by TJ Vargo
The man waved as he walked through the stream with a long stride.
"Can I help you with something?" Jackson asked, buttoning up his jacket as he grinned and stood up from his motorcycle. Jackson looked the stranger over, hoping his smile covered the thorough examination he was giving the guy. The stranger's dark hair hung shoulder length. A long black beard. A denim jacket. As the man turned for just a moment to glance back the way he'd come, Jackson saw the grinning skull emblem with flames shooting out of the skull's eyes on the back of the jacket. It was a local biker gang's emblem. That and the old, black leather biker's boots made it a safe assumption that this wasn't a cop, or even someone in a search party. Jackson breathed a little easier. The most interesting thing was the man's height. Really tall. And he wasn't spindly like so many other tall people. He was big. A Goliath.
"I was walking through the woods and thought I saw something over this way." The stranger grinned. "It turned out to be you." He extended his hand. "My name's Nathaniel. Nathaniel Thorne."
Jackson squinted, his hand lost in Nathaniel's grip. He put a little power into his own grip and said, "I'm Jackson.”
"So, you camping here?" asked Nathaniel, looking around before bringing his eyes back to rest on Jackson.
"Nope. Just stopped for a quick rest. How about you? Your bike break down or something?"
Nathaniel chuckled softly. He looked down and said, "Yes it did. It's a long story." He coughed, taking his time before adding, "But I could use a little help." He held out a can of beef stew. "Listen, I'm kind of hungry. You feel like having something to eat?"
Jackson looked at the can, wondering where it had come from. He was sure it hadn’t been in the man’s hand a second ago. But his stomach didn’t care. Beer and a handful of pretzels at Red Eye's had been his only meal last night. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was until now. "Yeah, I’d love to have something to eat," he said, motioning toward the fire pit he'd used during the night. "I'll have to get this fire going, but it shouldn't take too long."
"Good. While you're doing that, I'll get this can open," said Nathaniel. "I've got a hell of a story to tell you."
Jackson nodded and walked past his bike, angling toward a large downed tree. He snapped twigs off the tree and walked over to the firepit, looking at the stranger who was squatting down. He was one big biker. The skull emblem on the back of his jacket was almost splitting in two as he struggled to cut a seam along the top of the can of beef stew with his knife.
"Just about got this," Nathaniel grunted. "There!" A metallic snap was followed by him holding the dripping lid of the can up.
Jackson dropped the wood in the firepit. Foraging around the edge of his camp, he picked up clumps of dry grass and leaves. Stuffing them under the pile of sticks, they flamed at the first touch of fire from his lighter. He glanced at Nathaniel, who had picked up a stick and was helping to move the sticks over the small flames while he blew under the pile. The fire crackled to life in no time, with Nathaniel arranging a spot in the middle of the blaze to set the can of stew. They both sat back in the dirt.
"It'll probably take a little while for that to heat," said Nathaniel.
Jackson nodded. Even the man's voice was big.
"You from around here?" asked Nathaniel, drawing circles in the dirt with a stick.
"Yeah. I live back in Bethel. It's just down the road." He watched Nathaniel as he talked, waiting for a reaction. Nothing but circles in the dirt.
"Bethel, huh? That's funny," said Nathaniel. He tapped the stick in the dirt then pointed it at Jackson. "I had a dream about Bethel last night."
Jackson tried his best to look calm. "Oh yeah. What about?"
Nathaniel looked down in the dirt, drawing with the stick again. "You know a girl named Tina? She lives just outside of Bethel. Works as a bartender at this place called Red Eye's." He looked back up at Jackson. "We used to be pretty tight, if you know what I mean."
Jackson felt his throat tighten. He nodded his head, afraid that his voice would crack if he tried to speak.
"Anyhow," Nathaniel looked at Jackson, "I had this dream last night. She was in it. She was in this loft in some kind of a barn. And somebody shot her." He shook his head and looked at Jackson. "This has got to sound crazy. Does it sound crazy to you?"
Jackson couldn't look at Nathaniel. Watching the fire provided a much needed distraction. How did this guy find him so fast? And how could he know so much? Adrenaline dumped into his system. He wiped a hand over his forehead, feeling the cold sweat. No time to think. Just talk. Find out what he wanted. "I've had worse dreams than that." An image of the black man surfaced in his mind. He rubbed his eyes, shaking the image out. "Dreams are weird sometimes. I'm sure she's fine."
"Oh, I don’t know about that," said Nathaniel. "It was like she was actually being killed in this dream. Like I was there when she was shot. I even got out of bed and tried to call her, but she wouldn't answer." He exhaled and tossed his stick into the fire. "That's when I knew something was wrong. I got dressed and started riding over to Bethel to see if I could find her. My bike broke down, so I started hiking down the road. And here I am."
Nathaniel became silent and stared into the fire. When he finally broke the silence, he did it in a whisper barely heard over the crackling flames. "Did you hear anything about somebody being shot in Bethel last night?"
Jackson blurted out, "I was here last night." The half truth knotted his throat. It was an inconvenience he'd have to bear. Although he felt sorry for Nathaniel, it wasn't enough to risk being implicated in a double murder.
"Yeah, of course you were. I don't know why I just asked that," said Nathaniel. A bubble popped up on the surface of the beef stew. "Not too much longer," he said, pointing toward the can.
Jackson waited in silence with no idea of what to say. Tina was dead and, while he wasn't responsible, he could surely do the right thing now and take this guy to her body. His conscience was aching like an open wound. The smell of simmering beef came and went with the shifting breeze. The stew had begun to bubble over and Jackson watched as Nathaniel slowly removed it from the fire with two forked sticks. Placing it in front of Jackson, Nathaniel sat next to him.
"I hope you don't mind eating off the same spoon," said Nathaniel, pulling a spoon from his Swiss Army knife.
"No, that's fine," answered Jackson as Nathaniel handed him the spoon. The first mouthful of beef, brown sauce and vegetables went down thick and tasty. A little too salty, but all in all he would have lapped it from the ground. He wolfed another two spoonfuls. Nothing tasted better. His stomach stopped twisting now that it had something to work with. He handed the spoon back to Nathaniel and asked, "So what are you going to do?"
Nathaniel held up a finger while he finished chewing his first mouthful. He closed his eyes and said, "Mmmm, that is good." Wiping his mouth and beard with the sleeve of his jacket he said, "Nothing's better than filling an empty belly." He looked at Jackson, then at Jackson's motorcycle. "I was hoping you could give me a ride into Bethel so I can call Tina's roommate. That is, if you have the time to help me out."
The guy was even being polite about asking for a ride. How could anyone refuse a person who shared their food and then asked for help? Jackson couldn't believe his foul luck. He looked at the ground. Maybe, somewhere, buried deep, there was a good reason why he was supposed to take this poor guy into town to find Tina's body. Destiny was something he believed in. What else could explain how things like this happened? He took the spoon Nathaniel handed him and ate some more stew. In between bites, before he could worry over it any more, he said, "I've got time. I'll take you into Bethel." It felt good to say it and felt even better to see Nathaniel's smile.
Letting Nathaniel finish the last of the stew, Jackson got up and kicked dirt into the fire. He'd take him into town, drop him off and leave. Maybe even give him a hint where Tina was. He stole a glance toward Nathaniel. Maybe. Maybe not. This guy looked like he could be a handful. There was no way to t
ell how he'd react to seeing Tina dead. Just play it by ear. Stomping out a last smoking ember, Jackson stopped and stared at Nathaniel's profile as Nathaniel scraped the last of the stew from the can. A warning went off in his head, soft and hesitant. Did Nathaniel look like someone he knew? He couldn't place it, but there was something.
Nathaniel finished the last of the stew, smiled and looked up at Jackson, his face in the shadow of a tree. "Just give me a minute." Digging a hole with his knife he dropped the can into the hole and pushed the dirt back over it.
Jackson's mind spun. It was there again, a ripple of familiarity in Nathaniel's face. He stood up and dusted his pants off. This was silly. Someone like this Nathaniel wasn't a person he would ever forget. Six and a half foot tall bikers weren't the kind of people he bumped into everyday. Probably just a case of the willies from last night. He nodded toward the bike. "You ready?"
The cold buffeted both men as Jackson quickly shifted through the gears and sped down the dirt park trail toward the highway. Nathaniel hung on from the back. Rather than burying his head against Jackson's back, Nathaniel let the full force of the cold freeze his face. He loved the way the air stung him. It excited him, adding to the feeling of anticipation that was growing in him with every passing moment.
Chapter Five
The rumble of Jackson's motorcycle echoed off the turn-of-the-century buildings that lined Garden Street, Bethel's main artery of traffic. Old people doddered, window shopping at the clothing consignment shops and second rate antique stores that were sprinkled between empty storefronts. Jackson could make out the white paper pharmacy bags clutched in their hands. Social Security checks must have come in. Accelerating, the roar of his motorcycle caught the old people's attention. A feeling of panic welled up in him. Did they know about the bodies? He swallowed, wide-eyed and scared, ready for them to begin shrieking in his direction.
Nathaniel shouted in his ear, "Nice town."
"No it's not," Jackson yelled back, turning into a gas station. He cut off the motor and took a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm his panic, telling himself there was no reason to worry. "This town is dead," he finally said. "But it's the one you want." He pointed toward a pay phone. "You can call whoever you need to from there." Just a moment slid by, but Jackson stomach twitched when Nathaniel didn't get off the bike. What was the guy waiting for? Jackson couldn't stop himself from breathing hard - someone was bound to recognize him if he didn't leave soon.
"Jackson, you're not going to believe this," Nathaniel hesitated, "but I must have lost my wallet. I don't even have any money to call her apartment."
Jackson quickly got off his motorcycle and pulled up the right leg of his jeans. His long black hair fell into his face as he reached down into his boot and pulled out his wallet, grabbing a couple dollars. The bills were limp and warm from being inside his boot. "Here take this," he said, shoving them toward Nathaniel.
"No Jackson. I'm not taking your money."
The bills hung in Jackson's outstretched hand.
"Put it away. I don't want your money."
It was quick as an eyeblink. Less than the tick of a clock. But Jackson felt it again. He knew this man, or, oddly enough, he felt this man knew him. Paranoia flooded his mind. Nathaniel had tricked him, lured him back into Bethel to turn him in. Maybe there was some kind of reward for bringing him back. The son-of-a-bitch. He slowly shoved the bills into his pocket, deciding how he could get Nathaniel off his motorcycle so he could get out of here. He took a step toward Nathaniel. He'd throw him to the ground. Kick him to make sure he'd stay down. Jump on the bike and get the hell out of Dodge. He could do it. He had to do it.
His right hand tightened into a fist. Before he could act, Nathaniel got off his bike and, staring calmly, placed a hand on Jackson's shoulder.
"You don't look so good," said Nathaniel, squeezing Jackson's shoulder, his eyes suddenly shifting behind Jackson as he added, "We have company."
The sudden squeal of a car braking turned Jackson's head. A police car. An urge to run flew through him. Nathaniel's hand on his shoulder kept him on an even keel. He nodded, his heart pounding, as Nathaniel's voice whispered in his ear, "I'll handle this."
"How you doing officer?" said Nathaniel, his hand slipping from Jackson's shoulder as he moved in front of him. Jackson tried his best to smile and nod at the cop. He was having a hard time keeping his legs from shaking.
The cop got out of his car, a red crop of razor bumps and acne blazing on his neck, and walked up to them. "You're Sam Lewis's boy, aren't you?" he asked, stopping in front of Nathaniel and cocking his head to look at Jackson.
"Yeah," Jackson answered, surprised his voice didn't crack.
The policeman shook his head and grinned, addressing Nathaniel. "You ever want to meet a man who can be drunk and crazy twenty-four hours a day, you look up this boy's daddy." The policeman grinned, proud of himself for being able to share such information.
Jackson felt Nathaniel's shoulder jog him slightly - a friendly bump.
"That's not a very nice thing to say officer," said Nathaniel.
The officer's brow wrinkled, his smile disappearing in a look of angry confusion. He tapped at the nightstick hanging from the side of his holster.
"Of course, I'm sure it's just your way of trying to forget your own daddy. You remember him, don't you officer? He was the big man with the crazy eyes. Remember him?"
The blood dropped from Jackson's face. He looked around for which way to run when this cop started swinging. But it didn't happen. If anything, the anger on the cop's face began to fade, and his eyes started to take on a far away look, like he was remembering something. His hand even stopped tapping his nightstick. Now it just hung there at his side, the fingers limp.
Nathaniel shot a quick grin back at Jackson before looking back to the cop. "Remember how your daddy used to use your mommy for a whipping post when he'd come home at night, swinging the razor strap from his barber shop across her back like she was a dog. Then, when he'd come looking for you, screaming your name, 'Toddy, you little mommy's boy! Get over here. NOW!' Those were the good old days, huh Todd?"
The cop's face went white with fear. Jackson felt sorry for the cop, hearing the small whisper leak out of his mouth, "No daddy. Don't hit me."
Jackson couldn't move. Couldn't breathe. He could do nothing but watch as Nathaniel took a step forward, placing a hand comfortingly on the cop's shoulder.
"But it's okay now Toddy. Your daddy's gone. Down to a place where he takes the beatings. A place where he hides and hides, but is always found, because, when you come right down to it, there is no place to hide in the place he went to. Forever and ever. No place to hide."
The cop blinked back tears, nodding his head. Nathaniel massaged the man's shoulder with his huge hand, murmuring, "That's alright. It's okay now."
Letting his hand fall away, Nathaniel took a step away from the cop, back toward Jackson. It was all Jackson could do to keep himself from turning and running from the tall, huge man. Nathaniel winked at him, then looked back to the cop. "So, how can we help you today Toddy?"
Todd's face screwed back up into a confused look. He lifted a hand to his face, wiping at a tear, looking at it on his hand, then quickly wiping the rest of his tears away. "Damn allergies must be kicking in," he grumbled, shifting his feet in embarrassment.
"Of course they are. Now what can I help you with?"
Doing his best to get back into a state of official composure, the officer hiked up his utility belt, shaded his eyes and said, "Did either of you see a bunch of old folks? The retirement home lost about seven during a shopping trip into town here."
"We passed them about a minute ago. They're back that way, window shopping," said Nathaniel, pointing down the street.
The policeman nodded, rubbing a hand over the batch of razor bumps on his neck. "Good... good. Sorry to have bothered you gentlemen. You have a nice day now." He walked stiffly back to his cruiser.
Jackson
stared straight ahead. Nathaniel's voice sounded far away, muffled by his blood pounding in his temples.
"You have a nice day also officer," answered Nathaniel.
The policeman nodded from inside his patrol car, then pulled away.
Jackson watched the car disappear down the road, then turned to Nathaniel who had retaken his seat on the motorcycle.
Nathaniel's eyes were following the departing cruiser, a grin fixed on his face. "Glad we could help that guy." He turned his attention to Jackson. "You know I think I know exactly where I can look for Tina, if it's not too much trouble."
Jackson brushed a lock of his black hair out of his face. It felt greasy with sweat. He wanted nothing to do with this character after seeing the creep show he put on. His whole body shook slightly. Pulling a red bandanna from the pocket of his jacket, he tied it around his head. Scared as he was, he had to ask. "How did you know that stuff about that cop?"
Looking Jackson up and down, his face expressionless, Nathaniel said, "I know things about people. About what they've done, or what's been done to them." Nathaniel smiled, trying to lighten the moment, and quickly added, "It’s easy when you know the whore they tell all their secrets to."
Something still wasn't right about this. Jackson tried to let go of his apprehension, but it clung to him, keeping his heart beating hard. He swallowed, hoping to push his heartbeat down out of his throat. "Yeah I guess that would make it easy. Listen, I’m going to head out now. Good luck with finding your girlfriend and all, but I’ve got to go."
