Three years on the road creates a lot of stories: These are some of Knight of the Road's backstories before he ran into Malcolm King.
They kicked him out of the funeral parlor because he wore leather.
He wasn't going to lie to them, to anyone, and especially to his mother, about who and what he had become. He wasn't going to roll on up to the place in somebody's Hyundai, climb out dressed in an impeccable suit, and greet everyone like a gentleman.
No, dammit. No. He wasn't that person anymore. In fact, he chose another name, the name on his new (fake) driver's license. Knight Sable.
He was twice the size of his brother. He could easily overpower his sister's husband. But instead, it was the funeral director who stopped him at the door, saying, "You can't come in here, sir." Anyone else, and he would have grown claws and fangs, against his mother's wishes.
Instead, he found himself following the funeral train outside of town to a cemetery where his grandparents were buried. He never knew his grandfather, but his grandmother and aunt were at that plot. They both died before his first change, so they never knew. Or maybe they did.
It was up to his brother and sister to bury his mother. He stood under the statue of an angel, and could see with his cat's eyes everything going on, hear with his cat's hearing all the words being spoken.
One of his nephews looked up and saw him, probably seeing someone standing majestically under that statue, wearing only a leather jacket and no shirt, his broad chest and six-pack abs visibly apparent as he stood ramrod straight, refusing to wipe the tears that fell from his eyes.
Knight waited until everyone left before taking the beast of a bike down to the gravesite. A couple of people had stepped in to lower the casket down, but as soon as he came over, they stopped. "Sorry," one said in heavily accented English.
"Let her down," he said, motioning with his hand. "Don't let me stop you."
He watched as the casket was lowered ever so gently, and they began rolling up the green plastic grass. Knight looked at the tombstone. "Carlin" it said, and in a scroll beneath, "Entrusted in the Lord."
Knight had not been taught of the Christian God at home, but he learned of it from his roommates after moving out four short years ago. That was this "Lord" on the scroll. He shrugged. If it made his brother and sister feel better about it, then so be it.
He knew his mother would rather have liked to be free.
He heard the sound of a tractor coming his way, and knew this meant they were going to cover the vault with the concrete slab. He stepped out of the way, back to his bike, a prayer on the tip of his tongue, but to who? A Leopard God? Bast, the Queen of Cats?
Whoever's out there, take care of my mother.
He climbed on the bike and started it up. He had to go home and pack.