Jonas studied the doctor’s face, he glanced up quickly when he saw someone else enter the room. It was a police officer; an older man, and he was big.
“Am I interrupting?” the officer asked.
Doctor Jenner looked back. “No, Chief, we’re just talking. Come on in.”
“I was seeing how our patient was doing,” the chief said. “Blood work come back yet?”
“Not yet. Dale’s working on it. He’s doing well. We have a concussion we’re worried about,” Doctor Jenner said. “Keeping him here for a few days because of it.”
“Any memory?” the chief asked.
Jonas shook his head. “No, but I do remember the man. I remember the man in the car. I can see him. Did you find him?”
“Sorry, son,” the chief shook his head. “We did not. We’re still looking though. If he was in the car with you, we’ll find him.”
“If? If? He was,” Jonas huffed, then noticed the badge. “What is WPPD?’
“Williams Peak Police Department,” the chief answered. “You’re in Williams Peak.”
“I don’t know if I ever heard of it,” Jonas said.
“We’re a small town in Nebraska,” answered the chief.
“Nebraska!” Jonas spat with shock. “Why do I feel like I’m not from Nebraska.”
A new voice entered the room and conversation, a man. “Because you’re not,” he said, walking in.
It was another police officer, this one younger.
“Sorry,” the officer said. “I couldn’t resist. I heard him say that. Hey, Dad.” He walked over to the doctor and kissed him on the cheek.
“Dad?” Jonas questioned.
“Donnie,” the doctor said. “Have you been up all night?”
“I have,” he spoke through his exhale of words. “We were able to match the VIN on the burnt car. And we think …” Donnie, the officer looked at Jonas. “We know who you are.” He handed a folder to the chief. “Harold Whitmore. Twenty-nine from Kansas City, Kansas. If you look Chief, five foot nine, brown hair, brown eyes. Look at the driver’s license picture.”
The chief opened the folder. “Hard to say, this license is expired, and the picture has to be six years old.”
“Look at the picture,” Donnie said. “Take away the bruising, swelling and cuts … it’s him.”
The chief lifted his eye above the folder and looked at Jonas. “I suppose you’re right. It is the car. Any trace of a contact, family?”
Donnie nodded. “He has one relative. A grandmother. She’s in Europe now. She said as long as he was fine, she wasn’t coming back for two weeks. She hasn’t really talked to him in months. Harold …” Donnie dropped his voice. “Likes to do his own thing and she said he’s not a nice person.”
“Surprise, Surprise.” The Chief grumbled and handed the folder back to Donnie. “Thank you. And get some rest.”
The doctor looked at Donnie. “Did you run him? Is Harold a killer?”
“If he is, he hasn’t been caught,” Donnie replied. “Not even a ticket.”
“How about that.” Doctor Jenner placed his hand on Jonas. “You’re not a killer. We can undo those restraints.”
“And,” the chief added. “I don’t have to run your prints. Welcome to Williams Peak, Harold. At least that’s one mystery solved.”
Jonas sunk back into his pillow. He didn’t feel any better, any less angry. If the mystery was solved, it couldn’t be proved by Jonas. Maybe it was the head injury or temporary amnesia, but Harold Whitmore from Kansas just didn’t feel right.
EIGHT
Grant ran.
It wasn’t his usual routine on a Sunday morning. Running was an evening thing for him. Typically, he basked in sleeping in late on Sundays. Then getting up and having his coffee, reading the news until Cate came back from church. Grant didn’t do the church thing, never had. It wasn’t his thing. Cate always said she’d get him to one day change his mind. She hadn’t done it in thirty-five years, he didn’t think she would. But their routine never changed. Then they’d go to lunch or shopping. It was a just a laid back day of the week for Grant.
Not on this Sunday.
He was up earlier than he thought, he tossed and turned all night.
After getting dressed and a few swigs of coffee, Grant needed to go for a run. Maybe get a jog in before Cate even woke. She’d be surprised to see him.
The weather was nice. A slight hint of fog had set in, not many people were out. He drove to the park and hit the track. Trying to clear his mind, focus on what he’d do for the day, where they’d do lunch. Avoid admitting that he thought about Jonas.
He swore the last time Jonas had a setback it was the last time he would invest his energy and emotions into worrying. He had spoken to another faculty member at the school and they gave him advice in regard to something called the three C’s.
Cause. Cure. Control.
He didn’t cause Jonas’ problems.
He alone couldn’t cure Jonas’ problem and he certainly couldn’t control them.
Wave after wave, up and down, good and bad, it was enough to drive Grant mad. He didn’t want to care. He wanted to be able to distance himself from it all. He watched what his wife went through, what she did to herself.
It was insane.
Grant went through it all, too. He just was silent about it.
When he woke, admittedly he wanted to pick up his phone or Cate’s to see if Jonas replied to the text. He looked for a missed phone call, one from a number he didn’t know in the middle of the night.
There was none.
That was a good thing.
No news was always good news and he kept telling himself that.
After his run, he went back home, started a pot of coffee and jumped in the shower.
Cate was surprised he was up. Not surprised he wasn’t joining her.
He saw that look on Cate’s face when she checked her phone.
What she showed facially, he felt inside.
“His phone probably died,” Grant told her. “Go to church, when you get back, we’ll call. It’ll be check out time at whatever hotel they stayed at.”
Cate agreed, reluctantly. Although Grant wasn’t sure she wouldn’t try to call Jonas on the way to services.
But Grant was nowhere near as calm and reasonable as he projected. Against what he wanted to do, the moment Cate left, he called their daughter.
“I know you don’t like when we do this to you,” he said to her. “Have you spoken to your brother?”
He heard her make that sigh. The ‘really, are we doing this again?’ sound she so often made.
“No,” she replied. “I mean, He sent a text yesterday he had a gig and was headed to your house.”
“But not after that?” he asked.
“No. Is everything okay?”
“I don’t know. He hasn’t replied to your mom’s texts and when I called it goes straight to voicemail.”
“His phone probably died. I know the gig wasn’t close.”
“That’s what has me worried. And him and I got into it before he left.”
“Why?”
“He was drinking and I wouldn’t give him my truck.”
“I don’t blame you,” she said. “I think he’s fine. Okay? Just being a jerk and making you guys worry. He probably rode with Brett.”
“Who’s Brett?” Grant asked.
“The drummer. Have you checked his social media?” Jessie asked.
“We’re not friends with him. I guess it’s not cool to be friends with your parents on social media.”
“Hold on.”
Grant could hear his daughter talking to her husband, asking him to check on social media for Jonas. “Okay, he hasn’t posted for a couple days. Tell you what, I’ll message Brett. I’ll have him reach out to you. Okay? I’m sure my brother is fine.”
“I am, too. But ... you know, your mom has me worried. And on a different note, are you guys coming for dinner? I promise no Jonas talk.”<
br />
Jessie chuckled. “We’ll be there.”
Grant thanked his daughter, feeling bad he even had to call her. It seemed that Jonas' behavior always dragged her into the drama and it wasn’t fair.
She was the epitome of ‘you are your brother’s keeper’ always the one who talked to him when things were bad. Always overshadowed by her brother’s bad behavior.
Grant felt stupid.
What was he doing?
Jonas was a grown man. Thirty-two years old. Mistakes were for him to make, not for Grant to try to cut off or fix.
The bottom line was Jonas was his child. No matter how old, he was still his child.
Cate returned from church and as usual after services, she had an optimistic attitude. Her worrisome attitude from the night before seemed to be buried.
Unlike Grant, she seemed less worried about not hearing from Jonas and more irritated that he would do this.
Their Sunday lunch spot was Sandy’s Diner. A small spot Grant had found when they first moved to town years earlier. It was a place they took the kids. Like Grant, they always got breakfast, no matter what time of day it was. Cate preferred a sandwich.
Now they were alone, empty nesters they were called.
Cate enjoyed the lunches with her husband. He was a good man, looked almost as young as the day she met him. Sure, his face had a few lines, but he was still handsome. The gray in his hair was masked by his natural, sandy, blonde hair. Granted he put off getting a haircut as long as possible. As they sat in the diner, it was at that phase where the bangs curled up, some dancing across the tops of his wire rim glasses.
To Cate, he was a little less talkative than usual. He was preoccupied and doing that thing where he tried too hard to hide the fact something was bothering him.
She didn’t want to prod, eventually he’d open up about it. He never really was good at keeping things inside.
Midway through the lunch, his message alert sounded off. In an unusual occurrence, Grant looked at his phone. He lifted his eyes to Cate.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I need to make a phone call.”
“Sure.”
The phone was in his hand, and after a swipe of his thumb on the screen, he brought it to his ear. “Hey, yeah, thank you so much for reaching out.” He paused. “I know it’s weird. And I’m really sorry, but we haven’t heard from Jonas and …” His facial expression suddenly switched to concern as he listened. “At all? Who did he drive with?” Grant’s eyes closed. “Yes, please. Call me right back. Thank you.” Slowly, he set down the phone.
“What?” Cate could feel that panic, the feeling she had left behind when she walked into church. “What is it?”
Grant hesitated before answering. “That was Jonas’ drummer, Brett. No one has seen or heard from Jonas since they left the club. He was still there. He never made it back to the hotel. Brett is actually a block away from Jonas’ place now. He’s checking there.”
“And he’ll get right back to us?” Cate asked, shivering an exhaling breath.
“Yes, he said he’ll get right back. Maybe … maybe he met someone.” Grant shrugged. “He said he was still at the club. He met some people. Did his partying thing and is sleeping it off. That wouldn’t be out of character for him.”
“No, it wouldn’t be.” Cate lifted her coffee.
“We won’t worry until we have to,” Grant said. “Right.”
“Right.”
Grant’s eyes kept shifting to the phone. He mentioned not worrying, but said nothing about relaxing. She knew neither one of them would relax until after his phone rang again.
NINE
“I got you.”
It was him. The man in the car, David. The vision of him flashed before Jonas’ eyes. It happened out of the blue while he aimed the remote at the television. There wasn’t anything that triggered it, at least none he knew. But it came to him.
It was dark, it was after the accident. Jonas was reaching, his hands bloody and David suddenly appeared, his face drew close to Jonas. “I got you.”
Gone.
That was it.
But it was a start. It was his first memory of the accident, if indeed it was a memory.
“Hi, there, Harold!”
Who was the old guy that just poked his head in the door of his hospital room?
Jonas just stared.
“Want some visitors?”
What Jonas wanted to say was, “Do I have a choice?’ but he refrained and said nothing.
Had he known the old guy wasn’t alone, he may have said something.
A man walked in with him, a little younger than the older guy and with them also was a woman. Younger, maybe Jonas’ age or around that, she held an iPad or something in her hands.
The guys stepped closer. “You look … well, I’d say good, but you look kind of swollen in the face. Anyhow, visitors in the hospital are good for the soul and healing. Since you don’t have any family in town, Pastor Rick here thought it’d might be nice to send some visitors your way to keep up the spirits.”
“I don’t need a priest,” Jonas said.
“I’m not a priest,” Pastor Rick said. “I’m a pastor and this is my daughter, Haley.”
“Hi,” she said politely.
“And who is he?” Jonas pointed to the old guy.
“You don’t remember me?” he asked. “I’m Joe. Joe Baker. My wife and I were the ones that found you on the road. I brought you to the ER”
“Oh.” Jonas nodded.
“Oh?” Haley questioned. “Just oh.”
“Haley,” Pastor Rick said with some reprimand.
“No, Dad, he should be saying, ‘Oh, thank you’. Because it could have been someone else barreling around Broke Man’s Curve. Someone that wouldn’t have seen him.”
“Thanks,” Jonas said.
“Sure. Sure thing,” Joe replied. “The staff has been telling us you haven’t been in a good mood.”
“Um, no,” Jonas snapped. “I’m in a hospital, my body hurts, my head is splitting, and I haven’t a clue who I am or what is going on.”
“Then even better I brought the pastor,” Joe said. “Thought you’d want him to pray with you being it is Sunday, and you didn’t go to church.”
“Why … why would you think that?” Jonas asked.
“Because when I found you, you were praying in the middle of the road.”
“I highly doubt that. I don’t feel like I pray. I would think I would know if that was my thing,” Jonas replied.
“It is your thing,” Haley chimed in. “According to your social media, you go to church every Sunday.” She looked up from her tablet. “You’ve lost a lot of weight since these pictures. Then again, the most recent one of you was three years ago.”
“Look,” Jonas hissed. “I didn’t ask for visitors. All day long someone has been in here. The police this morning, some lady with books …”
“That would be Louise the volunteer,” Joe said. “She goes in everyone’s room.”
“Whatever. Just … go. Thanks. I’m fine.”
Pastor Rick nodded. “We’ll go. Come on, Joe, he’s not feeling up to it.” He stepped back. “I’ll pray for you, son.”
“You don’t need to do that.”
“No. No I don’t,” Pastor Rick replied. “But I will.” He glanced at his daughter. “Haley?”
“I’ll be right there, Dad.”
Jonas watched Pastor Rick and Joe leave, then looked over at Haley who leaned against the window ledge staring down to the tablet.
“What?” he asked her. “Why did you stay?”
“Oh, I thought maybe you wanted to know about your life, Harold. You have some stuff, not much, on your social media.”
“No. And why does everyone keep calling me Harold?’
“That’s your name.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Do you prefer Harry?”
“No! I’m not Harold.”
“If you
don’t remember who you are, then how do you know your name’s not Harold?”
“I just do.”
“Do you remember having a thing for cute kitten posts?” She showed him the tablet.
“That’s not me. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Again, how do you know if you don’t remember?”
“Just … go. Okay. Leave. Not to be rude—”
“But you are,” Haley cut him off. “You’re rude. You can be sick, grumpy, even mad …” she lowered the tablet and walked closer to the bed. “But rudeness is inexcusable. Especially when there are good people trying to be nice to you.”
“I suppose like you.”
She laughed. “No, not like me. I’m a nice person, but I’ll tell you like it is. Some won’t. Like Old Joe. He’ll never say a mean word, and if he comes in here again, he is the last person that deserves your rudeness. He saved you on that road.”
“He shouldn’t have. He should have just let me die.”
“What?” Haley asked.
“Because is this my life now? Why do I want to live without even knowing if I actually have anything to live for? Without knowing who I am.”
“Maybe there’s a reason for it,” she said.
Jonas scoffed. “A reason for what? My not knowing? Me not remembering?”
“Yep.” She nodded. “Maybe for a spell, you’re not supposed to.” She walked around, pausing at the end of his bed before leaving. “Have a good day, Harold Whitmore.”
“I’m not …” Jonas grunted as she left. “Harold Whitmore!” After blasting that, he slammed his fist into the bed and groaned. “At least I don’t think I am.”
◆◆◆
The Chief was on the phone, rocking back and forth in his chair behind his desk. He gave a signal to Pastor Rick to ‘have a seat’, conveying through hand movement and facial expressions that he’d be with him in a moment.
The pastor took a seat across from him.
“Yes, ma’am I understand,” Russ said. “Yes, Ma’am, we appreciate it. Thank you again. Absolutely. Thank you.” He set down the phone. “Wow.”
“You were awfully polite,” the pastor said.
The Passenger Page 4
