Anarchy's Daughter

            I nodded and asked him, “I do actually…do you know a person named Jackson Teller?”

            The man’s face scrunched up and he said, “yes, but I wouldn’t recommend you looking for him.”

            “Why would you think I was looking for him?” I asked.

            “Because that’s the only reason why people go to Teller,” the man answered.

            I nodded slowly before he sighed, “I don’t know where he lives, but I know where that stupid motorcycle club of his is.”

            A motorcycle club? I nodded and asked, “where is that then?”

            He chook his head, “I told you so, but it’s more up along this road, near the end of town at the edge of it. Keep going forward until you see a large red house, then turn left and keep going. You’ll hear them and you’ll see the motorcycles. They’re called the Sons of Anarchy.”

            I nodded and gave him a smile, “thank you so much!”

            The man shut the door, a frown on his face. A motorcycle club…that was certainly different and not exactly what I was expecting, but I hoped that it wasn’t that far of a walk, or that he would believe me. To be honest, I hadn’t given it a large thought of what if he didn’t believe me. I was just hoping that he did, that we could talk and catch up and maybe he could keep me until I turned eighteen. It was only five months away. That wasn’t long.

            I forced myself to get back onto the streets, going down the road and walking in the rain. I hoped that I would get there soon. The rain was cold and I was soaking wet. It was going to be a hard walk. But at the other side of the city near the edge, I knew I had a couple of hours ahead of me for walking.

            But at the doorways, I couldn’t be more relieved. The man said that the club was loud and there was loud metal music coming from a larger one story building. There were lots of trucks parked by and there was a sign that said Teller-Morrow Auto Repair. Teller…well I assume this is the place. Not many motorcycles, but I guess that since it was raining that they didn’t leave them out.

            It was a long walk. It was almost ten and the rain hadn’t let up. Thunder and lightning had started too and I never liked that. I kept stopping and taking deep breaths after each crack of lightening, terrified, but I kept going.

            Once at the doorway, I looked in the windows. There were some girls and guys in there, the girls almost half naked and the guys drinking, all of them wearing dark clothes with a vest like thing on them. Some of them had tattoos, some didn’t. Many of them had sunglasses on too, but wasn’t it dark and they were inside?

Either way, I took a deep breath and knocked at the door. When no one came, I knocked again, harder so that it would be louder. I stepped back from the door, hearing someone in heavy boots walk to it. The door opened and I saw a tall man with long dirty blonde hair with a beard. He looked me over and chuckled, “and what can I do you for?”

I bit my lip and asked, “is Jackson Teller here?”

The man gave me a weird look but shrugged before he closed the door again. I sighed and felt naucious. Perhaps I should have just waited until the morning. There was a party here…maybe he wouldn’t want to speak to me. If he was drunk then maybe he wouldn’t believe me.

I placed my hands in my pockets and jumped slightly when I hear the door open again. I was so preoccupied that I didn’t hear someone come to the door. There was a man, his mid thirties with long blond hair and some scruff on his face. He leaned against the door, looking at me, the other man I spoke to earlier standing behind him as the new man asked, “Can I help you?”

I stared at him. He was tall, I wasn’t expecting that. I did not get my height gene from him. But I have his blonde hair and his eyes. Looking at pictures of my mother (a brunette with fiar skin) I knew what I had gotten from her, but I could see what I got from him, which was almost nothing. I mean, we may look similar if you looked closely, but I looked like my mother. I got her fair skin and face shape and delicate bone structure. But if this was Jackson, we had the same chin. Maybe we just acted alike.

I gulped and asked as I let out a long breath, “Jackson Teller?”

“Everyone calls me Jax,” he answers.

I nod and then say, “umm, can we talk a bit more in private?”

He shook his head, “I’d rather not. Look, kid, I got better things to do so can you just tell me what you want?”

I looked down and took a large breath before I took out my birth certificate and handed it to him as I asked him, “do you remember an Anna Gorman?”

Jax took the certificate and gave me a weird look before saying as he looked the paper over, “vaguely.”

After looking at my name, he stood up a bit more and looked at me. He asked, “a Teller…what is this supposed to mean?”

I answered him, the other man looking over my father’s shoulder, “it means that my mother put my father’s last name on the certificate…which is you.”

Both of the men stared up at me, thinking for a moment and I hoped to hell that they would believe me.