Renee staggered at the scene. “Oh no . . . please, not this.” Eyes shining with tears, she rolled Sheri over, lifted the noose from around her neck, and initiated CPR. Feeling no pulse she cried, “Call 911.”

Deborah stooped beside Ms. Renee and shakily dialed the three simple numbers, twice, before she got it right. “H-h-help us. My friend isn’t breathing, you . . . have . . . to . . . come . . . now.” She hiccupped the words through her sobs. “Yes, that’s our location, the dorms, building 1002. Please, hurry.”

While Ms. Renee continued using CPR, she stroked Sheri’s cold, stiff hand and cringed at its unfamiliar texture. She opened her mouth and a seven-year-old Deborah spoke, “You’ve got to save her, Ms. Renee. Please don’t let her die.”

Ms. Renee didn’t answer but continued to press on Sheri’s chest and breathe into her mouth and nose. Soon, sirens could be heard in the background. Needing to feel useful, Deborah sprinted to the courtyard to rush the paramedics into the building. “Move. Dang, what’s wrong with y’all?” She pushed through the drunken party crowd that rubbernecked while blocking the courtyard and hallway.

She met the paramedics and expedited their way to her room. When they reached Sheri, they spoke in hushed tones gathering data from Ms. Renee as they worked in synchronized rhythm to save her. Their expert calm and methodical movements helped Deborah’s panic subside. They’ll save her.

They lifted Sheri onto the gurney, and she followed closely with hound dog determination as they rolled the stretcher through the throng of students. At the entrance to the ambulance, Ms. Renee informed Deborah that only she could legally ride inside.

Deborah held on to the ambulance door. “What? Nah, that’s not fair. Please, let me come.”

“I’m sorry, you can meet us there, and, I promise, I’ll be waiting for you.” She pried Deborah’s fingers loose, then hugged her.

Deborah backed away, running with a Flo-Jo pace, headed to the gymnasium. She had to get Esther. They both needed to be with Sheri. Her life depended on it.

Deborah entered the sauna like room and combed through the congested bodies swaying to a slow jam. Friends called out to her, and she ignored every salutation. Finally, she saw Esther and Briggs in the back of the gym. Esther’s arms circled Briggs’s waist, and they swayed in a harmonized pendulum motion like the grandfather clock in her great-grandma’s living room. They were mesmerized, whispering in each other’s ears.

Deborah’s advance never faltered as she reared back her head and gave a Detroit, hood-piercing scream. “Esther!”

The entire room turned as the sound screeched through the air. Esther jumped away from Briggs in alarm. Her eyes glued to her grief stricken friend.

Deborah, with tears streaming down her face and plaster dust still covering her cheeks, poured out her anguish. “It’s bad, real bad. Sheri tried to kill herself.” She wiped at her tears, gasping for air. “Ms. Renee . . . then . . . the men came . . . in the ambulance.” Deborah’s hands chopped the air in an agitated manner. “Oh, help . . . me . . . come, come. We have to . . . go.” Deborah pulled on Esther’s arm, spun around, and ran with Esther right on her heels.

Esther, heart racing, yelled back at Briggs, “I’ll call you.”

Briggs’s face was crestfallen as he stopped abruptly from running to accompany them. His body stooped as he watched them move away. Esther and Deborah only looked forward.

Ears that were supernaturally attuned could hear the sound of a symphony of hissing. Eyes adjusted to the spirit realm could pick up the faint shadows of several long, slithering bodies writhing together in a dance of pernicious victory. The lead one circled the group and shook his head at this emotional display. The young ones always celebrated victory much too early, he thought. As he slithered away from his minions’ celebration, he began to orchestrate his next steps, knowing his mission was not half done.

“Did you pack everything?” Deborah turned in an erratic circle. “Take her posters off the wall. Especially the one that says, ‘This place would die without me.’” Distress painted her face with strokes of cold blue pain and red streaks of anger. Her head hung low, she squeezed and pulled on her hair until spots laid bare.

Esther pressed to focus through her haze of heartache. It tore her down this front-row view of Deborah’s metamorphosis from warrior woman to manic basket case. Her uncombed hair, last presentable at Sheri’s funeral two weeks ago, had tuffs of coarse hair scattered around the carpet. Deborah’s beautiful crown of glory, matted and knotted with random spots, lay bare. She cringed at her friend’s self-mutilation.

“Honey, you’re pulling your hair out again.”

“Don’t need it, stop talking.... Go away.” Dry, ashy hands pulled her hair even harder, and mumbling, she circled the room, and then disappeared down the hall.

Esther wanted to scream and run away. She was out of answers; nothing worked. The night Sheri died only Esther came home from the hospital. Her Deborah remained in Sheri’s room, clutching their friend, demanding she rise. The Deborah who walked next to her out of the hospital, got in the car, and came into their room was a stranger. She was once the tough girl, the take-no-prisoners one of the trio. But, every day, she unraveled a little more, alternating between coherent and incoherent speech. It was like watching a horror show and knowing that the boogeyman was around the corner, but nobody could hear you scream; go back. This Deborah scared her.

She wouldn’t get help, wouldn’t let anyone in their room, wouldn’t talk to anyone on the phone. Esther called Deborah’s mother, but she was in denial and only said to give her more time. She even pulled out her textbooks looking for answers, but she hadn’t really paid attention in class. Her real courses were to take place her junior and senior year.

Esther turned and tripped over a milk crate. Their room was a mess. Mrs. Fields asked them to pack all of Sheri’s belongings and ship them home. The strain of touching and going through her cherished items brought Esther to her knees and Deborah to her tipping point.

Esther unfolded a worn creased sheet of paper; one of the gifts Sheri left for all of them.

Esther folded the letter and placed it in her drawer. Sheri’s sin was now her burden. She was failing at Sheri’s request she take care of Deborah. She just didn’t understand how she thought her life was easy.

Frustrated, she kicked a shoe across the room. “Are we struggling enough now for you, Sheri?” she shouted.

Esther stood before the mirror, her reflection grim. Who are you? Yes, she could be overbearing. But, had she made Sheri afraid to be herself? Was her way the only way? And, what secrets did Sheri take to the grave? Esther’s frustration mounted. There were too many questions and too few answers.

Esther’s self-examination was painful. She turned from the mirror and continued to pack Sheri’s belongings. On her side of their dorm room, a poster with a picture of a big juicy burger read, “This is not Burger King. . . . You cannot have it your way.” With sadness, she sighed, “Still trying to rule, still trying to be Cinderella.”

One of her best friends was gone, and she didn’t have a clue how to help the other one. Esther reflected back that it was Deborah who went to check on Sheri. She was busy basking in the adoration of Briggs. She was disgusted with herself. And though she knew it made no sense, somehow she also blamed Briggs.

Esther pushed the top of the clothe. . .