Page 73 of Lord Have Mercy Part Four: Big Son

She recognized him from yesterday, a sunbaked, good-natured Cajun with freckles across the bridge of his nose and a premature shock of gray along his dark hairline. Whiplash.

“Hey, Whip,” she said when she buzzed down the window. “Full house?”

He grinned. “Morning. They all turned out to see your man.”

Of course they had, because he had always been beloved by all his brothers, no matter the chapter, no matter the circumstances. She smiled, and wanted to cry, too, and instead asked, “Is there room for us to park?”

“Yes, ma’am. Y’all come on in and I’ll wave you into a spot we’ve got saved.”

There was indeed a space available for the Rover, right up close to the porch. Neither Devin nor Tenny made a smart remark about her being special, or getting preferential treatment. In fact, a quick glance proved they’d both gone unusually sober. There was a strange, vibrating hush in the air, and they could feel it, too.

Mercy parked fast, and came to open her door for her; reached his hand in, and she took it, and let him help her out of the Rover, though she wasn’t unsteady on her feet. It was for him, she knew; the arm he slipped around her waist, the way he held her against his side as they walked for the door, was about him needing support. She put her arm around him in turn and kept their sides pressed together, despite the heat, and the way her shirt clung to the sweat on her skin.

The strange hush that had begun when Whip waved them through the gates followed them up onto the porch and through the door, into the clubhouse. A crowd of Dogs was gathered, and their faces lit up with a near-reverent light when they caught sight of Mercy.

This was a living legend that had been born here. That had served his stint as prospect here, and earned his first patches here; he’d sewn them to his cut right here in this very room. This was theirMerci, who they’d dubbed Mercy, for all the mercy he’d never dispensed, but who was so full of love, enough to make a smaller man sick with it.

Pride swelled within her, for all that he’d overcome, and all that he’d been before, and all that he was now. A pride so sweet and buoyant that it finally crowded out the dark tides that had plagued her for weeks.

“Hey, brother.”

“My man.”

“Welcome home, Felix.”

They stepped forward, one after the next, to shake his hand, and embrace him, and Mercy did it all one-armed, because he refused to let go of her; which meant the Dogs then turned to greet her, with deferential ducks of their heads, and soft “ma’am”s.

Bob was the last to make his way forward, and he put his big arms around both of them. Pressed close, Ava could hear his murmur to Mercy of, “You ready for this?”

“Yeah,” Mercy said, but his arm tightened around her.

~*~

Yesterday, they’d left the decision about where to keep Regina up to Bob, knowing that he understood the magnitude of her identity. So she and Mercy followed him, down the back hall, and then out the back door. The rear lot was even weedier and more jungle-like than the front, pines shading the heaps of kudzu and the waving stands of Johnson grass. There was a shed butted up against the fence, windowless, and with a rusted tin roof. A narrow track beaten through the grass led to it, and when they reached its door, Ava spotted the two shiny new Master locks securing it, top and bottom.

Bob produced the key, fitted it into the top lock, and then turned back to regard them, a silent question in his gaze. Mercy nodded, and he turned the key. Once, then again. The shed door came open with a squeal of old hinges, and out rolled a staggering wave of heat flavored with old mildew, and fresh urine. It was dim, the only light thin stripes of eyewatering yellow through the gaps in the shed’s siding, some of which, Ava noted with alarm, were large enough to wriggle fingertips through. With enough time, and enough leverage, a healthy adult could likely work a board loose, and then another, and another…

But as her eyes adjusted, she saw that hadn’t been possible, because there was a support post in the center of the shed, and Regina’s hands were pulled back behind her, and chained together around it.

She sat on her ass in the dirt, her once-bright dress dirt-streaked and rucked up to reveal streaks in the orange bottledtan on her thighs. Her shoes were gone, bare feet dusted with dirt where they were stuck out before her. Her bum knee was heavily swaddled in white bandages, and beneath the sharp ammonia tang of piss – there was a bucket in the corner, Ava saw, and figured she’d been forced to suffer the indignity of someone helping her relieve her bladder – she caught a metallic whiff of blood.

Regina’s hair lay in snarls over her shoulders, damp with sweat and greasy at the roots. She didn’t lift her head until after the door was open and they’d filled the threshold, and then she did so slowly, as though her neck wasn’t strong enough to support the motion.

But Ava could find no pity, and certainly no empathy.

And Regina’s eyes, when they found Ava’s, glittered with hatred, still, despite her ordeal. It was a look Ava had seen before, glaring up at her from a sickbed pillow.

She was Dee’s daughter all right. Right down to the wicked heart of her.

Bob said, “We tried to feed her, but she spit in our faces. She’s had water, though, and no morphine today.”

Sweat, Ava saw, was pouring down her face. Some of it was the heat, but most of it was likely pain. She was shivering, too, hair rustling like restless snake tails across her chest. She bared her teeth at sight of them, and that was pain, too.

Mercy released Ava, finally. He didn’t let go so much as his arm flopped away and down to his side, as though it had gone numb. He stepped forward, shoulders lifting higher and higher, until he stood directly over Regina, boots straddling one of her bare feet. From behind, Ava couldn’t read his expression, but she could see the tension streaking down every line of him, the absolute, deadly stillness of each muscle. The only movement was the rise and fall of his ribs as he breathed, but that was silent, and slow.

He wasn’t shocked.

Wasn’t wavering and heartbroken.

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