The Irreverent Reverend Ch. 06

Chapter 6: Jessica is taken by the police officer and the Reverend rises to save her.

Blackness engulfed the Reverend. He lay mute and crippled. The night sounds swept by him, sounds from with the darkness; a stir in the bushes, a whisper of wings. They brushed against his throbbing body, then quiet, a deafening quiet that rang in his ears, smothered his breath and buried him in the gravel. He lay crumpled and beaten. Time stopped, he passed out.

Then, from somewhere he heard a sound. It was barely audible, a whisper in the darkness. He listened and it was gone. It was another night sound skipping by and it vanished. He heard it again. It was louder and clearer. It was not a sound from the darkness; it called to him from within. Like a voice. It called his name. He struggled to hear the words; they bounced over him. He focused his attention; it was there and was gone. He recognized the sound and he searched for recognition. New life surged in him, someone was calling his name.

Help was on its way and he opened his eyes. His breathing returned to normal and he felt the cool air enter his lungs. "Who was it?" he wondered in excitement, "I know this person," he told himself. The voice became louder and louder. Raising his head, he felt a fresh blood trickle across his face. The warmth awoke his senses. "They are coming," he knew and reached in the file cabinets of his mind, searching for the memory, tearing open the drawers, seeking out recognition. "Whose voice is it?" he pled. The events of the evening were erased from his mind and as if born again to hear a voice calling to him. The sound grew stronger, clearer until suddenly, like a balloon rapidly inflating with air, the memory filled his mind and the recognition burst within.

It was Jessica. Of this he had absolute knowledge. It was her voice. She was calling to him. She did not call with the blare of returning cavalry, she shrieked from the abyss of her nightmare. She had not awakened The Reverend to rescue him, he voice sought him out from the darkness. This recognition exploded inside the Reverend. He glanced self consciously around to see if others heard it as well. There was no one. He was alone in the blackness. He tried to find her, to hone in on her with his very soul, to hear her voice and to know that she was OK. Vigor pursed through his veins. He struggled to rise and willed himself up.

Now the Reverend spoke. His voice grew strong, clear and purposeful. He called out her name. Over and over again. It was primal, like the beating of a drum. "Jessica, Jessica, Jessica," he called. He returned her cries in a voice that echoed in the darkness. She called and he answered. Never had The Reverend known with such unquestioning certainty what he must do. It was beyond logic or emotion, it was an immutable course of action. Jessica needed him and he would save her.

Inside the vehicle, the Reverend fumbled with the keys and turned the ignition. The engine whirred and the dashboard lit up. This activity pushed him to the present, into what had just happened. The safety of the vehicle startled him. It was as if he had been dropped from the sky or awakened from a nightmare. He looked in the mirror and saw a gruesome appearance, but it did not register, there were only the wild eyes that returned his glare with a steady look of determination. He spun the wheel and sent gravel flying as his vehicle now leapt onto the highway and sped in pursuit.

"Think, think, think," the Reverend pleaded. "Where will I find her?" he wondered and carefully watched the road side as if expecting to see her standing caught in the headlights like an unwary animal. He saw nothing and raced back towards town; the blackness of the sky was as empty as his plan for saving Jessica.

A small bead of light became visible at the far end of the road. His heart began to beat as the light brightened and approached him. "Another car," he exclaimed and within him a hope grew with the beam of this light. Brighter and closer it became. "He must tell them, warn them" The Reverend thought to himself. The sound of the vehicle rushed at him, its headlights filled the cab, and then it whooshed by, leaving only the searing red of the taillights in his mirror.

"Get a grip" the Reverend told himself. He would never find Jessica by being this jumpy. "A plan, you need a plan," he told himself and his mind was blank. The occasional billboard grew more frequent, soon he would be back in town. The Reverend slowed the vehicle as he entered the sleepy community. Other than the streetlight's phosphorescent glow, the only lights visible were at the all-night convenience store. He wheeled into the parking lot and shut off his vehicle. Lights from the store filled his cab and he realized that he was back in the real world now. Tipping the rear view mirror forward, he inspected himself.

His face was gruesome and looked as if he had just left a bar room brawl. The cut, where his teeth had torn into his upper lib was deep but the bleeding had stopped. Dried and caked blood drooled across his cheek and down his chin. Dust from the roadbed covered him and his fly was still open. He reached for the door handle; inside he could wash up, collect himself and perhaps learn something.

The Reverend exited his vehicle and strode across the deserted lot. A young kid eyed him warily as he swung open the door. An open copy of Hustler lay on the counter behind him. He stared at the Reverend with popping eyes. "What ever happened to you, Mister?" he blurted a mixture of shock and laughter in his voice.

"Restrooms?" the Reverend replied, not having the time or patience to titillate this buffoon with an explanation. The kid pointed to the back of the store and watched closely as the Reverend made his way to the back. Inside the men's room, he studied his cuts in the mirror. He turned the tap on hot and grumbled as the handle just twisted idly in his hand. "Okay, cold it is," the Reverend mumbled and proceeded to splash his face with the icy water. He blotted himself dry, dapped the blood on his coat and zippered his fly.

When he felt reasonably presentable, he left the room and approached the counter. The kid just stared but seemed calmed by the change in the Reverend's appearance. He waited for the Reverend's to speak. "Where is the police station in town?" the Reverend asked in a confident voice. The kid looked at him and with a laugh in his voice replied, "There ain't no police department in this town Mister. Not big nuff for one of those."

Unphased, The Reverend continued, "Who is on duty around here?"

"Well," the kid drawled, "the sheriff patrols these parts and a couple of deputies." Nothing more was offered in explanation.

"Where is their station then?" the Reverend inquired, a growing annoyance in his voice.

"Station?" the kid retorted as he pondered the question. "I guess the courthouse would be their station," he replied unsure of his answer.

"Where is that?" the Reverend asked.

"It is way over in Smithville, bout 30 miles down County 13," he replied with a point of his arm through the front window, out into the darkness. "Don't think them deputies hang around there much, mostly, they just work out of their squads."

The Reverend said nothing. "Thirty miles" he thought, that was too far away. "Where could that bastard have brought her?"

"Want to make a call" the kid offered, pointing to a phone behind the counter.

"No" said the Reverend emphatically. He pondered.

"Isn't there some other place where the deputies go?" the Reverend asked "Like where they gas up or store their vehicles or something?"

The kid thought about this for a minute and the Reverend hung on to the edge of this question, hoping that maybe here he would find a clue.

"Well, there is the Maintenance Shop down off 42 about 5 miles from here," he offered "but you won't find anyone there, not at this time of night." He looked up at the clock and the hands read 2:30.

"Thanks" the Reverend replied and turned towards the door. "Where's 42?" he asked, almost as an afterthought, he did not need the kid's directions, he knew he would find it, he had to.

"Take a right at the third light" the kid replied and watched with his mouth open as the Reverend pulled open the door and left.

Firing up his vehicle, the Reverend eased out onto the deserted streets and made his way under the blinking yellow lights. County 42 turned to gravel shortly after leaving town and the Reverend drove slow and steady, watching intently through the windshield. He saw only an occasional out building and the blackness of the night. Several minutes later, a faded sign, pockmarked from a careless flurry of pellets, appeared in his headlights. "County Maintenance Facility" it read.

The Reverend turned off his lights, lightly braked and coasted into the lot. The building was windowless and three large overhead doors were located on the larger building. In front, looking like a metal appendage was a smaller structure, like an office with a door and a sidewalk leading up to it.

The Reverend took a minute and allowed his eyes to adjust. He noticed two vehicles take shape from the darkness. One was a small compact car, neatly parked along the row and there, at the end of the sidewalk, parked askew as if the driver had arrived in a great hurry, was the patrol car. The Reverend drew a breath; he did not have a plan, only the conviction. Inside he would find Jessica.

Stealthily, he exited the vehicle and passed by the front of the patrol car. He placed his hand on the hood and as if taking its temperature. The engine was still warm and through the cold metal of this machine, the Reverend also felt the warmth of Jessica. She was alive and she was here. The heat reached into his hand and confidence surged within him. He started towards the sidewalk, approached the door and placed his hand on the knob.

The handle turned and the Reverend was surprised to find it unlocked. Pulling it towards him so that it would not creak, he slipped inside. Inside was a small hallway; two rooms like offices flanked the corridor and at the end, another door. This door was solid metal but held a small square glass panel at the top. A dim, flickering light emanated from the window. He listened and heard nothing. Quietly, he approached and peered through the glass.

Inside, he saw what appeared to be a dispatch desk. Seated behind the phones and microphone was a woman. She did not look up but stared intently at a small television monitor. The monochrome images reflected a strobe of light through the dark room. The Reverend could not see the screen but the woman was mesmerized. She was slouched in her chair and looked to have one hand between her legs. The Reverend realized that she was playing with herself. His mind whirled. "Jessica is here and this woman sits stroking herself" he bellowed to himself. The Reverend had now lined up the clues. It was Jessica on that screen, on the other end of the camera, and this woman, this deviant was watching and arousing herself in voyeuristic pleasure.

She writhed in her chair, absorbed in pleasure, her fingers stroked frantically, she plunged them deep inside and then back out again. Then, out of nowhere, he heard a deep voice, a voice he immediately recognized as the officer's come over the intercom. "Pamela, get in here" he barked. She withdrew her hand, stood, smoothed her skirt and opened the door behind the desk. When the door slammed shut behind her, the Reverend opened the inner door, made his way towards the dispatch station, stood behind the desk and looked at the screen.