The Task

When our hate denies us more than we can ever imagine and destroys us in the end.

There was a knock at the door. 

"Come in." 

The door opened and the two young adults entered, looking uncertain as to why they were there. 

"Yes?" the older man behind the desk asked. "May I help you?" 

"Uhh," the young woman began, "um, we were looking for someone to help us with this," she said, holding up a tan envelope sealed with yellowed tape. 

"Well, I'm Captain Cledran Davenport, but what is this?" the man behind the desk asked. 

The young woman entered, followed by a male who seemed even younger, but was a bit more self assured. 

"Our grandfather left this to us," the woman explained as she handed the envelope over. 

Davenport looked at the envelope a bit. 

"Since I take it you have handled it, there is no need to have it taken to be checked for fingerprints," he stated. 

"There were no warnings or anything," she said. 

"The lawyer had it put away," the male youth finally spoke. 

"Please, sit down," Davenport said to the pair. They each followed suit.

Davenport examined the incredibly thin, light-weight envelope and noted the message on the front. 

"Are you Jantiah or Marquez?" he asked them. 

"I'm Shedelle, he's Jantiah. Marquez is our sister," the young woman answered. 

"And your grandfather left this to the three of you?" 

"Yea, Marquez lives in Canada now." 

There was a moment of silence, then Davenport spoke. 

"Marquez, Jantiah, Shedelle. I need any or all of you to take this envelope to the police upon my passing. You are in no danger. The events occurred, . . . when did your grandfather pass away?" 

"Four months ago," Jantiah answered. 

"And the will has just now been read, I take it?" 

"Several people have either passed on already, or like Marquez, they weren't interested in appearing. Said Shedelle and I could tend to it, whatever it might be." 

Davenport reached for a regulation glove and put it on, then paused. He looked at the pair. 

"By all indication, if the two of you had taken it upon yourselves to examine anything in this envelope, not only would you be incriminated, but then if there was something harmful, that would mean you would be the targets of that harm," he stated, "and other than bringing me the envelope as you have done, I can conclude if we sent this to forensics, all they will discover is one or both of your fingerprints."

"And the lawyer,"Shadelle said. 

"Daddy handled it," Jantiah said. 

"So if whatever is in this was not aimed at either or any of you, then I am going to proceed to open it." 

He took a small, thin blade and slid it along the tape very slowly and carefully. The adhesive had weakened, but was still secure. He put the blade down and then tipped the envelope over. 

A single folded sheet of paper emerged. Jantiah and Shedelle watched intently. 

Davenport set down the envelope, then picked up the paper and unfolded it. The trio made not a sound. 

Finally Jantiah spoke. 

"What does it say?" 

Davenport sat motionless, staring at the letter a while longer. The two youths didn't move or speak other than Jantiah's query. The room was bound in silence. 

Finally, he turned to his computer console, began typing, looked at the letter again, then typed some more. The screen beeped and lit up. The kids could likewise see pictures and images, but didn't know who any of them were. 

Davenport stared at the monitor for a bit, then retrieved his phone. He entered a number, paused, then spoke. 

"Yes, extension 106. I need to learn about a possible homicide committed approximately . . . " he looked at the letter a bit. 

". . . approximately forty three years ago." 

Slowly Shedelle and Jantiah turned and looked at one another, absolutely wide-eyed. 

"How old was grandpa forty years ago?" Jantiah mumbled to her. 

She said nothing in return. 

"Uh-huh," Davenport said into the phone. 

"Yea," he continued. "Uh-huh."

Once more he examined the letter. 

"Seems it . . . . . it involved an entertainer of sorts." 

Shadelle and Jantiah stared quietly. 

"A rather acclaimed performer. Not sure what kind of career he had." 

Without getting Davenport's attention, Shadelle tried to see if she could make out the face on the monitor, but she didn't recognize him at all. 

"Okay. okay. Yea, this looks like it might be, . . . " the man said in the phone before he ended the call. 

Once more, he looked at the monitor, then back to the letter. He cleared his throat. 

"To whom it may concern: I have asked my grandchildren to deliver this non-confession after my passing to hopefully provide some idea as to what happened. They have no idea what this is about." 

He looked at the pair upon reading this passage. 

"When I was young, actually younger than the children before you, and I know this because I waited until they were legally over 18 before I instructed the attorney to include this item to be presented to the kids, the worst thing my cousin and I did as children was take a couple of hub caps off somebody's car. 

Okay, we tried to. We didn't succeed. So as we made our way home late one night, we see this fella in the dark slowly walking down the street. He seemed uncertain, then he began crossing the street and that was when Joe and I became concerned. Joe was my cousin. He was killed in a car accident back in the nineties. 

So anyway, the man starts coming toward us and we're trying to get away from him, but he was determined. That was when as he got near us, we could see in the streetlight his shirt was stained in blood, but then I looked at his face and he was an old, white man who seemed very afraid. His mouth was bleeding and he cried like a baby. 

Joe told the man to relax and they'd call an ambulance for him, but I knew Joe didn't want to be caught with this injured old white man and have everyone thinking we had something to do with it. We knew if anyone saw us, we'd be blamed or suspected." 

There was a knock at the door. Jantiah and Shedelle turned to see three people enter the room. 

"What's up, sir?" one man asked. 

"You got something on the old Shelby Carr case?" 

Shedelle looked to Jantiah and he looked back. Completely over their heads. 

"Yea," Davenport said. "I was reading the letter to the kids here. They're grandfather was a witness to the murder, or more likely he spoke to Carr before he died. Their grandfather would be the last person to see Carr alive." 

Shedelle was already typing in the name and upon hitting enter, the same image on Davenport's screen came up. She looked at what all there was to be said about the fellow with a completely blank expression. 

"I have no idea who this is," she whispered to Jantiah. 

"Shelby Carr," the man behind the desk spoke, "was a famous performer of his time, at one time in his life. Received his recognition, headlines. Ostensibly forgotten today."

"He was murdered," one of the men who apparently knew the situation spoke up. "Witnesses said two black youths were wanted for questioning about the crime." 

Shedelle and Jantiah looked at Davenport. 

"If I may continue, everyone, the grandfather and great-uncle of these two sitting here were no doubt those two individuals, and not surprisingly never came forward because automatically they would have been guilty by suspicion."

"But two other young men were brought in and questioned," another presence declared. 

"And they were let go for insufficent evidence," Davenport continued. 

"So their grandfather is wanting to confess to the crime now?" one of the figures inquired. 

Jantiah perked at such an assumption, but offered no satisfaction in even turning around and looking at the man.

"If I may?" Davenport stated, more than asked. 

"Jerron and Joe were brothers, barely in their teens, when it seems they found Shelby Carr, having been severely injured. As I had yet to read to Jerron's grandkids here, the two youths saw some others approaching and understandably they departed, leaving others to tend to Mr. Carr, but before they did, he told them something. If I may?" 

The group sat motionless and silent as Davenport continued reading. 

"I told Joe we had to leave. Joe was assisting the man down to the sidewalk, as he was giving way to his wounds anyway and couldn't stand anymore. I looked around and thought I heard someone, then turned to Joe who was staring at the old man. I looked at Joe, who seemed mesmerized, then I looked at the old man, who was bleeding from his nose, but he wept and shook while he did so, as if he was completely terrified. Then the man spoke to us. 

He said, "it was because he was black. Nothing else. It wasn't because he was lynched. It was because he was black." 

"When he said black, he just cried. He repeated the words to us again, "it was because he was black, not because he was lynched." 

Shedelle sat staring at the face on her phone, the face of the man-in-question. 

"What did he mean?" she asked Davenport. 

Davenport stared at the letter a bit and didn't answer Shedelle. Then he continued. 

"We saw some people coming, so Joe and I left. We knew better than to stay there. The old man slowly slumped to the pavement as Joe carefully lowered him, then once he was still, Joe and I took off. 

Of course we heard, "there they go. Hey," yelled at us. It would be three days later before we learned who the man was, a famous entertainer of sorts that I think we had seen in some westerns. A much younger picture of him appeared on the televisions and in the magazines. Reports said two black youths were wanted for questioning, but again, Joe and I knew better than to even try. Later, they hauled in several young men, but all were released. They even brought in a couple of friends of ours, but never once did anyone turn to us, so we remained completely silent. Eventually three young men were considered for indictment, but there was absolutely no evidence, so they had to be let go and the case remained unsolved, and now, good sir or ma'm, the case is still unsolved, as all I can tell you is what Mr. Carr said to us that night on the street.

"It wasn't because he was lynched, it was because he was black."

The group sat quietly for a moment, then Shedelle asked, "do we need to leave?" 

"No," the chief said, "not at the moment, because as it stands, you know as much as we do, and you know a little more where your grandfather is conerned. Obviously the pair of you are too young to remember this other fellow, Joe, if he was killed before you were born."

"I was a baby," Shedelle said. 

"And all we have as to what was said is in the grandfather's statement?" one of the people asked. 

"Did the kids open the letter and tamper with it?" 

With that query, Jantiah did turn and look directly at the man, and even Shedelle looked at him.

"Look at these two, Casey," Davenport said. "Do they look old enough to have known what to tamper with to affect the events of Carr's death over forty years ago?"

This man called Casey gave an innocent air of there might be something credible to what he asked. Jantiah and Shedelle finlly stoppoed looking at him. 

"She's brought his name and picture up," Casey said, standing over Shedelle's shoulder. She remained fixated on him and didn't move away. 

"As she would have done when she learned his name to see who it was who died in her grandfather's presence," Davenport responded, then stood. 

"You know what," he declared, "obviously we have all we can get from either of you, so maybe it is a good idea if you be on your way." 

"You lettin' 'im go?" Casey asked. 

Even Davenport stared intently at Casey with that one. Davenport continued. 

"We'll be in touch if we need anything further from you. Again, thank you," he finished. 

Jantiah and Shedelle stood to leave the room as Davenport spoke to the other three. 

"Let's see if we can find anything about Carr that may have connected him to a murder at any time," he told them. 

As they moved out the door, Jantiah looked directly at Casey. Once they were outside and walking down the hall, they listened to Casey in the office. 

"You see the way he looked at me?" they heard him say. "They know more than they are saying."

"You hear that white dude in there?" he asked Shedelle. 

She continued walking and quietly replied, "yea," as she stared off into the distance. Without turning to Jantiah, she simply said, "let's get out of here." 

Jantiah looked to her and said nothing, but proceeded beside her. 

They raced to the car in the rain and entered the vehicle. Shedelle sat in the driver's seat and didn't move. "Grandpa never did like television or the movies," she said softly. 

"Now we know why," Jantiah replied. 

"He used to say he wanted to move away from all these tv people, but I guess after Uncle Joe's death, he decided to just stay put." 

"You don't think this had anything to do with Uncle Joe's accident, do you?" 

"No," she replied. "It couldn't have." 

"Let's just get out of here," Jantiah ordered. "Let's get away from this police station." 

'No," Shedelle said quietly. "We're exactly where we need to be." 

Jantiah looked at Shedelle to see her staring up out the front windshield. He followed her vision to see high in the dark, rainy sky, there was one illuminated window, the horizontal blinds visible, and an unmistakable form standing still to one side. 

As if to let the figure know they were seen, Shedelle turned on her headlights. Jantiah looked at her. 

"You want them to know we see them?" 

"They already know we do. I'm just confirming it for them." 

Shedelle looked at the phone some more. She studied the image, then scrolled, looking again at the new picture. Now she started the engine and slowly pulled out. 

"We going home now?" Jantiah asked, sensing there was more than he knew. He looked up to the window to see the blinds on the certain window slowly close, and even then, the form could be observed moving away.  

"No," she said as they exited the parking lot. "We got somewhere else to go."

Approximately ten minutes after they had left the parking lot, another set of headlights appeared and drove off in the same direction they had taken.

 A good hour or so had passed. The night was overwhelmed with rain, but thankfully no lightning. On an upper floor in an entirely different building location, the lone figure sat in darkness, staring at the world outside, shrouded in the night, muffled by the reinforced glass before him. He was unmoving, observing an occassional car pull into the parking area below, quite visible from his vantage point. And he just stared, as he had done now for all these years.

 

"Mr. Colton?" 

He turned at the sound of the female voice. 

"Who are you?" he asked. "It's past hygenic hours." 

The young woman slowly stepped up out of the darkness, enabling him to see her much better. She in turn looked at the old man, frail and colorless, but possessing an odd amount of defiance. The two persons looked at one another. 

"My name is Shedelle and this is my brother Jantiah," she replied. 

"We came to visit you." 

Colton turned to look back out the window, and said, "you're hear about Spencer Carr, aren't you?" 

Jantiah stared in disbelief at how Shedelle deduced where to go forty years later, and was even more startled by Shedelle's answer. 

"Yes," she said. 

"How did you know to come here?" Jantiah asked. "Forty years after that man's death?" 

Shedelle continued to stare at the man. 

"Because in all this time," she said, "no black person has come to visit him. His career and appeal was largely targeting the white audience, correct?" she asked as she drew near him. 

Colton stared out into the dark. 

"Even then I didn't know what a black audience was," he spoke in a whisper. "All that singing and dancing I did, only to have it outdone by the following black entertainers." 

Shedelle looked at her phone once more as she stood directly before Colton. 

"Tell me about Greg Benson," she said as she drew a chair near him to sit down. Jantiah just stared at his sister. 

Who on Earth was Greg Benson?

Upon hearing the name, Colton turned and looked at her with old, broken eyes. Then he looked away. 

"How did you learn about him?" he asked. 

"Our grandfather," she answered, "was the last man to see Spencer Carr alive, heard his last words. Would you like to hear them?"

Colton didn't answer. 

The last thing Spencer Carr said to my grandfather and his cousin Joe was "it wasn't because he was lynched, it was because he was black." 

With those words, the old man remembered. He covered his face with his hands and let out a long wail and began sobbing. 

"Shedelle," Jantiah asked, "who is Greg Benson?" 

"No, no," Colton continued to cry. 

"Greg Benson," a voice heard from the still open door spoke, "was another old Hollywood actor." 

Jantiah and Shedelle turned to see Davenport, standing very still. Gradually he moved closer to the duo and the crying old man. 

"You followed us," Shedelle said, remaining seated. 

"Yes," Davenport answered. "I knew you had figured something out." 

"What the final statement from Spencer Carr was about, but my grandfather had no way of knowing who Carr was referring to." 

Colton brought his hands down from his tear-streaked face. 

"They wanted to make amends, they said," he stammered as he put his hand to his face. "For slavery and segregation. They wanted to make amends. They had given a black actress the award about twenty years earlier, so now they wanted to do it for a black actor." 

"Greg Benson," Davenport said. 

Colton nodded in the illuminated darkness. 

"The feeling was, giving an award to a black woman had garnered such favorable publicity, they'd do it again."

"Make it a twenty year event?" Jantiah said. 

"Basically, yes," Colton sobbed, clearing his throat a bit better, "but if the women earlier had been okay with it, we men weren't. We felt we had worked too hard for our honor. Too hard!" 

Colton brought his hand to his face once more as a tear rolled yet again down his cheek. 

"All for nothing," he mumbled. "We achieved absolutely nothing. Careers in nothing but shambles." 

"What did you do?" Shedelle asked, surprising Jantiah for once that she didn't know the details. 

"They wanted, . . . " Colton began, "to make it another supporting player in a musical, as the woman had been nearly twenty years earlier, but those of us up for consideration for supporting recognition protested." 

Colton looked away, then turned to look at Shedelle. 

"We worked too hard, we felt," he said. "Why should we have to give up our achievement for someone else, because of his skin color? And for singing and dancing? Of course, they were better at singing and dancing than us!"

Colton chuckled slightly. 

"What fools we were," he said looking down. "So foolish." 

"Then what happened?" Shedelle asked. 

"Well," Colton started, "they threatened to nominate him for a lead, and well, that was all it took. How dare they? How dare they."

Colton looked around a bit more, then continued. 

"All this over a simple award that, in the end, really amounted to very little in the bigger picture, don't ya know?"

He turned to Shedelle and smiled. She looked back. 

"So they said fine, the people in charge. They decided they'd just give him a special award." 

Colton laughed and loud. 

"They gave him a special award for that movie," he said, still laughing. "Have you seen the movie?" Colton asked, continuing to laugh. "We were infuriated. How dare they give him a special honor for that horrible movie." 

"What was the movie?" Jantiah asked. 

"Very controversial film," Davenport answered. "I remember hearing about it. Passengers on a plane become enraged at a theft and lynch a man, by hanging him out the back of the plane."

Jantiah slowly turned to look at Davenport. 

"Are you serious?" 

"Had a big song and dance number in it too." 

"I was young then. I was up for Cries to the North," Colton said, trying to make the title sound distinct, "some movie denouncing religion. I don't recall a lot about it. I was just about one of the youngest nominees ever. Spencer Carr was up for some underwold expose piece. They made so many of those movies back then. All the nominees felt if they wanted to nominate Benton for that movie, they should do it in a special black category or something," Colton trailed off. 

"Why did we think it mattered?" he asked quietly. "It didn't matter. 

"So they gave Bennett the award?" Jantiah asked. 

"Benton," Colton corrected. "Yes, they gave him a special award, for Denial Above. For being lynched on an airplane. It was such a silly movie and we were thinking, they couldn't find something better, but that didn't matter. We just didn't want him nominated with us, for fear we might lose to him." 

"It wasn't because he was lynched," Shedelle said, a tear on her cheek, "it was because he was black." 

He got the special award, and two of us won in our categories. Spencer and I didn't win. Spencer won later. I never won. Almost immediately the rumors began after another of the nominees, Felix Jenkins, was accidentally poisoned. People accused Benton of having something to do with it, then Benton himself died of health issues and the rumor was he had been the target, but Jenkins was killed by mistake. Before long, those of us nominated that night were the walking dead. We knew something. We were hiding something. We knew we were selfish, jealous cowards who didn't want a black man winning an award over us, but it didn't matter. Another year, more winners and everything about Denial Above was more and more forgotten. When Spencer won his award, the first black man won for comedic performance and nobody said anything."

Colton sat quietly. The other three did the same, remaining unmoving. 

"Then I received a phone call. It was Spencer. I hadn't heard from him if ever. Our careers had both gone south, but I retired from acting years earlier, deciding I was done. Spencer was upset and wanted to meet. Said he wanted to discuss what we had done to Benton. I was flabbergasted. I hadn't done anything to Benton, but I remembered all the resentment I had he got that special honor and something within me then felt it should have gone my way, but it didn't.

"I went to see Spencer. I don't know what he was on, besides drinking, but he was ravaged by time, decades of denying others such as Benton any recognition and wanting the same for himself. It was as if it had consumed him, just eaten him from inside. He went on about Benton singing and dancing better than him, tho I don't think there is a movie anywhere with Spencer singing and dancing. There was no talking to him and he just seemed to want to dredge up all the resentment over being honored alongside Greg Benton. How he made me recall my youth that hated that name and how I thought I had put it all behind me. Well, I had until now. And I was the only one left who he felt he could speak to.

"I just watched him, stumble around, rambling, screaming, then crying and then he predictably did the inevitable and stumbled over the balcony rail."

Colton began to laugh. 

"Like someone out of a cheesy predictable second-rate tv show, he fell off his fourth story balcony. I thought about going to see if he was still alive, then decided, no, this whole acting ordeal was behind me. We'd look like two vindictive old actors sparring it out, and I wanted none of it, so I left." 

"But he wasn't dead," Shedelle replied. "Eventually he got up and made his way to my grandfather and Uncle Joe, who took his last statement." 

"Concerning Greg Benton," Colton replied. 

"And made no mention of you," Shedelle said. Colton looked at her in the shadowy night, but he said nothing. 

"And you learned black youths had seen him last, so you remained quiet, just like our grandfather." 

Colton seemed to fumble for the words now, after the lengthy explanation, but now he found none. 

"Shedelle stood up and looked at Colton, then quietly said, "congratulations on your award-winning entertainment career," then she turned to leave. Jantiah followed suit. 

"Shedelle," Davenport asked, "how did you learn about Benton and the movie with the lynching?" 

She stood before Davenport and nonchalantly held up her i-phone. 

"Google," she replied, "enter Spencer Carr, lynching, black man, and Carr's nomination the same year as Benton's movie with the lynching came up. Learned Nicholas Colton here was the last surviving nominee." 

"If only your grandfather had given this information before he died, we would have known," Davenport said. 

"If only he wouldn't have been automatically suspected because he was a black youth, maybe he wouldn't have waited until he was dead," she replied. 

Shedelle turned and looked back at Colton, still sitting in his wheelchair, staring out into the dark, then she and Jantiah turned to leave.