by Tyler Porter
“Your family?” His father’s grip tightened on the shotgun. “You show up here after all these years and want to talk about family?”
“I’m sorry, but Dad⸺” Matt felt the cold steel of the barrel press into his temple.
“You don’t have a dad. I don’t have a son. He died a long time ago. Now get out of my house.”
“I’m right here! I’m not dead!”
“You are to me. Now out.” Patrick O’Bannon motioned with the gun toward the door. Matt didn’t move. He again turned his head toward his father and tried to make eye contact, but as soon as he did, Patrick swung the gun around and took aim on Andi. Riley ran to her mother with fear filling her face. Andi took her into her arms instinctively, but now Patrick O’Bannon was taking aim on both of them.
“This is illegal trespassing, and I am completely within my rights to blow them away right now. You have ten seconds to get off of my property, or they are done right here.”
Matt stepped in front of the barrel and with his right hand pulled Andi from the couch. Andi scooped up Riley from the love seat and retreated to the front porch. Matt walked backwards toward the exit, one careful step at a time. Patrick didn’t lower the gun, but followed them toward the front door. Sherry O’Bannon hadn’t moved or said a word during the event. She sat quietly on the couch staring at a spot on the coffee table. She seemed to be blocking out what was happening in front of her⸺her husband aiming a loaded gun at their son. Matt stepped backward out the door and onto the porch, and the door immediately slammed shut.
“Matt! Matt come on! Let’s go! Now!” Andi was clearly beside herself over what had just happened. He made his way toward the car while Andi did her best to sooth a now hysterical Riley in the back.
“Wait! Please wait!” Sherry O’Bannon screamed as she stumbled down the front steps. Matt gave Andi a slight nod, and she got into the passenger seat of the car. Matt stepped away from it and met his mother on the sidewalk.
“What the hell was that?” he asked.
“I’m sorry, honey. He just⸺ He hasn’t been right for a long time.”
“What is that supposed to mean?
“After everything happened to Mariah and you leaving, he just changed. He stopped smiling, and laughing. He won’t even speak to the neighbors anymore. He is just angry, all the time, and sometimes he doesn’t know how to deal with it.”
“All of that because I left? He seemed normal during the trial and everything, almost oddly normal. So he just flipped 180 degrees when I left?”
“Well...that’s part of it,” she answered.
“What’s the other part?”
She sighed. “Your sister, Matthew.” His stomach felt like he was free falling from a twenty-story building.
“What about her?”
“She wasn’t ever the same after what that monster did. She grew up with a lot of fury built up inside her. Your father and I, we just didn’t know how to help her. We tried counseling, journals, pets... Mya was a birthday present that we thought might change her. But she didn’t want anything to do with that dog, and eventually, she didn’t want anything to do with us either.
“She fell in with the wrong crowd, started getting into trouble with the Sheriff. Your dad picked her up from county more than a couple of times. She started to resent us for everything we did, and the day after she turned eighteen, she ran off with some drug dealer she had met at a bar. Been living with him ever since. That was when your dad truly lost it. He lost his kids, his heart, and now part of his mind.”
Matt took in all of the information; it felt like a bowling ball crushing his chest. His little sister... his sweet, pure, innocent little sister. She had done nothing wrong, and then Michael Vincent had changed the entire course of her life. For the first time since he told Andi the story of the rape, he felt the old familiar rage start to enter his veins. Even in death the son of a bitch had taken her life away from her.
“Where is she now?” Matt asked.
“She doesn’t tell me, of course. And she doesn’t talk to me when I do find her. But the few times that I have been able to track her down, she is either high as a kite at their trailer out in Alta Vista, or she’s hanging around the rest of those druggies at a bar out there.”
“What’s the bar called?”
“I think it’s called The Wet Bar... Why? You’re not thinking of trying to find her, are you?” Matt didn’t answer. He just turned and started toward the car. “Matthew! You can’t! If you go looking for her, her whole world is going to flip again, and I don’t know what she might do!”
He turned to his mother and pulled her into his arms. Matt hugged her tight, kissed her on the cheek, and then got into the car. The engine roared as he turned the key, and he blew her a kiss as they pulled away from the curb. Nobody spoke for the majority of the ride, although Riley began to calm down from the terrifying encounter. At first, she had been sobbing uncontrollably, but before long it was only a sniffle here and there. He was grateful for it. It killed him inside to see that little girl in despair. The closest hotel was forty minutes north, and twenty minutes past Alta Vista, near I-70. Andi fidgeted for a long portion of the drive, but eventually she just couldn’t keep quiet any longer.
“What the hell was that?” she asked finally.
“My mom says that he hasn’t been right since I left.”
“Okay, well, there is a pretty big difference between ‘not right’ and pointing a loaded shotgun at his son and a woman he doesn’t even know with a child in the room.”
“I know.”
“I mean, how does someone even do that? He doesn’t see you for all these years, and the way that he chooses to welcome you back into his life is⸺”
“Andrea! I said I know!” Andi went quiet and stared blankly at the road ahead. He immediately felt remorse for losing his temper, which was on ongoing problem. “Look, I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do right now.”
“Okay, then where are we going? Are we just driving aimlessly until this all starts to make sense somehow? Because it doesn’t, and it won’t,” she said.
“I’m taking you two to a hotel.”
“What do you mean you’re taking us two to a hotel? Does that mean you are coming to the hotel with us?”
“No, I need to see my sister.”
“Matthew, your mother just told you not to go looking for her. She has been around her for the past decade, and you haven’t. Don’t you think you should listen to her?” Matt turned his head and met her eyes with his. They were clear, concentrated, and certain. He knew exactly what he needed to do, and no amount of argument was going to change it; Andi knew that. “Fine. Drop us off. We will find the pool and float until you get back then.”
They pulled into the check-in area of the Hilton, and Matt grabbed the luggage from the trunk. He rented the only suite they had available, because he figured Riley had to be pretty shaken up, and the suites came stocked with a snack pantry and a hot tub on the balcony. He thought it was the least he could do to try to get her mind off of the chaos that she just observed. He set the bags down, kissed Riley on the top of her head, and went to kiss Andi goodbye. But before he did, he stopped and placed his hand on her cheek.
“Thank you,” he whispered.
“For what?”
“For understanding. For understanding who I am. And understanding that I have to do this.”
Andi didn’t answer; she just smiled, leaned forward, and kissed him hard. That had been the key to his feelings for her since the first time they’d met at the coffee shop. She got him. She understood him. She accepted him. And she loved him for who he was⸺flaws and all. He started up the Tahoe and turned back onto the road toward Alta Vista. It was a twenty-minute drive, but it felt like twenty hours.
This was it. He had pictured this moment thousands of times⸺the moment when he would see his little sister again after all this time. However, Matt had never envisioned that it would take place in a junkie’s trailer or in a dive bar, and
he definitely didn’t ever think she would get herself into any kind of trouble. She was such a good kid. She was so smart, and so positive. It was infectious, and she was loved by anyone who came to know her. He had always pictured that she’d grown up an honor student, holding a class position like Class Treasurer or Secretary (but probably not President, only because she didn’t like telling people what to do). He imagined her playing a varsity sport, maybe soccer or volleyball. He envisioned her going off to college and being a few years into a promising career at a great firm.
Instead, Mariah was lost in a shit hole with no way out, and apparently she had pushed away the only people who could help: their parents. But that was about to change. He was back, and he was going to help her get out of the mess she had gotten herself into. All I have to do is find her, and I can fix all of this, he thought. He arrived in Alta Vista and took in the town. He knew it well from his youth. Alta Vista was only about a fifth the size of Council Grove, but it was somewhere away from home. Growing up in a small town, even taking a ride to another small town on a Friday night was a big deal. This town, though, was different from the one he remembered.
This place has gone to shit, he thought. As he drove through town, he couldn’t help but notice the worn-down houses, trash in the street, Beware of Dog signs, and heaping piles of junk stacked up on under-maintained lots. He came to a stop sign and scanned the scene in front of him. There was a population of just over 400 people in Alta Vista, and he estimated that at least a quarter of them were wandering around in gym shorts or sweat pants tripping on some sort of unknown substance right in front of his eyes. All over the place people seemed to be just floating along⸺no plans, no responsibilities of any kind, just floating through life. They were sauntering down the sidewalks, sitting on porch steps, laying on benches, leaning on cars.
This was the place that his sister was now calling “home.” It made him sad. They grew up in true, blue, small-town USA. Neighbors waved at each other and helped shovel the sidewalks in the winter. People went to work during the day and worked hard to provide for their families. They went to church on Sundays and had neighborhood-wide barbecues afterwards. He couldn’t imagine any of that happening in the abyss he was driving into, the abyss that was his sister’s reality. He continued down Main Street until he arrived in the center of town.
There were not many businesses, just like in Council Grove, but hidden away in the center of town was The Wet Bar. Matt almost missed it, because half of the sign had fallen or peeled off. The windows were tinted so dark that he could not see inside, but he could paint a pretty accurate picture in his mind based on the twelve or so motorcycles that were parked out front. He drove another half-block and parked on the other side of the street. He then crossed over and made his way to the entrance of the bar.
As he walked in, it amazed him how close the picture in his head resembled the real environment he found himself in at that moment. The thick, heavy aroma of cigarette smoke infiltrated his esophagus and coated it immediately⸺so much so, that it physically removed his breath for a second or two. The interior of the building was split in half. On the left side of the bar, from the front wall to the back wall, were pool tables: eight of them to be exact. Each one housed a group of men leaning on or standing around each respective table watching as individuals or teams competed in billiards.
On the right side was the bar. It was U-shaped and ran a length of about twenty feet. All but one or two chairs were occupied, and although it was late afternoon at best, most of them appeared intoxicated. Further down on the right-hand side, there were a few small tables with chairs, an old-style jukebox that definitely needed to be refurbished, an overflowing trash can, the bathrooms, and a window into a kitchen. He couldn’t even stomach the thought of consuming something prepared in this place; no doubt the salmonella would set in two to three hours after a meal from that kitchen.
He studied every corner of the bar, but no one resembling Mariah stood out. As he stood surveying the area, the patrons began to take notice. Matt was dressed in designer jeans, a grey button-up shirt, and dress shoes⸺much different from the apparent dress code for The Wet Bar. The obvious bikers in the room were dressed traditionally in dark-washed jeans, faded t-shirts, and leather jackets or vests. The other crowd in the room were the assumed druggies that his mother had warned him about... oversized and/or tattered attire, track marks up and down their forearms, hair missing, teeth missing, and a glossy look of confusion in their dilated pupils.
Most of the gawkers had diverted their stare once Matt had taken notice, but one in particular did not. He held his stare and focused hard on Matt’s face, as if he recognized him. This man was a part of the druggie crowd, so it could have just been whatever substance was controlling him at that moment, but Matt guessed it was the former. If this man recognized him, it could be because he knew Mariah. This could be the drug-dealing boyfriend he’d heard about. He approached the man, and even as he moved closer, the man did not remove his eyes from Matt’s.
The man was wearing a dingy white wife-beater, equally dirty and ripped-up jeans, and work boots. His hair was long, dirty-blond, tangled, and desperately in need of cutting, or combing at the least. His facial hair was unruly as well, darker than the hair on his head whether by accident or design, and it jutted out in all directions with patches of it running up and stopping just under his eyes on either cheek. He had his right arm slung over the back of the bar chair, and in his left hand he held a half-empty Corona bottle. Matt continued toward him until he was just about three feet away. He stopped and matched the man’s stare for several, long seconds before speaking.
“Do I know you?” Matt asked.
“Not yet,” the man replied.
“I noticed you staring at me when I walked in. Any particular reason why?”
“Don’t look like you’re from around here.” The man looked unamused, almost bored.
“Ehh, I don’t think that’s why you were staring. You know Mariah O’Bannon?” Matt was blunt and direct. The man scoffed, chugged down the last half of his beer, threw a twenty-dollar bill onto the bar and stood up, square with Matt, before replying.
“I do now.”
With that, the man walked around Matt, straight to the exit, and walked out the door.
This town is fucking weird, Matt thought. That guy must have been on mushrooms, meth, and crack. Although that seemed like a convenient explanation, something in Matt’s head would not allow him to believe that was the case. There was something more. He’d been around drug addicts using hard substances, and they were almost never so calm, and were certainly never so focused. This man was calculated and concentrated, and that concentration was zeroed in on Matt. Why was anyone’s guess, but he had a bad feeling about it.
By this point, other patrons in the bar had noticed the thing in the picture that didn’t belong: Matt. Many of them were now looking him up and down, probably checking for a badge or deciding whether or not they could take him. None of them had approached him yet, just followed him with their eyes from where they stood. And although no one had made a move, the energy in the bar had very clearly changed. Now it was all directed at him. He figured, since he had their attention and they weren’t going out of their way to hide that fact, he might as well take advantage of the moment.
“I’m sorry to interrupt your night, but I would like to ask for a moment of your time,” he spoke, not in a yell, but loud enough for the patrons to hear him over the beer guzzling, pool balls bumping, and jukebox screeching. “My name is Matthew O’Bannon. I grew up just down the street in Council Grove.”
He paused and listened closely to the rumblings that were happening all around him, but he couldn’t make out anything specific. As he spoke, he focused in on each and every person in the bar to decide if he knew any of them, but no one looked familiar.
“Some of you might know of me, but I am here to ask if any of you know my sister, Mariah O’Bannon. I’m told she hangs out here oft
en, and it is very important that I find her.”
No one said a word. In fact, after he said her name, it got eerily quiet. That told Matt everything he needed to know. This crowd was definitely familiar with his sister. Despite his certainty, there came no answer of any kind. Only more silence. It was clear that speaking to the room as a whole was not going to get him very far, so he decided to try speaking to them one by one. As awkward as the situation was, he was going to find his sister one way or another, and this group sure as hell was not going stand in his way.
He began making his way down the bar, stopping every few stools and asking if anyone knew Mariah or if she frequented The Wet Bar. He made his way to the end, and the most he got out of any of them as an answer was simply “no.” Most said nothing. Some couldn’t even find the consciousness to raise their drunken heads from the bar-top. A few times, he stood at the bar, waiting to ask the bartender, but he was careful to steer clear, obviously wanting to stay out of the situation that was unfolding.
He approached the pool table closest to him on his left, and stood across from three biker types. Matt guessed there was a dress code along with a facial hair requirement to be invited to join the gang. If he didn’t know any better, he would have sworn that they all bought their jeans, boots, and t-shirts from the same store at the same time. He could see no distinction whatsoever. They all were in desperate need of a haircut, and each wore some sort of unique facial hair arrangement. One had the handle-bar mustache; another had a thick, jet black soul-patch; and the third had just let his goatee grow down to his waist.
They each also wore a leather jacket which exhibited the name of the group in patch-form, in red letters, on the front of the jacket over the heart: The Restless Riders. To his knowledge, it was an independent group. Not that he carried around a doctorate in the study of motorcycle clubs, but it didn’t sound familiar, like some of the infamous, nation-wide gangs. He guessed it was a single, local club, made up of the best that Alta Vista had to offer. The only true difference between the three men were the additional patches that riddled their jackets. Many of the various patches presented humorous one-liners. I make beer disappear. I’m too sexy for this vest. Your mother’s favorite ride. Along with a few others that Matt could read with a quick glance. What he focused on most, however, were the patches that displayed the position each man held in the group.
