Page 6 of Malevolent Secrets

It was always a celebration in Mike’s house. Growing up, I used to wish that I had been born to a member of his family because of how tight-knit they all were.

I pick up my phone and dial his number. He picks on the first ring.

“Dani, how are you?” His voice is like a hand from the past, reaching out to comfort me and I almost start to cry.

“Hey Mike, I’m fine. How are Loraine and the kids?”

“They’re good. They miss you. We all miss you.”

“Yeah, I miss them too.”

“How you holding up kiddo?” I sigh and pace the length of my room.

“It’s not been the easiest. Sometimes I watch the door, expecting him to walk in with his silly smile and big briefcase and then I remember.”

“Losing someone is never easy.”

I sigh. “I know that. I’ve had a lot of practice, remember?”

It’s morbid and probably too dark a subject to joke about, but Mike and I have always shared a twisted sense of humor.

“That you have. Maybe a little too much. Come over for dinner. I know Loraine would be excited to see you.”

“I was actually calling to ask for a favor.”

“Sure thing, what do you need?”

“The night that Jeremy died, he was driving his Cadillac and the coroner’s report says that the car suffered an issue with the brakes, which was what caused the accident. I know how much he loved that car and I want it fixed up.”

“Consider it done. I’ll send someone over to get it from you.”

I smile.

“Thank you, Mike, see you later.”

***

Two days later, I pull into the driveway of Mike’s Auto Repair, the familiar sight of the worn, red-brick building bringing a semblance of comfort. The peeling paint on the garage doors and the hand-painted sign have been the same since I was a teenager.

Mike himself is outside, wiping his hands on a rag as he finishes up with another customer. He’s a burly man in his sixties, with a thick mustache and kind eyes that have always made me feel safe.

"Hey, Mike," I call out, stepping out of my car that I drove here. My voice trembles slightly, betraying the anxiety bubbling inside me.

"Daniella.” He opens his arms wide and I settle myself into his embrace. “Oh child, it’s been too long. Micah would be turning in his grave.”

“Nah, my dad would know that it’s my fault for being distant.”

He releases me and gives my shoulders a squeeze.

“All right. Let’s look at that car.”

Mike has been a mechanic for as long as I can remember. He’s worked for many big garage businesses before opening up his own auto shop about twenty years ago. He likes to joke that his kidneys and liver are all car parts and engine oil flows through his veins. I’ve never seen a car he couldn’t fix.

Mike nods, motioning for me to follow him as he wheels out his tools. "Let’s take a look."

I stand to the side, arms crossed tightly over my chest as Mike gets to work. His movements are practiced and sure, the years of experience evident in every turn of his wrench.

The garage smells of oil and grease, a scent that used to remind me of Jeremy and my teenage escapades.

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