“Follow me.”
Just as we had planned earlier, I followed him away from the Black Reapers compound and toward his trailer. He lived on the far north side of town, far away from any of the drama that infiltrated Springsville. He was a simple man; he had a trailer with a bed, some basic kitchen supplies, and that was it. No television. No pets. Not even any books except for a Bible.
“Do you not entertain yourself?” I asked when I entered.
Father Marcellus chuckled.
“This is the place where I rest my soul and ease my mind,” he said. “Anything that would distract it from the present would be unwelcome.”
“I see,” I said, although I didn’t really.
I didn’t have any pets, so I could see being without that. I guess I could somehow imagine a life without a television. But a life without any form of entertainment? I’d be in the clubhouse almost literally twenty-four hours a day.
And yet, Father Marcellus wasn’t. He would go to the clubhouse frequently, sure, but by no means was he a squatter—at least when I had been there.
“And... are you a vegan?” I said in shock as I looked at the food in his place.
“I eat what I must, and nothing more,” he said. “But come on, now. You have seen me at the club cookouts. Do I look like a vegan to you?”
He gave a hearty laugh, like an elder observing a child who was just learning some amusing truths for the first time ever.
“I am a man of simple tastes, both literally and figuratively,” he said. “I have my role to play in the club, and I try to fulfill it to the greatest potential. But the role for myself is minimal, and I do what I can to keep it that way.”
“Makes sense.”
I cleared my throat.
“So, anyway, the reason we’re here.”
“Yes, good. Go on.”
I sighed and bit my lip. This was the first time I was really discussing any of this in great detail. Jess had only gotten the cliff notes version, or the cliff notes of the cliff notes version of everything.
“That video you shared with me, Father...”
I shook my head. I didn’t expect to feel so emotional talking about it. I didn’t expect to feel so... devastated.
“It upended a lot of things that you thought about your father,” the Reapers’ chaplain said. “It forced you to change your world view.”
“It’s like the man I thought was perfect turned out not to be,” I said, shaking my head. “Like if you suddenly learned God was evil. I don’t know.”
No analogy seemed to do well enough to explain how I actually felt. By now, for better or for worse, I had completely accepted the idea that my father had betrayed the only club he knew. But that was the only thing that I had really wrapped my head around; the consequences and implications were just a giant mind fuck.
“Why did he do it?” I asked.
Father Marcellus bowed his head.
“He acted alone; that is the consensus in the officers’ room right now,” he said. “Given that, we can all only speculate. But if you want my guess?”
I nodded.
“When the elder Carter passed away, we all know what happened that night. The Saints did the unforgivable, Lane lost the woman of his dreams, Cole left, and the club fell into disarray. We had the manpower to push the Saints away, but Lane either would not or could not lead us. Imagine if you were in your father’s shoes. Here is a club that you have helped lead since almost its founding, or very close to it. Here is a club desperately teetering on the edge of trouble. But instead of you being given permission to help, you are pushed to the side. The bratty son is enabled.”
“Bratty,” I said with a chuckle. “I guess we’re not quiet in how we feel about Lane, huh?”
“We have all had some very frank and honest conversations since your father perished. We have not made any attempt to close any wounds; we are taking our time looking at them so we can better understand how to move forward and prevent this in the future.”
Maybe Lane is growing up just a bit.
