Melissa (Daughters Series, #3) Page 4

  I work hard to avoid becoming the typical computer nerd stereotyped in every teen movie or book or TV show. I know as much about pop culture as I know about a wide range of procedures for modifying living organisms. I follow the relevant, mainstream perceptions and attitudes of the world as well as the academics. I believe in balance and my peers include the kinds of people who enjoy the average things as well as those who are into engineering, science and computer programming, which I live for. Hiking the mountains and ice climbing are my primary hobbies. I have zero fear of heights or falling and want to stay in shape while venturing out in the real world, the natural world.

  I did not come here, to this town, or to this university, or this house, for this girl.

  I must admit that I cannot help but notice her. I’d have to be dead not to. Honestly. She and I are close in age, and she is a ten when it comes to her looks. And no, I’m unfortunately not a ten. I could easily have a crush on her and she thinks I do. She tries to taunt me with it. I can’t think of another reason why she’d say the things she does to me.

  I don’t have a crush on her. The thing is, I don’t think she’s too good for me. In all honesty, and not to be so harsh as to say she’s not good enough for me, but when it comes to her personality, her work ethic and her emotional stability, she’s simply not. Beauty? Yeah, she’s got me beat there. Duh. But how far has her beauty carried her in the world until now? Not too far, according to her father and from what I overheard.

  I clutch the damp towel and start up the stairs. It smells like her. Some kind of vanilla scent. One thing is for sure, she doesn’t dress the part of the character she tries to project. Nothing but classy clothes for her and her hair is also modest. It is curly and thick and luxurious. She wears delicate scents and the whiffs of perfume are alluring and faint, so unlike her brash attitude about everything.

  I toss the towel into the rest of my laundry. Thanks very much for the added work, Melissa Hendricks, I grumble in my head. I never curse out loud but she nearly forces it out of me. I start to strip my bed, nearly wrinkling my nose in disdain at the chore. Yeah, I spot the condoms in the garbage under my sink and jump back from the nauseating sight. I am beyond repelled. Thanks, Melissa, for all of this.

  I have to go into the main house to use the washer and dryer. I’m too tired. I’ll crash once more on the couch. I microwave some frozen food and feel grateful for the quiet and no Melissa. I put her out of my mind and fully intend to forget her.

  My determination lasts until Thursday. During the four days back at school, I studied, read, and worked on a lab for my Conservation Biology class. Then, on Thursday at about three o’clock, I hear several hard knocks in fast succession, which disturb me as I’m flipping through my class notes to begin writing my paper about the lab results. I open the door, expecting to find Melissa, the usual culprit of anything loud and disruptive. Except I find Jessie there instead. Her eyes are frantic with worry. “Have you seen Melissa?”

  “Not since Sunday.”

  Jessie shoves past me and starts pushing her fingers through her hair. “Neither has anyone else. Not since Will—” she nearly shrieks in panic.

  I dig my hands into my pockets, hoping to avoid any domestic squabble. But I reply quietly, “I know what he said. I heard them, by accident.”

  “Will finally told me when she didn’t show up Monday. I know she’s twenty years old and should come and go without our rules, but it’s just common decency, you know? She lives in our house and therefore, she’s required to report in if she’s not coming home. We don’t stop the girls, but we do require simple courtesy. When I’m going to be late, I report in just so no one worries. Melissa is the worst about that. I don’t know how or why, but she never seems to remember to call us. Getting her to come home on time is almost a lost cause. I’ve never seen anyone get into as much trouble for missed curfews as she does.” Jessie stops her continuous pacing and glances at me before shaking her head as she sighs. “I’m sorry, Seth. I’m rambling. This isn’t your problem. I’m just… worried. About her. She’s so—”

  “Melissa?” I supply finally when Jessie doesn’t finish.

  She bites her lip, nodding. Jessie has a youthful appearance for her age which I estimate to be in the mid–fifties range. She has brown hair, and either no gray strands showing or she colors it to hide them. She wears makeup and dresses well for her body type, which is still quite slim with only a few extra pounds. “I am never sure how to describe her to people. It helps if you just get it.”

  “I get it.”

  She nods. “I have a feeling you do. She’s been here then?”

  I don’t answer at first. Her gaze darts around, telling me she knows something more about Melissa’s visits to this apartment than her father does. “Um, I know she resents me living here when she still wants it for herself.”

  “Yeah. It seemed the best thing to do. She loses all the jobs she starts. She’s always screwing up so much. Why keep rewarding her? But then… Will goes off and loses his shit at her. And of all my kids, she’s the one that can’t handle him doing that to her. She tries so hard to please him the most. She never measures up because she’s… I don’t know, Seth. I don’t know what she is. For the last decade, I can’t articulate what is lacking about her. I love her so much, but she’s so hard to deal with. I mean, she’s exhausting. I worry myself sick over her welfare. Just getting and maintaining a job. I often wonder if she’ll ever be independent. I’ve tried different approaches too, thinking something has to click with her eventually. But it doesn’t. And she is so filled with genuine remorse when things fail to work out. She can’t stick to anything. I know she’s as predictable as a broken record, but the weird part is, I believe her. I just don’t know what to do with her.”

  “So I gather,” I answer, my tone dry.

  Jessie shakes her head. “I have no right to lay this problem on you.” She pushes her hand through her hair again, her agitation obvious. “I’m just at my wit’s end. I don’t know where she is. Even when she’s at her worst, she always checks in at least by the next day.”

  “She was very upset on Sunday. She doesn’t often show me her true emotions, and she did.”

  “Will went too far. She can’t handle his disapproval. He should know that. Emily and Christina can rise up and defend themselves. Their shame would only motivate them to do better, to be better, just to please him… us. But Melissa? That’s about the worst approach he could use with her. All it does is hurt her, shame her, and send her off to do something which will hurt her even more.”

  “You know her so well.”

  Jessie’s laugh is dry. “Oh, yes. I know my daughters extremely well. So does their damn father. I can’t understand why he’d do that to her…”

  “It was more spontaneous, or seemed to be. He said he was sick of her unwillingness and inability to work.”

  “So am I. Believe me. But pushing her off like that to self–destruct? How can that even begin to help? Look, I have to go find her. I just wanted to check with you first. If you hear from her, please—”

  “I’ll let you know first thing, no matter what, and despite what she wants.”

  Jessie’s smile is sincere as she pats my arm. “Thank you, Seth.”

  Jessie leaves. I stare out the window and watch her quickly stride across the yard. Will meets her at the stairs of their back deck. He’s usually never home at this time of day, especially on a weekday. He says something and Jessie jerks her arm from his hand, showing obvious anger as she storms past him. Her face contorts as she yells something before entering the house and slamming the door on Will. Will’s shoulders drop and he stares out over the land, his fingers combing his hair. Wow, Melissa caused the usual discord she’s so good at creating. I turn away. Four days without any contact? That’s a long time, even for her.

  I go back to my paper and write a page. It’s good stuff. Technically supported and rooted in clear facts that I can cite. Focused, I forget Melissa and th
e Hendricks family. While stretching my back with my laptop open on the kitchen counter, my eye is drawn to the wolf trinket Melissa gushed over. More of her father’s disappointment in her. Even as a kid. I have to admit, she just doesn’t fit the mold of the other Hendricks girls. Not either of them. Even Christina’s boyfriend, the adopted cousin, fits in better than Melissa does. She has such an apathetic attitude towards productivity and responsibility.

  The hurt she suffered over her father’s rejection is obvious in that story, never mind the scene down by the barn. But good Lord, who can blame Will? If she were my daughter, I’d have done exactly the same thing. Where could she be now?

  My thoughts recall the guy she had here, in my bed. There was some gear at the end of the bed. Wish I weren’t so observant sometimes. It was a motorcycle jacket, and the leather was emblazoned with Black Warlocks. I recognize the name. I’ve seen it in the area. Would she really go hang with such a raunchy motorcycle crew?

  Yeah. Why would I even bother asking? Of course she would.

  I have no idea what I could accomplish or why. I don’t even like her enough to sacrifice some time out of my day to bother with her, let alone go out looking for her in some scary–ass place like a biker joint. What do I know about such outlaws? Very little, I’ll admit that. Not exactly my crowd. Are they Melissa’s type? Sure. I can see it. But I’m not really doing this for her, I’m doing it for her parents. They are more like me than the bikers and are also practically related to me, so I feel bad for them.

  Hooking my finger around my parka, I throw it on. Temperatures have dropped considerably over the last few days and the chill hovers barely above freezing. I have an old Jeep for wheels, which I purchased after I moved up here. It’s a relic from thirty years ago but it feels almost indestructible. Not pretty, but it more than does its job. I leave there right as darkness is falling. I roar over the rural roads. There is no listing for the club’s name, just as I suspected. They aren’t your typical weekend road–warrior bikers. I get that. They are the real thing. Whatever that means. I presume it isn’t good.

  I do know a few people in town, so I swing by the house of a friend from school who’s lived here his entire life. I ask about the club name, explaining that a friend I know is caught up in something he’d rather not be. He gives me an address and informs me that they often meet in a warehouse outside of town. It used to be a grain elevator but isn’t used any longer. I thank him before heading out onto the back roads and moving farther off into nowhere. Up ahead, I spot a metal building. The grain silo points up into the night sky, and next to it is an outbuilding that could be used as a gathering place. Bikes litter the front of it. Yeah, I don’t know what makes they are but they are all big with lots of chrome. Choppers, Indians, Harleys, and the like. With wild paint jobs. What the hell should I do? Simply walk in? It’s obviously not a public establishment.

  First, I try texting Melissa. But since she’s not answering her parents, she probably won’t answer me. And she doesn’t. I stare at the building. Two bikes pull in and stop. The riders kick their stands down and heave their hefty carcasses off the vehicles. They eye my rig, but don’t bother to come over. I finally swallow the hard lump of scared–ass pansy that is the true me. I remind myself I am not the quintessential computer nerd that I so often get labeled. I slam the door on my Jeep. However, I’m no biker either. I have no idea what to expect when I venture inside.

  Grabbing the door handle, I hear a general chorus of voices. Lights. The door shuts behind me after I step in. It isn’t much of a club. I guess I pictured plenty of drugs, women stripping, and the usual underbelly, underground activities you might imagine. But no. Perhaps some kind of rally or call–to–arms. But no. All I see is just a bunch of older people. Really. Most appear to be in their fifties. Some are seated at metal tables, and many are playing cards. Some are drinking. Coffee cups are scattered around. For the moment, it seems almost like a meeting of the neighborhood men’s association. There are only a few women in attendance. Many are dressed like the men, and obviously came there on their own bikes. There are a couple of younger ones that might be more like Melissa or a girlfriend or a groupie or whatever.

  “What are you doing here?”

  I turn towards the voice, which sounds like gravel being churned in a cement truck. “Uh, just looking for a friend. A girl.”

  “And?”

  “And she was last seen with Anand.” I remembered his name from Melissa screaming it out so loudly. Having no idea what type of name it is, I can only hope I got it right.

  “Oh. Sure. That brunette. Yeah, they’re right through there.” He waves me towards a door. My hands instantly feel clammy with sweat. Crap. Is that where all the debauchery takes place? Is this the place where the guys take a break and chill from all their sinning? Is she in there, willfully gang–banging a bunch of bikers? I have no idea what to expect. Or if I’m allowed to just go right inside. What if they jump me? I don’t want to get beaten up, not for Melissa. She willingly came here, and is most likely doing her favorite activity. That’s my educated guess over the matter.

  “Can I go in there and find her?”

  The guy shrugs. Then he smiles with tobacco–lined cheeks. “You got a beef with Anand over her?”

  “No. I’m just a family friend.”

  He motions for me to move on. I do, passing through the sparse crowd, keeping my head down, trying to go slowly, while projecting a sense of calm and confidence. No need to advertise I’m intimidated as hell and cursing Melissa Hendricks over and over inside my brain.

  I slip through the metal door after pushing on the bar that opens it. Outside? All it does is lead me outside where some smokers are hanging out. I spot a barbecue and hear the sizzling sound of meat cooking on it. There’s a large fire, and mostly men are standing around. Drinking. Smoking. Passing joints intermittently. Certainly not the drug–fueled orgy I was prepared for, somehow believing I would find Melissa at the center of it. I scan the crowd. I don’t see her. Then I hear her voice.

  “Seth?” she calls from behind me. Her tone sounds full of dismay. She sits on a wooden fence, the kind that has three long boards running horizontally above the ground. Her legs are hooked on the middle boards. I walk towards her. Her surprise and shock register in her facial expression. She slips off the fence, sliding her gaze towards the brute beside her. I think it’s the man whose bare ass I’ve seen. He’s huge, and younger than many of the rest here. He wears a thick stocking cap over his shaggy blond hair. Ironically, with the name Anand, I pictured someone more exotic looking. Not a blond, blue–eyed dude with strong Nordic features. And his muscles aren’t something to mess around with either.

  As soon as Melissa gets close to me, she grabs the material of my coat sleeve and tugs me away from Anand and towards a quiet corner of the yard.

  “What the hell? How did you find me? What are you doing here?”

  “Same at ya, Melissa. Your parents are freaking out.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “The brute you like to screw in my bed wears a leather coat with his club’s name on it. I remembered seeing it so I asked a friend and found you.”

  “You need to leave, Seth. This isn’t any place for you.”

  “Oh, really? But it is for you? Did you forget that you’re a middle–class, white girl? Not exactly a skull and bones, or even edgy and interesting. You’re just trying to prove Daddy is right about you. He hurt your feelings so now you’re going to punish him. Sure. You can be as nasty as he accuses you of being. You’re acting like a baby, Melissa. I hope you realize how ridiculously infantile this is.”

  She jerks her head in a negative nod and takes my sleeve and pushes at me again. “No. I mean, this place really isn’t for you. You should go now.”

  She glances over her shoulder, looking towards her boyfriend. He’s eyeing us suspiciously. I look at her. “They seem harmless enough. Not exactly the hosts of a raging orgy, which I feared you were the star attra
ction of.”

  She glares at me, her lip snarling up, and I deserve it. But I’m feeling nasty too. I’m very anxious and nervous with this controversial crowd. And with her. “Seth, please, outsiders aren’t welcome here. I really think you should go. Now.” Her head swivels all around. The big, burly boyfriend of hers is studying us intently. She pushes my arm to turn me as she restates her plea, almost desperately. “Please, Seth?”

  “You need to contact your parents. You’re freaking them out.”

  Her gaze meets mine and something flashes in her eyes. “I will. I lost my phone. I’ll borrow someone’s.”

  She hustles me towards the door, but I plant my feet and fling her off me. Bristling, I lean towards her. “What is going on? Are you all right?”

  She licks her lips, all red, slick, and shiny. My eyes follow the movement of her tongue. I jerk away. Not so comfortable as to stare, much less salivate over Melissa’s blatant sexuality. It’s not new for her, but it is new that it affects me so much. “I’m fine.”

  “Then come with me.”

  “I can’t.”

  “Can’t?” I question, staring over her shoulder at the bulky man who looks like he’s never cracked a book open in his life. Yeah, kind of judgmental of me, but I don’t like this place, the crowd, or Melissa being here. It surprises me just how much I don’t like Melissa being here. And leaving her feels worse somehow. She seems so different there. She’s usually the loud, obnoxious, and toughest one in a room; but here, she seems so small, vulnerable, quiet, and almost weak. A word I’ve ever associated with her. Normally, she manipulates and controls every situation she gets into. But here? She seems to be at their mercy. I can’t just leave her here. Seeing her here feels wrong. So wrong.

  My tone of voice catches her attention. “I don’t mean I can’t, like I’m not allowed to, I just mean I don’t want to.”

  I grab her wrist for the first time. I’ve never willingly touched her before. She stares down at my thumb and index finger encircling her lower arm. I see her buffoon boyfriend stiffen as he rises off the fence he was previously slouched on. I have only a few moments before he’s over here. “Why do I think you can’t willingly leave here? What is going on? Do you need my help?”