Page 4 of Ghoul

Hazel

Grams’ House

Cleveland, Ohio

2000

“Dad!” I screamed, and my body shook with force as my desperation floated into the sky. He couldn’t disappear from this world; I wasn’t ready to let him go. It didn’t matter how big these men were, I would stop them. There wasn’t another choice to be made. I wasn’t ready to live the rest of my life without him. I told my stubborn feet to run as fast as possible and jumped in front of him as the man swung the shovel. Nothing was as important to me in this world like he was, and I would do anything to save him. Horrific pain shot through the side of my body, and my eyelids jetted open.

“Fuck,” I mumbled, rolling off my side and onto my back. Another nightmare of how I failed to save him.

“Same dream?” Grams asked in a careful tone, stepping into my room and bent down to offer me her hand.

“Basically.” I shook my head and scooped myself and my dignity off the floor, leaning my head against Grams’ leg as she sat on the edge of my bed.

“Nothing you could have done would have saved him, baby.” She ran her fingers lightly over the top of my head and through the strands of my hair. It was pointless to argue with her, knowing I’d never win, so I didn’t say anything in protest.

She was partly right in one aspect, though. I did nothing, and he died. Everyone aware of what happened to Dad always told me it wasn’t my fault or that I was too young to do anything more than I had done. It was the same story everywhere I turned, except with different words. Some people told me how brave I was while it happened, or how lucky I was that I wasn’t hurt. I didn’t feel lucky or brave, the only thing I felt was hatred and responsibility. I was determined to make the man pay for what he did to Dad.

They were all rewarding my failure with kind words as if there was the smallest portion of what had happened that I could be proud of. It was what people did, constantly worshipping the survivors of bad situations, but what they never mentioned was it was okay to be angry. Everyone other than Grams. When she told me exactly that, I had already seen three different therapists and been suspended from school multiple times. “It’s okay to be angry, but just remember to be angry at the right people. Not everyone was responsible for what happened, including you,” she had told me, and it was then I realized the truth in what she was saying. I didn’t need to hate the entire world for the loss of my dad, only the people involved.

The thought of seeking revenge crossed through my mind almost daily. Sometimes, it was intentional, and when I was feeling particularly low, it served as a pick me up. Other times, I sat and dreamed up new ways to torture a man out of boredom. I had lost count of how many times the men had died by my hands in my fantasies. There were more than enough cliché sayings about revenge, but what you never heard was how methodical and all-consuming it was to merely put a plan into place. It had been nine years since my dad had been murdered, and I couldn’t do much when it happened, but I wasn’t the same little girl. I wasn’t the person I was when Gary Starcher, better known as Spider, approached me all those years ago. He didn’t hurt me, but he did take something away from me that I would never be able to get back—my dad.

Of course, he didn’t do it alone. Actually, he wasn’t the one who murdered Dad, but that didn’t mean he was innocent, either. The man who killed my dad was thrown in jail as soon as the police found him. I didn’t learn his name until the day I had to appear in court and testify against him—Allen Blakely, also known as Ghoul to the majority of the world. They were both members of a local outlaw motorcycle gang, The Royal Bastards. Before my family’s life was so tightly bound with theirs, I had no idea that motorcycle gangs existed. Dad had ridden a Harley for as long as I could remember, and all the people I had met who rode with him were always nice to me. I had a lot of uncles growing up, but at the time, I didn’t know they weren’t actually blood relatives. In fact, one of my earliest memories was of Dad holding me on his lap as he revved his bike. The smell of exhaust on clothes was a comforting scent because it reminded me of him. At least, it used to be, now, it only made me miss him more.

It was insane to think the man responsible for taking everything away from me was a mere twenty minutes down the road from us, rotting in prison. He was so close, and yet, I couldn’t do anything to him. I wished he was dead, and if he ever got out, I would make sure that was the only thing his future held. Death. I would take away any flirtation of happiness that found its way into his wretched life. It was only fair—an eye for an eye type of condition. Death didn’t always have to be personal; it could be accidental or a freak accident. Except with Allen Blakely, it would be very personal if I was ever given the opportunity. Every aspect of me ripping his life from him would be intimate and elegant, just as hatred and love were. Each took consideration for a person to feel them, but there was no doubt in my mind which one I felt for him. Spider was guilty by association, but somehow, I didn’t hate him as much. He could have done anything to me: gutted me, raped me, or hell all of the above. Instead, he chose to return my unconscious body and bike to our house. I never planned to thank him, but his life wasn’t as expendable to me as Allen’s was.

“I know,” I quietly answered with the reply that was expected of me and took her hand in mine, pressing the back of it to my lips. “Mind if I skip breakfast this morning?” I looked up at her as her eyebrows quickly pinned together. “I don’t think my stomach can handle anything after that dream.” The tension in the creases of her forehead released almost as fast as it arrived.

“Fine,” she breathed out heavily, a small frown appearing on her face. “Grab a banana on your way out?”

“I will.” I smiled, happy some things had remained the same, even after all of the chaos. Grams always tried to feed me, but her rules weren’t the only things that softened after dad was gone. She felt sorry for me, not that she ever told me this much. She had, however, told my mom over the phone on many occasions when she thought I wasn’t listening. For three years after Dad passed, she begged Mom to straighten her life up and be the mother I needed. After that, Grams didn’t give her any more chances, Grams got temporary custody granted to her and then filed for legal guardianship. Knowing how much she had done for me, most of the time, I tried not to give her too much grief. When Dad and I moved in with her, I was ten years old. Neither of us expected me to still live here on my nineteenth birthday, yet, here we were.

“Happy birthday, Hazel Jane.” She handed me a twenty and squeezed my fingers within her palm. “Don’t get into too much trouble.” She articulated each word in a singsong manner, but anyone who knew Grams would know she meant every word that left her mouth.

“Okay,” I simply replied with a small grin before heading downstairs. She never asked where I went every day, and I never told her. Honestly, I think she didn’t want to hear whatever lie I would give in answer.

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