The Death of 1977 (Book 3)

Chapter 9

"What has you so agitated, Jeremiah?" Dr. Roth asked seated behind his oak desk.

Jeremiah, with a full beard and a faded scar on the right side of his forehead, stood at the window inside Roth's office and stared down outside at the parking lot where fallen, red and orange leaves were scattering all over the ground in reckless abandon.

"Ever since you arrived here you've done nothing but mumble and wander like a nomad." Roth mentioned with a glint of worry and concern in his voice.

Adorned in a grey sweat suit and dirty sneakers, Jeremiah had to yank his lazy attention away from the window just so he could turn around and not only see the doctor, but also the office in which he had been inside for nearly an hour that uncannily reminded him of his own old workplace.

With a slight limp attached to his walk, Jeremiah began pacing the floor. "I...I don't know what you want me to say." He rolled his eyes.

"I just want you to come to terms with all that has you so wound up." Roth pleaded.

Sniggering while tossing up his hands, Jeremiah replied, "Wound up? Are you kidding me, Dr. Roth? I'm not wound up, I'm ground chuck in the middle of the damn road."

Taking his pen and writing on a piece of paper in front of him, Roth said, "Okay, that's a start."

Jeremiah stopped pacing and looked straight ahead at the older, rail thin, balding man whose glasses appeared as if they were two seconds away from sliding right off of his face and onto his desk. Just watching Roth scribble away on his pad caused Jeremiah to ball up his fists. He could actually feel his own face turn red with fury the longer the man wrote.

"What makes you feel that way?" Roth asked while still writing.

Jeremiah continued to stare daggers at the man while saying, "You never told me that this would be a professional evaluation."

Roth quit writing at that instant before placing his pen down and looking straight up at Jeremiah with a thoughtful presence engraved all over his face.

"Jeremiah, I have known you ever since you were born. Your parents and I have been friends for over forty years. I would and could never do anything to jeopardize not only our trust, but also our friendship. With that being said, however, I would be remiss if as a doctor I did not conduct a professional opinion of your situation."

Sighing, Jeremiah replied, "Wow, that makes me feel so optimistic. I feel like Dustin Hoffman right before the damn drill."

"Why such a sarcastic remark," Roth looked confused.

Shaking his head, Jeremiah replied, "I've been in here for about forty-nine minutes and nothing has been resolved. I can stand here and pull out every cliché in the book, every witty shred of denial and still wonder why I'm here to begin with."

For a few moments the office sat perfectly quiet and still. Roth then stood up behind his desk. "Young man, please, have a seat."

Jeremiah hesitated with all his might at first, but upon realizing that his right leg was in more pain than he would have admitted, he eventually walked over and took the chair that sat in front of Roth's desk.

Sitting himself back down in his seat, Roth said, "This is completely off the record. I've wanted to speak with you ever since this past summer. You've gone above and beyond in avoiding me, as well as others in your life. All this sarcasm and belligerence that you're carrying with you is not only harmful, but it is getting you nowhere as far as the truth is concerned."

Jeremiah sat inside his chair and sulked like a child. Every word that Roth was speaking felt genuine, but their potency was saliva dropping into an ocean. The young man's skin at that point was impenetrable as stone.

"When you were a child, you were the most ambitious young man I had ever seen." Roth explained. "Always wanting to do something; never content with just being content. You always excelled at almost everything you put your hands to. You graduated at the top of your class. Came into a prestigious institution where you were respected. Received a promotion to Boston of all places. Then...then it all came to a screeching halt. So now I ask you, young man, what has you so agitated?"

Jeremiah could have melted right there inside his chair. He wanted to be anywhere but in front of Dr. Roth. No matter what the man said, 'off the record' only meant that he wouldn't be writing on his pad anymore. The evaluation was still in progress as far as he was concerned.

Sighing, Jeremiah said, "When my parents suggested that I come to you, I was more than reluctant. But now that I'm actually in this office...on—

"On the other end of the desk," Roth jumped right in.

Jeremiah lifted his eyes to the man at that moment in the most surprised manner possible. It wasn't what he was going to say, but right then, the impenetrable force was gradually becoming putty.

"Jeremiah, look, I'm not here to shame you and put any blame upon you. Your parents have been worried about your behavior and mindset ever since the incident back in July. I can totally understand that it was a traumatic situation, but with the exception of the police, you haven't discussed the matter with anyone. Anytime someone brings it up you pull away."

"So what is this," Jeremiah looked all around, "a corral to keep this raging bull inside?"

"This is one friend to another trying to help you. Now, let's discuss July."

Jeremiah clung tightly to the chair's handles as though he were about to take off on a roller coaster ride.

"Both you and Gloria Cohen had left your office. What caused you to go with her in the first place?"

Dropping his head, Jeremiah exhaled, "I don't know for sure. I just hopped into her vehicle and took off down the road with her. We talked and talked before we ended up at Cummins' old house. Then...then."

"Then Gloria was killed?"

"Yeah," Jeremiah covered his mouth in shame.

"What do you suppose caused Gloria to do what she did in the first place?"

For Jeremiah, his responses had to be well-crafted and systematic. No way was he going to allow Roth or anyone else for that matter to grab him by the throat and bury him.

"Look, all I remember was being beaten half to death. Next thing I know, I wake up in this field."

"But you were found nearly twenty miles away from Cummins' house; nowhere near where Gloria was killed."

"Yeah, that's funny, isn't it?" Jeremiah twisted his lips.

"Were you aware that while Gloria was interned at Ashlandview she was under suicide watch?"

Jeremiah's attention right then perked up. "No...I didn't know that." He gulped.

"Did you know that Ms. Cohen was also hooked on heavy doses of valium for both depression and anxiety due to nightmares?"

Still, and after so many months, Jeremiah could not find it within himself to give Gloria much attention, let alone any sort of sentiment. The woman just would not register in his conscience.

"I have a deep feeling that something else occurred while you were out there, Jeremiah." Roth scrupulously peered at the young man. "Something that you're keeping hidden inside of you."

"Dr. Roth, let me explain something to you." Jeremiah sat up. "You're right, at one time I was ambitious. Full of hell-fire for success. I had it all, great job, gorgeous wife. And then...then I met him."

"I assume this 'him' you are referring to is Isaac Mercer?"

"You got it." He nonchalantly nodded. "Can you tell me how a guy that I barely even knew could have such a profound effect on a person?"

"Well, I can—

"No, please don't offer up any kind of babble about the effectiveness of humanity's being. I studied it all back in school. That guy had something attached to him. I noticed it the last day I saw him alive, and all the days following. And now that same something has attached itself to me."

Roth just sat and studied Jeremiah with the single most methodical stare imaginable. "Would that same something have anything to do with Julie losing the baby?"

Jeremiah's heart slammed against his own chest at that very instant. It took at least several seconds for him to regain conciseness.

Shaking a fidgety right index finger, Jeremiah snidely remarked, "Nice try."

"Jeremiah, I am in no way trying to aggravate you. But you know full well that I do not adhere to superstitions. What happened to Mercer was all due to his inability to conform to society upon his release from Ashlandview. These things happen to patients every so often."

Jeremiah just sat and stared endlessly at Roth. There was no anger or bitterness inside of him, just plain emptiness the likes even he himself hadn't experienced before in his still young life. He couldn't even rebuttal with one of his offhanded retorts.

"Do you know what happened to me two weeks ago?" Jeremiah began picking at his fingernails.

"By all means, tell me." Property belongs to Nôvel(D)r/ama.Org.

"It was about eight p.m. I was sitting inside my apartment reading, when out of nowhere, both myself and my cat hear something bumping inside my bedroom closet. I get up and open the door only to find absolutely nothing inside. Then, after about five minutes, the bumping begins all over again. Once more, I look inside, nothing in there. I pull out all the clothes and shoes, and still find nothing. Then around say, one a.m., the same damn racket happens. By then, my cat runs out of the room scared to death. I get my flashlight, open the door, and inside, what do I find? A collection of crayons lying on the damn floor."

Shrugging his shoulders, Roth asked, "Just where did the crayons come from?"

Jeremiah got up from out of his seat and began for the door. "It's October, Dr. Roth." He dropped his shoulders. "Bing Crosby just died. Linus is looking for The Great Pumpkin again, and here I am...a Heb who can't even walk straight. Do I look like I care about some girl who got ran over by a semi?"

"Jeremiah, if we could just—

"Tell me, Mr. Roth, if this isn't a professional evaluation, why didn't we meet at your home? If we're such great friends and all?"

Roth just sat and bowed his head as to say his own explanation had eluded him. Jeremiah simply opened the office door and slammed it shut behind him before slipping his hands into his jacket

pockets and dragging his feet down the hallway that led to the building's exit.

Before he approached his Camaro he spotted a payphone directly across the parking lot. He stood and looked at the booth for a few seconds before reaching into his pants pockets and pulling out a collection of quarters. Making his way to the phone, Jeremiah stepped inside the booth, shut the door behind him and picked up the phone. The emptiness inside of him made him feel completely lethargic, if not desolate. With his one quarter he dithered until the coin finally made its way into the slot. Jeremiah then dialed seven numbers and held his breath as long as he could while awaiting a response.

"Hello?" A woman's voice answered after four rings.

"Hello? Ju...Julie?" Jeremiah nearly lost his ability to speak.

The woman on the other end paused and then asked, "Jeri, is this you?"

Jeremiah's ears soon connected with his mind. "Oh...Justine," he exhaled. "I, uh, I thought you were your sister."

"Uh, no...she's not here." The young lady sounded hopeless.

"Oh, I see. Well, do you know when she'll be returning?"

Another pause came across the phone which was soon followed by a long sigh. "Jeri, I don't quite know how to say this, but...Julie is gone."

Jeremiah actually had to contemplate the word 'gone' for a second or two. Gone could have held many meanings. He held his breath in anticipation.

"I understand. Well, can you tell her that—

"Jeri, you don't understand. Julie is gone. Two weeks ago, she packed her bags and left Ohio."

Jeremiah's stomach not only dropped, it downright went flat. His right leg began to tremble out of nowhere.

"I...I didn't know that." His voice faltered.

"Yeah, she said something about moving to Rhode Island. We have an aunt and uncle that live there. I think she just wants to start all over again, if you ask me."

Unlike most that hear devastating news and pick the words that they want to hear, Jeremiah heard everything Justine said, right down to the very last one. His leg just wouldn't stop shaking

"You know, Jeri, you and I never did get a chance to sit down and talk about what happened between us months ago." Justine carried on. "If you're not too busy, perhaps we can meet up and—

But Jeremiah just dropped the phone while his mouth hung wide open. He then opened the booth's door and stood outside. From left to right, leaves blew all over the parking lot while being shoved by the careless autumn wind. Above him was a grey sky littered with the puffiest clouds that looked as if rain could burst right out of them at any given moment.

The young man carted himself back to his car where he got in and just sat. Beside him in the passenger seat were books, the types of literature that involved legends and lore of mythical creatures that could transform from one state to the other. Behind him in the small backseat were even more books pertaining to the same subject manner. Jeremiah sat amongst his collection of books inside his cool and quiet vehicle. Justine could at last become part of the ill-fated collection of the "gone and all but forgotten."

His car keys were inside his pants pocket, but the allure of the gusting leaves outside the car kept the man in such a deep and foreboding trance that making even the slightest attempt to retrieve the keys

seemed completely pointless.