Jeremiah by Kris Michaels
Chapter 5
Jeremiah fired up his motorcycle, put on his helmet, and pulled out of the alley behind the clinic. In the day’s light, he drove down the small street and took in the tiny town. A small hardware store was next to the clinic, across the way was Gen’s restaurant, and there was a blondish-brown sandstone church at one end of the town, a dark red brick church at the other. Gen’s place was flanked by a small gas station and a market across from another church. This one was red brick with a steeple and bell tower. He sped up as he left the town and headed south.
It took a couple hours of traveling before he wandered through the highways that traversed through the depths of the Black Hills. As he rounded a curve, a large, beautiful lake came into view. The sign he passed called it Pactola. The surface glimmered into fractures of a million points of light. He drove on for another hour or so before he pulled off on an access road and drove back on a bumpy gravel lane that led to a small clearing. Taking off his helmet, he soaked in the beautiful day and the sounds of nature. The chirping of birds in the high pine trees along with the scampering of red squirrels were lulled by the sounds of the wind gently blowing through the pine boughs. Closing his eyes, he pulled the fragrant air into his lungs. God, if he could only bottle the peace of this place. He kicked the stand for his bike down and stretched after dismounting. There were several granite boulders the size of his motorcycle but twice as tall to the right. He scrambled onto one of the boulders and hefted himself up to the top. The view was amazing. He glanced at his watch. He had time for a nap, and he fucking needed one. The sun-warmed rock under him soaked through his tired muscles. He closed his eyes and let himself drift.
Jeremiah?
He snapped his head up. Gen’s voice turned him around. She laughed and ran toward him. He stood up and walked toward her. Just as he reached her, she gasped, her body jerked, and her mouth opened in a silent, bloody scream. He looked down. A piece of jagged metal protruded through her chest.
Gen fell into his arms and Cyrus stood behind her in his prison uniform, smiling, covered in blood. “Everyone you love will be my projects.”
He gasped and bolted upright. Sweat dripped from his brow. He covered his mouth with his hands and stared at the nature around him. Nothing as vile as Macmillan should ever be in this area, not even in his dreams. He laid back down and stared up at the blue skies and billowing white clouds above him as he concentrated on breathing and getting his heart rate down. His watch’s alarm went off and he silenced it. The contrived noise violated the quiet that surrounded him, but he had an obligation and a promise to keep. Pulling his cell from his coat pocket, he balled the coat up again and propped it under his head. Lying on his back, he kicked one ankle over his propped-up knee and shook off the last of the dream.
If it has reception, I’ll call. If not… oh, well.He lifted his phone and grimaced. Was he hoping that he wouldn’t have reception? Hell yeah, but with three bars, he punched in the numbers he needed to call.
“Damn it, Remi, it’s been too long.” He smiled at Jamison’s voice.
“What? I talked to you two weeks ago.”
“And I’ve worried every day, thinking you wouldn’t leave California. How is South Dakota?”
“Believe it or not, I’m lying on top of a ten-foot-high boulder watching a hawk circle overhead while listening to the sounds of nature in the Black Hills. It’s almost like I’ve been transported to the 1800s. I don’t even hear any cars.”
Jamison hummed before he asked, “I thought you were going to stay with your sister?”
“I am. She’s out of town and will be back later this afternoon. I’m enjoying nature. Quit being such a killjoy, dude.” God, he hoped his fake-as-shit playing tone passed Jamison’s bullshit meter.
“Sorry, my idea of nature is my landscaped backyard with my mosquito zapper working and a fan aimed at me, running at full blast.”
That did make him snort a laugh. “Anyone ever tell you you’re getting old?”
“My wife,” Jamison chortled. His friend waited for a moment before he asked, “How are you doing?”
Remi sighed and stared at the hawk that circled above him. “I’m managing, but the memories are… Fuck, in all honesty, Jamison, I’ve read cases and studied people who were capable of such atrocities, but seeing it, hearing Ellen and Kyle beg and scream and knowing there was nothing I could do…” He let the words trail off. His mind was back in that fucking hall… When Cyrus stared at him, making sure he was watching, his gut rolled, and he gulped back the putrid wave of bile that rose in his stomach.
“I watched the tapes of the event again.”
Jeremiah’s eyes snapped to his boots although he wasn’t actually looking at them. “The event? Is that what we’re calling it now?”
“What would you prefer to call it?” Jamison bounced the comment back to him.
“Hell? Is there a better word?” It was worse than any soundless video could ever convey. “I’ll hear their screams for the rest of my life.” He pushed his hands through his hair. They were shaking, and he would not stop the reaction.
“What was the worst part?” Jamison’s voice was calm and low.
Jeremiah stared past his boots for a long time before he spoke. “Not being able to help.”
Jamison hummed an acknowledgement. “There was a locked door between you and Cyrus.”
“The guards could have opened it.” He shoved his hand through his hair. “I could have switched places with one of them.” Jeremiah closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. His mind had him right back at that fucking door. The locked door.
“You’ve read Cyrus’ file. You know as well as I do he would have killed all of you.”
“He still wants to kill me, Jamison. What difference would it make?”
Jamison’s voice grew concerned. “Explain that?”
“Cyrus. He wants to kill both me and that FBI agent, the one he tried to kill when he went after me. He didn’t finish what he started, and he’s fixated on both of us.”
“When did he tell you this?”
Jeremiah clenched his fists. “Before they could pull him out. After they stormed the hall.”
“Baseless threats. He wanted to get into your head.”
“He did.” Jeremiah opened his eyes again.
“How are you sleeping?” Jamison asked.
Jeremiah sighed. “Doctor one-oh-one? I slept last night, altogether about two hours.”
“How many nights has that happened?”
He lifted his eyes to the tops of the pine trees. “Counting last night? All of them.”
Jamison sighed. “I thought so. What happened last night?”
“Well, besides breaking up a fight, saving the local bar owner’s life, and sleeping on Hollister’s nurse practitioner’s couch? Nothing.”
Jamison choked and coughed and then mumbled a curse about coffee stains before he ordered, “Stop being elusive and tell me what happened.”
Jeremiah smiled at the grumbling demand and explained the events of last night, leaving out the fact that the little nurse was sexy as hell and damn fun to be around.
“So, you were in control of the situation.”
“From the beginning to the end,” he acknowledged.
“A good feeling,” Jamison prompted.
Jeremiah searched the sky and lifted his eyebrows. “A damn good feeling.”
“You showed yourself that you were in fact capable. That Cyrus hadn’t taken that away from you, didn’t you?”
He nodded, although Jamison couldn’t see him. “I did.”
“Do you need any meds to help you sleep?”
Jeremiah shook his head. “No. I’m not starting down that path, nor do I need anything to level my moods or defray my anxiety.”
“Doctor, would you at least let me ask the questions?” Jamison tried to sound put out.
“Maybe next time,” Jeremiah conceded.
“You’ll call again?” Jamison asked, surprised.
“I’m not an idiot. I need to work through what happened. How long are you willing to help?”
“I’ll be here as long as I need to be, whenever you need me to be, Remi, for as long as it takes.”
“Thank you.” They were small words, but he needed to acknowledge his friend’s help.
“Then we’ll talk the same time next week, or if you need me sooner, just call.”
Remi chuckled, “You got it, Doc.”
He could hear Jamison’s eyes roll. The man hated that moniker. “Keep it up, mister, and I’ll charge you triple.”
“Triple of zero is what exactly?”
“A case of whiskey and a box of cigars,” Jamison snapped the reply along with a laugh.
“Only if I get to help you consume them.”
“I look forward to it. Take care of yourself and call me if you need to.” He could hear his friend’s concern.
“I give you my word.”
Jamison sighed, “Good. Very good. We’ll talk soon.”
“Until then.” He disconnected and dropped the phone onto his chest. He’d soak up the warmth a bit more and then head back to Hollister. It would be good to see Gen again. Other than their infrequent calls and texts, they hadn’t talked much since their grandfather’s funeral.
The distinct rumble of a motorcycle pulled him into a sitting position. A Harley made its way down the trail. The rider, an older gentleman by the looks of the gray handlebar mustache and beard, came to a stop by his bike. The man glanced around until he saw Jeremiah. A wide smile exposed a mouth full of silver teeth, almost like the character out of one of the Bond movies. Jeremiah couldn’t see the man’s cut, but he was flying some motorcycle club colors for sure.
“Howdy,” the man said as soon as he turned off his bike.
“Great day for a ride, isn’t it?” Jeremiah asked as he slid down the face of the boulder and landed on his feet in front of the man.
“Damn straight. Any day on my bike is a good day. Had to get away from the shop for a bit.”
Remi nodded. “I know that feeling.”
“You own a cut?”
He shook his head. “Independent and determined to stay that way.” He glanced at the guy’s cut. The word ‘Prez’ was embroidered across his left chest and the crest for the Hill’s Hell Hounds was below it. He’d worked with gang members before. Treading in club territory if they thought you were the enemy was a surefire way to get dead.
“Little early for the rally.” The guy pulled off his aviators. Those eyes were dark and watched him like a hawk, although he spent a few seconds admiring Jeremiah’s bike.
“Rally?” Jeremiah frowned for a minute. “Oh, Sturgis? I doubt I’ll still be in the area, but if I am, I may drop by.”
The man stared at him and lifted an eyebrow. “You look like club material, but you don’t talk much like it.”
Jeremiah tossed back his head and laughed. “Do you allow psychiatrists in your club?”
The guy stared at him for a moment before a smile pulled at his lips. “Have a medic, but no doctor. Do you know how to patch up people?”
“Dude, you wouldn’t want a shrink to work on your body. I’ve forgotten all that shit they crammed down my throat in med school.” He made his way to his bike and picked up his helmet and looked at the other rider. “Name’s Jeremiah.”
“Tank.” The other rider nodded. The name suited him; he was built like one. The biker nodded to Jeremiah’s ride. “You going north or south?”
“North, heading back to see family. You?”
“I have a custom bike shop in Rapid. Just came out here to feel the quiet.” Tank nodded at Jeremiah’s ride. “That is quality work. That paint job must have cost a fortune. Get it done around here?”
“Nah, man, a small shop outside Santa Maria, California. Yours is outrageous.” The metallic flames faded into a skull when you moved from one side to the other.
“My kid did that. He’s the best around here.” Tank reached in his pocket and handed Jeremiah a card. “We don’t mind independents. Ever get the itch to ride with the group or you need something for that bike, here’s the address.”
“I’ll pass on the ride, but I’ll take you up on the maintenance. Hard to find people who would take care of this baby like I would.” Jeremiah put on his helmet and stepped over his bike after securing the business card along with his cell phone.
Tank reached out a fist and bumped Jeremiah’s. “Stop by, I’ll show you some of my kid’s work.”
“I’d like that.” He cranked his bike and gave Tank a salute before he pulled a U-turn and retraced his route back to Hollister.
