Page 95 of Smitty

Brayden stared at it for a long moment, then muttered, “Brooke…”

“It reminded me of the place you and Aiden always talked about going.” I started second-guessing myself as I told him, “You know, the hiking trip to the mountains and the fishing in the stream…”

“You remembered?”

“Well, yeah.” I walked over and glanced down at the painting, almost imagining Brayden there with his brother. “I know what Aiden meant to you, and I just thought …”

“It’s perfect.”

For a long moment, he didn’t say anything. He just stood there, staring at it. Eventually, he walked over and hung it on the wall next to his bed. He came back over to me and wrapped his arms around me, hugging me tight. “It’s the best gift anyone’s ever given me.”

“It’s just a picture.”

“No.” His voice was barely a whisper as he said, “It’s so much more than that.”

A new wave of tears trickled down my face as the memory faded and reality crept back in. In a few days, Anslee and I wouldn’t be living here anymore. I looked around the room and drew in a deep breath. It was time to start figuring out my life and where we were going to call home.

And I needed to figure it out fast.

19

SMITTY

“Yeah.” The color drained from Benson’s face as he stared at the photograph and said, “That’s Chains… At least, that’s what my ol’ man called him.”

“So, you know him.”

“I wouldn’t say I know him.” Benson swallowed. “Nobody really knows him.”

“You just said your dad ran with him.”

“I said my dad called him Chains. Not that he ran with him.” He looked away from the picture with a grimace. “Nobody really ran with him.”

“I’m not following.”

“The guy was different.” He shrugged. “The other guys would get drunk. They’d fight and raise hell. They stole stuff and did biker shit.”

“And Chains?”

He looked up at me as he said, “That dude had a screw loose.”

I didn’t say anything. I could tell by the look on the kid’s face he had more to say, so I just kept my questions to myself and listened. “A few years back, me and a couple of the other guys were fishing down at the pond behind my grandma’s place… Chains showed up.”

“And?”

“He asked if we’d seen his dog. We hadn’t, so we told him no and went on fishing.” His voice grew quiet as he added, “But about an hour later, when we were on our way back home, we came across him… He was dead. His throat had been slit.”

Benson shook his head.

I could tell the memory had stuck with him, especially when he added, “Chains was standing there beside him, blade still in his hand, and… he was smiling.”

"Smiling?”

“Yeah, it was sick as hell.” He rolled his shoulders like he was trying to shake the memory of it. “He said the dog wouldn’t listen… figured he’d teach him a lesson. Who does that? Who kills their own damn dog?”

“I gotta admit, it is pretty fucked up.”

“The smile made it worse… I won’t ever forget it.” He rubbed at one of the rope burns around his wrist. “After that, nobody wanted their kids around him… We didn’t want to be around him anyway. Hell, that motherfucker was crazy.”