A Good Excuse To Be Bad by Miranda Parker

think he’s gone.”
    I lowered my head. This couldn’t be happening again.
    Justus whispered the Twenty-third Psalm. My chest tightened more then and my throat burned. He recited that psalm during devotional service on days when I felt most broken.
    Once I could control my tears, I asked, “How long has it been since you called 911?”
    He checked his watch. “Maybe seven minutes.”
    â€œThey should be here any minute now, then. Call them again and tell them there’s a possible death at the residence.”
    I didn’t like saying those words. I didn’t like the implication for Ava once Justus made that call. I couldn’t believe that she would come back here to kill Devon. Ava didn’t have a mean bone in her body. Our mother’s evil streak resided in me and Whitney.
    I stepped closer toward Ava; then I hopped back like I just saw a big Okefenokee Swamp rat.
    A knife rested near her right foot. It was an eight-inch blade Wüsthof cook’s knife, to be exact. I knew the knife well, because seven years ago I found myself in the middle of a Southern Living Home Décor bidding war with my bunco buddies over that last available must-have knife. It was my wedding gift to Ava. Now I wished I hadn’t shelled out $150 for the thing, and instead had bought a cheaper one that didn’t cut so clean and sharp.
    I took a hard look at Devon, Ava, the room, and became nauseated. “What’s wrong with this picture?” I mumbled. Something in here didn’t seem right.
    Ava looked up at me, her eyes now smothered in black goop. “Where are my children?”
    â€œThey’re fine,” I said. “They’re sleeping, just as you left them.”
    Justus added, “Whitney’s caring for them.”
    She looked at Justus. “And who are you?”
    â€œI’m Ava’s friend, the one who picked her up from Grady Memorial the other night,” he said.
    â€œHe’s also my pastor.”
    â€œFriend and pastor who likes to drive you around Atlanta at all times of night?” Ava asked, although it seemed more like judgment than a question.
    I sighed. “Yes, he didn’t want me driving here by myself. I had to find out why you ran off from my house like you did.”
    â€œHow thoughtful . . .” She sniffled. Her eyes looked more troubled than before. She kissed Devon’s head, then caressed it. “Now, could you please leave us? I need to say good-bye to my husband.”
    â€œHoney, I’m not going to leave you. I’m not. Not like this. EMS and DeKalb County Police should be here any moment now. You don’t need to be here in this position when they arrive. You need to move.”
    â€œI’m not going anywhere. This is my position . . .” She sobbed and rocked back and forth again. “Get out!”
    I shuddered from her shout. “No, we need to see if Devon’s okay. We want to help him.”
    Ava shook her head. Her eyes were closed now. She clutched Devon’s white bishop’s collar and cried. “It’s too late. He’s dead. He’s dead, Angel. You can’t help him now. Leave.”
    Her words ran cold through my body, but my mind was on fire. Questions filled it. The curious cat in me couldn’t contain myself, but I had enough common sense to ask those questions later. I had to help my sister right now.
    â€œThen let me help you.”
    We heard something out in the hallway.
    She looked at me, then at the door. “You’re too late for that, too.”
    Justus turned around and gasped. From the heavy shadow cast on the wall in front of me, I could tell we were not alone anymore. It had to be EMS.
    â€œWe’re in here. Please hurry. My brother-in-law is seriously wounded.” I straightened my clothes and walked closer to Ava. “Honey, you need to let him go so EMS can help.”
    â€œDon’t move,” a man said from behind