Page 37 of Biker Boo
By noon, I’ve seen them all, Paradise moms grabbing dollar-store décor, Hell bikers buying rolling papers and motor oil, Pearly Gates folks stocking up like the world might end tonight.
And then he walks in.
The Reverend.My father.
He’s dressed nice like always, collar big, open to show off his cross, smile brighter than the fluorescent lights overhead.He pushes a cart straight to the back coolers and loads it with twenty gallons of milk.Like always, for the commune.
“Rebecca,” he calls as he approaches the register.“How’s my girl?”
My skin prickles.He always says it like we’re close, like I didn’t run screaming from his holy empire the second I had a choice.
“I’m fine,” I say, scanning jug after jug.The barcode beeps stacking like a countdown.
“You’re looking well.”He rests his hand on the counter.He still wears his wedding ring.“Halloween never was a godly holiday, but I’m glad to see you working.Keeping busy.Staying safe.”
His eyes crinkle, but I know the trick, this is butter before the sermon.
“There’s another party tonight,” he adds, shaking his head.“Drunkenness, debauchery.Nothing but an excuse for demons to dance.”
I shrug.“Sounds like fun.”
A twitch in his jaw preceded the smile.“We’ll be praying for you.”
I bag his milk, heavy enough to break the counter.“That’s sweet of you.”
When he’s gone, the entire store exhales.Even the kids hush when he walks by.
By the time my shift ends, the sun’s low, and the air tastes like wood smoke and sugar.I trade my tiara for blood-red lipstick, my apron for a ripped-up skeleton dress, and walk straight into the streets of Hell where the party’s already roaring.
Bikers spill out of the Fire Pit bar, neon lights buzzing over leather and glitter.Someone’s grilling hot dogs in a trash-can fire.Girls in wings and not much else dance on truck beds, the sound of Harleys revving up rattling the windows of the old main street.
Drinking too much, I should feel at home here.But as I weave through the crowd, all I can think is, Legend’s not here.Royal’s not here either.
Instead, I feel it.That shadow.That weight in the dark just beyond the music.
My Biker Boo.
I spin slow, pretending to admire the party, but my skin hums with the certainty.He’s here.Watching.Waiting.
Maybe he’s following me.Maybe he’s already steps ahead.
There’s only one way to find out.I go home.I leave the noise behind, boots crunching toward the graveyard that bleeds into the limit of Pearly Gates, behind the old chapel.One nobody bothers with now that the church is in ruin.Kids have been here.Pumpkins rot on the fence posts.
The moon turns the headstones silver as I step inside the gates.
“Alright,” I whisper into the night.“If you’re out here… come find me, Biker Boo.”
The wind rustles through the weeds, and my pulse kicks.
I’m not sure if I’m hunting him, or if I’m the one being hunted.
Either way, Halloween ain’t over yet.
Chapter 11
Royal
Out in the shed, I grab my mask, but my hand brushes another disguise, an old one, jagged and blood-red.The kind I used to wear when I was a kid hiding from the Reverend’s belt.When I’d sneak out of the commune and ride stolen bikes through the holler with Legend and Becki before any of us had names worth screaming.
