Page 4 of Reclaiming Venom

“Should I?” I asked, my voice gruff with confusion and a hint of suspicion.

The hope in her eyes dimmed, her shoulders sagging almost imperceptibly. She took a deep breath, squaring those delicate shoulders as if steeling herself for battle.

“It’s all right,” she said, though the slight quaver in her voice betrayed her. “The doctor warned us this might happen. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”

I nodded warily, unsure what to make of this woman and the complex emotions swirling just beneath her calm exterior. As she talked about mundane things like the weather, a festival I’d missed, and apparently any random thought that popped into her mind, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was missing something vitally important. The air between us crackled with unspoken tension, heavy with secrets I couldn’t begin to fathom.

The woman’s fingers traced abstract patterns on the edge of my hospital bed as she spoke, her gaze fixed on some distant point. “My name is Ridley. As to the rest, the doctor cautioned against telling you too much.”

What the fuck? “Are you serious right now?”

She winced. “I know you don’t like people telling you what to do. But he said if I told you about the time you’ve missed, it could actually hurt you.”

I snorted. “Look, I was apparently shot twice, died and was brought back. I don’t think you talking to me is going to make me keel over.”

She smiled faintly. “I know you’re tough. If anyone knows it, it’s me.”

“So, talk to me, pretty girl.”

Tears welled in her eyes and she pressed her lips together. “Like I said, my name is Ridley… and we’ve been married for nearly thirty years.”

Holy. Fucking. Shit. I didn’t stop her. Just listened. But was she telling the truth? They’d said I had amnesia. I’d assumed that meant I was missing a few months of my life. Not decades!

“We have three beautiful children together -- Dawson, Mariah, and Farrah. Dawson is actually our youngest, and the only one who still lives in town. We also have several grandchildren.”

The words hit me like a physical blow. Married? Children?Grandchildren? There was no fucking way! I wasn’t old enough for that shit. Hell, I was only in my thirties. I searched my fragmented memories, desperately seeking any shred of truth to her claims. But there was nothing -- just a vast, echoing emptiness where those memories should have been.

“I’m sorry,” I said, frustration seeping into my tone. “But I don’t… I can’t remember any of that. And no offense, but your claims are a bit unrealistic. How could I be a grandpa when I’m only in my thirties?”

Ridley’s eyes snapped back to mine, a storm of emotions swirling in their blue depths. “Did you say thirties?”

I nodded, then winced at the pain and dizziness that hit me.

“Are you sure you want to know the entire truth?” she asked. “Even if it could end up making things worse?”

“Yeah. Hit me with it. I don’t like that lying-ass fucking doctor. I’m an adult and can handle whatever you throw at me. Haven’t run away so far, right?”

“I think there’s something you need to see.” She took a small compact out of her purse and handed it to me.

Apprehension filled me even though I wasn’t sure why. I held the mirror up and immediately dropped it when I saw my reflection. “What the fuck? What the actual fuck?”

“Venom, you’re in your sixties now.” She paused. “As for who I am, other than your wife… I’m Bull’s daughter.”

My gaze snapped to hers. “You’re… No fucking way.”

She nodded. “Yeah. I came back to the Dixie Reapers about thirty years ago, in trouble and needing my dad. A Prospect detained me at the gate, and you let me through. We’ve been together ever since.”

I held up a hand. “Just… wait. You’re little Ridley? The girl who used to play at the clubhouse before moving to Florida with your mom? That Ridley?”

“Yes. I know this is a lot…”

Pain spiked through my head, and I gripped it, trying to make sense of everything. The alarms went nuts on the machines. A nurse came in to check on me, but I waved her off. Whatever this woman, Ridley, had to say, I knew I needed to hear it. And something told me the staff here would chase her out if they thought she might be stressing me out.

“It’s okay,” she said, reaching out as if to touch my hand before thinking better of it. “We’ll take it slow. One day at a time.”

I watched as she pulled a small photo from her wallet. “This is us,” she explained, holding it out for me to see. “Back when you first claimed me. Or rather, I claimed you.”

The image showed a younger version of myself, the version of me I remembered, with my arms wrapped around a radiant blonde. We both looked… happy. Content. It was like looking at strangers.

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