Death Reapers MC: Angels to Ash

ii.

Riley
"But in the light of the moon, the wolves will always call you back."
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"Riley? Hurry!" Brynn's voice called to me. I was running up her apartment's concrete stairs, trying to get to the fifth floor. To get to her. The August night howled in pain. A blood-curdling scream pierced my ears.

Brynn's screaming died out with a terrible gurgling sound.

"What did you girls think was going to happen?" A familiar male voice whispered from behind me. A blade cut into my throat, sawing left to right.

I woke with a start, my body in a hot sweat from the nightmare. Every night they happened. I blinked rapidly, coming to the realization that I was safe. The clock at my bedside read 10:06am. I yawned, deciding it was time for me to get up anyways. I needed to find a job, go to therapy, move on with my life. Rehab was over, this was reality.

I threw back the silky lavender comforter in Trace's gray guest room. My brother had really decked it out for me, leaving me pink tulips in a crystal vase and my favorite sparkling apple juice on the dresser. I threw on a cream and floral kimono and cat slippers, tip toeing down the large oak stairs to the kitchen.

The house was quiet, meaning Trace must have already gone to his day job at his tattoo shop. I was pretty proud of him. He had many successful businesses to keep the cops off the scent of whatever illegal things the MC might be doing. I used to know what they were into, running guns up the coast and all that. But I'd been gone almost a year now. I peered out the huge window over the kitchen sinks that faced the large ten acre back yard, noticing Angel shirtless on a riding lawn mower. Holy mother of Pearl. His tattoo covered chest and torso were glistening in the sunlight. That man was hotter than a Georgia summer. I fanned myself, admiring the view.

I lazily made a PB&J sandwich, grabbing two ice cold waters. My mind wandered to what the people I had met in rehab were doing at this time. Extensive art therapy, medication checks, group sessions, scheduling lobotomies. I opened the back French doors and placed the sandwich and ice water out on the patio table. You know, for whenever Angel was finished with yard work. Just being a friendly room mate, I thought to myself.

I paused for a moment outside, tilting my face to the sun and letting the hot summer breeze blow through my messy hair. I caught Angel staring and waved my hand in greeting. He nearly drove into a tree stump trying to wave back. I smiled to myself, returning hastily into the air conditioning.

I returned to my new room, shutting the door loudly in the process. I reached into one of the duffel bags I had yet to unpack, and pulled out my windows surface laptop. I hadn't messed with it in a while. Today was the day, I was moving forward. I turned on the portable printer I had and connected it to the laptop.

I took a sip of my water, pulling my kimono around me to combat the chills. I hadn't seen her face in 376 days. No pictures, just my memories. I was arrested with a DUI days before her funeral, and even then they wouldn't have had an open casket. I didn't allow my mind to wander to that night.

I clicked through the hard drive, pulling up the file named "Childhood." My breath caught in my throat at seeing the first glimpse of her face.

Her bright blonde hair was braided long and hanging down her back. She was smiling back at the camera and riding her favorite old black and white horse. Our Dad had gotten her that horse when she was a kid. She must have been a young teenager in the picture. I clicked to the next one, one of all three of us. Trace and I were building a sand castle, maybe 7 years old. Our hair was dripping wet from the ocean and our smiles ridiculously huge as Brynn placed a star fish on top of the tall castle in the photo. Brynn was five years older than us, always the watchful mother figure.