Page 34 of Hawk's Cry

Wizard turns to me. “I’ve spoken to the sex store owner, he seems a good sort. He’ll keep an eye on the bikes until the prospects arrive.”

That’s fine by me. I want to follow that car without delay, to see what my son’s like once we’ve got him home. I’m hoping for an improvement when he’s back in familiar surroundings, but worry I’m being optimistic in vain.

Prez starts to walk to our bikes and speaks thoughtfully, “He’s having some kind of mental breakdown.”

“I’d have said PTSD,” I agree. “But I don’t recall anything that could have triggered it.

“Me neither,” Prez says. “But things could have built up.” He swings his leg over his bike. “Before this all blew up, before he left the club, he was talking, saying the right things, until he wasn’t. We took his words at face value, when perhaps we should have looked closer. Seeing him like this? Makes me think his leaving could have been a plea for help.”

Then he nods at me, circles his hand and we’re moving.

As I ride, I think about Wizard’s words, casting my mind back to that fateful day when Eli had received his beatdown. My son hadn’t seemed his usual self, a bit off, perhaps, quieter than normal, but nothing to put a finger on or worry about up to the point when he startled everyone. Then he seemed to have reasons for what he’d done, or the ones he’d put into words had convinced us. Had I ignored my son shouting for help? Christ. Seeing him today, it’s quite possible. But what could have set him off?

Prez indicates right, and I copy him, making the turn by his side, riding in formation as though in a synchronised dance. Not thinking about what I’m doing, all my thoughts on my son instead.

Wizard might have gotten it wrong. Eli’s leaving could have been just what he said, he wanted to get out from how he felt the club was suffocating him. Had something else happened in the past six weeks? Olivia might have some answers.

We make up the couple of minutes we’d delayed before leaving and arrive in time to help Wraith get Eli out of the car.

Once he’s out, Eli’s actions become automatic. He walks methodically, putting one foot in front of the other, stopping as Ollie gets her key out and turns it in the lock, then moving inside. Whether it’s because it’s familiar or not, Eli walks straight over to the couch and sits on it.

He’s stopped those body wracking sobs, but is still giving out a continuous keening sound, as if he’s in pain.

Olivia kicks off her shoes then walks over, sinks to her knees in front of him and catching hold of his hands, pulls them down. “Eli, you’re home, hush now. It’s going to be fine. You’re home.”

Christ. He might be twenty-five years old, but he looks like a lost little boy. My heart clenches in actual agony. Have I done this to him? Was it something I missed? Something I should have seen?

Home, Olivia keeps repeating. But are they? Should they ever have been here at all?

That’s my son there. I try to go over to help, but as I approach and speak to him, he pulls his hands away from Ollie and wraps his arms around himself instead. When I move back, I think I see him relax slightly. Is he scared of me? Or worried that I’m here at all?

These four walls feel like they’re closing in on me, and I need air. I’m useless, not having a clue what to say or what to do. Does Eli even want me here? If it had been a cry for help which I’d let go unanswered, I wouldn’t blame him for hating me right now.

I step outside idly noticing the ground’s already dry after the monsoon had passed by earlier. Now there’s not a cloud in the sky. A door opens and shuts behind me.

“I’ve called and asked Amy to come.”

“Thanks, Prez.”

“If it’s PTSD, it’s unlike the normal reactions I’ve seen.”

I know what Wizard means. We’re all too used to men cowering at the sound of sudden loud noises, or a panic attack when their fight-or-flight mechanisms try to kick in in totally inappropriate circumstances. A man huddled up in the depths of despair is not something I can recall seeing.

Amy’s car draws up, she gets out, hugs Wizard, then nods at the door. “Is he in there?”

I nod. “Yes, with Wraith and Olivia.” I go to follow her in.

“No, Drummer. Let’s not crowd him. He’ll feel overwhelmed with too many people looking on.”

She disappears. When Wraith steps out, I think they ought to fit a revolving door on this house.

“Shit, damn and fuck it.” Wraith’s taken the bag the man gave him outside the store and has opened it up. “I did not need to see that.”

Well, Wizard and I have to peer in at the contents after that reaction. In another situation I’d laugh at the contents, but right now I don’t know what to think. There’s a flogger, handcuffs, and, oh, a butt plug. At least my boy hadn’t forgotten the lube, but I don’t point that out to Olivia’s father.

“We don’t know,” Wizard addresses Wraith quite seriously, “whether that’s for him or her. Could be Olivia’s the one in charge in the bedroom.”

As Wraith relaxes a little at Wizard’s words, I stiffen. My son wouldn’t allow his old lady to flog him. Not if he’s in his right mind. Which, I remind myself, he may very well not be.

---