GHOST (Devil's Disciples MC Book 3)

by Scott Hildreth

  Out loud.

  “Is this everything?” I asked.

  He stood. “Yes, Sir.”

  Instructions in hand, I turned toward the door with a grin on my face.

  36

  Ghost

  With a tear rolling down my cheek, I walked toward the grave site. Abby made me promise not to wipe it away, saying that for once, that she was going to embarrass me. She was sure that my five brothers would see me as a pussy if I cried.

  I had news for her. The five of them were crying, too.

  She’d left specific instructions for her burial, which included thirty minutes for us to celebrate her life without interruption of the others who she expected might be in attendance. Her casket was to arrive before the funeral procession, and the hearse was to come later, with the masses who were certain to attend the funeral.

  She left further instructions for Baker and Andy. As I dragged my feet through the lush green grass, I grinned at what she’d said.

  I want Baker and Andy to lead the way in Eleanor, with the empty hearse behind them. I want Andy driving. You can look at the car, and for a minute, as it approaches, squint and think it’s me behind the wheel, and you in the passenger seat.

  You never let me drive it, Porter.

  She’d left further instructions regarding her burial service, stating she wanted it open to anyone who cared to attend. She left letters with her attorney for the news media, and for all the charities that she’d donated money to over the years, advising them of her wishes.

  The local news was expecting nothing short of a zoo, but none of us knew what to expect, really. I did know that they had police on the edges of the highway exits when we arrived.

  I stood at the gravesite, numb. Abby rested in the casket in front of me, dressed in her favorite dress, and her Converse, just as she’d asked.

  I thought of the time we’d spent together. I suspected everyone else was praying. Despite Abby’s prediction of sending me a sign, I had yet to see anything. Further proof, in my eyes, that the world took from all of us, and there was no God to protect us from it.

  After our thirty minutes of silence passed, I heard Eleanor in the distance.

  I glanced to my right.

  As instructed, Eleanor led the way, with the empty hearse close behind. Andy did remind me of Abby, and that memory caused me to smile.

  After the hearse cleared the hill, cars emerged. One after the other. Two CHP officers on motorcycles zoomed past. Then, two more. It continued until ten had passed. They directed traffic for hours.

  In fact, when the graveside service started, there was a sea of people covering the hillside, and standing in the road, for as far as the eyes could see. There wasn’t an inch of ground that wasn’t occupied by a person, all coming to pay their respects to Uptown Abby.

  For that moment, my sorrow turned to pride.

  I lifted my chin as the pastor cleared his throat. He then glanced at each of us.

  “Abby Northrop wishes to thank all of those in attendance.” He peered at the bible he held, raised his head, and continued. “Abby was born on the tenth of November nineteen eighty-seven, in Bridgeport, Connecticut. She moved to San Diego at the age of eighteen to attend college, and soon fell in love with the magic the Pacific Ocean provided her.”

  “She also fell in love with the people she encountered.”

  “She lived her life a lover and loved with all her heart. People recognized her love, and they loved her in return.”

  He waved his hands toward the sea of people who had gathered. “These people stand as proof of that love.”

  He glanced at the bible, and then looked up. “God gave Abby a gift. She touched all of those she spoke to, and she spoke to many. She took a portion of what was provided to her, and gave the rest, never once allowing a moment to pass that she wasn’t grateful for the gifts God bestowed upon her.”

  ‘She was a woman of faith. By and through that faith, she was further blessed with many friends, a blessed family, various acquaintances, and one true love, Porter Reeves.”

  “She did, however, love many.”

  “Her family asks that in lieu of flowers, donations be provided to cancer research.”

  “Let us take a moment to pray.”

  Everyone lowered their heads. After a moment, the pastor raised his head and cleared his throat. One corner of his mouth curled upward.

  “She wants you all to realize something.” He raised his right hand high in the air and flashed the peace sign. “It’s not that bad.”

  Another tear rolled down my cheek, but I didn’t dare wipe it.

  I love you, Abby.

  37

  Ghost

  I pulled up to the diner. The new sign stood out against the parapet that had housed the Devil Dog Diner sign for years. Now Abby’s Place, it was only a matter of time before the establishment was going to be crawling with her loyal fans and followers.

  Hashtag it’s not that bad was trending on Twitter and Instagram for two weeks following her funeral. As soon as everyone found out this was her favorite diner, the place would be a mad house.

  I parked my Harley at the curb, hoping to get a plate of pancakes before the day started. For the last two weeks, my nights had been spent on the deck, watching old YouTube videos. Despite my open mind and hopeful heart, I had yet to see any sign of Abby’s existence beyond earth.

  It was nice to think about, though.

  An eternal life with her.

  I grinned as I pushed the diner’s door open.

  Lawson waved over his shoulder. “Anywhere you like.”

  “George still on vacation?” I asked.

  “He’ll be back Monday,” he said.

  I took a seat in the booth marked, “If you’re not Abby or Porter, please be kind enough to take another seat,” and sat down.

  As Lawson walked past, I gave a nod. “Short stack,” I said.

  “Bacon?” he asked.

  I smiled. “Please.”

  I missed Abby dearly. At first, I wondered if I could continue to live, and feared I’d die of nothing short of a broken heart. Although it wasn’t easy, and I knew it never would be, it was getting manageable.

  I spent my days numb to the world, and to most of those in it. I wasn’t bitter, because I knew being so wouldn’t please Abby. And, above all things, I wanted to please Abby no differently than if she was still at my side.

  After finishing my pancakes, I inched to the back of the booth and glanced around the restaurant. The typical Sunday breakfast crowd was in, which filled the place completely. I peered out the window, and into the street. A tattered Volkswagen Beetle pulled up to the curb and performed an expert parallel parking maneuver.

  As I mentally applauded, a dark-haired girl got out of it. She wore a flowered dress. It was one of Abby’s staples. Seeing it caused me to smile.

  She flipped a backpack over her shoulder, walked to the door, and pushed it open. After scanning the diner, she let out a sigh.

  Then, she began to walk in my direction.

  I ducked under the partition, not wanting to be caught staring, and certainly not wanting to talk. She probably felt that my booth was empty, as I was slumped out of view.

  If nothing else, she’d see the sign on the table when she walked past.

  Sure enough, her shadow appeared at my side.

  “Oh, shoot,” she said. “I thought this was empty.”

  I shook my head without looking up. “Sorry.”

  “I’m guessing you’re Porter,” she said.

  I rubbed the outline of the ring that was still occupying my left pocket and offered her a smile. “I am.”

  I almost choked when I saw what she was wearing on her feet.

  Converse Chucks.

  My face flashed hot. A lump rose into my throat. I swallowed heavily, but the lump remained. “You can uhhm.” I wiped my brow with my forearm. “You can have a seat here.”

  She leaned forward and glanced at the sign t
hat sat in the center of the table. “But, I’m not Abby.”

  With a shaking hand, I waved toward the open seat across from me. “Have a seat, she won’t mind.”

  My heart was racing. It was more than likely a coincidence, but I liked thinking it wasn’t. The thought of Abby managing to communicate with me excited me. As my skin began to tingle, the woman slid her backpack into the booth, took a seat, and let out a sigh.

  “It was a long drive,” she said.

  “Where’d you come from?”

  “Connecticut,” she smiled. “It took me two weeks to get here. When I left, I had no idea where I was going. Isn’t that crazy? I knew I needed to move, I just didn’t know where I was going. I looked at each city I stopped in, and nothing felt like home. It’s strange, but I feel like I belong here. It looks like I’ve found my new home.”

  My heart raced. “What uhhm. Where about in Connecticut?”

  She smiled. “Bridgeport.”

  Abby was from Bridgeport. Another coincidence, I was sure. At least I was sure for a moment. Then, I began to wonder.

  Abby, if this is you. I need to be sure. I want to believe it is, but…

  I looked at the women and managed a slight smile. She glanced over each shoulder, and then met my gaze.

  “So, Porter, what’s this place’s best breakfast meal?”

  “Pancakes,” I said, reaching for my wallet. “You’ve got to try the pancakes.”

  She brushed her hair over her ear, and then scratched the bottom of her nose with her finger. “Pancakes are the F-ing best.”

  Every hair on my body stood on end. My hands shook so violently I had to sit on them. While I stared back at her, in awe of what I’d seen, I recited what Abby had instructed me to.

  God,

  This is Porter.

  I pressed my tongue against the roof of my dry mouth, swallowed heavily, and continued.

  Porter Reeves.

  Forgive me for my sins.

  I stood, steadied my legs with my hands, and tossed a one-hundred-dollar bill on the table. I offered the woman a genuine smile. “Welcome to the SD. That’s what we call it, SD.” I nodded toward the table. “That’ll take care of the meal. Enjoy your breakfast.”

  “You’re not going to stick around?”

  “I uhhm. I’ve got to go see someone.”

  She flashed me the peace sign. “Keep the shiny side up.”

  I hadn’t even told her I was riding a motorcycle, but somehow, she knew. Claiming coincidence after coincidence was no longer possible.

  I nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

  She brushed her hair over her ear and did the nose scratching thing again. “Well, it was nice to meet you. I’m Ally.”

  I rubbed the hairs on the back of my neck and smiled. I couldn’t help it. “Nice to meet you, Ally.”

  On my way to the door, I asked Lawson to allow Ally to finish her meal at Abby’s table. Feeling an odd sense of humility, I walked to my motorcycle, paused, and lowered my head.

  Thank you, Baby. I hope you were right about him forgiving me for my sins. I pushed my left hand into my pocked and squeezed the ring. If he did, and I end up at your side one day, I’ve got a surprise for you.

  I love you, Baby.

  I got on my motorcycle, started it, and strapped on my helmet. I glanced into the restaurant, took one last look at Ally, and then gazed up at the sky.

  Thank you, Lord.

  Epilogue

  Kneeling before the gravestone, the man spoke to the deceased as if she could hear his every word. In the past two months he had garnered the faith that she could, in fact, do just that.

  “I love you, Baby. It seems strange looking back on things and realizing I lived life without faith. Now, I talk to God every night as I watch the sunset. I’m convinced he hears me. I come here to talk to you, but I think this is where I need to be when we have our talk.”

  He stood and traced his finger over the words that were etched into the stone, taking time to feel the grain in the void of each letter.

  He reached into the left pocket of his tattered jeans and cupped a velvet box in his hand. As his fingers traced the last letter, he stepped away from the headstone and smiled.

  “Know that I love you, Baby.” He leaned forward, kissed the top of the stone, and then stood. “Know that I’ll always love you.”

  After turning away, he sauntered to his motorcycle, glancing over his shoulder twice before he reached the motorbike. After fastening the strap of his helmet, he straddled the seat.

  The motorcycle pulled away from the gravesite. Filled with love, and with promise, the rider maneuvered through the winding roads with expertise. His destination, on that morning, was a pie shop located two hours north of the gravesite.

  A reminiscence. One he believed would satisfy his soul.

  His thoughts, at that moment, were not of earthly possessions or happenings. His focus was on the heavens above, and of his love, who had joined the departed mere months prior.

  Three miles east, a man stumbled to his truck. Stained with the sour smell of the previous night’s sins, he entered the vehicle, dropped his keys, and swore the Lord’s name in vain when he couldn’t find them. A moment later, his hand passed over the fob.

  He grinned a drunken smile.

  The motorcycle, traveling perpendicular to the truck, gained speed. At slightly under the speed limit, his destination was two hours ahead. Cherishing each passing mile, he subconsciously whistled a tune while he sang the words in his head, recalling the day he kissed the departed for the first time.

  A smile formed on his face.

  Fumbling for his cigarette lighter, the truck driver moved his eyes away from the road, but only for an instant. In that instant, he traveled through an intersection clearly marked with a red traffic light.

  The truck entered the intersection at a blinding rate of speed. Despite the experience of the rider, nothing could be done to avert the collision. The front tire of the motorcycle hit the left front fender of the truck.

  The rider was cast from the motorbike, over the hood of the truck, and into the path of a speeding car.

  The truck came crashing to a stop against an adjacent light pole. The driver was ejected through the windshield, and onto the truck’s hood.

  Passersby stopped and rendered aid. The driver of the truck was deceased the moment his vehicle came to an abrupt stop. The rider of the motorcycle lay in the street, hanging onto a sliver of life and a ray of hope.

  In moments, the siren of a distant ambulance could be heard. Generous mortals who assisted the rider peered in the distance and gave their assurances.

  “Help,” they said. “Is on the way. Hold on.”

  The attendants cut off the rider’s clothes, braced his neck, and placed him on a flat polypropylene board. One searched his clothes for identification. In the left pocket of the blood-stained jeans, the attendant found a velvet box. In it, an engagement ring.

  The rider, clinging to life by a thread, lifted his bloody hand. “The ring,” he muttered through dry lips. “I need the ring.”

  Knowing not what to do, the attendant placed the ring in the rider’s hand, hoping it could provide the strength he needed to survive. At that instant, he made note of the inscription of the rider’s brass bracelet.

  “You can make it,” the attendant said to himself. “All you must do is believe.”

  He then slid the rider into the ambulance and closed the door.

  As the paramedics worked frantically to save the rider’s life, the ambulance sped toward the hospital. Moments later, the ambulance came to a stop at the emergency room entrance. The attendant opened the ambulance’s rear door. The two paramedics met the attendant’s gaze and shook their heads in unison.

  “We lost him,” one said. “It seemed he just let go.”

  The attendant opened the rider’s clenched hand. Much to his surprise, the ring was gone.

  “Where’s the ring?” he asked.

  T
he paramedic shrugged. “What ring?”

  The attendant looked at the rider’s right wrist, only to find it bare. “The bracelet?” he asked.

  The paramedic seemed puzzled. “It was there a moment ago, I swear.”

  The body of the rider was taken away. The ambulance was searched. Neither the bracelet, nor the ring were ever found.

  It is believed by many that upon their passing, the departed are delivered to their destination. At the rate of three hundred per hour, souls exit their earthly bodies. Some move on to the heavens above, while others meet an entirely different fate.

  On that day, at 9:17, an angel was delivered to the heaven’s above. On his right wrist he wore a brass bracelet. Cupped in his right hand, a velvet box bore a symbol of his love.

  Waiting cross-legged at the golden gates, holding a piece of pecan pie, was the woman he so dearly loved.

  Beyond the gates, beautiful trees lined the horizon. On them, low-hanging fruit clung to the branches, an offering from the heavens. Each piece of fruit gave assurance of one more tomorrow.

  And the trees went on forever.