Walk The Edge

So was I. He didn’t have to tell me why Mom never arrived to take me home. I heard it in his tone. Noticed it in his eyes. My mother was dead.

“That detective,” Eli continues now, “showed to fuck with your mind. You’re smarter than him. Better than him. Don’t let him wedge a wall between us and you. Don’t let him destroy you and your dad.”

We all have choices to make; what lies we accept to believe. Since I was ten, I loved this family so much that I never questioned believing the lie that had been told to me—that Mom’s death was an accident.

But in this moment, the biggest lie I’ve chosen to believe is the one I tell myself: that I trust the Terror. I’ve always believed there was more, and the detective was correct—if I’m going to find any peace, I have to learn the truth.

“Who are you going to believe?” Eli asks. “Us or him?”

“The brotherhood,” I respond with so much ease it should scare the hell out of me, but it doesn’t. The doubt’s always been present. I’ve just now decided to no longer live in purgatory. I’m going to discover what happened. Not sure how, but I’ll die trying.

I hold my hand out and, after a second of staring at the image of Mom’s car, Eli returns my cell to me. With a flick of my finger, the photo disappears.

“It’s my mom,” I say as if that can explain away everything that went down. As if that can absolve me from any sin I’ll commit here on out with the club. It’s a low thing to say to Eli. His mother, Olivia, recently died.

A shadow passes over Eli’s face and it’s an expression that’s all understanding. “I know, and I also heard what you came home to the other night. It’s been a rough few days for you.”

He allows me time to digest his statement and I wonder how many people are aware of the promise Dad made to me...or how many are aware he broke it.

“You and your dad—you two need to find some peace when it comes to your mom and you need to find some peace with each other, otherwise the entire club is going to suffer. That shit that went down with the detective—it wasn’t right. He disrespected you and your father, which means he disrespected this club. Trust me when I say we’ll take care of it.”

I should feel justified the board is pursuing some course of action with the detective, but the truth is I might need the cop. He might be the lone person willing to inform me what happened, and in the end I’m not sure I do trust the club to follow through.

The picture of Violet on Bragger did come down, not of my doing, but by the club’s. Regardless, it’s on the web forever. Even with my computer skills, I still can’t prevent copies from popping up. But what I’m really pissed at is that the club hasn’t figured out who’s responsible yet and nailed them to a cross.

Why should I trust them to watch out for me when they can’t bring justice for Violet or look me in the eye when I mention my mother?

“Pigpen warned us the detective fucked you up,” Eli says. “But we had no idea how bad. I’ll talk to your dad, tell him that you need time and space, but you need to work through this. You need to find a way to trust the club and you need to work it out with your dad.”

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