Irish

by Dusty Lassetter

  “How did you find me?” I ask, also curious as to how a bartender in Dallas, Texas knows so much about the Blacktop Sinners, but decide that information is mute at this point.

  “It wasn’t hard,” she states. “Once I knew the Blacktop Sinners had Ashley, I asked around about them and your club’s name was always next on their tongue. In case you’ve forgot, I too hang out on the wrong side of the tracks. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out that Blacktop Sinners came after Ashley on purpose, and since you are her only known tie to the dark world, I went with my gut. I tried for days to talk to you, but your club was always on lockdown. Once I started working at the Honey Hole, I knew I would eventually run into you, I just had to be patient.”

  “Then you bein’ here is out of guilt,” I reply.

  The puzzle is finally put together and everything makes sense again. Having already established a timeline in Ashley’s abduction, I understand now that Slasher kidnapped her just four days after Serenity was found. He sent his vice president to Dallas because he had already done his homework, and knew I was married. What he hadn’t counted on was Allison being the sister I wasn’t in love with. Once Tate had that information, he took Ashley instead of Allison.

  “Anthony, you have to understand I never meant for this to happen. I realize I screwed up, and I’m here trying to fix it.”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Of course,” she declares, her voice showing signs of annoyance at my lack of faith in her words.

  “Good, because Ashley doesn’t remember anythin’ past the final night I picked her up outside your parents’ home, and I need you to keep your mouth shut. She isn’t to find out about us until I say.” My statement comes out sounding more like a threat, but, to my shock, Allison squares her shoulders and nods her head.

  “I’ll do whatever you think is right,” she whispers.

  When Allison first arrived at the compound, she was the same person I remembered from two years ago. This woman standing in front of me now is not that person. There is sympathy in her eyes, worry lines around her mouth, and for once I get the sense that she actually cares about her sister. Maybe it’s her guilt that is making her act strange and this new and improved Allison will be gone as soon as the feeling has lifted, or maybe seeing the aftermath of the torture Ashley endured has changed her forever.

  Ashley

  My therapist is waiting for me when I walk into the room, sitting on a leather-bound office chair that looks like it belongs in a cubicle with a welcoming smile on her face. Her light brown hair that has a slight red tint to it is cut short, swaying just above her shoulders, and her hazel eyes are shining with the same welcome as her smile. Instead of standing up to introduce herself with a distant handshake, she doesn’t stop her forward motion until I am being hugged tight in her arms. My nose is instantly hit with a slight fragrance that must be coming from her clothes, not her skin. The scent of cleanliness instantly registers in my mind as fabric softener seemingly coming from her red blouse.

  Once she realizes I’m not going to hug her back, she places her hands on my shoulders and pushes me far enough away to verbally introduce herself. “Sorry if that weirded you out. My name is Casey Grand, and if you haven’t already figured it out, I sometimes hug people. I like to think it really helps with the introduction process.”

  Now that I have the opportunity to check her out, I find myself becoming self-conscious standing in the same room as her. You can tell by looking into her kind eyes that she is older than me in years, and wisdom. If I had to guess, I would say early forties, but she looks amazing. Her waist is slim and the red blouse she’s wearing outlines it perfectly. It’s matched with a black business skirt, that stops just above her knees, with a tiny slit in the middle to allow some moving ability in the tight fabric. Looking down at her shoes, I can’t help but notice the red high heels are something I could never wear out of fear I would break my neck trying to walk in them. Don’t get me wrong, I can walk in heels. Just not ones that look to be six inches long.

  “You must be Ashley,” she says, finally releasing me from her hold.

  “That’s me,” I mumble, feeling a little underdressed in a pair of Tony’s sweats and one of his Irish flag t-shirts.

  “So, as you can see there are no sofas here. I’m not that type of therapist. Let me just grab my stuff and we can head to the kitchen to have some coffee.”

  “Don’t you want to ask me questions? Probe into my mind and find out why I can’t remember anything.” The look of confusion on my face causes her continuous smile to grow in size. If I was being honest, I would have to say that her overly-kind attitude is a welcome distraction from everything going on around me.

  “I’m not an alien, sweetheart. I’m not going to probe you, although, I won’t lie, there will be questions, but not today. I always like to get to know my new friends outside the office first.”

  “Friends?”

  “Oh, I don’t like the term client. It’s to impersonal, and what am I here for if not to get personal?”

  After she has retrieved her bag, Casey walks to the door. With her hand waiting on the brass knob, she stares at me, silently asking me for my compliance to her plan. Since I’ve been here, at this compound, I haven’t talked to anyone other than Tony, but the men I’ve seen roaming around look frightening. Something tells me they wouldn’t want us wandering around by ourselves, so I express this to her.

  “Ummm…I don’t think us leaving this room is a wise choice. Those men out there are bikers.”

  “Don’t you worry about them. If they try anything I will take off my heels and knock them around like Chuck Norris does to all his villains.”

  Not having any real reason to doubt her self-proclaimed ninja skills, I decide to allow Casey to lead me in the direction of the kitchen. Walking side by side, she and I stay quiet. I’m trying to process exactly what just happened, and why. I’ve never seen a therapist before, but I’m almost certain she is the only one that acts like this. Just as we enter through a promising looking door, I find myself feeling guilty for stereotyping a woman that has gone out of her way to make me feel comfortable.

  “Like a moth to a flame I can always find my way to coffee,” Casey declares with pride in her voice as she walks into the large kitchen ahead of me. She isn’t bothered by the two bikers sitting at the table staring at us like we are both cyclops. When the large men look at one another with confusion weighing down their eyebrows, I almost want to laugh.

  “Don’t mind us boys, we are only here for the liquid caffeine.” My therapist is strutting through the kitchen like she owns the place. Her heels click on the hardwood floor, making a rhythm she sashays around to.

  “We’re out of creamer,” the older biker grunts, staring at Casey’s backside as he announces it.

  “Do you have any milk?” she sweetly asks, never turning around.

  “In the fridge,” he responds, even though it isn’t necessary because she is already bending down with the stainless-steel door open.

  “Ashley, how do you take your coffee?”

  The entire time she has been making herself at home, I’ve been standing frozen by the door. The table in the room is large enough for me to take a seat without sitting next to the men, but I would still feel awkward. This is their domain, and I don’t belong here. I’ve met a lot of Tony’s friends, but this is a group he never introduced to me.

  “Let’s go, Hammer,” the older man says while rising to his feet. His black and grey hair gives away his older age, and just like Casey’s, his golden-brown eyes hold years of wisdom. He doesn’t have to order the younger man to get up again. Hammer, which I find to be a scary nickname, quickly gets to his feet. He seems to be more welcoming than the bossy one. Hammer’s eyes are kind, and simply going based off the holes in his ears, I would guess he is around my age. My generation had a little too much fun experimenting with gauges.

  “Hammer,” Casey mumbles more to herself than us. “What a un
ique name. And you are?” She asks, raising her voice while turning to the older biker, her left eyebrow cocked in question.

  “Buck,” he answers, making it a point to slowly look his way up her entire body. Any other woman in that position would blush a bright red, but not my therapist. She straightens her shoulders before tilting her head in a gesture that tells him to look all he wants. Casey is confident, and has every reason to be.

  “Are you the boss around these parts?” She questions with a straight face.

  “Do you always talk like that?” Buck counters, and part of me is starting to feel like I shouldn’t be watching this exchange. Glancing in the direction of Buck’s friend, the small grin tugging at his lips confirms my earlier suspicions. There is no way a man with that smile is a bad guy.

  “Sorry, I’ve been watching reruns of The Rifleman,” Casey answers.

  “I would tell you to make yourself at home but you already have. It was nice to meet you…” he pauses his sentence, patiently waiting for her to fill in the information he doesn’t know.”

  “Miss Grand, Casey Grand.”

  The cocky smirk that comes to his face says he caught the emphasized “Miss” she drug out, letting everyone in this room know she is divorced or never married, but I have a feeling she only cared about one person getting that memo.

  Quickly moving my feet to get out of the way from their approaching forms, I’m stopped mid-step with just a look from the bossy one. “You’re Irish’s girl, so no one here will mess with you.”

  I don’t bother asking who the heck this Irish fellow is because I want nothing more for these men to leave the kitchen. Giving him a slight nod in understanding, I release the breath I was holding when he once again starts making his departure.

  “Those men are intense,” Casey says, already sitting at the table with two mugs full of coffee. “You never answered me about your coffee so I made it the way I like it.”

  Sitting beside her, I look down at the golden-brown liquid and decide it’s almost the color I like it. Maybe it could use more milk, but a strong glass of caffeine might be what I need to jump start my memory. Sip after sip, I wait for Casey to start interrogating me on my issues but the inquires never come. It isn’t until we have almost finished our drinks that she finally speaks.

  “Did you see the holes in that young man’s ears. I imagine that had to hurt.”

  The comment throws me off, and I find myself laughing at the look on her face. I’m starting to really like this woman. Therapy might not be so bad after all.

  “You don’t have any piercings?

  Being the one to ask the first personal question makes me feel more at ease. It might not have been anything deep, but the sense of relief I feel is making it easier to relax nonetheless.

  “Oh, God no. I hardly wear earrings, and when I do they are clip-ons. I never was into self-mutilation, no matter how small.”

  “I have my nipples pierced, what does that say about me?”

  The joke is meant to throw her off her game, but like the professional she is, she keeps her cool. “That you are braver than me,” she replies in a smooth tone.

  “I think we might get along,” I state, with a genuine smile on my face.

  “I knew we would,” Casey happily declares, throwing a wink in for good measure.

  “Because your livelihood depends on it?”

  “No, I make enough from my other friends. I need you so I can buy new shoes.”

  Her easy-going attitude and joking manner makes our one hour time limit pass by with ease. I find myself surprised when she opts to stick around for an extra thirty minutes, off the clock of course. Casey Grand is just the type of therapist I need to help me. With her, I will find it easier to open up, and will soon have all my memories back.

  It isn’t until after I have taken a shower that my sister Allison finally comes to see me. I’m wearing a pair of khaki shorts with a loose-fitting shirt, not at all bothered by the dressings she will see that are scattered over my body. Most of my injuries don’t require a bandage, only the deep ones, because the tiny holes took no time at all to scab over. Not having any recollection of how this happened to me is really frightening. The only saving grace I have right now is Tony. He is adamant that I will remember everything when the time is right, and I have no reason not to trust him. I wanted to stand in front of his full-length mirror that sits on the inside of his closet door, but I couldn’t force myself to do it. I’m not a shallow person, but I hate having to see myself with red hair. Plus, all the wounds are going to cause scarring, and I’m a little scared to see just how much of my body is covered. It’s one thing to glance at the carnage while soaping up in the shower. It’s another to have it staring you in the face in all its glory.

  “Ashley,” the sound of a very familiar voice startles me from my daydreaming. I quickly turn around to look at the same face I see every time I look in the mirror. Allison, my beautiful sister, is standing in the doorway looking terrified to come into the room.

  “I’m okay.” Reassuring her just seems like the right thing to do right now. With my words, some of the worry around her eyes disappears, but I can tell there is still something that is bothering her. We may not be typical twins, but we are still sisters that share the same DNA.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbles, eating up the space between us to take me into her arms. I have to quickly move my bare feet out of the way of her booted ones, but the gesture itself puts a smile on my face. Allison hasn’t always been crazy about being my sister, but I’ve always tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. I know our parents were harder on her than they were on me. We grew up in a very structured house, and Allison’s free-spirted ways threatened to put a kink in my parent’s armor.

  “You don’t have to apologize. I never expected you to come sooner,” I wheeze out, trying to help rid her of the guilt she is feeling. My statement causes her arms to further tighten and the remainder of the air in my lungs to puff out.

  “That’s not what I’m apologizing for. Although, I am sorry about that too.”

  She finally releases me from her tight hold, and is staring down at the ground like it is the most interesting thing in the world. I know this mannerism well because it’s also something I do when guilt is bubbling deep in my belly. I find her behavior really odd, and decide not to let it go ignored.

  “What the flip is going on, Allison?” I grumble, knowing she will look up to laugh at my lack of adult language. She’s always found my childlike vocabulary to be amusing.

  “I guess you could say I’ve finally grown up, and realize I can’t lose you again,” she replies.

  “What do you mean by lose you again? When was I lost?”

  Her words instantly bring a theory into my head that would make sense as to why I can’t remember anything. I once watched a show where a woman was out and about, you know running errands, when her memory started to fade until it was completely gone. Turns out she had a small tumor in her brain. Is that what happened to me? Did I become lost in this world not knowing who I was?

  “Nothing. Just stay focused on the new leaf I’m turning over, okay? I’m tired of blaming you for all the wrongs in my life, Ash. I don’t want to be just your sister. I want to be your friend.”

  “That would be nice,” I whisper, neither one of us able to ignore the lack of emotion behind my words. I am too consumed in the phrase she used earlier. The more I think about it being a medical condition, the more I realize I would most likely have woken up in the hospital.

  “Allison, how much of my memory is gone?”

  The look I send her says more than any words could. This is Allison’s chance to prove her earlier claims. Is she really wanting to put the past behind us and work toward a better future? Tony refuses to answer that particular question no matter how many times I ask him, but I desperately need to know. I want to start putting the pieces of this puzzle together. To do so, I’m going to need a timeline to work with.

 
“Two years,” Allison finally manages to get out.

  Taking a deep breath, I can smell a change in the air. I instantly become light-headed, and my brain tries to warn me of a burnt-wire smell that is streaming through my lungs. Quickly looking around the room to find the cause of the odor, I am met with nothing out of the ordinary. That’s when the fog slowly blanketing around my brain becomes thicker. My heart is now beating really fast and hard. Looking down, I can see it visibly thumping against my chest.

  “Ashley!”

  The panic in my sister’s voice does nothing to help calm me down. Grabbing onto my chest to make sure my heart doesn’t come crashing out, I begin to notice that my fingers are starting to tingle. The world around me slows down, the walls surrounding us begin to shrink, and my body is becoming too weak to hold myself up. Like a bag of bricks being thrown to the floor, I begin to fall just as my vision goes completely black.

  Irish

  The sound of Allison screaming for me from across the clubhouse has me running in a dead sprint toward her voice. I was just about to sit down to eat my first meal of the day when all hell broke loose. Rushing into my room, I see an unconscious Ashley, pale as a ghost, laying on the dirty floor. Shoving past Allison, I land hard on my knees, careful not to hit any part of Ashley’s body.

  “What the fuck happened?” I roar.

  “She wanted to know. I just wanted to prove she could trust me. She wanted to know,” I can tell Allison is close to losing it when she starts repeating the same sentence over again. Just when I feel like I might follow her into looney town, I gently place my index and middle finger on the side of Ashley’s neck. Her pulse is beating strong against my fingertips, allowing instant relief to flood my system.