He asks again, “Understand?”
I turn away from my mother, sign away my soul with two words. “Yes, sir.”
As I hang up, she asks, “What now?”
With a hug I give her a sincere, “Thank you.”
She laughs at how tightly I’m holding her since I’m not one to show affection. I’m an introvert. Keep to myself. But she just made me the happiest man. I’m her only child, and I’ve never been happy. Always felt guilty about that, but I don’t know where in this fucked-up world I fit in, and it’s been slowly killing me.
“Are they taking you?”
Letting her go, I run a hand through my hair. “I can’t talk about it anymore, Mom. It’s confidential. I’ve gotta book a flight.”
“When are you leaving?”
“Today.”
“Don’t you want breakfast?”
Heading to my room I mutter, “Nope.”
“Sean!”
At the desperation in her voice, I turn around. Santosh Khalsa, gifted psychic, and the one person who gives a shit about me in this life, rushes over. Her colorful dress with angel wing sleeves blows behind her as her thin eyebrows pierce together at the thought of me vanishing without a trace.
I didn’t used to live at home. Moved out shortly after high school and traveled from apartment to job to hell and back, like a nomad. Lost my self-confidence with each failure. Recently came back after a fight with a slum-lord who didn’t deserve my money for that roach infested pit he wouldn’t fix in order for anyone to live like a normal human being.
I know Mom wishes I’m something better than I am.
Sees my potential and hates that I always fuck it up.
Probably didn’t mind my company though. We get along great. Love each other even though we’re so different. She doesn’t dote on me and I treat her and her home with respect. Take out the trash. Vacuum the floors. Catch the spiders, carry them outside since she doesn’t like killing things even though she believes spiders are a form of darkness.
“Don’t look like that, Mom, I’ll see you again. Just don’t know when. But I need this. You know I do.”
She grabs my shoulders and purposefully gazes into my eyes. “Shhh, let me focus.”
It’s not the first time she’s used her premonition abilities on me. She’s always been disappointed by the visions before, so I stand here, waiting.
For hope.
After a few tense moments, her arms float to her sides. “This will be up to you, Sean. It hasn’t been written yet.”
Frowning I glance to the ground, back to her. “It’s not fate?”
“It’s up to you to claim yours. Nobody is going to give it to you.”
CHAPTER 3
SEAN
T he car service drives up a lonely road away from the main part of town in South Vacherie, Louisiana. There are ranches with huge distances between them. Plus plantations telling of a darker time, around those. Finally we near the address. On my right side are fields with nothing in them but trees, marshes; weeds overgrown in residences torn down long ago.
We turn left into a cave of oak trees up a driveway that goes on forever. It’s after dark, hard to see much. The effect is powerful. Porch lights up ahead brighten as we near. The guy slows down because the place feels a little creepy to him.
I think it’s fucking fantastic.
Huge, ancient plantation that probably hasn’t been painted in a century. The porch is empty, few feet off the ground, and we park in front of its steps.
“Thanks,” I tell the driver who hasn’t spoken since the airport. I’m fine with that. I needed to sit with my thoughts, prepare my mind for the unknowable. That’s what’s got my blood pumping so fast—I have no idea what to expect.
The front door opens and an old screen door claps against the jamb as I grab my suitcase from the popped trunk. Shutting it with finality, I meet watchful grey eyes of a man in his late fifties, maybe early sixties. Can’t tell for certain. White hair against tanned and weathered skin tells me he’s not young. But he’s got a better body than I do. Ripped arms, big shoulders in a faded black t-shirt. Narrow hips in torn jeans, with a little extra around the middle just from age not letting him keep it all the way off even though he fights it.
“Who’re you?” he demands.
“Name’s Sean. I was told to come here.” I open my mouth, about to ask if he’s the motorcycle club’s President, call him by name, but stop myself. Glancing to the driver I see him staring like he wants information about what the hell is going on here. Walking to his window I tap on it. He rolls it down more and I slip him some money, jog my chin to the road and say, “Go on now.”
Guy backs out since the road is too narrow for a U-turn. He keeps locking onto us, too, interested if he can put the puzzle together. We don’t give him the pieces he needs. When he’s gone, motorcycle boots thud down old porch steps as those sharp grey eyes narrow on me. “Took a chance by getting rid of your ride.”
“Figured you’d have sent me away if you didn’t know who I was.”
He smirks, “My daughter said you were smart. You were about to say my name, weren’t you?”
Sofia Sol is his kid? Oh yeah, the eyes, I can see the resemblance. But she’s definitely bi-racial. She looked more Latina than white.
“You Jett Cocker?”
“That’s me.”
“Then yeah, I was about to say your name.”
“You stopped yourself.”
“Everything about you is confidential.”
With guarded approval he nods. “I didn’t expect you so early. Just called you this morning.”
“When the call of your life comes, you act on it, sir.”
Slapping my arm he grips it. “I’m gonna pat you down for weapons.”
My
