~Bladen~
Tick-tock.
Tick-tock.
I wait.
The early morning breeze blows, and still I sit.
Humidity in the south is a special kind of hell. My skin is slightly clammy, even in a mild sixty-five degrees.
My hands unconsciously tighten into fists at the reminder of how many times I told myself I would never be here again.
Patience is not a virtue I ever had, yet I have waited a long time for my opportunity to fight for Tamalyn Adams. Hindsight is twenty-twenty. I see clearly now, and what I shouldn’t have done is what I did.
I backed down before.
I left and didn’t look back.
Once we got out, we took off and put as much distance between this place and ourselves as I could. Getting Tamalyn settled at Haven’s Harbor first. It was then I had to get the distance between her and myself so they would follow me and she would be safe.
It was necessary.
I wouldn’t let them follow her, find her, and destroy her.
Now it all seems in vain.
She left Haven’s Harbor, a shelter for women and children where she had been staying all this time. Years, she has remained safe, and I thought happy. It was supposed to be her fresh start, free from the past. The one place I could keep her and know they wouldn’t touch her, and she left.
Tempest, the director and Tamalyn’s cousin told me she left. She said she’s an adult and she couldn’t hold her back. I call bullshit, but who am I to say anything, I left her when I should have done everything so different so long ago.
A weight settles in the pit of my stomach as I look at my childhood home. I wasn’t man enough then. Do they realize the monster inside me now? The evil I was born with spawned from him and the anger inside me he created. No, that they created. My mother allowing my father to do what he did, never stopping it, never coming to my defense. Yeah, they’re both guilty as sin. I couldn’t do anything before, but now … Well, now I plan to do everything I can to make sure Tamalyn sleeps well every fucking night.
As much as I never wanted to be here again, Hillside Drive has me home, even if it’s not for a happy reunion. Nothing about this place will ever be happy. There are no childhood memories with my parents that I want to relive. No, I want them all to die in this place.
I got us free. Tamalyn knew the deal. We could never come back. I should have faced them all down instead of running. My parents, her parents, I should have stepped up not taken the coward’s way and run. But it was the only way I could see at the time.
I was a boy then.
I’m a man. A man with a chip on his shoulder.
I won’t turn away in fear. Not this time. I’ll shed blood, shed tears, and I’ll rip every motherfucker who stands in my way apart until I can sleep at night, knowing not one fucking thing from the past will touch her again. We will both find our peace, even if it can’t be together.
Since four o’clock this morning, I have sat at the end of the driveway. I left even before Deacon got up and hit the pavement for his morning run.
He’s always the first one awake. Maybe it’s because he is a former Navy SEAL or maybe it’s the nightmares that keep him up all night. I don’t know. What I do know is I had to leave them all in Florence, South Carolina this morning so I could face my past alone.
This is something I won’t involve my brothers in. They would gladly be at my back, but this … well, it’s mine.
She’s mine.
This has nothing to do with Devil’s Due Motorcycle Club and what we do. Yes, this is my case, but like my brothers, there is nothing unsolved about it. I know what happened, who did it, and how they got away with it. I just haven’t sought vengeance … until now.
We are a band of brothers. Nomads, with no place to call home, and it’s how we like it. The open road, the endless possibilities, it’s what each of us crave. Normally, we crash from one small town to the next, just going wherever the clues take us.
When you have the shit in your past that the six of us do, well, it makes change be your constant and suddenly you find comfort in it. At least, I do.
The justice I seek has been building since my conception.
I stare at the ranch-style home. Four walls that contained a hell that is unspeakable. I glance to the house beside my childhood home—Tamalyn’s house. Two middle-class American homes that, from the outside, people would think were part of someone’s all-American family dream.
If all dreams were nightmares, then that would describe the childhood Tamalyn and I endured.
I turn back to my house. The country blue siding is accented with cream shutters, the landscaping is impeccable, and with the hydrangeas blooming blue, it’s all picturesque.
Until you cross the threshold.
Behind the wooden door lies an entryway with family portraits and a wall of medals. All the county, city, and community awards for generations of Jones men. From my great-great-grandfather all the way down and through my father, each man has stood behind the badge.
The city of Dillon, South Carolina is all about southern charm, quiet streets, and more corruption than even a congressman could wade through.
How many ceremonies did we attend for him? How many family pictures were in the newspaper, referring to the upstanding citizen Anderson Jones was? How many people still fall for his bullshit?
My childhood home sits in front of me as if nothing has changed. In fact, the third brick paver from the front door is still off by half an inch from the others. No one ever fixed it after all this time.
It was my reminder. Every morning as I left for school, I would have to step out onto it and see how one brick no longer lined up with the others.
My mind goes there, even as I fight to just stare at the house of nightmares.
“Don’t, Dad,” I plead.
“What are you gonna do, little boy?” He smirks at me, the evil shining in his eyes.
“I’ll call the police!” I firmly tell him as I watch my mom grab at his wrist, seeking relief from the pressure he’s putting around her neck.
He laughs, taunting me. “I am the police, so call them all you want, Bladen.”
I don’t care. I can’t watch him hurt her anymore. Rushing to the phone, I dial the one person I know can match my dad in strength, size, and won’t be afraid of him.
“ ’Lo,” he answers.
“Mr. Andrews, please help my mom,” I beg, feeling the tears form behind my eyes.
“Bladen?”
“Mr. Andrews, Dad’s been drinkin’. He’s hurtin’ Momma. Please help.” My words are barely above a whisper now.
That’s when my blood runs cold. I hear him laugh into the receiver just before it’s yanked from my hand and slammed down.
“Told you to mind your business, boy. Told you time and time again, what goes on with your momma and me is not your problem. You don’t fuckin’ listen. Time for you learn,” my father scolds as he releases my mother and grabs my arm just under my armpit, wrenching me sideways then out of the living room.
I yelp, fighting back the urge to cry out. When he is like this, there is no reprieve. In fact, sometimes I think the more Momma yells or cries, the more he likes to hurt us. It’s like it drives him harder.
“You think Caleb Andrews is gonna help you?” my father’s voice booms as we hit the front porch.
I twist my head and look to the neighbor’s house where their front porch light is on. I can see the shadow of Mr. Andrews standing against his front door. He’s not going to come over here. My dad’s partner on the police department, his best friend, and the one man who I know could help me watches instead.
“Caleb, my boy wants you to help him. The disobedient boy wants you to keep him from being punished,” my dad yells to our neighbor.
“Way I see it,” Mr. Andrews yells back, “gotta teach these yougins to follow the rules. He don’t need to be in adult business. If he’s gonna break the rules, then he’s gonna grow up and break the law. Might want to teach that boy a lesson, Anderson.”
The encouragement is exactly what my father was looking for. Two hands grip my arms at my shoulders, and then he shakes me.
“A night out in the yard should teach ya your place.” His eyes meet mine, and I swear I’m looking at Satan himself.
In a swift move, my eight-year-old body is lifted and tossed off the porch. The back of my head hits the brick paver under me before it all goes black.
I woke up hours later with the sun rising, much like it is this morning. The sky a blend of many colors, all bright, and giving the illusion of a beautiful day to come. The throbbing was intense, and I found myself covered in dry blood. I had hit the paver so hard it shifted.
There is never a beautiful day when it surrounds this house.
Reaching up, I feel the back of my head where I still have a lump. The flicker of silver that pops out of my saddlebag catches my eye as I turn my head, stretching my neck and fighting off the ghost pains of the past. The pinwheel that goes everywhere with me is a reminder of the evil that lies within.
The first of many lessons this house taught me, that man gave me, and all in the name of justice, rules, laws, and the need to keep everyone in line.
It’s all a bunch a bullshit.