The Outcast MC - Reaper # 1

Chapter 2

Grandma Rebecca, along with Sylvie, my other invited grandmother, insisted, leading me to rearrange my transportation to Philadelphia. Fortunately, I possess a badge that grants me privileged access. I don't travel in first class, there's no flight attendant offering me drinks, but at least I have a seat that allows me to stretch my legs, a little bit. Despite my grandmothers' insistence on picking me up at the airport, I don't think they fully grasp that my mode of travel differs from the norm. They eagerly awaited me near the passenger exit doors, and though they remained silent on our way back, I could sense the questions brewing within them as they witnessed me departing alone through a secure side door.

During the ride, we engage in trivial discussions about the weather, the rising cost of groceries, carefully avoiding any inquiries about my flight.

"You repainted the frame? It looks lovely," I remark.

"Thank you, Grace," Rebecca responds with a smile. "The yellow paint was cracking and outdated. Switching to white gives the house a fresh character. We've also done some interior renovations to liven it up. The basement is lovely, you'll see, you'll be quite comfortable. It's nothing like the way it used to be when you used to visit us."

"Thank you for accommodating me," I said expressesing my gratitude.

"Thank you for having me."

"Don't be silly, Grace. IYour presence makes us happy," Rebecca replies warmly as she opens her door. Stepping out, I take a moment to look around, inhaling the air as if searching for a scent tied to my past. Passing through the door, I brace myself for the expected changes, considering the mentioned refurbishments. However, as I wander through the house, I am hit with a wave of nostalgia. Nothing has changed; I'm not sure what they refreshed, but certainly not the walls or the furniture. My grandfathers are watching football on TV but stand up to embrace me and give me kisses. Going downstairs to the basement, I discover that they have indeed revamped the room, finishing the floor and ceiling. A bed has been set up, and the room is decorated with flowers, stuffed animals I had left behind. Everything has been arranged with me in mind, and I must admit, it touches my heart.

"Thank you, grandma, I really appreciate it."

"If you have children, we can arrange for an additional bed and make necessary accommodations."

Cunning grandma.

"Actually, I don't have children."

"For the future, it doesn't matter," Rebecca reassures me.

"I'm not interested in men," I add, closing the topic.

There, that's out.

"Well then," Sylvie interjects, shifting the conversation, "are you happy with your life, Grace?"

I contemplates Sylvie's question for a moment before responding, "Does this have something to do with my sexual orientation?" I inquire, prepared to listen to whatever they have to say about morals and religion before driving the final nail into the coffin of religion and pseudo-morality.

Sylvie quickly dismisses the connection, acknowledging, "Times have changed, and so have mindsets."

"Yes, Sylvie, I am happy with my life," I answers confidently. "I have a job that I love, and I adore the city where I currently reside in Texas. It's fulfilling."

As I ponders my response, I decide to omit details about my job, reminiscing instead about my recent investigation. Memories flood my mind—the bullets piercing my car during an intervention to prevent a weapons theft, the subsequent arrests of network members, and the unfortunate loss of lives during the confrontation. Killing two men does not haunt my conscience; it's a reality I had grown accustomed to.