Of That Day and Hour: A psychological thriller (4 page)

“Black ice, isn’t that
ironic? Thankfully the streets were clear, not many fools out in a blizzard.
Yet there I was, and I just kept sliding until I hit that curb. I knew
something wasn’t right from that moment on, but it was too late, I’d already
blown a tire.”

“Something wasn’t right?”

“A knowing. I might sense
hours, days, weeks or years before an event, or simply a few seconds, but I
always know.”

“A premonition?”

“Yes, when you’re dreaming a
dream, how do you know that you’re in the dream? What’s the difference between
the dream and reality? How do we know we’re not in the dream now?”

“We experience reality.
Objects fall to the floor, lights come on at the flick of a switch. It’s our
sensory organization and stability, our experience that is our basis for
knowing.”

“Incoherence in thought is
then the difference between the dream and the waking state?”

“Possibly.” Jeff’s heard
these elementary arguments for years, even his students can whittle together a
deeper display of intelligence than this. “But if I’m dreaming then you’re
simply a figment of my imagination.”

“I do love a man who enjoys
philosophy. However, by the time I jacked the car up, and managed to unscrew
the wheel nuts, my hands were numb. Rubbing them made no difference. I had the
strange urge to run, to run as far as possible, away from that dark location. I
was tired, cold, and like an animal, trapped.”

“The urge to run?”

“Wrong time and the wrong
place.” Casey studies Jeff’s face, unsure if his skepticism permits him to
believe any of this. “It didn’t take long for fate to show its true hand, when
the cops pulled in behind me. I smiled as they shone that torch in my face.”
Jeff notes Casey recalls this like a true memory. “But then my heart sank. This
is what went down:

'“Looks like we got
ourselves a nigger stealing wheels.”

“No sir, I just got a flat
tire to fix and I’ll be on my way.”

“I wasn’t talking to you
boy.”

“Yes sir, I’m almost done
here sir.”

“What do you think, Bo,
neighborhood going to shit these days?”

“Good folks place their
trust in us to keep them safe.”

“Please give me a break,
guys.”

“A break, nigger wants a
break.”

“Best we give it to him
then.”'

Casey’s eyes are distant as
he recalls the conversation, word for word. In any other circumstance, Jeff
wouldn’t doubt this as the truth.

Casey breaks off his
reverie, meeting Jeff’s eyes again. “I remember coming round in the snow whilst
they beat me. They had tasered me in the back.”

“I’m sorry that happened to
you.”

“Why? You could never
understand what it’s like, ducking authority all your life. Innocent men behind
bars, shot or beaten to death because of the color of their skin. I knew I
would die, face down in that snow. It was me or them.”

“How did you know?”

“
Déjà vu
.”

“
Déjà vu
?”

“My life flashed before me,
a movie of long forgotten memories, every single detail perfect. Then I saw
myself laying beaten, panting like a dog, dying.”

“What did you do?”

“I reached for the gun
strapped to my ankle.”

“And then?”

“Then it was raining blood
and the snow lost its purity. The prosecution called it an execution, but they
lay there twitching, wheezing, each breath spewed blood. You wouldn’t let an
animal suffer, would you? It was for mercy that I put a bullet through their
heads.”

“I see.” Jeff welcomes the
reinforced glass between them. He has no doubt that he’s dealing with a
psychopath.

“You don’t see.” Casey
senses Jeff’s intuition. “It didn’t happen to you, it wouldn’t happen to you.”

“I’m not the authority here,
I don’t create the injustices of this world.”

“Crazy cop-killing nigger.”
Casey speaks with a lifetime of bitterness, and sadness in his voice. “Who’s
going to listen to me?”

“Give me a chance.”

“We’ll see.” Jeff feels the
irony, that it’s Casey who doesn’t trust him, if that’s really the case? “It's
round about time for me to leave. It’s funny isn’t it? We don’t have long
together, yet I have all the time in the world. It’s been nice talking to you.”

Casey rises to his feet
moments before the steel door opens and the guard walks in. He tips his hand up
in farewell, with a smile, then turns his back. He walks a few paces and
pauses, turns back round.

“I almost forgot, I’m sorry
about your work. Now that you’re here they won’t let you go.”

“My work?”

Casey smiles and walks out
of the room humming softly to himself. Jeff stands, a puzzled expression on his
face, then dismisses Casey’s parting statement as simply a terrorist plot of
the mind. When he exits the room, though, he appears paler to Eve than when he
first walked in.

“He does hold court well,
doesn’t he? Are you alright?”

“Of course.”

“First impressions?”

“A classic psychotic. He
feels persecuted by others, so he needs to be in control, no empathy for his
victims. Shooting them in the head was his compassion.”

“You’ll get used to him.”

“I’d rather not.” Jeff needs
to rule out Casey’s story. “Is there any evidence for his version of events?”

“No, the reports say it's a
complete fabrication. By the time they had a technical analysis of his blood,
to determine the presence of narcotics, it was inconclusive. Investigators
believed he must have been pulled over by the cops for driving on a flat tire,
and then rampaged as they tried to help him replace it.”

“That sounds plausible. It's
like he wears a mask we can't see behind; he'll try to destroy our lives if we
let him. Our vulnerabilities, values, everything we care about, anything we
have an emotional attachment to, we'll have to guard. His lies are to misdirect
and confuse.”

“So now he has us both to
play with, to try to untangle us as we untangle him?”

“He has.”

The drive back in the car
leaves them both aware of the uncomfortable silence between them. Eve decides
enough is enough.

“Is there any truth in what
he said to you?”

“Which part?” Jeff covers
his emotions, but knows what’s coming next.

“Do you lose sleep?”

“Do you still love me?” He
can hear the expectation in his voice.

“I asked first.”

Eve’s giving nothing away.
“See? He’s already initiated tension between us. We have to be smarter, give
him nothing to feed off.”

“We didn’t in the first
place. Any concern we display will play into his need for emotions. Any emotion
will do as long as they are in response to his actions.”

“And his knowing?”

“There will be a rational
explanation.”
 

“Come on, let’s shake him
off, I’ll take you to Al’s”.

“Al’s?”

“All American diner. They
serve up a mean burger.”

“And the onion rings?”

“Deep fried 'n' crispy.”

The all-chrome diner
glistens like a beacon in the sun, a solitary oasis, a landmark. Al’s name is
emblazoned by the side of the highway on a large red neon sign. The black
Camaro turns in and gently rocks over the uneven ground, to pull up alongside
the dusty old pickup out front.

“A traditional diner way out
here?”

“He gets by with passing
trade, plenty of land for trucks to park.”

“And no competition to worry
about.”

“None, and the best thing
is, they pull off some great food. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

There’s something Jeff loves
about opening chrome doors, and walking towards a quintessential stool-lined
chrome counter, with a checkerboard floor underfoot. He’s unsure at first if
the diner has been outfitted with retro fifties red and white booths, or if
they're original. The leather is worn, but not that worn. A Wurlitzer jukebox
takes center stage, its multi-colored heart still with soul, solidly beating
out a pulse. The walls carry classic prints of diners, muscle cars, motorcycles
and the spirit of the American dream. The young waitress in her hot pink
striped dress smiles as they walk towards her.

“Hi Eve, how you doing?”

“Cool, and yourself?”

“It’s all good.” Angel
pauses, unsure of who this handsome stranger is with Eve, can’t resist asking.
“Who’s your friend?”

“Jeff, this is Angel, Angel,
Jeff.”

“Hi Angel.”

“Hi.” Angel smiles, then
pauses and looks to Eve. “The Jeff?”

 
“Yes.” Uncomfortable Eve shuffles slightly.
Jeff realizes Eve’s spoken about him to Angel. So she must still possess
feelings for him. Eve gives Angel a look of 'you’ve opened your big mouth', and
Angel nervously smiles back. “Bring over a couple of burgers, fried chicken
wings and onion rings will you?”

“Sure. You go on and sit
yourselves down.”

They choose a booth by the
window. Looking out all they can see is highway, desert, blue sky and the
surrounding mountains.

“The Jeff?”

“Don’t ask.”

“I’m intrigued.”

“I said don’t ask.”

“Okay, okay you don’t have
to get all defensive.”

“I’m not.”

Jeff’s flattered and Eve
knows it. He catches sight of a leather clad rider pulling in from the highway
and cruising up to the front of the diner. The red Harley pumps its pistons
with a unique, loud, yet familiar bark. This guy enjoys blipping the throttle
before cutting the engine, dropping the side stand down as he dismounts.

“Nice bike.”

“Yeah that’s Al, he owns
this joint.”

“Friend of yours?”

“He keeps his eye on me, knows
I’m out here alone. Angel’s his daughter.”

“Is he married?”

“No, she shot through years
ago.” Eve realizes Jeff’s already bordering on jealousy. She could tease him,
to pull him closer, but she’s still unsure about her own feelings. “She left
Angel with him, he’s done a good job of raising her.”

Al makes his presence known
as he walks into the diner. He takes his jacket off and walks straight over
towards their booth. Jeff estimates his age is around fifty years, a big-built
intimidating man, shaven head, short beard. His faded tattoos still catch the
eye.

“I thought that was your car
out front, how you doing, Eve?”

“Good and you?”

“All the better for seeing
you. Who’s your friend?”

“This is Jeff, Jeff, Al.”

“Good to meet you, Jeff.”

“You too.”

Al thrusts his hand forward
and both men shake hands, although the twinkle Eve brought to Al’s eye leaves
Jeff unsettled.

“So what brings you out
these parts?”

Before Jeff can answer Eve
jumps in.

“He’s working with me at the
prison, for a time.”

“The prison. Hey, rather you
than me. I haven’t seen you at the club for a while?”

Jeff senses that Eve’s now
feeling a little uncomfortable chatting to Al in front of him, and has this
gut-wrenching thought that they've slept together.

“I’ve been busy, work, you
know.”

“Yeah, well don’t be a
stranger. Enjoy your meal, it’s on me.”

Al turns his bulk around and
walks away with a slight swagger towards Angel, who’s been leaning on the
counter. This has been the highlight of the day so far.

“Before you ask, the 'club'
is the monthly cruise night for classic cars.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

The food at the diner was
great, and the drive back to the ranch uneventful. The Camaro’s engine cools
whilst Jeff sits outside on the balcony. Eve brings them both a cold beer and
sits down.

“Paradise, isn’t it? I lose
myself here.”

“Don’t you get lonely?”

“Sometimes.”

Jeff’s mobile starts to
ring. He answers, reluctantly.

“Hello.”

“Hi Jeff, it's John Martin
from the university, how are you?”

“Hi. I’m fine thank you, and
how are you?” Jeff’s curious; although they’ve been good colleagues for many
years, it’s a rare occasion that John will phone. There’s a pause on the line.
“Is everything alright?”

“To be honest with you, no.
I’m not sure how to break this to you. The president of the university has had
to make some harsh austerity measures this year. I’m sorry to be the bearer of
bad news, but we’ve had to cut out your position.”