Devil's Disciples MC (Box Set)

by Scott Hildreth

  115

  GHOST

  I lifted my phone from the kitchen island, looked at the screen, and didn’t recognize the local phone number. Nonetheless, I answered.

  “This is Porter.”

  “Porter Reeves?”

  “Yes,” I responded. “This is Porter Reeves.”

  “Mister Reeves, my name is Martin Wicks,” the man said. “I’m Abby Northrop’s attorney.”

  It had been two days since Abby’s death. We learned that her cancer returned, and she’d passed away from the bloodborne illness. While her parents were planning her funeral, I was struggling to survive without her. I couldn’t fathom living a life without her in it.

  “This is Porter,” I said.

  “Mister Reeves, I called to inform you that Abby has left a current will, and a letter, which is addressed to you. I’ll need you to come by, post haste. It was her wish that you make it here before the funeral.”

  My hand went numb. “She…she knew…she knew she was dying?”

  “On the contrary, Mister Reeves. She knew nothing of the sort. She was, however, a very thorough woman. She updated her files with the firm as life-changing events happened in her life. At any rate, there’s a letter here for you, and I’d like to go over the will with you. When can I expect you?”

  My heart raced at the thought of reading a letter that Abby had left me. Short of her YouTube videos, there were our text messages, some pictures on my phone, and a handful of surfing videos to remember her by.

  “Where are you?”

  “La Jolla. Right off Miramar Road. Wicks, Frankham, and Beane. I’ll text you the address if you’d like.”

  “Sure.”

  “See you within the hour?” he asked.

  “I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  It seemed strange to see Abby’s handwriting on a sheet of paper that she’d written while in good health. Fearing that she’d addressed her death, I folded the sheet of yellow paper and looked at the attorney.

  “Can I take this in the other room?”

  “Second door on your right is the conference room. You’ll be alone,” he said. “Take your time.”

  I walked to the room, pulled the door closed behind me, and turned on the lights. After taking a seat at the end of the table, I unfolded the sheet of paper and took a deep breath.

  Porter,

  Just so you know, this is the third letter like this I’ve written to you. The first was the day after I met you. After the rattlesnake hunt. I knew on that day that you were special. I wrote the first letter just in case something happened to me. After battling cancer, I realized we simply never know where life is going to take us. We have much less control over our destiny that we’d like to admit.

  The second was the day after we made love. Two days after the first time you kissed me.

  As you know, I like to talk, and having the last word is a pretty big deal to me. So, I’m having the last word.

  It seems creepy knowing that if you’re reading this I’m no longer with you. In writing this, I can’t imagine going a day without you. As you’re reading this, I suspect you’re having a hard time dealing with the fact that I’m gone. Well, I’m having an equally hard time writing this.

  Believe me.

  I’m truly sorry for whatever grief you’re feeling right now, and I wish I could comfort you. Maybe you’ll one day find comfort in the message this letter contains.

  An advantage of this letter is that I get to say things without you rolling your eyes or getting mad. So, here we go.

  I’m in heaven. That’s right. Heaven. I’m far from perfect, but I’ve asked for forgiveness for my sins, and I imagine God’s granted me that forgiveness.

  I know you don’t believe in God, and don’t expect this letter will change much about your beliefs. But. I’m going to do my best. I have nothing to base this on but a hunch, and based on that hunch, I’ll make a deal with you.

  *hand shake*

  You keep on believing what you believe. I love you as I’m writing this, and I’ll love you from the heavens above. I can’t tell you to never move on with your life, but I can tell you this. Well, I guess I’m asking you.

  Ask God for forgiveness. It’s simple. Just say, “God, this is Porter. Porter Reeves. Forgive me for my sins.” That’s it. That’ll get you a pass to the pearly gates (maybe they’re gold, so don’t quote me) Then, when you get to heaven, I’ll be waiting. I’ll be easy to find. I’ll be sitting right at the gate with my legs crossed, and a piece of pecan pie in my hand.

  Here’s where the hunch comes into play. You and I are connected by the love that we share. Just to prove to you that there is, in fact, a heaven, I’ll predict this: one day you will experience something. You will not be able to explain it, but you will know it’s from me. I don’t know how it works, or any stuff like that, but keep your eyes open for any signs I may send you.

  I don’t know what we’re able to do from up here, but I’ll do my best to prove to you that God exists, and that I’m here waiting.

  Until we meet again, believe.

  I love you.

  Abby.

  The hair on my neck stood.

  I read the letter again, twice.

  I stumbled into the attorney’s office with the letter clutched in my hand. “Did you read the letter?”

  “I did.”

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” I said. “Do I have to?”

  “You do not.”

  “Is there anything else?”

  “The will. I’ll need to go over that with you. She wanted you to have the home. She left some money in a trust for you as well. She left a considerable amount to charity, through various trusts. She also left specific instructions for her funeral. Her parents have a copy of them, and she’s asked that you review them as well.”

  “What are they?”

  “They’re lengthy,” he said. “I’ll let you read them.”

  After reading her requests for the funeral, I laughed. For the first time since the night before she died, I actually laughed.

  Out loud.

  “Is this everything?” I asked.

  He stood. “Yes, Sir.”

  Instructions in hand, I turned toward the door with a grin on my face.

  116

  GHOST

  With a tear rolling down my cheek, I walked toward the grave site. Abby made me promise not to wipe it away, saying that for once, that she was going to embarrass me. She was sure that my five brothers would see me as a pussy if I cried.

  I had news for her. The five of them were crying, too.

  She’d left specific instructions for her burial, which included thirty minutes for us to celebrate her life without interruption of the others who she expected might be in attendance. Her casket was to arrive before the funeral procession, and the hearse was to come later, with the masses who were certain to attend the funeral.

  She left further instructions for Baker and Andy. As I dragged my feet through the lush green grass, I grinned at what she’d said.

  I want Baker and Andy to lead the way in Eleanor, with the empty hearse behind them. I want Andy driving. You can look at the car, and for a minute, as it approaches, squint and think it’s me behind the wheel, and you in the passenger seat.

  You never let me drive it, Porter.

  She’d left further instructions regarding her burial service, stating she wanted it open to anyone who cared to attend. She left letters with her attorney for the news media, and for all the charities that she’d donated money to over the years, advising them of her wishes.

  The local news was expecting nothing short of a zoo, but none of us knew what to expect, really. I did know that they had police on the edges of the highway exits when we arrived.

  I stood at the gravesite, numb. Abby rested in the casket in front of me, dressed in her favorite dress, and her Converse, just as she’d asked.

  I thought of the time we’d spent together. I suspected everyone els
e was praying. Despite Abby’s prediction of sending me a sign, I had yet to see anything. Further proof, in my eyes, that the world took from all of us, and there was no God to protect us from it.

  After our thirty minutes of silence passed, I heard Eleanor in the distance.

  I glanced to my right.

  As instructed, Eleanor led the way, with the empty hearse close behind. Andy did remind me of Abby, and that memory caused me to smile.

  After the hearse cleared the hill, cars emerged. One after the other. Two CHP officers on motorcycles zoomed past. Then, two more. It continued until ten had passed. They directed traffic for hours.

  In fact, when the graveside service started, there was a sea of people covering the hillside, and standing in the road, for as far as the eyes could see. There wasn’t an inch of ground that wasn’t occupied by a person, all coming to pay their respects to Uptown Abby.

  For that moment, my sorrow turned to pride.

  I lifted my chin as the pastor cleared his throat. He then glanced at each of us.

  “Abby Northrop wishes to thank all of those in attendance.” He peered at the bible he held, raised his head, and continued. “Abby was born on the tenth of November nineteen eighty-seven, in Bridgeport, Connecticut. She moved to San Diego at the age of eighteen to attend college, and soon fell in love with the magic the Pacific Ocean provided her.”

  “She also fell in love with the people she encountered.”

  “She lived her life a lover and loved with all her heart. People recognized her love, and they loved her in return.”

  He waved his hands toward the sea of people who had gathered. “These people stand as proof of that love.”

  He glanced at the bible, and then looked up. “God gave Abby a gift. She touched all of those she spoke to, and she spoke to many. She took a portion of what was provided to her, and gave the rest, never once allowing a moment to pass that she wasn’t grateful for the gifts God bestowed upon her.”

  ‘She was a woman of faith. By and through that faith, she was further blessed with many friends, a blessed family, various acquaintances, and one true love, Porter Reeves.”

  “She did, however, love many.”

  “Her family asks that in lieu of flowers, donations be provided to cancer research.”

  “Let us take a moment to pray.”

  Everyone lowered their heads. After a moment, the pastor raised his head and cleared his throat. One corner of his mouth curled upward.

  “She wants you all to realize something.” He raised his right hand high in the air and flashed the peace sign. “It’s not that bad.”

  Another tear rolled down my cheek, but I didn’t dare wipe it.

  I love you, Abby.

  117

  GHOST

  I pulled up to the diner. The new sign stood out against the parapet that had housed the Devil Dog Diner sign for years. Now Abby’s Place, it was only a matter of time before the establishment was going to be crawling with her loyal fans and followers.

  Hashtag it’s not that bad was trending on Twitter and Instagram for two weeks following her funeral. As soon as everyone found out this was her favorite diner, the place would be a mad house.

  I parked my Harley at the curb, hoping to get a plate of pancakes before the day started. For the last two weeks, my nights had been spent on the deck, watching old YouTube videos. Despite my open mind and hopeful heart, I had yet to see any sign of Abby’s existence beyond earth.

  It was nice to think about, though.

  An eternal life with her.

  I grinned as I pushed the diner’s door open.

  Lawson waved over his shoulder. “Anywhere you like.”

  “George still on vacation?” I asked.

  “He’ll be back Monday,” he said.

  I took a seat in the booth marked, “If you’re not Abby or Porter, please be kind enough to take another seat,” and sat down.

  As Lawson walked past, I gave a nod. “Short stack,” I said.

  “Bacon?” he asked.

  I smiled. “Please.”

  I missed Abby dearly. At first, I wondered if I could continue to live, and feared I’d die of nothing short of a broken heart. Although it wasn’t easy, and I knew it never would be, it was getting manageable.

  I spent my days numb to the world, and to most of those in it. I wasn’t bitter, because I knew being so wouldn’t please Abby. And, above all things, I wanted to please Abby no differently than if she was still at my side.

  After finishing my pancakes, I inched to the back of the booth and glanced around the restaurant. The typical Sunday breakfast crowd was in, which filled the place completely. I peered out the window, and into the street. A tattered Volkswagen Beetle pulled up to the curb and performed an expert parallel parking maneuver.

  As I mentally applauded, a dark-haired girl got out of it. She wore a flowered dress. It was one of Abby’s staples. Seeing it caused me to smile.

  She flipped a backpack over her shoulder, walked to the door, and pushed it open. After scanning the diner, she let out a sigh.

  Then, she began to walk in my direction.

  I ducked under the partition, not wanting to be caught staring, and certainly not wanting to talk. She probably felt that my booth was empty, as I was slumped out of view.

  If nothing else, she’d see the sign on the table when she walked past.

  Sure enough, her shadow appeared at my side.

  “Oh, shoot,” she said. “I thought this was empty.”

  I shook my head without looking up. “Sorry.”

  “I’m guessing you’re Porter,” she said.

  I rubbed the outline of the ring that was still occupying my left pocket and offered her a smile. “I am.”

  I almost choked when I saw what she was wearing on her feet.

  Converse Chucks.

  My face flashed hot. A lump rose into my throat. I swallowed heavily, but the lump remained. “You can uhhm.” I wiped my brow with my forearm. “You can have a seat here.”

  She leaned forward and glanced at the sign that sat in the center of the table. “But, I’m not Abby.”

  With a shaking hand, I waved toward the open seat across from me. “Have a seat, she won’t mind.”

  My heart was racing. It was more than likely a coincidence, but I liked thinking it wasn’t. The thought of Abby managing to communicate with me excited me. As my skin began to tingle, the woman slid her backpack into the booth, took a seat, and let out a sigh.

  “It was a long drive,” she said.

  “Where’d you come from?”

  “Connecticut,” she smiled. “It took me two weeks to get here. When I left, I had no idea where I was going. Isn’t that crazy? I knew I needed to move, I just didn’t know where I was going. I looked at each city I stopped in, and nothing felt like home. It’s strange, but I feel like I belong here. It looks like I’ve found my new home.”

  My heart raced. “What uhhm. Where about in Connecticut?”

  She smiled. “Bridgeport.”

  Abby was from Bridgeport. Another coincidence, I was sure. At least I was sure for a moment. Then, I began to wonder.

  Abby, if this is you. I need to be sure. I want to believe it is, but…

  I looked at the women and managed a slight smile. She glanced over each shoulder, and then met my gaze.

  “So, Porter, what’s this place’s best breakfast meal?”

  “Pancakes,” I said, reaching for my wallet. “You’ve got to try the pancakes.”

  She brushed her hair over her ear, and then scratched the bottom of her nose with her finger. “Pancakes are the F-ing best.”

  Every hair on my body stood on end. My hands shook so violently I had to sit on them. While I stared back at her, in awe of what I’d seen, I recited what Abby had instructed me to.

  God,

  This is Porter.

  I pressed my tongue against the roof of my dry mouth, swallowed heavily, and continued.

  Porter Reeves.


  Forgive me for my sins.

  I stood, steadied my legs with my hands, and tossed a one-hundred-dollar bill on the table. I offered the woman a genuine smile. “Welcome to the SD. That’s what we call it, SD.” I nodded toward the table. “That’ll take care of the meal. Enjoy your breakfast.”

  “You’re not going to stick around?”

  “I uhhm. I’ve got to go see someone.”

  She flashed me the peace sign. “Keep the shiny side up.”

  I hadn’t even told her I was riding a motorcycle, but somehow, she knew. Claiming coincidence after coincidence was no longer possible.

  I nodded. “I’ll do my best.”

  She brushed her hair over her ear and did the nose scratching thing again. “Well, it was nice to meet you. I’m Ally.”

  I rubbed the hairs on the back of my neck and smiled. I couldn’t help it. “Nice to meet you, Ally.”

  On my way to the door, I asked Lawson to allow Ally to finish her meal at Abby’s table. Feeling an odd sense of humility, I walked to my motorcycle, paused, and lowered my head.

  Thank you, Baby. I hope you were right about him forgiving me for my sins. I pushed my left hand into my pocked and squeezed the ring. If he did, and I end up at your side one day, I’ve got a surprise for you.

  I love you, Baby.

  I got on my motorcycle, started it, and strapped on my helmet. I glanced into the restaurant, took one last look at Ally, and then gazed up at the sky.

  Thank you, Lord.

  EPILOGUE

  Kneeling before the gravestone, the man spoke to the deceased as if she could hear his every word. In the past two months he had garnered the faith that she could, in fact, do just that.

  “I love you, Baby. It seems strange looking back on things and realizing I lived life without faith. Now, I talk to God every night as I watch the sunset. I’m convinced he hears me. I come here to talk to you, but I think this is where I need to be when we have our talk.”