Page 26 of Clean Hack
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Keep Her Talking
Clean
I had started living for those phone calls. Something had changed but I couldn’t really tell you what. There was so much going on around me that I had started to feel it. And I thought that maybe it was like that for her too. The danger. The shift. There was something out there and I knew it was bad. I’d heard whispers. Snippets of conversations. The more the months passed, the thicker the tension vibrated the air. It was only a handful of MCs that I got this from. I had a feeling they were all dealing with the same thing. The same person wanting to take them all down in one way or another. Through my sporadic visits, if you wanted to call them that, I had picked up enough to know that they were all up against something big. And that they were up against the same thing, though they were all individuals in this huge battle. Each club unaware that there were others out there with the same problem.
I didn’t get involved because I really couldn’t. I had earned the respect of these people and I couldn’t break the trust they had in me. I couldn’t spill things I’d heard from other clubs. It wasn’t right. And it wouldn’t do me any good as well. I’d lose credibility. So the smart move was to keep my head down, do my job, and act as if I didn’t know what was going on. Because I didn’t. I wasn’t supposed to.
Men had fallen. Threats had been made. And there I was surrounded by the danger and sadness of it all. It was hard not to hurt a little. Not to take a moment of pause for the men that I had somewhat known that were no longer there. It was hard not to take notice of how it scratched and tore at the core of each club member and chapters as a whole. I saw men angry. Ready for battle. Weighted down by the decisions they had to make. With each return, all of it only seemed to magnify. I saw women scared. Standing strong. And coming together like I’d never seen before. I saw children that had not a clue as to what was going on around them.
Through it all, I wondered ifmy psychicwas feeling it too. If it was somehow hitting her a little harder than expected, much like it was doing to me.
“Hello,” I answered, my body arcing forward as the sheet fell around my waist. I wasn’t quite awake and that was apparent by my still blurry eyes.
She responded in that usual distorted voice, giving me a location. My feet felt heavy even as I moved to place them on the floor. Guessed I was headed to Florida, shame that I was all the way up in Virginia.
“Don’t go,” I said softly.
I knew I needed to get up and get moving but something was holding me back, my body not quite ready to push itself to standing position.
I expected her to hang up right away.
I expected her to clam up and freak out much like she’d done before.
But she didn’t. Though she did stay silent.
“I want to know more about you,” I started and my voice was so low I wondered if she had even heard me. I cleared my throat, not really sure why it felt clogged in the first place. “We’ve been doing this for a long time and I feel like I trust you, yet know absolutely nothing about you.”
Silence. I didn’t know if it was because she couldn’t speak or if she was waiting for me to ask something specific. So I went on, not really sure where I was trying to take this conversation. I think I was still a little shocked that she hadn’t hung up on me yet.
“Do I frighten you?”
I had no clue where that came from. But it was honestly a legitimate question. She knew who I was and what I did. Most normal people would want to run away from that. Or scream out how I needed help and was mentally unstable. They probably pictured me like some kind of serial killer or psycho that loved to bathe in blood.
“No,” she answered in almost a whisper. Which came out sounding a little more creepy than I’m sure it was supposed to. But even with that, I could tell that she wasn’t lying.
“Do you know anything about me other than…what I do?”
“No.”
“Do you want to?”
“Yes.”
And then the line went dead.
This was how it started.
With each call, I would push and ask questions and wait for her answers. She would eventually start answering. Most of the time it felt like she would have to psych herself up to talk. But I never rushed her or got irritated. Maybe it was just nice to have someone there, in a way. Someone that knew what I did but didn’t hate me for it. Someone that maybe even understood my world a little.
Sometimes I wouldn’t even ask questions. There was a feeling I got like she was tipping the scales with anxiety or stress and so I just talked. She always listened and didn’t really say much on those days. But I could feel it like she was there and she was actually taking interest in every word I said. She’d always start with a location. And then I’d grab my ready and waiting go-bag, head out the door, jump in my vehicle, and take off with her still attached to my ear.
Two weeks later.
“Is this where you thought you’d end up in life?” I asked knowing it was a bit of a heavy question but I didn’t care. I figured if I kept it to simple yes and no answers then she’d be more willing to stay on the line.
“No,” she said and there was a distance in her voice that made me a little sad.
