Page 6 of Echoes of Nevermore
My eyes scan across the room, and I can’t stop myself from laughing. A few of our brothers from down south in Louisiana are here in attendance tonight. They’re the reason our club is having two Halloween parties this year. They were on a run to Pennsylvania and figured it was the perfect time to visit us.
By looking at Newt, you would think he is under the impression that the month is December, not October. He is sporting their club’s Santa outfit as a costume, no doubt honoring their late brother, Frog. That man loved Christmas. Every year, he made his brothers dress up as good ole Saint Nick for a charity event. To hear them tell it, not many of them were happy when their turn to wear it came around. Yet here Newt stands in our clubhouse head-to-toe in red and white. The guy went all in; he’s wearing the white beard and hat, too. I can appreciate what he’s doing—keeping Frog’s memory alive and all—but seeing Santa Claus sling back shots with a slutty nurse on his left, and some kind of demented clown to his right, isn’t something I think I could ever be ready to witness. How does one prepare for something like that? You can’t. The scene here tonight looks like something out of a movie and not an outlaw biker club.
PB, another Louisiana Dog, fist bumps Tea, which earns a side-glare from Calico. That old fleabag is set in his ways and is pushing sixty. “Whatever happened to brother’s givin’ each other a good old-fashioned slap on the back? Y’all are always makin’ up new ways to do things; Changin’ stuff that you have no business messin’ with to begin with,” Calico grumbles, shaking his head, shoving his hand against a sweet butt’s back, stopping her midair before she has a chance to drop down beside him. “Seats taken, Cruella.”
“I’m Harley Quinn,” she snaps with sass.
“Good for you. Whoever in the hell you’re supposed to be, Cruella or Harley Fin. I don’t give a rat’s ass what you’re callin’ yourself, find another seat to park your rear.”
I almost choke on my drink, somehow managing to force myself to swallow before I cackle. Calico is as hateful as they come. It takes him a while to warm up to people. If he doesn’t know a person, his default mood is to be a grouchy old shit toward them. He usually decides if he likes someone within minutes of meeting them. It took him a few weeks to speak to me after we met at my aunt’s wedding. He was the groom. So, technically, that makes us family—my uncle by marriage.
“You can come on over here to keep us company, sugar.” Lifeline smiles at her with his thousand-watt grin, patting his vacant knee. He pinches the vampire on the ass, who is occupying his left leg, and she squeals, playfully swatting at his chest. “We have plenty of room, don’t we, spice?”
She nods, never questioning what he calls her, and doesn’t dare correct him. Lifeline never bothers to learn the names of the women who pass through his bedroom. He and I are similar in the sense of not wanting their names, but the difference between us is an obvious one. I don’t entertain sweet butts. Most of them don’t care if I learn their name or not at first. Their tune changes when their eyes land on the President patch stitched on my cut. Sure, they have their place within our club, just like everyone else, but none of them are a permanent fixture, even if they want to be. I don’t see the point to learn any of their names. As soon as I would, another girl would be in the lineup to be a replacement.
Just because I don’t want their names doesn’t mean I don’t hear them and know what they go by. Oddly enough, the vampire's name is a spice. It’s Cinnamon. I have no clue about the other girl, though. I don’t recognize her, and I study faces regularly. She must be new. I’m curious who she came with. Not because I’m interested, but wondering whose name I will be shouting to fetch her if she can’t handle her liquor. She looks pretty cozy with Lifeline, so she’s his responsibility tonight. Our clubhouse doesn’t have an open-door policy. If you’re here, you came with someone, are meeting someone, or you are lost. That doesn’t mean we don’t end up with a clubhouse almost full of strangers sometimes. Rizzo is notorious for inviting the patrons of entire bars to follow him back here. It’s not my style, but whatever works for him.
I’m about three drinks into the night, and the party is in full swing. The bass pounds through the speakers, and a mixture of brothers and randoms are on the dance floor shaking their asses. I’m happy where I am—my usual stool at the end of the bar. From here, I have a clear view of everything. It’s directly in front of my room, which makes it easier for me to drag my ass from the bar to my mattress when I overdo it.
“Shew!” A prospect calls. Another whistles. Lifeline shoots to his feet, sending Sugar off his lap and onto the floor. Spice is quicker; she catches herself, falling backward onto the couch in a fit of drunk giggles. Maybe I have it wrong. The lights are dimmer than they were before, so making out who is who isn’t as easy. The one I think is Sugar is wearing the vampire cape now, and Spice has Sugar’s wig slapped on her head backwards. Might have them mixed up, but figuring out which girl is which isn’t important. I have a nice buzz rolling through my veins and plan to stay right where I am. I don’t need to stand in line with the guys to know what’s got them all riled up. It’s no doubt a new prospective sweet butt.
No, thank you. Not interested. I focus on my glass, trying to decide if I want a refill or not.
“That girl. She reminds me of…Nah. Couldn’t be.” Pappy says mostly to himself, but gets Calico’s attention when he nods toward the door. Calico glances in the same direction, and his head is almost back to facing Pappy when he does a double-take.
“She looks like the spitin’ image of Darcy Wilson. Couldn’t be, though. She’s been dead for…What is it now? ‘Round ten years.” Calico cocks his head to the side and his eyes fixate on the ceiling as he thinks.
His math is wrong. Darcy passed away almost seventeen years ago, so there is no way she is the one who is in our clubhouse. Over the years, I’ve forgotten tiny things about her, but I’ll never forget her eyes—similar to her daughter’s, but not nearly as breathtaking. They lacked luster as if all the years of working her fingers to the bone drained the life right out of them. The other unforgettable thing is the way she smelled. She chewed Wrigley’s Spearmint flavored gum like it was going out of style, trying to cover up the overpowering scent of vanilla bourbon lingering on her breath.
My muscles tense, and even though I told myself I wouldn’t, I look at what has my brothers enamored. It’s her. She’s in my clubhouse, and she’s not alone. A fake smile plasters on her face as the dipshit she is nods and talks to Rizzo. Of course, Rizzo is the brother who invited him here. His face is hidden behind the black wolf mask with neon green outlining the edges of it. Two bright green X’s are over both of the eye sockets. He must have hit up the same clearance bin I did at the Dixie Value Mart because I’m wearing the exact mask that he is, only mine is lifted away from my lips enough for me to drink. I assume the face behind the mask belongs to her fiancé. I want her here, but the guy can go. Rizzo claps the guy on the back, and like a dumb ass, the man releases her, pointing toward the bar, and she nods in response. He has no idea what kind of world he’s sending her into. Who knows? He might know exactly what will happen if he leaves her alone and might not give a shit.
My throat burns, and my grip is unsteady around my glass. My hand shakes while I bring my glass to my mouth and kill the remainder of my drink. I need to get my mind right and think clearly. If I don’t, I might slip up and say something stupid. I could ruin everything in only a few words. I turn my back away from her, readjusting my mask, and run my hand over the edges to make sure it’s covering my face.
I called her out at my shop when I said she liked to watch and to be watched, but didn’t tell her my preference. When we were younger, neither would have been my choice, and usually still is. I want to be up in the middle of the action most of the time—parties excluded. Yet, when it comes to her now, I want to watch her, get to know her on a more intimate level. People act more like themselves when they don’t think anyone is watching.
That pitiful excuse of a man might not care enough to stay by your side tonight, but I will.
I see you hiding behind a fake smile, little crow.
I hear the ghastly silent screams that make up the songs of your past.
I feel the pain of your broken heart that was too much.
You ran from it, retreating within your own mind.
You ran from me.
From us.
I told myself to stay away, that you were better off.
But tonight, you’re here.
A lost ebony bird in the house of Nevermore.
I slip through the crowd, losing myself in the sea of people.
Chapter 5
