Savior

Hanna

I watched through the window as Rand rode away, his Harley roaring as he raced away down the road, obviously trying to get home before the rain started. I allowed the drapes to close as I looked around the room. With the pictures of motorcycles on the walls I felt like I was back in the Orcas' clubhouse. All the place needed was a bar, loud music, some black leather... and of course, tattooed bikers with bad attitudes. Oh, and scantily clad women. I couldn't forget the scantily clad women. At least the room was clean.

I thought back to my conversation with the Bayport Riders. As a club, they couldn't have been more different than the Orcas. Because of the way they were dressed, I couldn't tell if any of them had tattoos, but even if they did, they weren't covered in them. There were no tats visible on their necks or hands, and I didn't see a single skull, wings, or lettering on fingers on any of them. If I'd met any of the guys on the street, I wouldn't have given them a second glance.

Even their riding apparel was different. Where the Orcas wore jean jackets with the sleaves ripped off and a giant ass Orca over the outline of the state of Oregon on their back, the Bayport Riders were wearing full suit riding armor in various colors and patterns. 'Squids,' as Carl had dismissed them. Only Rand was different. He wore heavy boots, jeans, and a black leather jacket.

He was more like one of the Orcas than any of the other men, but even he was as different from the bikers I knew as night and day. Unlike the Orcas, he didn't have a surly attitude and walk around like he was spoiling for a fight. Where the Orcas splashed their brand everywhere, I didn't see a single Bayport Riders patch anywhere on any of the men. If I had to describe their club, low profile I how I'd do it.

I flopped down on the bed, sat on the edge, and stared at the phone, dreading what I knew I should do. Staring at the phone, my mind wandered as I put off making the call I was dreading for a little longer.

There was another big difference between the Bayport Riders and the Orcas. The Orcas had more than their share of fat asses, where all the Bayport Riders, at least the ones I saw, were lean, athletic looking men that clearly took care of themselves. I smiled to myself. Maybe riding a crotch rocket wasn't comfortable if you had a big gut pressing into the gas tank.

With a sigh I picked up the phone and read the directions. Steeling myself, I quickly dialed. I listened as the phone purred in my ear.

"Hello?" Mom said.

"Mom, it's Hanna. I need you to call me back—"

"Hanna! My God! Where are you? Are you alright? Tell me—"

"Mom. Mom!" I snapped, trying to get her attention. "I need you to call me back. Do you have a piece of paper to write down this number?"

"Just tell me where—"

"Mom! I need you to call me back, and then I'll answer your questions. Ready?"

"Wait! Wait! I have to get a piece of paper!" I rolled my eyes. I was sure this call was costing me a fortune. "Okay, what's the number?"

I carefully read the number from the placard on the phone. "Room 118."

"I'll call you right back," Mom said before the line went dead.

I placed the headset back in the cradle and waited. It took so long for the phone to ring I knew she was talking to Dad... or had copied the number down wrong. I swallowed hard, my nervousness increasing with every passing second. I stared at the clock, and just as it flicked to a new minute, the phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Hanna! Where in God's name are you? We've been so worried!"

"I'm safe."

"But where are you?" Mom asked, her voice strident.

"I'm not going to tell you that."

"What! Why not?"

"Because I don't want you or Dad driving down here and trying to change my mind. I think Carl's here. I'm trying to track him down and get Garrett back."

"Then go to the police! Let them find him!"

"I can't. I... don't know where he is. I just... I think saw him on the street," I lied.

I heard the phone being passed. "Hanna, you listen to me young lady. I want you to come home right now. Do you know how worried your mother's been?" Dad growled.

"Sorry, Dad, I can't. Not without Garrett. The police can't do anything until I have proof, so I'm going to get some. Or maybe just grab him and run if I can. I don't know. I'm playing this by ear as I go."

"I'm coming to get you. Tell me where you are."

"I'll be home—"

"Hanna, dammit, I want you to tell me—"

"I'm not a child anymore, Dad," I said firmly, cutting him off. "I'm twenty-six years old and can make my own decisions. I have to do this, and nothing you can say will change my mind. I tried this with the police, and nothing was happening, so now I'm going to try it my way. I'll be home as soon as I can."

"Now you listen to me, Hanna Tyrell," Dad began, his tone reminding me of when I was a child and I'd really messed up. I could tell he was upset because he'd used my maiden name. "You tell me where you are this instant or—"

I heard a scuffle over the phone, then voices so heavily muffled I couldn't make out the words. After a moment Mom came back on the line. "Hanna, baby, I know you think you're doing the right thing, but we're worried about you."

I had to smile because in the background I could hear Dad. "She's always been so damn stubborn!"

"I know, Mom but I'm being careful."

"Tomorrow, I want you to go to the police department wherever you are and tell them everything. I'm sure if you tell them you saw Carl, they can help you. Will you do that for me?"

I paused. "Yes," I said softly. Another lie.

"Okay. You're a good girl, and I don't want anything to happen to you, so you go to the police, and then you come home, okay?"

"And what about Garrett?"

"I'm sure the police will find him, and then when they do, we, all of us, can go get him."

"Okay. I'll tell the police everything as soon as I can, but I can't come home. Not yet. I have to be here. I won't let the police forget about it."

There was a long moment of silence. "I understand," Mom said softly. "You're a good mother, Hanna. I want you to know that."

I whimpered. "Thanks, Mom, but I don't feel like a good mother."

"You made some mistakes, we all have, but I've never doubted, not for a single second, that you were a good mother. I want you to know that."

"I love you, Mom."

"I love you too."

"Tell Dad I love him, and that I'll be back as soon as I can?"

"I'll tell him."

"Thank you," I whispered. I was quiet for a moment, but I had to say the words. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I didn't listen when you and Dad tried to warn me."

"It's okay. We all make mistakes. It's what we do afterwards that matters."

I was losing it. I sniffed as I battled against my tears. "I have to go. I love you, Mom."

"I love you too."

I hung up the phone, trying desperately to hold myself together, cupping my mouth in my hand, but I couldn't stop the tears. With a gasp, I went to pieces and bawled like I hadn't since I was a little girl.

-oOo-

I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling, utterly exhausted. My worry and grief had poured out of me with my tears as I was racked with sobs. I don't know how long I'd cried, but it'd felt like hours. I'd sob into my hands for a long moment before I tried to pull myself together. Just as I thought I was done and could dry my tears, another wave of guilt and fear washed over me, and I again spiraled into the pit of utter despair.

I'd been holding that cry in for a couple of months, for years maybe, fighting against them as I took one blow after another. Carl having his affairs while rubbing my nose in it. Him slapping me around. Him beating the shit out of me when I said I was leaving as Garrett screamed in terror. Me running home with my tail between my legs. My inability to find a job. My arrest. And now this. I'd held it all in until I couldn't anymore, and my fear and rage had poured out of me like a broken dam.

I sniffed. My eyes felt raw and itchy, and my nose was so stuffed I couldn't breath, but for the first time I could remember in such a long time I felt... not at peace, but... wrung out and empty. Maybe it was my exhaustion, or maybe my violent crying had purged me somehow. I whimpered as the tears tried to start again, but then the need to cry faded.

I listened to the patter of rain, the feeling of melancholy weighing heavily upon me. I continued to stare at the ceiling, listening to the soft sound of nature. I didn't know what to make of these men, the men that I'd forced my presence on, the men that said they'd help me if they could.

They were so different from the Orcas. Yes, they rode motorcycles, but where the Orcas seemed to thrive on conflict, and lived in an us versus them world, the Bayport Riders had offered to help me, a perfect stranger that had washed up on their doorstep begging for help. I had no doubt if I'd gone to the Orcas in the same situation, they'd have summarily kicked me out on my ass. Even if they'd listened, I also had little doubt they'd have taken the information I gave them and then laughed at me as they told me to go fuck myself.

I swallowed hard. I wondered if I could trust these men. They seemed kind, if wary. I'd seen their faces harden as I described how the Orcas had taken Garrett from Mom, and then harden again when I told them how I'd received my bumps and scrapes. I thought I could trust them, at least so long as our goals aligned. They wanted to know if the Orcas were in town, and so did I. One Orca in particular.

I sat up and moved to the bathroom where I splashed water on my face. My eyes were red and puffy, and my hair was even more of a mess than normal. I sighed as I ran my wet fingers through my hair.

I returned to the bed and clicked on the television, but nothing could hold my interest. My mind kept wandering back to the Bayport Riders, and how different they were from the only other motorcycle club I had any experience with.

The Orcas had plenty of greybeards, but the Bayport Riders, at least the ones I saw, were uniformly young, all of them probably in their mid-twenties to maybe their late-thirties or early forties. All except Doug, who appeared to be about Dad's age.

Where the Orcas were loud, boisterous, and crude, the Bayport Riders seemed quieter and more thoughtful. Maybe it was because a stranger was in their midst, but I didn't think that explained all the difference. They seemed... normal was the only word I could think of.

Most of all, they were all good-looking guys. Even the few that weren't classically handsome still appeared to have banging bodies, as if they cared about their appearance, where some of the Orcas didn't seem to give a shit how they looked and yet acted like they were God's gift to women. Even with some grey in his hair, Doug was a bit of a hottie, as weird as that felt to admit.

But what struck me most of all was they seemed like they cared. Rand could have continued to pretend he was the president of the club, given me the boot, and I'd never have been the wiser, but he hadn't. I'd seen his face soften when I begged him for help, and he'd taken pity on me. Again I wondered why the club was willing to help. They didn't know me, and yet, they'd said they'd do what they could.

I smiled to myself. Especially Rand. I wondered if Rand was short for Randy, or maybe Randall. Rand had, despite lying to me at the beginning, gotten me one step closer to finding Garrett. For that, no matter what else might happen, I was in his debt. Other than my family, he was the first person who actually seemed to care about me... but then he'd done even more and introduced me to more men that seemed to be willing to help.

I hadn't been looking at him as I told my story, but later, at the restaurant, I'd seen his eyes and face turn hard when I again mentioned Carl knocking me around. I saw the contained fury in the way his eyes had narrowed, and I could tell he hadn't wondered if I'd deserved it.

I'd also noticed his hands as he unwrapped his utensils at Sotherland's. They were calloused and scraped, the hands of a man who wasn't afraid of work. It was hard to tell under his shirt and leather jacket, but he appeared to be well-built in a way of a man who did honest work, not someone who spent hours working out in a gym.

I yawned. It had been an exhausting day, and I was getting sleepy. I rose and moved to the small bathroom where I brushed my teeth. I changed into my night shirt, and then after flushing, I made my way to the bed. After setting the alarm on the room's clock, I flipped the linens back and snuggled in. Clicking off the light, I lay quiet and still as I listened to the soft patter of the rain. I took a long deep breath and let it out slowly as I began to slide into sleep.

As the dark tendrils of slumber began to surround me, my mind returned to the Bayport Riders. Where Carl was loud, Rand was quiet, and there was a kindness in his tone that I never heard in Carl's voice. He'd said nothing as I'd given the club my story, but as I glanced around the room during the telling, trying to determine if I was winning them over, he was always watching me intently as he took it all in. Whenever I spoke to Carl, I never felt like he was listening, and many times I knew he wasn't because he walked away, or left entirely to go do something else, something that rarely involved me.

Of all the hotties in the room, Rand was the standout. He was about the same height as Carl, perhaps six one or two, but that's where the similarities ended. Carl was good looking in his own way, presenting a carefully crafted bad boy look he worked hard to maintain. Rand, on the other hand, with his dark hair and kind eyes, had a boy next door charm and friendliness that did nothing to diminish his handsomeness. If Carl and Rand were in a movie, Carl would be the arrogant bad boy that all the girls lusted after, but Rand would win the girl in the end when he rescued her and she finally realized what had been right in front of her the whole time. Where Carl checked his look whenever he passed a mirror, Rand didn't seem to notice or care. Where Carl rarely smiled, playing the brooding bad boy shtick to the hilt, Rand smiled easily and often.

As my breathing slowed and deepened, and I drifted in the twilight of sleep, I wondered if there was a Mrs. Tauper, or someone he was close to. If not, I wondered why there wasn't. I couldn't understand why someone hadn't snapped him up because, even having just met him, he seemed like the perfect man to me.

I was still wondering what it might be like to have a kind, caring, hardworking man in my life as slumber drew its dark blanket over me and sleep wrapped me in its snug embrace.

-oOo-

I stood in room with high black walls. No... not a room... a maze. I frantically looked left and right, but all I could see was more high walls looming on every side of me. It was so dim I could barely see, the walls absorbing all the light. Straining to see in the dimness, I ran to the end of the hall and looked left and right again. I saw nothing other than more walls.

"Garrett!" I screamed.

"Mommy!" his faint little voice replied.

"Where are you, Punkin? Tell mommy where you are!"

"I don't know! I'm scared, Mommy!" he sobbed. "I want to go home!"

I whimpered, his small, frightened voice tearing at me. "I know, Punkin! Mommy's coming for you!"

I gasped as a hand touched me on the back. I whirled, prepared to fight to the death, but it was Doug, and Rand, and the other members of the Bayport Riders. Doug smiled down at me as a bight beam of light speared the darkness to illuminate the area around us. I realized the walls were actually buildings, and I was standing in the middle of a street.

"It's okay, Hanna. We're here. We'll get Garrett back to you."

"But I don't know where he is!" I wailed. "I can't find him!"

"It's okay," Rand murmured. "This is our town. I know everyone. We'll find him for you."

I blubbered in gratitude as I gripped Doug's hand. "Thank you," I whimpered. "Thank you so much."

Doug continued to smile as he slowly pulled his hand from mine before he flung his arms out, his palms pointed skyward. Around me, beams of light began to flick on, lighting the town in their brilliant glow.

"I see light, Mommy!" Garrett called. Could it be his voice was closer? "Mommy, I see light!"

I whimpered. "Mommy has some help, Punkin! Mommy's coming for you!"

"I want to go home!" he cried again, his voice beseeching

"Soon, Punkin! Soon!"

I groaned sleepily as I rolled over, swimming strongly for the surface of slumber, battling my way to wakefulness, wanting to start my search for Garrett without another moment's delay, but then my need to wake faded and I squirmed deeper into the bed.

With another sigh and the feeling that I'd finally gotten my break, the darkness of sleep recaptured me.