by Eve R. Hart
So while I wanted to rage and whine about having to take a backseat, I didn’t.
I mean, this whole thing was my doing anyway. I just had to keep reminding myself of that.
Most days, I tried not to really think about Allison. It was hard. And while I wanted to keep her memory alive as much as possible, it ended up tearing me up inside so much that I felt like I couldn’t move.
But then there were times that I let them in. Times when I sat back, ignored what was going on in front of me and just lived in the memories, recalling every little detail about them.
Our mothers had been best friends most of their lives. It was really no surprise that Allison and I ended up that way too. I was born six months before her and our mothers could not have been more ecstatic about that. I mean, I think they had our friendship planned out from the moment they knew they were going to be mothers at the same time. Like, no joke. They bought us matching outfits to wear home from the hospital because they swore it was cute, even though we weren’t wearing them at the same time. There were pictures for proof.
How I wished I had some of those pictures now. Sad as it was, I didn’t have many of Allison. And the photos that I did have with me were tucked away in a special box.
There were so many photo albums filled with pictures of us back home. It wasn’t enough for my mom to have one, Allison’s mom had to have a copy of all the exact same ones. It was almost cute, you know, if I hadn’t been the one living it. I always hated when they brought out the cameras. Hell, half the time I refused to smile. That was when Allison would do something totally ridiculous and I couldn’t help but to laugh. I’d give anything to have those moments back.
We were inseparable pretty much from day one. Yes, most of the early years were our parents pushing us together, really making sure they hammered some kind of bond into us. But as we grew, that bond only got stronger.
We couldn’t have been more different. I was always the crazy one. I didn’t back down from a challenge. Like in fourth grade, Crissy B.—not to be confused with Crissy A., who would later become my rival—boasted how she was going to kiss Corvin Bryant behind the slide at recess. Well, when she caught me overhearing, she looked at me with the snottiest look on her face and told me that no one would ever want to kiss me and that if I told on her she would say it was all my idea. Like I could have made her do shit. Maybe I should take that back. I could have if I really brought out my mean streak. Instead, I brought out my inner bitch. Recess came and I was the one that found Corvin waiting behind the slide first, and damn if he didn’t look super excited to see that it was me there. So yeah, I planted one on his lips right as Crissy B. made it there. I didn’t feel sorry even a little. Then I walked away like I wasn’t even fazed by what had just happened. I later found out that was the starting point to Crovin’s obsession with me. Which, led to me crushing his heart in high school in front of practically everyone.
That wasn’t the point though.
So, I had a wild side and it developed more as I got older. Still, with all the mistakes I made, Allison was always there to have my back. In fact, she’d been my look at that very day behind the slide.
While I was bold and wild, she was quiet and reserved. Sometimes I think that if it weren’t for me then she wouldn’t have any friends. She was that shy. As we hit high school, she came out of her shell a little. She was hard working and always willing to lend a hand. She was sweet and honestly, just a breath of fresh air. She had so many dreams and things she wanted to become. And though she hadn’t picked which one of those things she wanted to make her future, she had the ambition and the smarts to go after whatever she did choose.
I honestly couldn’t remember exactly how old we were when we started our birthday tradition. It kind of felt like it had always been there. From what I could remember, it had started out as a joke. When we were younger, we let our parents throw us cute parties, but later that night we’d do our own thing. When it was my birthday, she’d climb into my window. And I’d climb through her window for hers. We’d spend the night eating foods that would rot our teeth and make us fat, but we didn’t give a damn. The night usually ended with us so full of sugar that we’d get sick. But it didn’t matter, as long as we suffered together. Sometime in middle school, we finally told our parents that we didn’t want parties but we kept up our secret tradition. It was just perfect. As much as we thought we were being sly and sneaky, it was obvious that our parents knew what we were up to. I guess it wasn’t like we were all that quiet. And even up until that last one, they went along acting like they had no idea for the most part.
I wondered what her life might have been like hadn’t she been taken. Would she be married now? Would she have kids? Would she have some great job that made her happy? I didn’t even think about if we’d still be friends or not because there was just no way we wouldn’t be. Sure, life might have taken us in different directions, but there was a bond there that couldn’t be severed.
I knew it was stupid to go down that road. It was also pointless to think about how I would have turned out. I didn’t imagine myself going to college. I had been all about chasing the night and not getting the best grades. That was Allison. Always the smart one. Always the teacher’s pet. But I loved that about her. I loved her innocence and that bright, hopeful look she always wore.
That night changed the course of both of our lives. I still didn’t go to college, but at least I wasn’t pregnant with no clue who the father was. Or working the pole in some seedy joint. There was just no telling, honestly. I wouldn’t have said that I was over the top rebellious, but I definitely didn’t play it safe.
None of that mattered now. I was a different person and Allison had all those options taken away from her.
I shook myself out of the stupid what ifs that wouldn’t do anyone any good. Life was sure different from the way I thought it would be. I didn’t often think about where I was and what I was doing. Truth was, it just made me feel lonely and a little pathetic. I used to be the social butterfly and now I was the lonely hermit. I got excited when that situation arose—you know, someone getting murdered—and I knew I’d get to hear a strange man’s voice. How messed up was that shit? I was a creeper, watching people in their most private moments without them even knowing. I had skills that would really get me nowhere beyond what I was already doing. And I couldn’t even let myself think of what I would do when this was all over. Because it would be one day. Come hell or high water, I was going to find her and get her out. And I would be by her side through everything that came after.
I needed a distraction. Too much thinking only led to me having a strong urge to throw a pity party for one. Focusing on the outside world was the sure answer. Watching other people deal with their problems was the only way to escape mine.
“Let’s see what those Texas boys are up to,” I said somewhat cheerfully to an empty room as I pulled up the main room camera for the Lone Riders MC. These boys were always fun to watch. There was no way I’d call them stupid out loud, but they were honestly like a group of man-children. They would always pull pranks and try to outdo one another. It made me feel like I was killing brain cells when I watched them, but it was the best kind of entertainment. Especially at times like this.
The night went by in a dumb blur. I could barely remember giving up sometime around dawn and dragging my ass to bed.
The days passed. Another birthday came and went. I was older but didn’t really feel any different. I celebrated with a frozen lasagna for one and a double chocolate cake. I wished for the same thing I’d wished for the last few years right before I blew out the candles. I ate a piece for me and one for Allison. After that, I went to bed sad but didn’t allow myself to cry.
I waited and wished for that moment I’d be able to call Clean. It was pathetic and I knew it. There were moments that I wondered what might happen if I just called him. If I could get the courage to talk to him. But it seemed too strange and so I let those moments pass. Eve
n if I did call him I had a knowing feeling that I wouldn’t be able to actually speak. At least when I called him for work purposes, I knew what I was going to say. All I had to do was spit out an address. A location. I didn’t have to linger after that and therefore I didn’t have to think of what to say next. I didn’t have to look like an idiot.
Then my mind drifted to what he was doing. Did he have hobbies that he did in his downtime? Was he a social person or more cut off like me? Did he have a girlfriend? Or hell, a boyfriend? Maybe both. Oh, now that was a thought. I could see how he would be able to handle two people at once. Though, his work wasn’t really conducive for having a relationship. He seemed like a man that took his job seriously. Like it would always come first. He never hesitated when I called him like he wasn’t ready to take off right then. I felt like his job was his life. For some reason, that made me sad, thinking that he didn’t have anyone at home or whatever to take care of him.
Which was insane.
Because I shouldn’t have been feeling anything for the man.
Okay, yeah, he was almost there in my life but not really. He was kind of like an unexpected constant. Though the constant part was pretty sporadic most times. But it wasn’t like I knew him. And he didn’t know me. It wasn’t like we called each other on birthdays and holidays. Or sent little text just to make sure the other was hanging in there. There was nothing beyond the reason I picked up the phone other than to help him out.
Which, if I really thought about it, he didn’t need me. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t eventually get that call anyway. I kept trying to convince myself that I was some little help to him. That I made things easier for him. But the truth was, I didn’t do much. I just sent him on his way a bit before he had to be. The more I thought about it, the more I realized what I did was pointless and stupid. He didn’t need me. Hell, it was probably more of a risk that I did call him.
I had decided that I was slowly going crazy. All this sitting and watching other peoples’ lives go by was starting to wear me down. Hell, I had already started talking to myself. And while I wasn’t at that point that I saw these people as my friends, I could see how that might not be far off. Would I even notice when that happened? Would I be able to see the moment I went over the edge and needed to be put away? Or would it just hit me one day and I’d end up in the corner, rocking back and forth, talking about how no one comes to visit me?
I needed a hobby. Something that I could focus on to calm my mind. To take me away from the things I submerged myself in practically every second of every day. I didn’t have any talents though. None that I could think of. I didn’t have a creative bone in my body. I couldn’t write for shit. I couldn’t paint or draw. My teachers used to give me that face that said they were trying so hard to find something redeeming in what I’d made. Yeah, some of it was really bad. I wasn’t exceptionally smart. I could get by, but I was pretty average at best. I wasn’t athletic by any means. Sure, my coordination was decent, but what the hell could I do with that?
Oh, I could get a dart board. That would be something. But then I thought about how I could possibly end up hurting myself and I scratched that idea. Plus, I would have bet that I wouldn’t be any good and I wasn’t feeling the whole tiny holes all in my wall vibe. It wouldn’t mesh with the direction I was going for my apartment.
In the end, I had nothing. So, I continued like always. I resigned to my fate of spending my days in a padded room down the road.
I had a mission. I had something to focus on. And that was all I really had time for.
-7-
Something's Up With The Girl
Clean
For the longest time, I couldn’t shake the one conversation I’d had with her.
It really irked me that I didn’t really have a fucking name to put to my little psychic chick other than that. I thought about making something up in my head but then that felt a little weird and creepy. So I stuck to the generalized her or psychic. Sometimes choosing to play around with the latter, usually making up something that had to do with whatever crazy thing she made pop up on my phone the last time she called me.
That was something that still bugged me. For years I’d been talking to her—well, getting calls from her was more accurate—and I didn’t know how she did that shit. First, how did she always manage to get my number? I changed phones often enough, buying cheap burner ones at corner markets all over. Sure, I had specific places I bought them at, but they weren’t even in the same state as one another. Second, how the hell did she make that shit come across my screen? Those were things that I couldn’t even fathom. Maybe I wasn’t smart enough or that widely versed in technology.
Okay, yeah, I knew I wasn’t.
While everyone was walking around with damn smartphones glued to their hands, I had touched a computer only a handful of times since I graduated high school. Well, maybe a few more than a handful, but I wasn’t a fan of them. I only went to the library on super rare occasions when I was left with no other option but to look something up on the internet. And in case you were wondering, yes, they still made paper maps, and that shit was good as any damn smart thing I could fit in my pocket. It was also a hell of a lot smarter. You couldn’t track me down when I used paper, couldn’t pin me to a crime scene or even in the vicinity of one.
I was a leper because of this. Wasn’t right when you had damn kids seven years old and all they did was text. Sure, it made me sound a bit hypocritical, it wasn’t like I was out there having meaningless conversations with people. But at least I knew how to when the time arose. At least I knew how to look a man in the eye when he was talking to me to let him know I was listening. Or that you always held the door open for the person behind you. And not to mention that when a woman batted her eyes at you then you should smile and pay the fuck attention to what was about to happen next. Not that I was saying a seven-year-old should know anything about that last one just yet. But hell, maybe they were more advanced nowadays than I thought they should be.
Fuck.
I sounded like a crazy old man.
I kept telling myself that I wasn’t that old just yet but I was wondering if maybe I hadn’t gotten it a little wrong.
My point was, fucking manners. No one had them these days. And it seemed that they were quickly losing the ability to have a human connection. People were too busy getting lost in trying to keep up with everything that they didn’t take the time to teach and learn the important stuff. Who gave a damn if Aunt Gerta made the perfect pie and wanted everyone to know that shit. Or someone had the most…what the hell was it? Likes? Or whatever for something they put up for all the world to see.
Yep, crotchety old man right here.
Christ.
I needed a drink.
And maybe some kind of shit movie that would have me laughing my ass off for a couple of hours.
Back to the girl. Which I really had no idea if she was a girl or not. I imagined that she was older than girl status. I hoped anyway, or else I’d feel like some creepy ass motherfucker for thinking about her so much. Though, to be fair, I had no idea what I was thinking about. It wasn’t like I was coming up with grand fantasies about how we would meet and I toss her up against the wall and do naughty things to her. I really wasn’t. Because more than anything, I was just intrigued by her. I wanted to know more because she had been such a mystery. One that had been there for too many years.
It was strange too, in a way, to do business with someone but not know a thing about them. That was the total opposite from how I liked to do things. I wanted to know who I was working for before I took a job, before I let you into my circle. But then again, it wasn’t like I was really taking jobs from her. It was more like she was…the secretary, relaying a message, maybe. One that I knew I’d be getting myself soon enough directly from the source itself.
I hadn’t told anyone about her. Not many people seemed to notice that my drive time had been cut down severely in the last few years. Or if they had, they
never said anything. I supposed they were just grateful that I got there quickly and cleaned up their problem much faster. It wasn’t like I was in tight with these people. Hell, I wasn’t even really close to them. It wasn’t something I’d bring up just for the hell of it. And maybe for some reason, I wanted to keep it to myself. Plus, what the hell would I tell people anyway? I was sure that would lead to more questions. Ones that I sure as hell didn’t have the answers to. It seemed that I chose to keep it to myself for many reasons.
I couldn’t get my mind off the fact that there was something wrong. I could sense it the last time we…talked? Though I guess I’d use that word loosely because it wasn’t much of a conversation. But even in those few short words, I could tell that there was something noticeably wrong and I couldn’t help but ask. Didn’t get me anywhere though. Other than her telling me that the Dogs of Wrath were down. Which, kinda made me pause for a good long minute. Because who would have seen that shit coming? Really? It wasn’t like they had many enemies. Not big ones anyway that could come in and obliterate them so quickly.
I tried my hardest not to think of all those men. Men that weren’t exactly friends, but I’d been friendly with for years. It had put me in an odd state of mind for the long drive I had to take. It was strange, to know them but not really. To feel some pang of sadness but not really be able to justify it.
The thing that bugged me was how it seemed to affect her as well. I tried to bush it off, thinking that maybe she was much like me—there, but not really. And that, not trying to be sexist here, because she was a female she felt it a little more deeply than I did. That her emotions ran not only through her but out of her as well. And there wasn’t anything wrong with that. But then it got me thinking that maybe she wasn’t such an outsider. Had I missed something all along? I mean, I could have. I tried not to think about the whole her thing too hard. Why try to find answers when I knew I would just be making up endless scenarios with no real conclusion? It was a waste of time. And a rabbit hole I didn’t need to go down. Perhaps that made me an asshole. Or someone not worthy of her knowledge or whatever. But I truly believe that it wasn’t just me taking. That somehow, over the years I’d come to care a little bit about my mystery woman. It may have been pathetic. But it was similar to the feelings I had about the recently fallen MC.