Christopher

 

I spend the day doing a lot of thinking.

 

At first I was pissed, especially when I left Amanda’s. Beyond pissed. Wishing I’d punched Derrick out the second I saw him pull into her driveway. Who the hell did he think he was, anyway? Showing up like that, acting superior. Putting the spotlight on Amanda, even more than it already was. All out of some sort of grudge against me.

 

I know why he hates me. It’s had to be that way for a long time. If he knew the full story of what happened the day Michelle died…I don’t know what it would do to him. It’s bigger than me, bigger than her. It was club-level stuff. I don’t know how involved he still is with the club, but I guess he must be close. I would have heard something through the grapevine otherwise.

 

Come to think of it, he wasn’t wearing his kutte. That’s something to consider. In the Wicked Angels, when you ride your bike, you wear your kutte. Maybe he left it at home since he was coming through town. One of the unspoken rules is club members don’t wear them when riding through town. God forbid the townspeople have to be reminded the club exists.

 

Regardless, Derrick was being an ass. Stumbling around. Pathetic.

 

Was he really pathetic, though? I pace my living room, punching my palm. No. Not pathetic. In pain. I could have stopped him from feeling that pain, but I didn’t. Maybe I’m the pathetic one.

 

So I was pissed at first. Now I’m desperate. I need her to believe me. I don’t know why. I just do. I have to talk to Amanda, even if it means going back to town.

 

I’ve been thinking about her when I’m not thinking about Derrick. I can’t help it. I keep remembering the way she looked when I was fighting with him. The way she looked when he said those awful things. About Michelle. I was sure she didn’t believe me. She was going to turn her back on me, just like everyone else already has. Why not? I’m poison. I kill everything I touch.

 

Before Derrick showed up, she was ready to walk through town with me. Face down anything with me. Stand by my side and defend me, no matter what it meant to her. All it took was Derrick’s mouth to set off her doubt. I saw it in her face. She didn’t know what to believe anymore. Me, or the drunk standing out on her lawn.

 

He wasn’t always like that. I used to think of Derrick as a big brother. He was so cool, so in control. I worshiped him, I guess. The brother I’d never had. Then, when I married Michelle, he became my brother. It seemed too good to be true.

 

Now? He’s a mess. A shadow of who he used to be. Sloppy, drunk, angry. I know it’s my fault. Just not for the reason he thinks.

 

Nothing I’ve ever said has been good enough. Not for him, not for anybody else in the town. For a minute there, I thought it might be enough for Amanda. I was wrong. It wouldn’t be the first time I was wrong about something.

 

There’s so much she doesn’t know. There are things about the day Michelle died I’ve never told anyone. I did it to protect her. Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe guarding her memory isn’t the way to go. Look what it’s doing to my life.

 

“What do you think, Scout?” He looks at me from his spot in front of the fire. “You’ve got the life, buddy. You don’t have to worry about shit like this. All you have to do is eat and sleep and run around outside. I wish I were you right now.”

 

He comes over to me, nuzzling my hand. He’s been my only friend for a long time. After I had split off from the club, I had nobody. It was like being a kid all over again. No friends, no family. I wouldn’t visit my mother for a million dollars. She might be dead, for all I know. I can’t go back to that world. Even riding past a trailer park sends a chill up my spine.

 

Scout knows all my shit. He’s a good listener. “What should I do, Scout? Should I go to her?” He stares at me. What does he know? He just wants food.

 

Shit. I stand, pacing. Can I trust her? I feel like she deserves to know everything, but I can’t shake this feeling of betrayal. If I tell the whole story, I’ll be betraying Michelle. She was a good wife until things got bad. She couldn’t help herself in the end. The addiction was too strong by then.

 

Will she even believe me? Or will she assume I’m lying, just like everyone else always has?

 

I listen to her voicemail again. She’s on my side. She believes in me. Maybe I should give her a chance to prove it. What if she lets me down, just like everyone else has? It’s fine for a person to say they’ll believe you, until they hear the truth.

 

I can’t help myself. I call her back. Voicemail. “Hey, it’s Christopher. I got your message. I’ve, uh, needed time to think. I want to talk to you. Give me a call, we can meet up someplace.”

 

After an hour of waiting, I start to worry. Why hasn’t she called? Did she change her mind? Maybe somebody else got to her before I did and tried to turn her against me. It sounds paranoid even to me, but I know anything’s possible in this fucking town. I get my coat and climb on my bike.

 

I know I could catch shit for going back into town like this. I made an agreement with the club, years ago, that I wouldn’t come around. They’ve never strictly held me to it—after all, a person has to go to town from time to time. Supplies and whatnot. Otherwise, I’ve been banished. And that’s okay with me. There’s no love lost here.

 

I guess parking overnight at Amanda’s was their idea of going outside the rules. What was I supposed to do? I had to make a choice, and I chose her. I knew the consequences, and I walked right into it. I didn’t care. I still don’t. But she does.

 

I wonder how many people will see me as I ride through this time. The town looks quiet, nearly deserted. It’s freezing outside, keeping everyone inside their warm homes. But there are eyes everywhere. I swear it’s like some of these people stand at their window just waiting for something to happen. Pretty soon word will start to spread that I’m riding through. Like I’m the fucking grim reaper or something.

 

It doesn’t matter. I have to talk to her.

 

I drive down Main Street in the hopes her shop is still open. No, it’s dark now. Maybe that’s for the best—it wouldn’t do her any good if I were seen at the shop. The townspeople might come out with the pitchforks and burning torches.

 

I go on to her house, hoping this ride wasn’t for nothing. I don’t think she’s got much of a social life. If I’ll find her anywhere besides the shop, her house is probably the place.

 

Her car’s in the driveway. I breathe a sigh of relief. Now all I have to do is hope she wants to talk to me. It’s been over an hour since I called her, with no reply. This is unlike her. I wonder who got to her in the time since she called. If she went to the shop at all, the possibilities are endless.

 

I go to the front door, knocking. It opens at the slightest touch. “Hello?” I call out, thinking she forgot to close it all the way. Silence.

 

I reach over to the light switch, flipping it. The house remains in darkness.

 

Shit. Why did I stop carrying a gun?

 

“Amanda?” I open the door wider until it rests against the wall. There’s no sign of movement anywhere in the living room or the kitchen.

 

I take a step inside, and that’s when I see it. The porch light is on, showing me a dark stain on the carpet just inside the front door. Along with a purse. Amanda’s purse, on the floor, contents spilled everywhere.

 

My heart immediately starts racing. My focus narrows. She’s gone. I know who took her. Why wasn’t I with her? I forgot how much she needed me. Too busy thinking about myself.

 

I have to find her.