He opened the door and I felt like he was recreating the scene in theWizard of Ozwhere Dorothy opens the door to Technicolor Munchkinland.
Shondell Kade was a changed woman.
She no longer looked mousy and nondescript. There was a power not only to her stride, but to her appearance. It was amazing that such a dramatic change could have occurred in just a few hours.
But everything about her was different. Gone were her glasses…and her gray eyes seemed larger and clearer, more observant, even. Her skin, yesterday looking pallid and sallow, was reinvigorated, almost glowing. Yes, a lot of that was due to tastefully- and possibly professionally-applied makeup, but her skin’s illumination matched her general demeanor and movements.
She even looked thinner, in skinny jeans, a fitted black T-shirt, and biker jacket. She wore scuffed combat boots (the real thing—not Doc Martens). She’d dyed her salt and pepper hair to all pepper, gelled it, and pulled it back into a tight knot at the nape of her neck.
She wore a pair of large silver hoops.
If I’d passed her on the street, I wouldn’t have recognized her.
I kept my own counsel as she and Karl chatted and got her comfortable in his studio. I took a seat on a black ladderback chair in the corner because it wouldn’t squeak. I watched as Karl asked her preliminary softball questions to get her relaxed and ready to talk and as he adjusted sound levels on his iMac.
Maybe simply so I could hear better and concentrate only on their words, I closed my eyes as the two of them began speaking.
*
True Crime Audio Presents: The Case of the Unsolved Hate Crime
(Opening Credits and intro music)
Bailey Anderson: Today, I’m here with Shondell Kade Brightwell, sister of alleged killed Joshua Kade. Listeners may remember that I believe Joshua Kade stabbed my brother, Reginald Baker, to death a little more than ten years ago. Shondell, his sister, has also revealed her belief that he killed not only my brother, but their mother several years ago.
Joshua Kade was found two days ago, ironically and perhaps justifiably a victim of a stabbing fatality himself, on a beach on Chicago’s Northside. Chicago Police are still investigating the incident and details about the crime are still forthcoming.
But today, we have his sister, here to offer insight into her brother’s past and who may have been responsible for his death. Was it someone who knew him? Someone who’d been wronged by him and his hate? Or was he simply a victim of urban crime?
Bailey: Good morning, Shondell. How are you today?
Shondell: Understandably, I’m shaken. Even though I believe, as you do, that my brother was a psychopath and a killer, I still mourn the loss of him. He was really the only family I had left.
Bailey: Of course. Can you tell our listeners a little bit about your brother and your relationship with him?
Shondell: Where should I start?
Bailey: Wherever you feel comfortable, Shondell. But it would be good to go back far enough so that we understand why you say, in spite of all of the evidence against him, you still love him.
Shondell: That’s pretty easy. Off the top of my head, part of the reason is I can still see his young face in my mind, the one I looked up to as a little girl. I adored him. He was my world. It all goes back to our childhood. Josh was several years older than me, so I grew up looking at him as more than just a brother. To me, he was a protector, an entertainer, a storyteller, and because our dad was often distant and abusive to us kidsandour mom, a bit of a father figure. I loved him so much growing up. He and I were like—you may not be old enough to remember the old Helen Reddy song, “You and Me Against the World”—but that was kind of how it was for us.
He drew pictures for me. He made up stories about us and told them to me in lieu of the usual fairy tales. How cool that I got to be the princess, the mermaid, the damsel in distress instead of some fictional character! He taught me how to be, believe it or not, kind and considerate, especially to our mother, who was often the victim of our father’s jealous rages. He was a lonely kid, teased because he spent so much time with me and maybe because the other boys saw him as a sissy. So he poured all of his love and caring onto me, his baby sister.
But, as we grew older, he began to change.
First, his coming out as gay happened in his late teens when he was a senior in high school. Although our dad didn’t kick him out of the house, he might as well have for how he treated him after the news was out. Dad ignored Josh, barely speaking to him. In a way, it was worse than if hehadthrown him out, because the pain inside our house was often a pressure cooker, a kind of claustrophobic nightmare. I watched Josh shrivel up, avoiding not only our dad but people in general.
And what hurt the most was that he shrank away from me. No more stories. No more quiet talks in the dark before going to sleep in the bedroom we shared. He began to disappearmore and more, sometimes leaving for entire weekends, with no explanation to anyone.
I hurt.
I felt rejected even though I was old enough to understand he was hurting, too. His pain became mine, even if he didn’t want to share it.
Long story short, he eventually went away to college and the distance, at least for a while, made it possible for us to sort of come together again. Back in those days, we emailed each other and I began to see Josh’s hunger for a relationship with a man. At first, it was cute, the stuff of romance novels.
And then, it began to turn dark.
I read, over and over, about the failure of yet another relationship, another heartbreak. It was like a country western song. Nothing ever seemed to go right for him in the love department.
