The Locket He Was Never Meant to Discover

The Locket He Was Never Supposed to See

The rain battered the roof of the petrol station as though it meant to wash the whole of the old A47 away. Neon bulbs flickered across glistening tarmac. Motorbikes waited in a silent row outside, their chrome glistening dull in the night.

Inside, the air was thick with the sharp tang of petrol and the stale odour of overbrewed tea. At the till, a small boy stood. He couldnt have been more than five. His hair was plastered to his forehead, his clothes sodden and torn. His skinny frame shook from cold and hunger, and despite his best efforts, tears rolled down his muddy cheeks.

A wrapped cheese and pickle sandwich rested on the counter. He stretched out his little fingersonly for the proprietor to snatch it away.

Off you go, lad.

The boy shrank back.

Im starving.

A handful of bikers stood by the hot water urn, tattered leather jackets bristling with club badges. Most looked pointedly away. All except their leadera towering, broad-shouldered man with a face marked by years of hard living, the sort of man folk made space for without a word. He hadnt spoken from the moment the boy entered.

With a shudder, the boy turned toward the door, shoulders hunched. As he moved, something slipped from beneath his torn jumpera small, tarnished silver locket, falling forward on its chain. Quick as a flash, the leader caught it before it could hit the grimy tiles.

He stared at the locket, then opened it. Suddenly, he was utterly still.

There, behind the glass, was a tiny, faded photograph.

His breath caught.

The room seemed to shrink.

That locket he said, voice rough with memory.

The boy gazed at him through blurry eyes. Mum always wore it.

The bikers hand trembled; the locket nearly sprang from his grasp. He stared at the photograph, face draining of colour, for inside the locket was the image of the only woman hed ever loveda face buried in memory for twenty years.

After a moment, he looked at the boy anew, searching for some sign. Softly, like he feared the answer, he whispered, What did your mother call me?

Lightning flashed beyond the rain-soaked windows.

The rest of the bikers had fallen utterly silent.

Their leader, kneeling before the waif, cradled the locket with battered, trembling hands, as if afraid it might shatter.

The boy wiped his nose on his sleeve. She said His voice fractured. She said, if I ever got lost

The big mans jaw worked.

to find William Ashcroft.

The name rang through the room as clear and shocking as a bell at midnight.

One biker murmured, Blimey

William didnt even breathe.

No one had called him that in years.

Not since Wormwood Scrubs.

Not since the club split.

Not after Alice was gone.

The child looked fearfully at him.

Mum said youd know my eyes.

William stared, and in that momenthe did.

Alices dark, searching eyes. And his own grey edges. The ghost of a crease above the brow, just there when frightened.

Behind the till, the owner shuffled, uneasy. William?

William ignored him, his focus entirely on the boy.

Whats your name?

A pause. Names, it seemed, had become dangerous.

Oliver, he whispered.

William slowly closed the locket. For a heartbeat, the girl in the pictureAliceseemed alive, laughing at something long forgotten. Twenty years fell away from his face.

Wheres your mother now? he asked hoarsely.

Olivers lip trembled. Shes hurt, he whispered.

Williams fists clenched, knuckles white beneath his beard.

Who did this?

Olivers eyes darted to the storm outside, then the deserted forecourt, then the bleak shadow of the country lane.

And, for the first time, sheer terror flickered across his face.

Hes here.

Every biker, suddenly alert, snapped to attention.

Williams voice dropped. Who?

The boy swallowed. The man with the serpent tattoo.

Stillness. Utter silence.

One biker muttered a curse, deep and English. Another set his mug down, slow and deliberate.

For all here knew who bore that mark.

Victor Grimes.

A man whod run guns from Essex to Manchester. A man once Williams blood brotheruntil betrayal split the club and Alice vanished. The man who claimed Alice as his own, years before.

Williams gaze darkened dangerously.

Wheres your mum now, Oliver?

The boys breath came in sharp little sobs.

In the car.

William went rigid. What car?

A black one, Oliver whispered.

Together, every head swung toward the window.

Headlights.

A black saloon glided into the forecourt, engine rumbling over the rain. On its windscreena washed out serpent decal.

A strangled cry escaped Oliver as he clung desperately to Williams battered leather.

Thats him.

In a single beat, every biker surged into motion. Chairs screeched backwards. Hands disappeared under jackets for what may lie within.

The petrol station owner vanished behind the counter.

But William remained absolutely stillcold, fixed.

He looked down at Oliver.

When your mum gave you her locket

His voice shook with years of unspoken pain.

what else did she say?

Tears streaked Olivers cheeks as he gripped tighter.

She said, if you saw me

His words tumbled out, ragged and true.

youd know she never betrayed you.

William closed his eyes, agony flickering on his face.

Then car doors cracked open amidst the downpour.

Three men stepped into the night.

And from the fog-misted rear window

a frail womans hand slammed against the glass.