Prologue

Ten years earlier...

Isaiah Washington scanned the street for cops prior to approaching his drug contact, Petey Dobbs. Good thing the pigs didn't show up in this area very often. That made it easier to do business.

In this neighborhood, the Chief owned the streets. And the goal wasn't law and order but survival of the fittest.

"Yo," Petey said with a head bob. "Got what I need?"

"Got the cash?" Isaiah countered. Donte Wicks, his supplier, would want his money ASAP. The guy was as twitchy as the product he sold to those who lusted after it. Isaiah didn't much like being the middleman, but he hoped to have a face-to-face meeting with Donte's boss, the Chief, very soon. The more drugs he sold, the better his chances of moving up in the organization. This barely scrapping by was getting old.

One good thing about selling dope, it was good and easy money.

Considering he and his ma were one step away from living on the street, that's all he cared about. He eyed Petey Dobbs warily. Petey was more skittish than usual. Isaiah wanted to make the sale and get out of there. Move on to the next job. With Donte, there was always another job waiting in the wings. And that was just fine with him.

"I'm a little short," Petey said, his gaze darting back and forth nervously. "But I'll get the rest by tomorrow. I promise."

"No cash, no deal." He was tired of Petey's games; this was the second time in a row the guy had tried to weasel out of paying. "Three hundred or nothing."

"Come on, Isa, you know I'm good for it," Petey whined. "My dad is out of town, but he'll be home later tonight. I promise I'll pay you in the morning."

Yeah, famous last words. Besides, he didn't believe him. No junky ever paid up after they'd scored their dope.

"No deal." Isaiah forced himself to turn away. There were others out there who would pay top dollar for what he had. He didn't need Petey as much as the idiot needed him. Finding a new buyer would take longer, though, and that delay would put Donte's undies in a wad. The guy had the patience of a cockroach.

"Okay, okay, wait!" Petey lunged forward to grab his arm.

Isaiah instantly reacted, lashing out with his fist, catching Petey in the jaw. He'd been robbed once before by a desperate junkie, and he wasn't about to go through that again.

Petey howled like a baby and let go of his arm. Isaiah took several steps backward, eyeing Petey cautiously. This was the second reason why he didn't like being the middleman; these smackheads were unpredictable.

"Last chance." He should have left right away but had hoped Petey would hand over the cash.

Instead, the junkie whipped out a gun, pointed it at him, and pulled the trigger. The bullet slammed into his upper chest. The impact threw him off his feet, and he hit the ground hard, the back of his head bouncing off the pavement. Darkness hovered around the edges of his vision, but he did his best to stay conscious. He stared up in shock as Petey leaned over him and rummaged in his pockets for the drugs.

Then Petey was gone, leaving him lying in the street, unable to move. He looked up at the faint stars in the dark sky. Waves of pain washed over him, and he could feel his strength ebbing away, his blood pooling in the street.

This was it. He was gonna die out here like so many brothers who had gone before him. This was why his teachers had insisted that crime didn't pay. Anyone who lived in the hood knew that being shot was always a risk. Nothing he could do about that.

Desperate times called for desperate actions. His mom's illness, followed by losing her job, had started him down this path.

One that would end here tonight on a cold May evening.

His biggest regret was not getting the cash his ma would need to stay in their rattrap of an apartment for another month. She needed him. Needed the money he brought home every week.

But he'd failed her.

He closed his eyes, wishing death would take him quickly. Suddenly a blindingly white light filled his field of vision. Was this a dream? Isaiah squinted against the brightness because it hurt his eyes. Was that a spotlight? Had the cops arrived? Turning his head carefully, he looked around, realizing he was still alone. There was nothing other than the dazzling bright light.

A strange sense of peace washed over him as his grandmother's voice reverberated through his mind.

"Go to the light. Isaiah, you must go to the light!"

To the light? Was the light heaven? He found himself transfixed by the warm brightness. Yet he also didn't understand why the light would shine for someone like him. He lifted his arm as if to touch the light and experienced the odd sensation of his body being lifted off the street, drawn upward into the light's embrace.

Warmth enveloped him, and his heart filled with hope. Yes! I need the light! Please, Lord, take me to the light!

Just the thought of seeing his grandmother made him smile. But then another deeper voice in his mind whispered, "Not yet. It's not your time, my child."

Not yet? Or not ever? Isaiah closed his eyes, fearing the worst. That God had rejected him and was sending him straight to hell.

Where he belonged.