Simon was about ten when she died, old enough I guess to know that his little sister was gone forever, but not old enough to know why. I think that’s where he got his obsession with being clean from. All he was told was that it was an infection that killed her. Some bug. He started washing his hands at the funeral and couldn’t stop. My parents weren’t any help, the death of Miriam broke something deep in them.
I had to take control of Simon after that. A six-year-old who just lost his twin sister taking care of a ten-year-old who was getting fucked in the head…
“You don’t look like it’s alright,” Meghan says softly.
“I don’t much think of her. No use in remembering someone like that. She was the good one, the white to my black,” I say ,and I can feel the anger rising up in my throat.
It’s like a fucking sickness trying to crawl its way up and be unleashed.
“You sound like you were really close to her?” she asks.
“She was my fraternal twin. Thank whatever god for that. I can’t imagine she would have been very happy looking like me as a chick,” I say with a chuckle. “She was the bigger one in the womb, from what my mom said. I was the runt.”
“Fuck me, I can’t imagine trying to push out two babies,” she says.
“Only child then?” I ask.
“Yeah, just me. My parents tried for more, but I’m the only one.”
“So, if you don’t mind me asking, where’s your mom?” I ask, and I can see instantly it’s not going to be a good answer.
“She… died… in a… a car bomb,” she says, and looks away from me like it’s some dirty little secret.
“When was that?” I ask.
This time it’s me taking her hand. Shit like that sucks to relive.
“Five years ago. My dad says it was the Italians from Garden City trying to take over more space,” she whispers.
Why the fuck would they even try that, is my first thought.
Killing off a wife isn’t a good idea, not when it comes to wars. You don’t kill the spouses or kids, not if you don’t have to.
“Fuck, that sucks, Meghan. I’m sorry.”
“It was pretty hard after that. I don’t have any siblings… So my dad became a bit of a nightmare. Very overprotective. I barely talked him into letting me go out to California for school.”
“I went out there once, had to do a job there. I stayed for a couple of weeks, waiting around. Lots of sun and beaches out there,” I say.
Lots of sun, beaches, and blood, is more like it though. I had to track one of Lucifer’s father’s debtors. It sucked. Too many damn people around, too many damn distractions.
Then again, I got to see the shitty underbelly of Hollywood. That was fucking eye-opening. There were more sleezy scumbags than I could believe. Fuck, everywhere I looked I saw drugs, prostitutes, and thieves.
I thought Garden City was bad, but Hollywood was worse. It seemed like the higher someone was in the social circles, the dirtier they played. Too many of those men and women out there thought they owned the world. It wouldn’t be a picnic trying to keep that fucking city under control.
“I can just imagine you laying on a beach, drinking piña coladas,” Meghan says with a chuckle.
“Nah, that shit tastes foul. I tried my hand at surfing though, for about a week. It was interesting trying to find a board big enough for me,” I say with a laugh at the memory.
“You, surfing?” She snorts.
“Yeah, I wasn’t too bad at it. I spent a week after my job just sitting in the ocean from dawn to dusk. First time in my life I found my hands clean from dirt and blood. Saltwater washed a lot of shit off me,” I say.
Those fucking waves out there… it was peaceful. I’d just sit on the board and watch the swells coming in. Take in the horizon. Two months later, I was in prison. It was fucking hell being shoved into a six-by-eight-foot cell after seeing the ocean.
Being in prison… it was like living on pure adrenaline for years. But… fucking Meghan… She walks over all those deep-seated instincts and touches me with no fear. I touch her now just to make sure she’s real, that she isn’t some figment of my fucked-up imagination.
“Wow,” she says as she looks over to me in something akin to surprise.
“What?”
“I never pegged you as the surfer boy type.”
Chuckling, I say, “I’m not.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. I know you’ve got a rep to protect.”
“So, what were you going to college for?” I ask.
“I was pursuing a degree in Business Administration. It was the only path my father would permit me to take.”
“What did you want to take?” I ask as we begin to pull off the interstate, taking the Bethlehem exit.