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“I don’t know her.” The guy said, turning the key in the lock. He tried to squeeze in quickly but Ray wasn’t going to take no for an answer.
“I tell you what, Marty. If I wasn’t on such a time sensitive mission I would have punched that punk in the face.” Ray said when he was telling me what happened after we all met at the hospital. “But when I pushed my way inside and began scouring the mailboxes for her address I obviously scared him to death.
“I’m calling the police!” the guy shouted as he bound up the stairwell.
“Good! I’ll need them! I shouted back, finally finding Diamond’s apartment number and heading up the stairs myself.”
I’ll never forget the look on Ray’s face when he told me what happened next.
“Marty, have you ever gotten to a place and everything looked fine, everything looked in place but an invisible something reached in your chest and squeezed? That was how I felt when I got to her door. It was like the whole hallway was constructed like a soundproof booth. All I could hear was my own breathing. And when knocked on the door it reverberated through my body and echoed down the hallway.”
Ray listened for a few seconds, pressing his ear against the door only to hear more silence over the pulsing blood in his ears. There was no answer.
“Diamond? Diamond Everett! Are you in there? Anyone home?”
It was then that Ray heard the sound. It wasn’t loud. In fact, it was barely a whisper. Scratching. Just the littlest sound of something scratching against another seemed to be right there with Ray in the hallway.
Bending down he looked underneath the tiny crack under the door and saw long black hair. There she was just a few feet from the door.
“I didn’t know what else to do but I took a step back and brought my boot against the door. Thankfully the deadbolt had not been relocked or I’d still be there trying to kick the mother open. As it was, even if Mr. Hewett hadn’t confiscated the keys and gotten into the apartment, a swift kick filled with rage and hatred from Mr. Hewett would have shot it off the hinges.
“The door flew open pulling splinters from the door jam with it.” He said, almost as if he were embarrassed by his achievement. When I stepped inside the little apartment my heart broke.” His eyes welled with tears. “Marty, I know he’s your brother and you are my boss, but…”
“But I’m also your friend, Ray. If you didn’t work for me I’d hope we’d still be friends. And you certainly don’t have to hold back where my brother is concerned.”
Ray wasn’t the kind of guy to break down and share his emotions. But I saw the pain and fear in his eyes. He was wondering what I had been wondering for years: What could have happened to my brother that he was this evil? What made him turn out this way? Why was he so cruel and cruel for sport?
“I don’t know where he went wrong, Ray. It’s just something that happened to him. Something he invited in and let whatever it is take up residence in his heart.” I shrugged my shoulders. It was all I could say after he had told me what he found.
Diamond had a concussion that made the injuries in the NFL look like schoolyard scrapes and bruises. Her brain was filling up with blood and if she didn’t get moving, get some relief and care at a hospital she was going to die. Plus she had been tied up so tightly her hands were a dark, stormy purple. The worst part was that she had had a pair of her own panties crammed so far down her throat that Diamond was at risk of swallowing them while she waited for someone, anyone to arrive.
Quickly, ray yanked them from her mouth, and carefully helped her to sit with her back, leaning against the wall as she gasped for air.
“It was Joshua!” she panted in between gasps for air and the choking out of tears. “He’s after Natasha!” It was like that was all she wanted to say. Just name names and let the pieces fall where they might because she hadn’t had any energy left.
“It’s alright, Diamond. Natasha will be just fine.” Ray had said it mostly to himself since she was drifting in and out of consciousness. “Right now it’s you that matters. Let’s get you to a hospital.”
Ray wondered if that little punk at the door had actually called the police. He had listened for a moment to see if any sirens could be heard but he didn’t hear anything. Reaching onto his pocket, Ray pulled out his cell phone and called 9-1-1.
The paramedics were there within two minutes. Ray had barely moved Diamond and when the EMT’s checked her, over their faces were grave.
“She’s got a concussion. I’m almost positive of that.” One of the EMT’s who sported a short mustache had said while the other guy, tall with thinning blond hair, fussed over Diamond, snapping a plastic cast around her neck and pinching her wrist between his thumb and forefinger to count her pulse.
“Is she on any drugs?” the blond asked.
“Not that I know of. I have reason to believe someone who entered her apartment did this to her.” Ray had said.
“Was it you?” The mustached EMT asked seriously. “Make it easy on yourself if it was, pal.”
“No, sir.” Ray said confidently. “No I didn’t do this but I know who did.”
“Who are you?”
“A friend of a friend.”
“The police will want to talk to you.”
“I want to talk to them.” Ray said nodding his head. If they were trying to embarrass or intimidate Ray, it didn’t work. The EMT’s raised Diamond in a stretcher and c
