“Which one, Godric?” My mother’s voice forces me to pull my eyes from the shitty trailer and down the road to the last single wide on the left. It looks just as cluttered as I remember.
“That one.” I show her, and she pulls to the curb.
“What are you going to do?” She puts the car in park.
Ignoring her, I grab her purse and start looking for the small gun I know she has in there.
“Godric! What the fuck are ya doing?” she hollers, her voice taking on a southern accent.
Fuck, I can’t find shit in this bag. It’s like Narnia. Turning it upside down, a loud clunk hits the floorboard. I toss the rest of the shit off my lap to get it.
“Oh my god, no! You just got out!” She swipes at the handgun, but I pull it out of her reach. Knowing Bella’s mom, I’m going to need this to make my intentions clear.
“It’ll be fine. Stay in the car.”
“Godric, no! I just lost your father. I just got you back. I can’t lose you again!”
Opening the door, I step out of the car as she screams, “GODRIC!”
I turn around, resting my hand on the roof as I stare at my mother. Tears build in her eyes and drip down.
“Dad…is there a funeral or is he being cremated?”
She blinks a few times to pull herself to the answer. “Buried. That’s what he wanted.”
“Was it?” I mutter out loud. He’d talk about how funerals were too expensive and to just bury him in the club’s backyard.
“Y-Yeah. I’m pretty sure.” She stares at the dashboard in thought. She’s not sure.
Leaving her to think about Dad, I head toward the front door of the trailer. Taking a deep breath, I put the gun in my waistband and knock on the door. Let’s try this the civil way first.
The smell of bacon wafts from the cracks of the door. I knock again.
“Not now!” The old smoker rattle of a voice is muffled through the door. Having other shit to do, like be there for my mother, I open the door and let myself in.
Discarded cigarette cartons, pizza boxes, and empty beer cans litter the floor. It’s a fucking mess in here. The mega bitch stands from her brown couch in a stained white shirt and panties smaller than the pubic hair trying to eat them.
“Where’s my dog?”
“You!” She points at me. “When did you get out?” she rasps, her eyes wide with fear. Even she thinks I killed her daughter.
A familiar whine draws my attention to the kitchen. Phil looks up at me from a crate with shit and piss all over it.
Turning away from Noel, I open the crate door and kneel down to see if Phil still remembers me. His whole body wags, and he snots and snarls, trying to lick my face. Yeah, he remembers me. I bet he thought I abandoned him.
Standing, I start toward the door. Noel blocks the exit. She’s nothing but skin and bones, her hair ratty and dry.
“Don’t fuck with me, Noel,” I warn. She points a finger at me again, her brown, nicotine-stained nail waving in my face.
“Why did you kill her?” Her voice cracks and shakes. Swiping my chin with my hand, my head lowers on its own accord, and I glare a thousand daggers at Noel.
“Get the fuck out of my way,” I sneer. Hair falls in my eyes. I reach behind my back and pull the gun free, letting my hand hang by my side with the cool metal of the gun tightly in my palm. She gasps, her hand dramatically clutching her chest as she stumbles backwards.
“You killed her. You did it. Admit it!” She begins to wail, pointing at me as she trips over cans and trash. Opening the door, I drop my hand to pat my leg to command Phil to follow, but he sprints out the door before my palm even hits. He wants the fuck out of here, and I don’t blame him. Following him out, Noel stumbles after us, screaming and making a scene. When I reach the car, my mother’s face is pale as she stares at the half naked Noel. Opening the back door for Phil, he jumps in, and I get in the front.
“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” I rasp, handing her back her bitch size of a gun. First thing when I get to the club: find my fucking gun.
“Jesus, Godric, you haven’t been out an hour and you’re already causing trouble!” Mother scorns as she cuts the wheel, making a U-turn and getting us the hell out of the trailer park. I never want to see this place again.
“Is that your dog that smells?” Mom’s nose scrunches, and she rolls down the window, leaning into the breeze for fresh air. Looking over my shoulder, I stare at him. He just sits there, his tongue hanging out, chilling in the back seat. I wish I knew what he saw that night in the trailer. He’s the only witness.