Jack, a creature of habit, ate supper every night at the same diner. The food was homemade, and the place was comfortable.
He patted his pockets, checking for all of the necessary items as he exited the hotel.
The diner was a short walk from the hotel, but he headed to the post office first. Jack enjoyed the fresh air. He mailed his parcel and then backtracked to the diner. As he entered the place, Jack bumped into an exiting patron.
“I’m sorry.” Jack said. The guy never looked up, just kept walking. That was weird. Jack thought, as he continued over to the counter.
Dismissing the encounter, Jack took a seat and read the menu. He always looked it over, although he never ordered anything but his standard cup of coffee and the house meat loaf special. Jack loved meat loaf with mashed potatoes and gravy, and he felt the diner did a fair job at preparing it.
Deciding to read the local newspaper, Jack got change from the waitress. He walked over to the newspaper dispenser, dropped in his quarter, and pulled one from the stack.
Jack began reading through the front section. Nothing earth-shattering in the headlines today, he thought. His food arrived, and Jack enjoyed the warm meal. When he finished, he asked for a coffee refill and began to read another portion of the paper.
He reached into his pocket for his cigarettes, but they were gone. Thinking that he must have dropped them when he bumped into the guy at the entrance to the diner, Jack walked to the door and looked around, inside and out.
“What’cha lookin‘ for?” asked a burly man who sat a few stools down from Jack at the counter.
Jack did a double take. It was the same man he’d seen numerous times on the street. “My cigarettes. I must have dropped them.”
The man stood and walked over to Jack. “No matter, have one of mine,” the man pulled out his pack of cigarettes. “What do you smoke?”
“Usually Marlboros, but I’m not particular.”
The man shook the pack until a tip appeared. “Your lucky day, guy. I smoke them too. Help yourself.” He held out the pack to Jack, who took the tallest tip.
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
“No problem.” the man said. He lit Jack’s cigarette for him. They sat back down at the counter, and the man picked up his own newspaper and started reading.
Jack sipped his hot coffee. He took one drag off the cigarette and started to read the sports section. He took another drag, but it didn’t taste very good. Even so, he initially ignored the acrid flavor. Then, very definitely aware that the smoke smelled odd, Jack stopped reading, put the cigarette to his lips, and inhaled again. This time he felt a slight tingling sensation in his month, so he put the cigarette out.
Why do I bother? Jack asked himself. I must waste a small fortune on half-smoked cigarettes. Jack looked around for the waitress. He needed a glass of water, but she wasn’t there. Suddenly he felt dizzy. Wow! Jack thought. He hadn’t gotten a buzz from smoking a cigarette since he was twelve.
Then the walls started to spin. The room began going in and out of focus. Jack rubbed his temples, but the movement threw him off balance, and he toppled over, landing on the floor.
His throat felt swollen. He could barely breathe. What was happening to him?
He tried to call for help. But no sound came from his mouth. Thoughts floated around inside his head like pieces of confetti tossed in the air.
Where was he? Confusion engulfed him as he struggled to focus, and fought to remain conscious.
He saw Katherine and felt immediate relief. Katherine. He loved Katherine. She would help him. He called her name, but she didn’t hear him. He tried again. She continued to ignore him. With every ounce of strength left in his body, Jack reached his hand out to touch her, but she vanished an instant before darkness engulfed him.
SIXTY-THREE
He woke to consuming darkness.
Wind whipped around him, freezing his naked frame. He lifted his throbbing head and spit blood. His stomach churned. He vomited. His entire body ached from injury and exposure. Jack struggled against the ropes that bound his wrists and ankles. Pain exploded like flashbulbs behind his eyelids.
Scraping the side of his body on rocks and underbrush, he inched over to a large oak tree and rubbed the rope that bound his wrists against an exposed root. He wore down much of the bark on the root as he slowly shredded the twine and the skin on his wrists.
His fingers, stiff from lack of circulation and the cold, touched his face and felt something crusty – dried blood. His right eye would barely open, and his cheek was swollen underneath.
He reached to untie his ankles, but his breath caught at the stabbing pain in his ribs. He held still and took a shallow breath. Then another one.
Someone beat the crap out of me, Jack thought in confusion. He laid back and carefully probed the damage to his ribs.
Shit, the last time he felt this bad was the day after that barroom brawl in Turkey, and the only thing that made that bearable was knowing the other guy had been hospitalized for weeks. Jack laughed, but pain lanced through him like a knife blade, silencing him.
He licked his lips and tasted more blood. He was obviously in a game of hardball, and someone else had wielded a heavy bat. Jack strained, trying to recall what had happened. He knew he’d gone to the diner. After eating, he’d read the newspaper, then… he didn’t know. The trail of his memory ended.
Jack heard an owl screech.
Where am I? He inched himself up on his elbows, dead leaves and twigs snapping beneath the weight of his body. He tried to focus in the dark. He heard another shrill scream in the distance.
With each passing moment, Jack’s thinking became clearer. His adrenaline started to flow. All his instincts told him to get the hell out of there. But where was he?
Jack’s eyes adjusted to the darkness. A cloud moved past the sliver of illumination offered by the moon. Dense forest surrounded him.
He grimaced as he forced himself to a seated position. Jack’s body felt heavy and weak, as if he’d been drugged.
Where the hell were his clothes? He untied his ankles, then gingerly shifted to his knees. He straightened, trying to stand. Oh, God. He wrapped his arms around his chest and curled into a ball. Tears welled in his eyes. Not good, Rudly, not good.
He knew he needed to get up and start walking or die of exposure.
The howl of coyotes floated on the sharp wind. Jack clenched his teeth and forced himself to his feet. A wave of dizziness rolled over him. He steadied himself against the tree. His arms and legs felt weak and rubbery.
Shit, this was not good. Jack looked around – he saw no sign of his shoes and clothing. They’d dumped him in the middle of the Missouri backwoods as a snack for ravenous animals. An efficient way to provide torture while disposing of a body, he thought. In short order, the animals could have scattered his bones throughout the forest leaving no recognizable trace of his presence.
He glanced up at the sky, trying to get his bearings. Clouds obscured the stars, making it impossible to determine his location or the direction he needed to pursue.
Was it before or after midnight? Maybe some time before dawn? Just get moving, and keep moving.
He hobbled forward. Jagged stones tore at the soles of his bare feet. His body throbbed from the beating. Leafless branches whipped at his arms and legs.
He peered through the darkness for a landmark. Where the hell am I? He could see nothing in the periodic flashes of moonlight other than trees and shadows. His left eye was focusing better, but his right eye was almost swollen shut. The smell of rotting leaves and decaying underbrush assaulted his senses.
I bet I’m an attractive sight, he thought as he lightly touched his bruised face. Boy, he must have really pissed someone off. He’d obviously been beaten beyond unconsciousness? Nice crowd. He rubbed his hands together. His feet tingled in the aftermath of numbness. Jack rubbed his sides to warm himself, then flinched from the pain. He tried to increase his body temperature by jumping around, but his body wasn’t up to being jarred. Jack looked back over his shoulder, hoping he wasn’t traveling in circles.