I walk to the edge of Dyberry Creek and slip off my sneakers. I shove my socks in the shoes and leave them on the bank. The thin brook snakes around the mountainside and runs the length of the town. The grass is cold, and the dirt damp. I hike up the hem of my brown dress, and as I did when I was a kid, I splash around in the icy water with a stifled giggle. Me. Laughing. Without a care in the world. Because right now I don’t. I’ve missed this little cove carved out in the north end of Mayhem, recessed from the road and hidden behind a barrier of trees.
When I drop my skirt and press my palms to the jagged gray stone, emotions I thought long dead flare to life. All that anguish is a weapon that shoots up my veins to spear my heart, an echo of the last time I was here, bleeding and raw. Hopeless, and my soul undone. I’d been lonely. So lost. So lonely. No family, just my father, who’d beat me because… There hadn’t been a reason for his anger. I was home enjoying the precious quiet. It was such a lovely Saturday afternoon until Billy Ellis came stumbling into the house drunk.
And I ran. Ran out of the house to Apple Grove, where I kicked off my shoes and pressed my hands to this rock and whispered a promise into the April breeze.
Soon you’ll be free.
I murdered my father less than a month later.
I’ve yet to keep my promise to that torn-up teenager. But I will, because being back here, where my pain began, makes it seem possible to put my past to rest.
I shove away from the mountain and walk through the creek, the water splashing up my legs. A baptism of liberty as I enjoy this genuine moment of tranquility for the first time since David found me in the gutter. No cameras are watching and no guards with their guns. No dogs stalking around me. No locks or gates. Only grass, and sun, and mud, and the rolling creek, and beauty. Everywhere I look, the majesty of nature.
A step back, and I crane my neck to gape in wonder at the mountain. The faint rev of ATV engines tells me somewhere on its peak are people riding in the woods between Mayhem and Falls Creek. I remember wishing I could have gone with Wraith and his friends when they raced through those trees on their quads. Now’s my chance to do all the things I wished I’d done.
If I were staying.
Keyword.If.
It hurt so badly to stay away. Eventually, the pain dulled to a chronic background ache that stayed with me, always. But I’ll leave again because it’ll kill me to stay and watch Wraith settle into a life that won’t include me.
It’ll hurt less for me to build my own life elsewhere. At least that’s what I keep telling myself because it’s the lesser of two evils.
Or a coward’s decision.
But I’m not worrying about that today.
A peek farther out shows clouds in the distance. This wouldn’t be the first time I took a walk in the rain. I step out of the water and grab my shoes, and as I stroll through the grass, my feet get wonderfully filthy. With my hair windblown, my calves dirty, and the hem of my dress wet, I imagine I resemble a grubby elf.
Once I’m on tar, I slap as much debris from my bare soles as possible before slipping on my socks and shoes—because yes, I do wear socks and sneakers with a dress.
Comfort over style.
No wonder Ava, who showed up at Wraith’s house in denim and leather, was horrified when she got a look at me.
The walk along Fair Avenue brings more toxic memories, but I shove them to the back of my mind. When the road runs into Main Street, I hit the red-light district. I keep my head down and my feet moving, and because this is Mayhem, there’s Unholy everywhere. They’re not patched as with motorcycle clubs, but they have alook.
There’s no mistaking an Unholy from the average man. It could be the dead of winter with their distinguishable tattoos covered by clothing, and they’d still stand out in a crowd. They’re larger than life and mean as hell. They have to be to survive their violent world.
I get plenty of side-eyes and a few off-color comments from non-locals as I stride by the brothels, strip clubs, and bars. No one, though, dares to get too pushy because thisisMayhem, and here a person picks their pleasure. Harassment isn’t tolerated.Ever.
Mayhem’s success relies on the Unholy’s control over the town. They lead by example. Yes, they drink and get rowdy, but always in the privacy of their private establishments, and God help any outsider who thinks they can come here and act the fool. They’re handled swiftly and violently. It’s why I’m safer walking alone through the red-light district than if I were surrounded by the very best of David’s guards.
If the government stopped funneling money directly to major cities, outlying towns like Mayhem wouldn’t need to rely on gangs to thrive. But with tax dollars poached, hardworking citizens were left with no other choice but to put their lives in the hands of criminal organizations. It’s a shame, really, since the war was supposedly fought to improve America. Instead, it made life worse on an unfathomable scale. But a balance was struck, with enterprises such as the Unholy fighting two fronts—undisciplined gangs like the Berserkers and the government’s overreach, both a threat to Mayhem’s survival.
Once I’m out of the red-light district, the town takes on a cozier mood. I pass the upgraded square and stop for a moment to rest in the new gazebo. Well, new to me. I don’t know when it was added, although it doesn’t look as if it’s seen many harsh Pennsylvania winters. I linger longer than I intend, but with the rain coming, I’m back on Main Street, walking past Black Bean Coffee Shop on the corner of Fifth Avenue. A souped-up silver Ford F-150 roars to a stop at the curb. System of A Down’s “ATWA” is blasting as the tinted window slides down to reveal Malice with his flop of dark brown hair. I’m not surprised to see his scowling. Seems to be his only facial expression.
He lowers the radio. “Why are you alone?”
Because I feel like it.
“Hello to you, too, Malice.”
His nostrils flare, and his upper lip curls in a snarl beneath his goatee. “I have to repeat myself?”
I squint up at the cloudy sky then back at him. “I’m walking home. Last I checked, that’s a perfectly normal thing to do.”
“Get in,” he growls.
