Jeremiah by Kris Michaels

Chapter 3

Jeremiah pulled into the parking lot of the Bit and Spur Bar which sat on the junction of the road a few hundred feet before the town of Hollister, South Dakota. He turned his bike off and put the kickstand down. After pulling off his helmet, he sat for just a moment. No movement, no roar of his engine, just the distant sound of music coming from inside the small bar. He’d traveled through vast empty expanses, just him and the road. The time to think was a blessing and a burden. There were times he could forget the recent events, but the lingering fear persisted. No, the sensation was more akin to a hyperintense saturation of everything he saw and heard, almost as if his body was in a constant fight or flight response.  

He hung his helmet from his handlebar and stretched as he un-assed his bike. With several slaps of his gloves, he blasted the road from his leather pants and jacket. He rolled his shoulders and pushed his fingers through his hair. A scuffle at the door to the bar drew his attention.

Jeremiah ambled toward the building, holding back until whatever was happening settled. He saw two men stagger out of the door. A third followed them out and yelled, “Get the hell out of here and don’t come back, even when you get sober. I’m sick of you Klingler boys. I’ve called the deputy. If you don’t want to land in––”

The smaller man in a baseball cap twisted suddenly. Years of watching inmates had honed his instinct. Jeremiah sprinted forward. Baseball cap thrust forward with a knife and shoved the damn thing into the man throwing them out. The third man laughed and kicked him when he hit his knees.

Jeremiah ran through the smaller man, knocking him to the gravel. Mr. Laughing-Like-a-Loon got a right hook to the jaw and dropped like a bag of cement. As the first man got to his knees, Jeremiah kicked him in the ribs, sending him to his side, curled into a ball. The distinct sound of ribs cracking would keep the fucker down for a while.

The man who’d been stabbed held the knife in his hands.

“Hey, no, no, no. Dude, you don’t want to pull that out. Come on, let’s get you settled. Did you call the deputy?”

The guy looked at him, his eyes glazed over, whether from the pain or the shock Jeremiah didn’t know, but he needed answers. “Dude, what’s your name?” He helped the man down and removed his hands from the knife. “Okay, we’re looking good here.” He examined where the blade had entered the man. “But we aren’t pulling this sucker out until you’re at a hospital.”

“Declan.” The man licked his lips. “Declan Howard.”

“Nice to meet you, Declan. Did you call the cops?”

The smaller blonde man tried to get up but ended up crawling like an inchworm through the gravel. The lonely sound of a siren in the distance answered Jeremiah’s question at the same time as Declan nodded. “Damn Klingler kids. They started shit inside. Broke some stuff. I tossed them.”

Jeremiah lifted the man’s t-shirt from around the knife and examined the wound with the small pocketknife still protruding from the entry point. “Yeah, I was walking up when I heard you throwing them out. You’re going to be okay; this isn’t as bad as it looks.” Declan winced. “Or feels. Seriously, you lucked out.”

A set of cowboy boots appeared at the doorway. Jeremiah looked up at the old cowboy. “The police are on their way.”

He nodded at the leather-skinned old man. “If you have an ambulance service or a medic in the area, you need to get them heading this way.”

The old guy nodded and headed back inside the bar. The siren grew louder, and more cowboy boots exited the facility.

“Declan, did this guy stab you?” A heavy hand fell on his shoulder. He shrugged it off and cursed under his breath.

“No. He helped me.” Declan’s statement seemed to help put an end to the aggression he was feeling from the crowd.

A police car skidded into the parking lot, spraying gravel and dust as he slid to a stop.

“Get the fuck out of my way!” A deep baritone voice split the crowd. Jeremiah glanced up. Of course. A big man wearing blue jeans and a plaid shirt with a gun belt strapped to his waist and a badge on his chest stepped through the crowd, a double-barrel shotgun pointed right at Jeremiah. The deputy scanned the crowd as he asked, “Declan, what happened?”

His patient opened his eyes. ”Those damn assholes were fighting in the bar. I threw them out and then Carl Klingler turned on me with a knife, sticking me before I had a chance to react. Biker dude here was walking up to the door and put both him and Curt down real hard and fast. Then he had someone call the ambulance.”

The deputy nodded toward Jeremiah. ”Who are you and what were you doing here?”

Jeremiah held the knife still with his hand. ”Just a man who is stopping in to visit his sister and then I’m heading out.” He glanced up and nodded toward the shotgun. ”Dude, I promise, I am not the bad guy. Want to point that toward the heavens?”

The deputy cocked his head and arched his eyebrow as he tilted the shotgun skyward. ”Medic?”

Jeremiah shook his head. ”Doctor.”

“You good here while I tend to those assholes?” The deputy motioned with his shotgun toward the two Jeremiah had dropped earlier.

“Yeah. The smaller one might have a couple cracked ribs. I haven’t seen the other one stir. One punch to the jaw.” Jeremiah grabbed Declan’s shoulder when the man tried to move. “I know it hurts, but I guarantee if you move it will only make it worse.”

“Ken, here comes Eden.” The crowd split again, and a woman ran directly up to where he and his patient were. “Damn it, Declan, I thought we agreed after I stitched you up last time you wouldn’t start leaking for at least a year.” She dropped her bag beside her and glanced over at Jeremiah. “I’m a nurse practitioner, I’ve got this now. Thank you.”

“He’s a doctor.” Declan groaned the comment. “A pushy one, too. Won’t let me move.”

“Then he’s a smart pushy doctor.” The woman moved away. “What do we have?”

“Here comes Doc!” Jeremiah lifted and watched as a man pushed his way through the crowd.

The deputy headed over and knelt down beside Declan. “Those two aren’t going anywhere except jail.”

The man he assumed was the doctor dropped beside him, setting his medical bag beside the woman’s. The deputy sniggered, “Damn, Doc, thought you were just around the corner. What in the hell took so long?”

Zeke threw him a glaring look, “Believe it or not, for the first time in two days I was sleeping, Ken. What have we got?” He addressed the question to the blonde.

Jeremiah knew it was time to turn over the patient, so he rattled off his assessment, “Strong pulse, his pupils are equal and reactive, the knife needs to be stabilized.  He is conscious, and unless I miss my guess, he is one lucky son of a bitch. The blade appears to have gone through the subcutaneous tissue but didn’t puncture the abdominal wall. We’ve been here for over ten minutes and it doesn’t seem it has compromised the cavity. No swelling from any obvious internal bleeding although with movement of the knife we have oozing. The color and amount are wrong for an arterial bleed.”

The man blinked at him. “Doctor Ezekiel Johnson, and you are…?”

Jeremiah nodded and returned his attention to the knife he was holding. “Doctor Jeremiah Wheeler.”

“Well, if we are introducing ourselves, y’all, I’m Eden Wade.” The woman handed Doctor Johnson a roll of gauze. “Let’s stabilize this knife.”

Jeremiah held the knife as the other two worked to stabilize the blade. He could hear the sound of a siren over the mumbled conversation around them.

The deputy lifted and in a clear, level voice stated, “All right, the bar is closed for the night. If you owe Declan for your drinks, either write it down for him or go put your money on the bar. If any of you have had too much to drink, you call for a ride. I don’t want to scrape any of you off the gravel when I get back from Belle Fourche.”

Remi lifted his eyes and chuckled as the cowboys dispersed, several reaching for their wallets and heading back inside, others meandering to the line of pickups in the parking lot.

He lifted away and rolled his shoulders as the local doctor took over and made his own assessment of the patient. The nurse moved out of the way when the ambulance pulled into the lot.

The EMTs hurried to the patient.  With practiced ease, the driver lowered the gurney beside Declan and commented, “Damn, Zeke, you need to stop coming up here. Every time you show up, we have a run.”

“Well, stop having tornados, fights, and stabbings. Besides, I’m moving up here next month. The county finally decided this area needs a full-time doc.” Jeremiah, the deputy, the nurse, Eden, and Zeke worked as a team to help the EMTs move Declan to the gurney and then transport him through the deep gravel of the parking lot to the bus. The doctor climbed in the back. He looked at the woman. “Eden, can you pick me up from Belle? I’ll let you know if they transfer him to Rapid City.”

“Sure, but it won’t be until after my morning appointments.” The woman grimaced a bit when she answered.

“I can bring you back, Doc. I’ll have to go down tomorrow morning bright and early to finish my reports on these assholes,” the deputy said as he shut one of the ambulance doors.

“Perfect.” The doctor sighed and looked down at Declan. “Let’s get you taken care of.”

Jeremiah shut the other door and hit the side of the bus twice. The ambulance pulled a wide U-turn and headed back the way it had come.

“I’m going to need a statement from you.” The deputy handed Jeremiah a card. “I’m Kendall Zorn. I’ll need you to stick around or let me know where you’ll be so I can get the paperwork from you.”

“Jeremiah Wheeler. I’m here for a couple days, a surprise visit to my sister.” He took the card and shook the man’s hand.

“Yeah, who is that?” The man cocked his head and looked him square in the eyes.

“Genevieve Wheeler.”

“Gen? No shit? You just missed her then. The last Saturday of the month after she closes, she makes a supply run down to Rapid City and spends the night. She’ll be back tomorrow about midday.”

Well, shit. That meant finding a hotel or pushing on, and he was too damn tired to do that. By the looks of the small town when he pulled through it to get to the bar, a hotel wasn’t looking promising, either.

“Gotta tell you, I had you pegged for the bad guy on this one. Not many doctors around here dress in black leather and have a snake tattooed on their neck,” the deputy chuckled. “That will teach me to judge a book by its cover. Eden, do you need a ride back to the clinic?”

“No, I’ll walk back after I grab a beer from the bar. I’ll pay for it and lock the door behind me.”

The deputy thanked her before he dipped his head in Jeremiah’s direction and headed toward his patrol car where the two men were sitting.

“He should have had the doc look at those two,” Jeremiah mused as the patrol car turned around and followed the ambulance’s path through town.

“Nah, those boys are from tough stock, although this is the first time they’ve resorted to weapons. Normally, it’s just fistfights.”

“Normally?” Jeremiah followed the woman into the bar. She lifted the hinged bartop and stepped behind it like she’d done it a million times. “What’s your pleasure? I’m buying.”

He lifted his bloodied hands. She nodded across the building. “Bulls are that way.”

“Bulls?” Jeremiah blinked at her.

“Yup. Heifers are over here. I’ll wash up, too.” She laughed and headed to the bathroom. “You’ll get used to it.”

He shook his head and made his way to the restroom. Sure enough, there was a picture of a cartoon bull on the door. When he made his way back to the bar, the woman had two draft beers pulled. The outside of the glass was frosted, and it looked like freaking ambrosia.

“Thanks.” He picked up the mug and drank three-quarters of the brew in one go. The sharp, cool drink flooded through his dehydrated body. Ambrosia wasn’t a kind enough description for the thirst-quenching of this brew.

“Thirsty?” Eden hopped off her barstool and went around the bar again, topping off his beer.

“Yeah. I had a long day, pushed through until I got here rather than trying to find a place to camp out in the middle of nowhere, but it looks like the effort wasn’t worth it. My sister is out of town.” He took a drink of the fresh beer and sat down on the barstool.

She pulled her drink across to where she was standing. “Gen talks about you. She misses you, I can tell that.” The woman laughed. “She didn’t know you were on your way, did she?”

Jeremiah chuckled. “That would be a no. I was going to surprise her.” He cocked his head. “Do I detect a southern accent?”

Eden laughed. “You do. Born and raised in Alabama.”

Jeremiah almost choked on his drink. “No shit? Me too. Birmingham.”

Eden nodded and then laughed. “Yeah, Gen told me where y’all had grown up. I’m from Selma.”

“Damn, woman, what brings you to Hollister, South Dakota?” Jeremiah instantly wished he hadn’t asked the question. The light behind those blue eyes dimmed.

“Long story,” the woman chuckled and then shook her head. “Actually, it’s not a long story. My husband died in a drive-by shooting outside the hospital in New Orleans where we both worked. I needed a change of pace, my friend knew of a company that placed nurse practitioners in areas that are underserved, and voila, here I am.” She lifted her mug and saluted him before she took a drink.

“I’m sorry for your loss.” There was nothing else he could say, was there?

“Thanks, it’s been four years now. Little ole Hollister has been a balm to my soul. Don’t let it fool you, though. For a tiny place, it has its share of drama.”

“Like tonight?”

She laughed. “Not usually this kind. Fistfights when the hands come in happen, but drama comes in all shapes and sizes, and because it is a tiny little town, everyone knows everything about everyone and everything.” She laughed and took another sip. “You’ll see.”

“I won’t be staying that long.” He took another drink of his beer.

“A long way to come for a quick visit, isn’t it?”

His eyes flicked to her. “How would you know?”

She chuckled and lifted her arm. “Anywhere from here is a long way to come.”

“What about you, are you planning on settling down way out here?” Jeremiah drained the rest of his beer.

“I don’t know. I’m playing it by ear. I’m sorry Gen isn’t here.”

“Yeah, but that reminds me, do you know of a spot where I can grab a room?”

She snorted. “That would be a no, but as Zeke has vacated my couch, you’re more than welcome to sleep in my front room.”

“I don’t want to put you to any trouble.” They’d only just met, and the invite should have been awkward, but it wasn’t. The woman before him appeared confident in her abilities, was intellectually enticing, and obviously generous if she was offering a stray man a place to sleep for the night.

“No trouble. I’ll move Zeke’s stuff out of the way, and you can stretch out. My first patient isn’t until nine-thirty. Do you have a motorcycle to go along with that get up or are you just a leather daddy looking for his little?”

Jeremiah threw back his head and laughed. “I have a bike, thanks. This isn’t a kink.”

She dropped a twenty on the bar and put the mugs in the sink. “I’m locking the door on the way out. We’ll get your bike and head to the clinic.”

“You live at the clinic?” He watched as she clicked off the long row of lights and used an Allen wrench to unlock the push bar of the main door.

“Above it. Gen’s restaurant is kitty-corner to the clinic. She lives above her shop, too.” Eden slammed the door closed and tried the handle several times. Satisfied it was locked, she turned to him and asked, “Shall we?”

He chuckled. “You know, none of this would have ever happened in California.”

“Yeah, that’s right, you live in the Golden State. Nice place to live?”

He nodded as they walked to his bike. “It is. I have a practice out there.”

“Ah, a doctor to the stars.” She nodded and whistled when they turned the corner. “Oh, man, she’s a beauty. Custom, and I love the paint job.”

“You know bikes?” He smiled at his beauty, impressed that the woman recognized a custom bike when she saw one. The black to purple ombre formed the background for a white wolf on a snowy cliff. Visually stunning, he’d jumped on the artist’s recommendation. His fenders had the same background, with white pinstriping and a wolf’s eye on each.

“My brothers and father owned a service station. When the big chain gas stations moved in, they transitioned to an automobile and motorcycle repair shop. My older brother branched out into custom-built bikes.”

“Back in Selma?” He stopped beside his motorcycle.

“That’s right. Not as affluent as your folks in Birmingham, but they’re getting by.” She stopped him from getting on the bike. “If you start that thing up, you’ll wake everyone in ten square miles. It isn’t far. How about we just walk it?”

“All right.” He grabbed his handlebars, righted the motorcycle, and lifted the kickstand. Pushing the heavy bike through the deep gravel wasn’t fun, but once they hit the blacktop it was easier.

“You were telling me about your people?”

“Was I?” He glanced over at her and smiled.

“You were going to,” she acknowledged.

He chuckled; the little blue-eyed blonde had spunk. “My mom and dad still live there. I’m sure you know Gen’s story. I left as soon as I graduated high school, and except for mandatory appearances, I’ve avoided returning.”

“Mandatory like weddings?” Eden glanced at him.

“Like funerals. My grandparents.”

“Damn. Sorry.”

“They lived a long, wonderful life. My grandfather was the one who encouraged me striking out on my own. He and my father.”

“My mee-maw told me I needed to find a husband and have babies instead of going to school.”

“Ah, a traditional.”

“Nah, she just didn’t think I had a brain in my head and thought my dad’s money was better spent on a wedding.”

Jeremiah barked out another laugh. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever talked to someone like you before.”

“What? No other nosey women in your life?” She walked backward as he pushed his motorcycle.

“No. The only women in my life are my sister and my mother.”

“Oh, dear. You’re not damaged are you, Doctor?”

The humorless chuckle pinned him back in that hallway, but he pushed through the memory. “Actually, I’m a psychiatrist, and I can tell you we are all damaged to some degree.”

“Ah, so not a doctor to the stars, rather a shrink to the stars.” Eden pointed to a two-story building. “This is us. That’s Gen. She parks behind her building where she has a nice yard, storage shed, and a huge smoker and barbeque. Bring your bike back here.” She walked down a dark alley to the back of the building. He dropped his kickstand and settled his bike on the only patch of gravel not covered in weeds. “Up here.” Eden trotted up a set of old wooden stairs. They creaked miserably when he climbed them.

“How old are these stairs?” He winced as one creaked loud enough that Eden turned around to look at him and then the steps.

“Probably as old as the building, so… ancient?”

“You should have the boards replaced.” Another loud creak rent the air, confirming his assessment.

“I rarely use these steps. There is an interior set from my apartment to the clinic.” She opened the screen door and then her apartment door.

“You didn’t lock it when you left?” He grabbed the door handle and then stopped. There wasn’t a deadbolt on the door. The only locking mechanism was the tiny latch that she could flip on the handle itself.

She turned on the light and marched through the kitchen. “There isn’t a door in this community that’s locked except the stores and the clinics, mine and Doc Macy’s. He’s the vet. We leave trucks running with the windows down and all our personal possessions inside. Welcome to Mayberry.” He laughed at the old television reference. She grabbed a pillow from the couch and tossed it to the side along with a couple blankets. “Just a second.” She headed to the back of the apartment.

Jeremiah walked around the small front room and glanced at the personal, intimate poses of Eden and another man, probably her late husband. A wedding picture on the shelf above the television confirmed it.

“Here you go. A new pillow and blankets. That couch is deadly. I fall asleep on it all the time. The bathroom is through there, first door on the right. Use the shower, towels and such are in there, use anything you need. I’m a heavy sleeper. I’ll see you in the morning.” She spun and headed down the hall. He heard a door shut and then silence.

The first thing he did was pad quietly back to the back door and lock it, though the racket the back stairs made when anyone walked up them was enough to wake him. God knew he wasn’t going to sleep much. Still itching with nerves, he checked all the windows that he could find, even though they were on the second floor. He glanced at the front door. He opened it and turned on the light. The steep stairs led to another door. He carefully padded down the steps, checked the lock, and made his way back up the stairs. He turned the tiny lock on the door handle and wished like hell there was a lock with some substance in this place. No one should be this defenseless.

Pacing around the small, dark living room, he ran his hands through his hair and breathed deeply, pushing the panic down. This wasn’t California. Cyrus wasn’t here. Only that bastard was here. He was in his brain and fucking with him. Constantly. Jeremiah was exhausted, and that was probably feeding the anxiousness that marched under his skin like ants.

Glancing around, he realized he should have brought up clean clothes and his toiletry bag. The idea of walking down those stairs again in the dark didn’t thrill him. No, he didn’t want to drop to his death if one of those stairs croaked under him. So, he took a shower using her soap and shampoo and put his boxers back on after using his finger and her toothpaste to brush his teeth. Jeremiah pulled his phone from his jacket and laid down on the couch. He texted Jamison to let him know he’d arrived as he was the only person who knew he was traveling and dropped the phone face down on the sofa table. A tug crushed the pillow to his chest, and he rolled over onto his stomach and closed his eyes. For once, that damn hallway wasn’t what he thought of before he fell asleep. Instead, it was the bright blue eyes of an irreverent blonde nurse practitioner who recognized and respected custom motorcycles. Maybe he’d catch more than a snatch of sleep between nightmares.