Tales of the Fairy Anthology Page 6

  Her fingers slowly eased off the brake. A deep breath, a surge of her heart, and she gently released the clutch, giving a slight turn to the accelerator. Matilda lurched, a horse trying to escape the starting gate, its power almost too much for the rider. In shock and panic, Lorie grabbed for the brake, squeezing too hard and too fast. The bike skittered, died, leaned sideways, and nearly fell.

  “Shit!” she screamed into the fading echo of the pipes inside the garage. Her foot slammed down, the heavy souls of her riding boots dragging on the smooth concrete, but they stayed upright. No bloody knee or scraped gas tank for her or her baby.

  The front tire sat at the very edge of the garage door, a slap in her face.

  Couldn’t even make it out of the garage, huh? That’s so like you Lorie. The voice in her head was distinctly Eric, jeering and smug. The sound of it made her want to prove him wrong, to prove the world wrong about Lorie Maze.

  Sucking in a lung full of warm air, Lorie positioned herself better, and closed her eyes. Feeling herself become one with Matilda, flesh and steal fusing together, she envisioned the movements she must make. She pictured the ride, and how it would be. Eyes still closed, she pressed the start button again, and this time, when Matilda roared to life, so did Lorie.

  Releasing the brake and easing down on the throttle as she slowly let the clutch out, she gracefully glided Matilda out into the sun. The fear and adrenaline made her vision pristine. Everything seemed brighter than it should be, despite her dark sun glasses. The world suddenly appeared to glow with a magical sparkle beyond comprehension.

  The driveway stretched out, down a slight hill, and turned slightly to the left before reaching the street. Lorie took Matilda down, and made the turn around in a slow but wobbling sputter, managing to stay upright—if only just barely. Slow and steady, the mantra repeated itself in her head. No time to think about anything else but balance, speed, and precision.

  Up and down the drive way, she cruised, going faster, becoming steadier, and growing in confidence each time. The neighbors must think I’ve lost my mind, she thought as she made the turn once more, this time remembering to shift correctly. Of course, she didn’t care what the neighbors thought or saw. They hadn’t seemed too concerned when Eric had been bringing that slut into my house while I was at work. They didn’t bother to call me when he had moved out in the middle of the day and taken almost everything.

  Lorie’s thoughts scattered as Matilda’s back tire slid to the side, an uneven dip in the pavement unsettling both the rider and the bike. “Shit!” Lorie cried, followed by an inner giggle as soon as she regained her momentum. That seems to be my word of the day.

  The surprise slip snapped Lorie out of her deep concentration and running commentary, and she realized that the sun was low in the sky. The day had faded into a lilac haze and the street lights were just beginning to faintly glow. Pulling up the hill to the garage door, she looked out over the neat homes in her subdivision, and smiled.

  Life isn’t all that bad, I guess.

  As she carefully rolled Matilda inside and parked her back in her special spot, Lorie heaved a heavy sigh of contentment. To her surprise, the bike settled, seeming to do the same. Unlike the other times, it didn’t seem strange at all. After spending hours nestled into the leather seat and feeling the strength of her connection to the motorcycle, she had come to accept that there was something special about her little purple Iron 883.

  With a gentle pat on the gas tank, Lorie went inside. After a long shower and a quick bite, she tucked herself into the bed that no longer felt as empty as it had before. All thoughts, of Eric and Gwen were vanquished from her mind by her sense of pride and happiness as she rejoiced.

  I did it. I rode Matilda. I didn’t fall. I didn’t get hurt. I did it. She replayed every second of the afternoon over and over in her head until she fell into a deep, restful, and dreamless sleep.

  ****

  Her days were a haze of impatience and sore muscles and evenings were spent cruising up and down the drive way. On the fourth day, she had gotten adventurous and rode to the end of the cul-de-sac. By the end of the first week, she’d driven down the neighboring street. Little by little, Lorie grew braver, taking the bike a little farther. Matilda seemed to purr beneath her body, happy to be ridden gently and with caution, but always pulling at the reins a bit. Lorie could feel the want in the motor, the need to go further and faster was always there.

  The phone was ringing, the obnoxious sound driving its way into Lorie’s head as she tried hard to hold on to the dream. Mr. Wright was there, shirtless in the sun. Tan skin and tattoos glistening with the heat of the day. He sat astride a Street Glide, looking very much like the proverbial knight in shining armor upon his trusty white steed. She sat next to him, straddling Matilda, ready to ride off into the sunset. Unfortunately, the sunset turned into her bedroom wall as she opened her bleary eyes and reached for her cell, trying to hit the button that would stop In This Moment from screaming out the lyrics to “Whore”.

  A twinge of pain shot through her arm as she seized the phone, and she instantly recalled the rapid maneuver she had pulled off when dodging a dog the day before. Every waking thought revolved around her time on the bike, but Maria Brink’s voice belting out the lyrics to her favorite song cast them away. Looking at the screen, she noted the name and the time with an inner sigh.

  A press of a button, and she held the phone to her ear. “Mmm…Dani this better be mad important.”

  “Oh, shut up and wake up.” The sound of her best friend’s perky voice, and the crying baby in the background made Lorie wince.

  “Jesus woman, it not even eight yet, and it’s a weekend. What do you want?”

  “Phffft… Listen to Mrs. Life of Luxury. I’m sorry if your darling little Mr. Toad had me up at the butt crack of dawn and then Badger got up shortly after. Anyway, I’ll make it quick. The boys and I want you to come up for dinner tonight. I haven’t seen you since…” The sound of giggles and screeches echoed through the phone as her words trailed off, unsure if she should mention the last time they’d visited face-to-face.

  “Since the break-up,” Lorie finished for her. “Its okay, Dani. Eric and I broke up, I’m over it. There is more to life than some jerk with a pension for cheap hoes.” Her laughter wasn’t even forced as she continued, “Besides, it’s been too long since I’ve seen the monsters.”

  Not having any children of her own, because her career and Eric had always come first, Lorie loved Dani’s two boys more than anything. Nicknaming them from characters in her favorite childhood book, she spoiled Mr. Toad and Mr. Badger rotten every chance she got.

  “Really? Over him? Ready to come visit? Oh, Lorie, there’s something you aren’t telling me!” Dani exclaimed. “Spill it.”

  Lorie couldn’t help the urge to niggle her friend. “Well, her name is Matilda.”

  Dead pan silence on the other end of the line, a stammer, and then Dani finally processed the words. “Her? Well, you know I’m the open minded kind of type, so if you want to date a woman, be my guest. Just make sure she’s pretty, nice, and treats you well.”

  Lorie smiled, loving her best friend for being instantly understanding and accommodating despite the whole thing being a ruse. “Yea, actually, if you don’t mind, I’d like to bring her up with me. I think the boys would love her.”

  “Um…Well… I don’t know. I mean, I love you and I’m sure…Matilda is great, but the boys are so young.”

  As Dani stumbled over what to say, Lorie put her hand over mouth and kicked her bare feet under the covers, trying to prevent from laughing. The other woman’s political correctness, motherly concern, and need to always be hospitable were battling hard.

  Finally, unable to listen any longer, Lorie confessed, “Matilda is my motorcycle, girl.”

  By the time she was done explaining about the bike, she and Dani had both burst into laughter enough that it had left both women shaking and wiping tears from their faces. “Okay. O
kay. Really. I will be there in a couple of hours. Just let me get a shower and pack up a bag. I’ll stay overnight. I’ve never ridden that far and never at night. Hell, I don’t even have a license to drive her, but screw it, I feel like a rebel.”

  After several minutes of convincing Dani she’d be okay, Lorie hung up the phone. As she showered and packed, her lips curled up into an excited grin, thoughts of the road ahead churning in her head. Not just the highway, where she and Matilda would roar and rumble across the land, but the future itself. She felt stronger, more confident, and happier than she had in a long time. It was going to be a great day.

  ****

  Heart pounding and palms sweating, her vision cleared by fear and adrenaline, Lorie gave the accelerator a little more of a push and watched the speedometer climb. The hot wind whipped at her double braids as they bounced out behind her and fell to slap against the back of her leather jacket. Everything around her seemed to shine as she leaned back and watched the world go by from atop the two-wheeled dream she had named Matilda.

  The exit sign popped up on the horizon, marking the half way point to Dani’s house. The scenery of the long stretching road, the rush of air on her face, and the whir of the cars as they moved past her brought her a sense of comfortable danger. She’d been on the road for forty-five minutes, and other than her butt feeling a little numb, Lorie couldn’t think of a time when she had felt more complete. With every mile, she could feel the bits and pieces of her shattered soul and broken heart knitting back together.

  Lorie down shifted, preparing to take the exit, ready to stretch her legs, and call Dani to let her know that all was well so far on the ride. Blinker on, she checked the cars around her, sure she was safe to move into the right hand lane.

  A cautious rider is a rider who lives, she thought to herself, quoting an article she had recently read.

  One second, she was maneuvering over into the turning lane, and the next, the world changed. Two voices screamed, one in anger and one in pain, the sound eerily resonating with the screech of metal on pavement. The world was tearing apart, ripping at the seams, the color fading and the scenery turning this way and that in a hideous blur. Her body lurched to the left, to the right, and then pain. Excruciating, bone deep, agony ripped its claws into her flesh and left it in shreds of blood and tissue.

  Oh, God! Stop screaming! If the screaming would just stop, I’ll be okay. The pain, oh shit. It hurts. Shit. Shit it hurts. Someone stop the women from screaming, please. Help them, make them stop…

  Darkness. Voices. The scream of anger. The scream of agony. Unfamiliar hands.

  Pain!

  Her eyes flew open, her pupils so large that they nearly swallowed the normal jade green. The world looked dark around the edges, and the pain tore through her in rampant waves of hell’s fire. People kept talking, strangers’ faces, distorted and frightening, appeared over her. She turned her head, trying to escape them, trying to hide from the pain, denying her reality. Through tear blurred eyes and darkening vision, she looked upon a sight so maddening that it blocked out the torment of her body for a pure crystalline moment.

  Matilda gleamed in the sun. Her plum purple paint scraped, her black metal twisted, and her motor sputtering as gas and oil bled out of fatal wounds. Her front tire, bent and smashed, wobbled as it still aimlessly spun in the air between warped forks.

  The scream rose up from her, the angry screech of something unearthly raging against its destruction. No! Not Matilda. No! Please someone please help her. Someone please help me.

  In spite of the pain and the hands that tried to stop her, she fought to reach out to her beloved motorcycle. Her fingers, bare of the glove that the asphalt had torn away, stretched outward. She needed to embrace Matilda, needed to stop her screams of rage.

  Please, Matilda. Stop. It’s okay. We will fix you. Just like you fixed me. Please stop screaming, and then we will help the other woman who sounds as if she is hurting so bad. In that instant, it became clear. There was no other woman. The screams that shook her brain, and echoed through the pain in her body, belonged to both her and Matilda. They were dying together on a lonely stretch of road, with strangers all around—blood and oil mixing on the ground.

  Her fingers, slick with blood, brushed the bike’s handle bar. She craned her neck, the pain like a million stinging insects scurrying over her body as she fought to see clearer. She struggled up through the crashing waves of emotion and physical torment, knowing the pain on the surface would be much greater, but not caring. The pain was nothing, if she couldn’t say a proper goodbye to the machine.

  Sweet Matilda. Thank you. Thank you for all you’ve done.

  She jostled; the feeling of being lifted and the hands that would not stop touching her causing too much pain. Beyond her broken body, beyond Matilda’s broken frame, something else caught her eye. The world shimmered, and in the iridescent haze, she saw her. Hair like finely spun golden silk, eyes like two large lilac disk rimmed in coal black lashes, and a frame with perfectly shaped limbs as lithe as any she had ever seen. The woman could have been anyone, anyone at all, except for the metallic flake, plum purple of her wings and the anger clearly written on her face.

  “Matilda.” Lorie whispered the name, choking on the blood that filled her mouth.

  Matilda’s expression of rage shifted, a dawning showed in her lavender eyes. “Lorie, oh Lorie. I’m so sorry.” She fluttered through the throngs of people, her delicate hands outstretched. “I tried to make you better. I tried to mend your heart. Now you are broken. I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to break you.”

  Lorie was silenced by the surge of hurt, liquid fire rushing through her limbs as the paramedics worked to fasten her body to the board, secure her neck with the brace, and staunch the worst of the bleeding.

  The woman suddenly seemed no more than a child, and Lorie wanted to comfort her. She smiled, bloody teeth and bloody lips, but her words could not come because her mouth was filled with screams. They were carrying her away, the pain was eating at her, and Matilda was crying.

  Please don’t cry, Matilda. I am not broken. I’m finally free.

  ****

  A warm hand gently rubbed across her skin, the sound of beeps and drips echoed in a silent room, and she had no idea where she was. Lorie opened her eyes slowly, the harsh fluorescent bulbs burning her retinas. She blinked, and it hurt like hell.

  “Sh-shit,” the word caught in her throat, coming out in a harsh rasp.

  “Lorie?”

  The voice was familiar, but not enough to place it, and when she tried to turn her head to face the man it belonged to, the pain made her scream.

  “Oh, lay still. I’m sorry. I must have startled you. Damnit. Are you okay?”

  Hissing through her teeth, so she didn’t have to feel the sensation of knives in her chest, she squeezed her eyes closed against the torture taking place within her body. She no longer cared who the man was; his words were just a blur anyway. She just wanted to die so the pain would end.

  ****

  Hushed voices surrounded her, cold and distant, definitely of the female persuasion.

  “A motorcycle, seriously?” a perky voice asked.

  “Yes. The ex-husband says it was some type of mid-life crisis after the divorce.” This voice belonged to someone older, more husky.

  “She should have gotten a boob job or a tattoo, seems safer compared to this,” the perky one mused.

  “Poor woman. Can’t say I blame her. Should have seen the piece of work he left her for. I think I’d go crazy, too. That woman is pure trash. I can’t tell much about our sleeping beauty here, but she has to be better than that sack of stupid,” the husky voiced female sounded farther away.

  Lorie laughed. The action was soundless, just a slight quirking of her lips and a puff of air, causing a shriek of pain where the right one had been stitched.

  “Still, a motorcycle? Geez, I wouldn’t be brave enough.” The chipper one seemed impressed and horrified in equal pa
rts.

  “They said it was a purple Harley Davidson at that,” the other woman didn’t seem awed or shocked, just rather bored.

  Lorie laughed again and whispered, “Fairy.”

  ****

  Her eyes peeled open slowly, the lids feeling heavy and swollen. She blinked once then twice, clearing the haze of bright light from her vision. Tubes ran into her arms, wires ran to her chest, and the pain had lessened. Stealing over her body in a near constant thrum, it remained, but it was not the same all encompassing torment as it had been.

  The doctor was there, looking over her chart. An older gentleman with his glasses pushed down on his nose and a stethoscope around his neck. Seeing her eyes open, he watched her carefully, showing deep calculation as he took in her condition.

  “Hello, young lady. It’s good to have you back with us. We’ve been concerned,” his voice was just as gentle as the smile that brought out deep wrinkles in his weathered face.

  “What,” the word sounded more like a frog croak. Clearing her throat she tried once more. “What happened?”

  “Well, it seems that another driver hit you on the highway. You took a nasty spill. The injuries are quite a lot in number: broken right femur, fractured tibia, three hairline fractures in your ribs, concussion, torn rotator cuff, three broken fingers, a total of forty-seven stitches, plus seven stables in your left knee, and a bad case of road rash in a few spots. However, I’d count you lucky to still be here with us. We see a lot of motorcycle accidents, and as far as they go, you’re better off than most.”

  “Shit.” There’s that word again. I need to expand my vocabulary. “How long have I been here?”

  “Five days today. We’ve kept you under heavy sedation while we sewed you up and reset everything.” He paused for a moment, eyes searching the emotions that played over her face, waiting to see how she’d take the news. “You’re going to okay. You’ll have some therapy once the casts come off, but altogether, not in bad shape.”