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August 2023 – Chatter (four months after the war).

The roads were slick, so Chatter took it easy. Rain fell in thick sheets as he made his way home. He’d taken a few days out and headed to Phoe’s Camden house to relax. Everything around the clubhouse felt different now.

Chance was much happier, but so many things had changed in the last four months that Chatter had been feeling uneasy. The war had brought a ton of changes, some good, some bad. The shocking losses that allies like Hawthornes, RCPD, and Unwanted Bastards had suffered had knocked them all. He shook his head to try and stop his thought process, but it happened anyway.

Only three Unwanted Bastards remained. Their grief had been immense, and the other clubs had rallied around them. Chatter knew Chance, Drake, and Onyx had offered Inglorious, Chill, and Razor a place in their MCs and had been turned down. Too many had died. Inglorious was unavailable at the moment. The last three Unwanted Bastards had withdrawn from everyone.

Jailbait and Zoom hadn’t recovered from losing Zippy, a man whose death had been widely mourned. Zoom seemed a mere shadow of his former self. Onyx and his men had been on a two-week bender to mourn their dead before moving forward slowly.

The funerals had taken several weeks. And they were etched into Chatter’s brain. Especially the loss by Rage. That girl had stood at church and paid homage to everyone who came to give respects to her fallen man. Chatter recognised the strength and courage she’d needed to do that. And then she had fled.

Chatter knew Fanatic had been in touch with her, but it had slowly faded. He wondered how long it would take the prospect to go after her, but decided it wasn’t his business. He wanted to reach out and comfort everyone, but he didn’t have the words.

Ever since his own loss, Chatter hadn’t been verbose. Phoe made him talk more often, but Chatter was happy with grunts, and funny enough, his club family understood him.

There was also the chaos of his brothers falling in love and claiming old ladies. Not a single damn woman arrived without drama. And Chatter didn’t envy them one little bit. And several of his brothers had fucked up big time and were lucky to even still have their women. Pyro and Banshee immediately sprang to mind.

And the children. Chatter loved the kids, even though they were Holy Terrors and rivalled the Rage Hellions. But they were multiplying at a rate Chatter couldn’t comprehend. Apart from Clio, all the old ladies were at various stages of pregnancy. Chatter shook his head. Within the next six months, the clubhouse was about to become one massive nursery. Chatter didn’t mind, but it was so overwhelming.

He was someone who loved solitude and quietness, and the clubhouse had always lacked that. The war was done, things should settle down, but there was a restlessness inside Chatter he hadn’t been able to squash.

He could have taken himself off to the cabin he shared with Levi, but the fucker had decided to go walkabout and had disappeared with Madisen.

Chatter understood Levi needed his alone time—he was the same after all—but did Levi have to do it when Chatter was in desperate need? Luckily, Phoe had lent him her Camden home. It was too big for him, but it offered the solitude he craved.

Chatter had checked in with Warden, the Royal Bastard president whose club was the dominant one in Camden, Maine. He’d spent a night sharing a few beers with them and avoiding the persistent whores. Chatter had no intention of taking a woman to bed who’d slept with most of the men in an MC. Who knows what diseases they carried. Chatter was particular about where he put his cock.

He’d loved and lost once; he didn’t want an old lady. And he tended to have relationships lasting no more than four or five months, which he insisted on being exclusive. Chatter always ensured that the women knew it was short term and nothing permanent would come from it. One or two had disagreed with his thought process, but that was their problem. Chatter had never intentionally deluded anyone.

His eyes caught a set of beams, and he slowed further as he saw a white car struggling in the weather. Honestly, Chatter should have pulled over the moment the storm hit, but he’d kept going because home wasn’t far.

The roads were dangerous, so he’d been riding slowly, but the car in front was moving even slower.

Chatter stayed back as the vehicle skidded. He frowned, distracted from his thoughts. The driver was having issues with the steering. Although the streets were slick, there shouldn’t be much of a problem. He slowed as, once again, the vehicle slid out of control. Chatter couldn’t see inside; the sky was too dark, and the rain too thick. But he definitely heard a female scream when, seconds later, the car hydroplaned across the road and into the opposite lanes.

The screaming continued as the driver attempted to control the car, which headed down a steep embankment and hit a tree.

“Shit!” Chatter cried and pulled over. He pushed his earpiece and dialled for the police and an ambulance. Once confirmed they were coming, Chatter checked for oncoming traffic and ran across the road. His boots slipped as he tried to reach the wreck, and he ended up sliding all the way and hitting the trunk.

Shaking off the collision, he headed around the rear of the car, rubbed his hip, and opened the driver’s door.

An air bag had deployed, and Chatter stabbed it, making it deflate. A woman’s face came into view with blood trickling down her forehead and her eyes closed.

“Ma’am? Ma’am, can you hear me?” Chatter asked, scanning the interior. He didn’t spot anyone else present, so concentrated on the driver.

She remained unresponsive, and Chatter checked her pulse. Relieved it was steady, he grabbed some tissues from a box inside and cleaned up the blood as best as he could. Chatter was glad to see it was a cut only, but it would leave her with a scar. At least she was alive.

Chatter heard thunder crashing around him and jumped before trying to wake her again. This time, her eyes blinked open, and she stared at him in confusion.

“Huh,” she muttered.

“You’ve had an accident. You’ve injured your head, and I’m not sure about any other injuries. Stay still and wait for the paramedics. Does anything hurt?”

“My head and my leg. I think it’s trapped,” she replied after a few seconds of taking stock. She tried pulling her ankle free and gasped.

“What’s your name?” he asked. Chatter needed to keep her talking.

“Lavender,” she murmured, and Chatter blinked.

Chatter wondered if she had a concussion. “You can smell lavender?”

“No, that’s my name.”

“Oh. Gotya. The ambulance is coming. Stay awake, Lavender,” he said.

“Yup. Head injury. Got to stay awake. You’re soaked. Get out of the rain,” she muttered.

“Good idea.” Chatter slipped and slid to the passenger side and climbed in. The car wasn’t much warmer than outside, but it was drier.

“How do you feel?”

“Tired, woozy,” she answered.

“Bad weather we’re having,” Chatter said inanely. What did someone talk about? He felt lame mentioning the storm.

“You can say that again. South Dakota is known for its snow but not storms,” Lavender commented.

“We get some big doozies,” Chatter replied.

Lavender nodded.

Chatter scrabbled for something else to say as her eyes closed. “Are you visiting? Your accent isn’t local,” he finally asked.

“No. I inherited a house here. My great aunt passed and left it to me, but I didn’t know until now. I’m moving here,”

“Sorry for your loss,” Chatter replied and fell silent again.

“It’s fine. I used to visit with her a lot when I was younger. But there was a falling out, and my parents stopped speaking to her. She died a while ago, but things happened, and I couldn’t come sooner. It’s all so convoluted.”

“Why did your family fall out with her?” Chatter asked.

Lavender appeared more alert as she spoke, and he knew that was positive.

“Because of Isabeau. She was highly valuable, and my mother wanted her. Instead. Aunt Aggie gave Isabeau to me,” Lavender explained.

A chill settled in Chatter’s stomach. He didn’t want to ask, but had to. “Isabeau?”

“A doll. She’s a Madame Alexander edition and quite rare. Isabeau’s worth about two hundred thousand,” Lavender said.

Chatter shuddered. Fucking dolls were everywhere. Why the hell did people collect them?

“You don’t seem impressed,” Lavender commented with a small smile.

“I hate them.”

“Oh. Isabeau is very nice. Oh, oh… Marybelle!” Lavender shrieked and tried to turn around.

“Marybelle?”

“She was in the back, she wasn’t strapped in,” Lavender cried.

Chatter’s stomach flipped on him. There was a child somewhere that was probably badly wounded.

“Stay here!” Chatter muttered and craned his neck. Shit, he could see a crumpled form on the floor, and he leapt out and rushed to Lavender’s side. He yanked open the car door and winced. A mass of tangled hair covered the child’s face, and by her size, she was no more than two.

What was wrong with this idiot that she drove a toddler around without a car seat? Jesus, she needed the kid removing from her care. Very gently, Chatter reached out and tried not to move her too much, and he searched for a pulse.

A chill ran through Chatter as he felt her cold, hard skin. The child was gone. But how long had she been dead? What the hell had he discovered?

Slowly, he checked he had his weapon still, and once he touched it, Chatter hesitated what to do. It went against every bone in his body to leave a baby here. But anyone driving a dead child around was unbalanced, to say the least.

“Tell me she is not damaged,” Lavender begged, distress in her voice.

“She’s dead, lady. How could you not know that?” Chatter snarled, drawing his gun.

“Dead? Who?” Lavender asked.

Chatter couldn’t decide if this woman was a fuckin’ nutcase or if she was genuinely confused.

“Marybelle,” Chatter exclaimed as he rested a hand on the poor baby’s head. She should be alone, and Chatter wouldn’t leave her so.

“Marybelle’s broken!” Lavender shrieked and then cried in pain.

“You can’t break a kid!” Chatter snapped finally.

“What? Marybelle’s a doll!” Lavender yelled.

And that is how Chatter ended up arrested on suspicion of killing a child. Chance laughed his ass all the way to the jail to pick his brother up.

◆◆◆

“Holy crap,” Tiny roared with laughter as he watched the officer’s cam footage. Chance had bribed Lio and managed to get a copy.

They all watched Chatter leap from the vehicle just as the police car arrived. There was a shocked gasp from the uniformed officer as Chatter shook the tiny figure by its hair and then slammed it against the door.

“Die, you possessed fuck!” Chatter roared as he smashed the doll again.

“Oh my God,” Thalia cried, crossing her legs so she didn’t pee herself.

Chatter threw it to the floor as the officer yelled at him and Chatter stomped on it.

“Shit, the lunatic has a gun!” the cop announced as Chatter pulled his weapon and shot the victim at point-blank range.

The officer tackled Chatter, who was yelling about possession, evil eyes, and Chucky at the top of his lungs. He fought the officer off and grabbed the doll before twisting its head right off.

“Shit!” another cop exclaimed, and the first officer’s body cam caught his partner collapsing in a dead faint. Chatter roared like King Kong, beat his chest and threw the head one way and the body the other.

Then Chatter shook like a motherfucker as the police tasered him.

“What the hell?” someone gasped on film.

There was the sound of retching, and the cop who tackled Chatter vomited. “He ripped the kid’s head clean off, Sarg, I couldn’t stop the crazy motherfucker.”

“He’s Hellfire. Do you think he flipped out?” Sarg asked. “Where’s the body?”

“He flung it in two directions,” the officer said and heaved again.

Chatter lay quiet and shaking on the ground.

“You sick bastard,” the cop shouted at Chatter.

“Clements. You better get over here,” Sarg called. Clements’ camera moved, and Chatter faded out of shot.

“What’s that?” Clements asked.

“A doll. Not a child. Your suspect was tearing a doll’s head off. You tasered an innocent guy,” Sarg announced and chuckled.

“He was ranting like a lunatic,” Clements said in defence.

“Yeah. If his name is Chatter, he’s kind of legendary around these parts for having an extensive phobia of dolls. Several times we’ve had to rescue his ass from situations,” Sarg explained.

“Shit. Do I uncuff him?”

“Do you wanna face a deranged man who you just tased?” Sarg asked.

Bear sprayed beer everywhere as he choked and began crying with laughter.

“Fuck no!” Clements exclaimed.

“Take Chatter in. I’ll get someone to explain to Chance Michaelson why his brother is in prison. Meanwhile, let’s calm the victim down who’s screaming that Chatter murdered Marybelle!”

Clio shrieked and fell on the floor, holding her sides.

Chatter glowered at them all.

“Jesus, dude, you probably traumatised those two cops and that woman for life,” Pyro stated with a wide grin.

Bunny and Sallie Anne were gripping each other, crying with laughter.

“Not fuckin’ funny,” Chatter snarled.

“Brother, it’s freaking hilarious. You should see the chat about it,” Banshee said.

“What?”

“I put it in the allies group online. Everyone’s pissing themselves,” Shee admitted.

Chatter sent him a look promising revenge and then turned to the old ladies with a dire glare.

“Next time you let your kids bring a doll in here, think of the therapy bills you’ll be paying when I reenact that!”

The old ladies blanched, and Chatter grinned.

“Isla still won’t have a doll near her,” Clio muttered.

“Yeah, now imagine if I tell them that by tearing their heads off, I’m freeing trapped spirits,” Chatter spat.

The old ladies swapped glances while the men sobered quickly.

“You traumatise my kid…” Tati warned.

“I’ll do more than scare them! This clubhouse is a doll-free zone!”

“Asshole!” Big Al muttered and pressed play on the footage again with a smug smirk at Chatter.

“We should have a video made of all Chatter’s moments with dolls. Order shit in and make it a movie night,” Bone said.

Chatter sent him a betrayed look, and the former prospect grinned at him.

“Fucker!” Chatter boomed, turned around, and promptly fell over nothing. “Jinx!” he yelled.

The candidate looked up from the bar, and Chatter picked himself up.

“Swear to God… Jinx…” Chatter couldn’t get his words out and stormed off.

Laughter followed him all the way to his bike.

Lavender

That heathen! He’d been so nice to me before turning into a raging lunatic. I couldn’t believe he’d beheaded and shot Marybelle. Clearly, the fool had seen too many Chucky films. My door opened, and a doctor entered.

“How are you feeling, Miss Bloodsworth?” he asked.

“Better, the pain relief has killed the headache. My ribs are sore but as you said, not broken. Can I go home, Doc?”

“You stated you lived alone. I’d prefer you to stay in overnight, and then you can go home in the morning. You do have a severe concussion,” he replied.

“Okay. It’s fine. Thank you.”

“By the way, what an unusual surname!”

“It is, I’m rather fond of it,” I agreed, smiling.

“Yes, I understand why. It is fantastic!”

“Most people make vampire comments.”

“That is highly understandable.” The doctor smiled and then said goodbye.

“Oh, Doc, if you only knew where I lived!” I murmured as the door shut. “You’d be fascinated.”

I closed my eyes and tried not to think of that horrible man ripping Marybelle’s head off. Such wickedness!

◆◆◆

I drove up the gates of Ravenberry Manor, and a smile broke out across my face. Twenty years ago, I’d run free through the estate, but then my parents had their stupid falling out.

I climbed out of the car, unlocked the padlock, and pushed them open. They took some effort, but I finally got them shoved back. The wrought-iron gates needed a good clean and some restoration work.

I drove up the lane in which the trees had overgrown and cut all sunlight out. The road was bumpy, with a lot of potholes.

Renew road surface, trim trees, clean gates: three things already on my list.

As the drive curved, I got a full look at the Manor. Anyone else would have run screaming for the hills. Ravenberry resembled a haunted house. Built in a gothic style and over four hundred years old, it would have been perfect on film as a murder home or haunted residence.

The windows were boarded-up, several window ledges sagged, there was debris everywhere, and it needed a damn good paint job. Luckily, the roof looked intact, and I didn’t believe I had to worry about damp. Most of the first two floors’ windows were boarded. The third floor was shuttered, but I could see curtains flapping around, and the dreaded damp raised its ugly head.

The tower, with its widow’s walk, seemed crooked and sinister. Despite the sunshine, Ravenberry screamed ‘go away’!

Not freaking likely. I’d inherited this estate and the money to repair and restore it.

The grounds didn’t look any better, I noted as I drove around to the side and winced at the wildness present. In Aunt Agatha’s time, they’d been glorious. Now, they were out of control and ugly. The swimming pool, built in the nineteen-twenties under a glass house, was stagnant, and I could see lots of broken glass panes. The water’s contents filled me with dread.

The well held an ugly cover, and the porch sagged. Much like its facade, the rear of the manor revealed a similar level of neglect and disrepair.

Funnily enough, I was surprised at how damn big it was. As a child, I would run through those hallways and never paid attention. Now awed by the sheer size of it. It was immense. I dragged up the details I remembered: twenty-five bedrooms, at least two dining rooms, a music room, ballroom, kitchen, and servants’ quarters.

I’d play hide and seek with the maids in the pantries and utility rooms. There was the display and China room, two drawing rooms, and plenty of other rooms. I did, however, remember the library fondly. I’d loved being there. Leaving the rental car where it was, I headed for the front of the house and inserted the key.

After wrestling with the lock, I put my shoulder to the door and pushed it open. I entered the one place I’d always thought of as home and paused.

Well, now, I hadn’t expected that!