Chapter 7 - THE ECHO OF BROTHERHOOD
The noise of the town parade seemed to fade into a quiet backdrop as the Elderly Biker finally found his voice, his tone raspy and thick with decades of unspoken grief.
"That wasn't me," the old biker whispered, a solitary tear trailing down the deep creases of his weathered cheek. "That was my younger brother... Jimmy."
Duke took a step closer, his eyes locking onto the vintage patches on the old man's leather vest. He recognized the faded emblem on the collar—it was an original charter mark of the Oakridge Road Captains, a motorcycle group that had disbanded long before Duke's time.
"Jimmy was twelve in seventy-eight," the Elderly Biker continued, looking from the photograph to Ben’s glowing red wheelchair. "He lost the use of his legs after a fever when we were little. But he loved cars more than anything in this world... especially hot rods."
Ben listened intently, holding the fragile photograph carefully so the wind wouldn't catch it. "Did he build the panels himself?"
"We built them together in our dad's garage," the old man choked out a soft, sad smile. "Used spare cardboard, silver foil, and house paint. He drove that chair right down Main Street, leading forty motorcycles behind him. It was the happiest day of his life."
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"What happened to him?" Duke asked gently, placing a supportive hand on the old biker's shoulder.
"He passed away the following winter," the Elderly Biker confessed softly. "I haven't seen a child ride a decorated car down this street since that day... until I saw you today, son. It felt like looking at my brother's spirit rolling down the road again."
