13. Quake
QUAKE
The sound of Stella's barking carries across the clubhouse property long before Melissa's laughter does.
I lean against the fence bordering the parking lot and watch the little girl race through the grass.
Every few seconds she glances over her shoulder to make sure the beagle is still following.
Stella never disappoints. The dog tears after her full-speed, ears flapping wildly and tongue hanging out of her mouth.
It's the first time I've seen Melissa look like a normal kid.
The sight does something strange to my chest. From the moment I met her, and every moment since, she’s looked small, fragile. Watching her laugh feels like seeing sunlight break through storm clouds.
"You're staring."
I glance to my right and find Sister Beatrice standing beside me.
“How’d you get here?”
“I called Lyric to check on my girls, and he told me about Stella being found. Figured I’d hop in the car and drive over here to see the reunion for myself.”
I dart my gaze to the clubhouse before returning it to her. “This isn’t exactly your scene, Sister.”
“No, I don’t suppose it is. But, Quake, I’m a nun, not a saint. You really need to stop putting me on such an impossible pedestal.” She folds her hands together and watches Melissa chase her dog. "She needed this," she says quietly.
"Yeah."
“You did a good thing.”
The compliment makes me uncomfortable, and I shove my hands in my pockets. “I didn’t do shit. I tried,” I say. “But it was one of the prospects who got to play hero.”
“Hmm.”
I open my mouth to argue, but my phone vibrates. Pulling it from my cut, I glance at the screen and see a text from Carrie.
About damn time.
Carrie: Just got your voicemails. What’s going on?
Relief gives way to irritation.
Me: Melissa
I don’t elaborate. If she’d have answered her fucking phone when I initially called, I wouldn’t even have to.
Hell, if she’d listened to my voicemails, she’d have a basic idea of what’s going on.
Three dots bounce in the text thread, and I stare at them as they disappear, reappear, disappear, and reappear again.
Carrie: What about her?
Me: Seriously?!
Carrie: Is she okay?
The question is appropriate, but it doesn’t even begin to make me feel better. Carrie’s never been one to go above and beyond for the children on her case load, but I’ve never gotten the impression that she simply didn’t give a shit about them.
Normally, she’d be calling, issuing orders and demanding details, if for no other reason than to keep herself in charge. Sure, she’ll text, but not often.
Me: No. Get here.
A full minute passes with no response, which only feeds my irritation.
Me: Now!
Carrie: Quake…
My grip tightens around the phone.
Me: Don’t. Don’t you dare give me some bullshit excuse
Carrie: Fine. Your vm said she was at your place. What’s the address?
I type it out and hit send before sending a quick text to Lyric about having to give out the clubhouse address. He replies quickly that he understands. I shove my phone into my pocket and lift my head to watch Melissa again. Whitney has joined her, and the two of them are playing with Stella.
“Was that Carrie?” Sister Beatrice asks.
“Yeah.”
“Is she going to come see Melissa?”
“She says she is.”
The woman nods, but I get the impression she’s as skeptical as I am.
Nearly an hour later, the security light flashes at the corner of the clubhouse, indicating that someone has driven onto the property. I watch the lot and see a blue sedan pull around and park.
Melissa and Whitney rush over to where Sister Beatrice and I have remained, and Melissa’s smile fades. It’s slow, the shift from playful to wary, and I can’t help but wonder if I’m the only one who notices it.
Stella bounds after her master and presses her body against Melissa’s leg in silent support, sensing she’s needed.
Carrie climbs out of the car, and the first thing I notice is how exhausted she looks.
She stares at the clubhouse, her hand remaining on the open door.
I assume she’s orienting herself, taking in her surroundings to get a feel for where Melissa is staying, but I dismiss that thought when the seconds turn to minutes.
Carrie’s shoulders rise and fall as she takes a deep breath as if mentally preparing herself, and then she leans in to grab something.
When she’s fully visible again, she shuts the door and turns, holding a notebook and pen.
Her eyes immediately find Melissa, and something flashes in her expression, something I can’t quite put a finger on.
It’s not fear or shock, but… something. Then she smiles, whatever I think I saw disappearing before I can make sense of it.
“I came as soon as I could,” she says after we all cross the lot to meet her.
“Took long enough,” I bite out.
She levels her stare on me, anger crossing her features. “I was working.”
“Obviously not, otherwise, you’d have picked up the phone. A kid you’re responsible for got hurt.”
“I know.”
“No,” I snap. “You don’t know because you weren’t there.”
Rather than continue arguing with me, she exhales and shifts her attention to Melissa. “Hi, honey.”
The term of endearment grates on my nerves, but Melissa gives a small wave.
“Hi.”
“Would it be okay if we talked for a little while?” Carrie asks her.
Melissa hesitates, and she automatically looks to Whitney, then me, then Stella. The action twists something deep in my chest because I’ve seen her do that several times as if checking to make sure we’re all still here, that she’s still safe.
Whitney offers her an encouraging smile. “It’s okay.”
Melissa nods and glances at Sister Beatrice, almost as an after thought. The elder nun dips her head in approval so the little girl looks back to Carrie.
“Okay.”
Carrie looks to me. “Is there somewhere quiet she and I can talk?”
“Yeah.” I lead everyone to a different entrance, the one reserved for patched members, and to my suite. “Make yourselves comfortable,” I say, feeling like I’m in the middle of a bad joke.
A biker, two nuns, a child protective services caseworker, a child, and a dog enter a bar…
Carrie and Melissa settle on the couch while Whitney, Sister Beatrice, and I stay on the other side of the suite to give them some privacy. The next hour is fucking torture.
I spent days following Keith around the state, watching him do absolutely nothing useful, and somehow, this feels worse. At least then I was moving, doing something, but now, all I’m doing is waiting.
I pace, sit down, stand up, pace some more. Whitney pulls out the folders she brought pertaining to the carnival and pretends to review the pages. I know she’s pretending because she can’t stop herself from darting her eyes toward the couch every few seconds.
At some point, Sister Beatrice pulls a small prayer book out of a small bag I didn’t even realize she had and settles on a chair at the table.
She also keeps glancing toward the couch, and I’ve lost count of the number of times she’s lifted her eyes to the ceiling, her lips moving like she’s speaking directly to God.
Eventually, Carrie stands, ruffles Melissa’s hair in a way that appears more condescending than comforting, and walks toward us. One look at her face and I know she doesn’t have the answers I want.
“Well?” I demand before the nuns have a chance to speak.
“Well, what?”
“Did she tell you anything? Who hurt her? What the fuck happened?” The questions fly from my mouth like bullets from a gun at a firing squad.
“I don’t know,” she finally says.
“What does that even mean?” Whitney asks, stepping up to my side.
Carrie stuffs her pen into her notebook and tucks it under her arm. “It means she isn’t talking.”
“Shit,” I blurt.
Whitney flinches, and Sister Beatrice steps up to my other side.
“You’ll have to excuse Mr. Jeffries,” she says, patting my arm. “He’s grown fond of the child and is simply expressing the sentiment we’re all feeling and are unable to put into words.”
It’s not lost on me that the older woman doesn’t actually apologize for me, and I’m definitely not fucking apologizing. I don’t have it in me to, not with all the missing pieces of the puzzle locked in Melissa’s brain.
“Did you learn anything?” Whitney asks, her tone conveying more concern than frustration.
Carrie hesitates. Her pause is only a few seconds, but that’s long enough for me to wonder if she’s trying to decide how much to say.
“I’ve been doing this a long time, interviewed dozens of children,” she finally says, and as much as I want to interrupt, I don’t.
“Children who’ve been neglected or abused.
Children who’ve experienced things that they should never experience.
” A knot forms in my stomach as Carrie glances toward Melissa, who’s still sitting on the couch, Stella snuggled against her.
“I don’t know much, but I can tell you that whoever she’s afraid of is someone she knows. ”
“That can’t be,” Sister Beatrice says. “She’s been at Sacred Haven. No one there would hurt her.”
“I know you believe that,” Carrie says. “And honestly, I’m having a hard time imagining who it could be.
” I open my mouth to argue, but Carrie holds up a hand.
“We can speculate all we want, but until Melissa is ready to talk, there’s not much we can do other than make sure she’s safe and that we’re here for her whenever she decides to open up. ”
“Like you were when we called last night?” I snap.
Carries eyes cut to mine. “I suggest you remember that I could easily remove her, place her somewhere else. An MC clubhouse isn’t exactly at the top of the list of places a judge would be happy to sign off on.”
“You can’t do that,” Whitney protests.
“I can,” Carrie states and sighs. “But I’m not. Melissa feels safe here, and for now, that’s good enough for me.”
Good enough?
“Look, I really need to get going. I’ll check back in a few days. Maybe she’ll be ready to talk then.”
“I won’t.”
We all whirl around to see Melissa standing a few feet away from us.
“I won’t talk,” she adds quietly. “He said if I did that no one would believe me anyway.”