Chapter 2 #2
Normally, I would’ve rushed to save one of my two prized possessions, but not this time. Nope, I was too mad. Well, not just mad, I was the stupid kind of pissed that makes a person do the dumbest things without a single thought of what will happen, or how idiotic they will look.
Stomping and stalking my way around the opposite side of the desk, my brain said, ‘Shut the hell up, Guy,’ while my mouth just kept running. Yes, I was poking the Dragon King. No, that was not a good thing. Hell no, I didn’t care.
“You, the great and wonderful in your own mind, King Anluan of the Culloden Bronze Dragons just said, ‘Shit happens’ and expects me to take that as a reasonable answer?”
“Yes, I…”
“The best explanation the Dragon who’s been alive for more than two thousand years, the one who never misses an opportunity to tell anyone who will listen– namely me– how intelligent he is, can come up with is, ‘Shit happens’?”
“As I tried to…”
Doing an about face before I ran through the concrete wall, my mouth was still running no matter how hard my brain tried to stop it– and my little gray cells were working overtime to zip my flapping lips, but they were sorely outfoxed by the speed at which my irrational rage was fueling the words to fly from my lips.
“What the fuck does ‘shit happens’ mean, Lou? What the fuck…?”
“SHUT. UP!”
His words exploded in my mind. They wrapped around my brain and squeezed as tight as they could.
The dull ache of the headache I’d had for damn near a month, made worse by the bad decisions of the night before, spiked so high that my top lip was instantly wet with huge drops of cold sweat.
It was all I could do not to throw up on my boots.
I thought about plopping my butt down on the corner of my desk, putting my head between my knees, and taking a few deep breaths, but I wasn’t ready to give up the fight. ”
“What hell…?”
“Keep your mouth shut and your ears open, or I will do it again.”
Doing as I was told, no matter how much I hated being bested because if he even came close to roaring again, I would most definitely lose my dinner, I worked up enough gumption to snap, “Get on with it,” and prayed he wouldn’t tease me about it later.
“I said what I said. You above most others know that shit happens. We are here, in Arrhythmia, because shit happens. Yes, we both ultimately hold Fogarty Petersen and his minions responsible for our current situation, but dare I say, shit happens.”
“Apparently, you can’t stop.”
Continuing as if I hadn’t spoken, Lou attested, “We all know that there are no coincidences. The Universe does not make mistakes. Fate will not be denied. Therefore…”
“Therefore, you want to take me back to school– to teach me what you fear I have forgotten.”
“No, that’s not…”
It was my turn to keep going, and I did just that.
“You want to help me come to terms with why, now that I am in the homestretch of the bullshit punishment that was handed down by a corrupt branch of the Council, every day seems to be longer than the one before it. You expect me to find solace in the fact that I only have six months, six days, and six hours until I get out of the dustiest, dirtiest gaping pit of nothingness in the world, but every minute stretches before me like an hour.”
“Therefore,” the Dragon King cleared his throat so loudly that his voice reverberated off the inside of my skull.
I was thankful that it wasn’t as loud and as powerful as a few seconds before, but it tap-danced on my very last nerve. Opening my mouth to relay that exact sentiment to Lou, I didn’t even get to inhale before he continued with his usual air of superiority and overbearing concern.
“…because shit happens, and those who made these rules know that shit happens, you are exactly where you are supposed to be, Guy MacAllen. The Powers That Be always make sure of that. And let us not forget that…”
“Fate will not be denied, and She is a fickle bitch who loves to torment anyone and everyone? That, for some reason, She decided I needed an extra strong kick in the ass? That Fate and Destiny, and apparently, all The Powers That Be thought Arrhythmia was where I needed to be and…?” Grinding my teeth, trying not to lose my mind and whatever religion I might have left, I sarcastically snorted, “And, most importantly, you are doing exactly what I said you would do– you took me back to school to teach me things you thought I had forgotten.”
Keeping with pretty much every conversation we’d ever had, or would ever have, Anluan continued without missing a beat.
“Yes, Fate gets what She wants when She wants it. It is part of being the Omnipotent Being that She is, but I don’t think insulting Her is going to help your situation. Instead, why don’t you…”
“Nope, not gonna do it. If I want to state the obvious, and that happens to insult the Omnipotent Being known as Fate, then all I can say is, needs must, Old Man. Needs must.” Snatching my hat off the floor, I tapped it against my leg to knock off any dirt from the floor, put on my head, and huffed, “We’re headin’ out to ride the boundary and check the Wards.
Something about the far east corner is callin’ to me, and that is never a good thing. ”
Happy that Lou knew it was time to be quiet, I headed out the front door and into the cool night air of the Chihuahuan Desert.
Making a beeline for my baby– a mint condition, 1990 Harley Davidson Black Tempest Fat Boy that I’d worked four summers of long, hard hours on my uncle’s ranch to buy, the tension in my shoulders lifted the closer to her I got.
She was in pristine condition, with gleaming chrome tailpipes that rumbled and roared, and custom leather saddlebags made to my exact specifications.
Oh yeah, I made sure my baby came with me when I was sentenced to a hundred years just this side of Hell.
There was no way I was going to leave her behind.
Fogarty Petersen had zapped my ass here without telling my family or friends, but the son of bitch couldn’t keep me from bringing my Harley– and I damned sure hoped he hated knowing that he hadn’t taken everything from me.
A couple of days after I arrived, I met Roy Robison, Arrhythmia’s own craftsman, and he and I hit it right off.
Not only did we both love Harleys, whiskey neat, and hot peppers on everything but chocolate cake, but he’d been unjustly sentenced to life in our Goddess-forsaken penal colony by the same asshole as me.
Trying with all my might not to think about Fogarty Petersen, mostly because I was already in a piss-poor mood and that piece of shit Necromancer made me see red, I threw my leg over the seat of my hog and slid the sole of my boot onto the kick starter.
Flipping on the kill switch, I kicked down sharply and let the shining silver bar push my foot back up while I gently closed the choke and gave my bike a little throttle until I heard the sweet rumble of her engine.
“Music to my ears.” And it was. For the first fifty years of my bullshit sentence, I rode my Harley more than I did anything else.
It was how I stayed sane… How I didn’t kill anyone…
What I did to keep from finding the Hellmouth rumored to exist in our shitty little town, opening it, and jumping in headfirst.
Loosening my grip on the front brake lever in perfect synchronicity with the rear brake pedal, I gave my Harley a little more gas, and we took off like a shot. It was the closest thing I’d ever found to flying, and sometimes better because I was the one in complete control.
The sharp, distinct crunch and crack of thousands of limestones being crushed or kicked up by the wheels only fueled my need to tear up the roads. This little ritual was my happy place.
“A century…” I whispered the words. “It’s just no use. That fuckin’ bastard always finds a way to infiltrate my brain.”
“And he always will,” Lou agreed. “Until you find a way to forget that he exists.”
It was the same thing the old Dragon King had been saying since the moment the soles of my boots hit the sand of Arrhythmia. There was no comeback, no witty retort, nothing I could say– because he was right.
No sooner had I thought the words than did visions of that fateful night in downtown Valentine flash to life in my mind. There was no use trying to push them away; the memories were always stronger than I was.
Engaged in my weekly ritual– beers with my Uncle Owen, Chief Cheveyo Thorntree, and my cousin, Jed Thorntree, my elbows were propped on the old, scuffed and scarred but highly polished wooden bar of The Hitching Post. Waiting for Jenni Lyn Blackthorne, the bartender/owner of the only drinking establishment in the small town of Valentine, Texas, to hand me our next round, I chuckled when my uncle teased, “Did you get lost, Guy? I’m dying of thirst over here. ”
Before I could say anything, Jenni Lyn, a cantankerous, but lovable Honey Badger Shifter, who’d owned The Hitching Post for longer than I’d been alive, hollered, “You better hush up, Owen MacAllen. Don’t make me call your pretty wife and tell her you’re botherin’ me again.”
“Again?”
“You heard what I said.”
Laughing so hard, I had to take a seat on the closest stool or end up on my ass in the middle of the dusty, wooden floor.
I thoroughly enjoyed listening to the two old friends give each other a rasher of shit.
It never got old. It didn’t matter that sometime during our weekly visit to The Hitching Post, either Uncle Owen or Jenni Lyn made a smartass comment that got it all started.
It was always a good time, and they ended up laughing with the rest of us.
And this night was no different. Jenni Lyn was giving just as good as she got while serving everyone at the bar, including me. Picking up the four beer bottles by the necks, I weaved my way through the tables and chairs to my party.