About a Burning Man

"About a Burning Man"
By Alex Moore

“As soon as I was able to hold her down, there was nothing she could do,” the young man wearing the white tank top arrogantly said through his cigarette.

He was not a large man, but the moonlight shined on him, giving great relief to his well-defined muscles. Gathered around the campfire in the middle of the forest the other two guys, a shorter, fatter one, and the other a taller, wirier man with thick sideburns, sniggered.

“Too bad she couldn’t stick around for a little while… give us a chance to get to know her,” the fat one said.

“Nah, soon as I knocked her out I drove back into town and dumped her off at that park just outside of town. She coulda woke up and saw any of us, and I wouldn’t wanna give her the chance to identify none of us,” Tank Top said.

Sideburns: “You don’t think she’ll remember you?”

“Not after that pop-knot I put on her head.”

They laughed some more, and did not notice their stalker creep up behind Tank Top. Suddenly, the end of a baseball bat collided with Tank Top’s head, and his body crumpled to the ground. The other two men jumped up instantly, startled by their intruder.

Sideburns reached for his knife, but halted when he saw a .357 staring him in the face. The two men remained motionless, staring at the intruder with mouths agape.

Coldly, the intruder spoke: “Go.”

The two men nodded and scurried off, climbed into their pick-up and spun away.

The intruder bent over the body of the rapist. Leaning over the “victim’s” face, he saw blood slowly trickle out of the left ear. The blood had slowly run over the face and had stained the dead man’s white tank top.

*


The old 1974 Chevy Silverado left a cloud of dust in its wake as it rattled down the old Idaho country road. As if the fact that the shocks were worn out wasn’t bad enough, the road was riddled with potholes. With every divot, the truck clunked, creaked, and rattled.

James Edwards Baker, or Jim, as he preferred, wiped off the sweat from his brow, and then above and below his lips. The truck didn’t have air conditioning, so his only option was to have the vents open, which would just blow the dusty, warm air. He typically have had the windows down, but the draft surely would’ve blown his hair this way and that. He couldn’t have that today, not when he was on his way to propose to Jenny MacDaniel. He would just have to endure the relentless July sun.

He and Jenny had been friends ever since she transferred to Filer High School halfway through Jim’s senior year. She was a junior at the time, but because of the school’s small size of 94 students in the entire junior high and high school, everyone pretty much knew everybody.

In the six months they’d known each other, Jim had developed feelings for Jenny, and so had Jenny for Jim, but they thought it was smarter to say that they were “just friends“ and spare themselves the drama that goes along with being a young couple. For the first three months they’d known each other they were in denial of their feelings, but everyone else at school saw it coming well in advance. Both peers and teachers alike were already placing bets on when the wedding day would be. At the beginning of the school year, the yearbook committee had named Jim most likely to get married right out of high school, and when people noticed Jim and Jenny following each other around within days of her arrival at the beginning of the second semester, people saw it as fulfilled prophecy.

Both sets of parents were the last to fall in line and accept the blossoming attractions. Jim’s parents said that he needed to move on with his life, go to a big school, have a career, and make a name for himself. Jenny’s parents said she was too young and she had too much going for her to throw give up all of her previous ambitions and just settle for a boy who she hardly even knows. “Jenny, what about your dreams?” Her father lectured her. “You always wanted to do so much on your own. Why do you want to throw all of that away and just be a wife? Plus, you’re still in high school!”

Jim’s parents typically would have felt safe to let this blow over just like all the other random endeavors he thought he would pursue, (“Dad, I want to go into the Army.” “Mom, I want to be a missionary.” “Dad, I want to open my own restaurant.” “Mom, I want to join a band.”) but they sensed something in him that they hadn’t sensed before. Whatever he had in mind for he and Jenny’s future, he meant it. Now all of Mr. Baker’s years of the motivational you-gotta-go-out-and-get-it-if-you-want-it speeches that failed to motivate Jim through sports, academics, and career choices came crashing down on top of him: Jim thinks he’s going to marry Jenny MacDaniel.

For the fifth or sixth time while riding down that country road, Jim felt in his pants pocket to make sure that soft little box was in there. Sure enough, it hadn’t gone anywhere. She might see it in my pants pocket, maybe I oughtta put it in my jacket pocket, he thought to himself. Everything in Jim wanted the proposal to be a surprise, but just to be sure he wasn’t going to get shot down, Jim took a precaution.

Two weeks earlier he and Jenny were walking through a mall in downtown Boise when Jim “just happened to” lead them past the jewelry store. Naturally, Jenny peered in the window. When Jim noticed that she took the bait, he said, “Hey, what do you think about that piece of hardware right there?” gesturing toward a ring, secretly testing Jenny‘s disposition towards engagement-type things. If she wasn‘t ready to even think about getting engaged, she would have read between the lines and said something to the effect of, “yeah, they’re nice, but I think it’s gonna be a while before I would want one.”

But Jenny said that it was perfect, and Jim had to work hard to suppress the big grin that was forming on his face; he made the first payment on it two weeks ago. Man, I am so good, he told himself. They continued through the mall and got a couple sodas, the whole time Jim prided himself on how stealthily he executed the operation.

Yep, he had better put the ring in a less obvious place. The back pack? No, too risky. Whenever Jenny got bored or anxious she started feeling around in the various pockets and zipping and unzipping the different compartments of his bag. The glove box! That’s where he’ll put it! As long as he didn’t get pulled over while she was in the car, everything would be all right.

Keeping one hand on the wheel and one eye on the road, Jim reached over and opened the glove box. There were a few crumpled papers in his way, so he removed them and sat them on the passenger seat and placed the ring box inside the compartment.

Jim kept on down the road, dust blowing, car clunking. Looking to his left and right at the endless acres of corn, he thought to himself how badly he wanted out of this place. But he had no immediate future plans—except for marrying Jenny, that is, so in the back of his mind he knew it was very possible he would end up being another one of those townsfolk who always talked about leaving but never did. No, banish the thought. Once Jen graduated in ten months, they would get married and then move to who-knows-where. He’d go to school while she worked, or maybe the other way around, and they would start a new branch of the Baker family in, who knows, Oregon, Texas, maybe Canada for all he cared.

As soon as Jim’s mind stopped whirring, he grew uncomfortable with the silence. The antenna on his truck radio was busted, but static would be fine right now. As Jim raised his hand to turn on the radio, he realized he was still holding on to one of the papers from the glove box. Once he could spare his eyes from searching for potholes, he would look down to see what it was. It was a bulletin from church a week ago. Upon closer examination, it was from the Wednesday night service.

Jim remembered sitting with Jenny in that large, seemingly ancient building. His family had gone to Filer Community Church since before Jim could even remember. It had the works: the stain glass windows, giant hulking pulpit, and even that old-church smell-- a mixture of dust, the nursery, and what Jim came to know as “old-person smell.”

Jenny started going to church with Jim in March, two months after they had met. Church eventually served as an excuse for them to see each other; as they became closer, Jenny’s parents thought it would be best to limit their time together. Playing their cards well, Jim and Jenny figured that no one would ever tell someone that they’re not allowed to go to church, so they would always at least have that. Jenny’s family was usually a bit cynical at the thought of going to church, largely because they’d had run-ins with the holier-than-thou types. They had nothing against church itself, but they often quoted the bumper sticker that they’d seen years ago, “Dear God, please save me from your followers.” But it wouldn’t hurt for Jenny to go to church, they figured.

It was rare that Jim and Jenny got to see each other on weeknights, so they treasured every moment while they sat in the awkward, hard pews. They had known each other for seven months now, what Jim considered to be a long time, and he still sometimes got the “butterflies” when he sat beside her.

Jim was growing weary as he sat through the pastor’s sermon. The topic tonight was on doing good works. While the pastor professed Jesus Christ to be the only way to heaven, one would assume that, according to the speaker, you would have to earn your way to even be considered as an applicant for life in eternity.

Jim wanted to know what time it was, but dared not to look over his shoulder at the back of the sanctuary. Not only would he catch the glares of a couple dozen gray haired “holier-than-thous,” but he would risk falling prey to what he jokingly always referred to as the church conspiracy: they plant the clock in the back of the room as a temptation, so the pastor can see who looks back, and how often they do so. It was just a way of letting the pastor know who the real saints were. He also encouraged people to tithe with checks rather than with cash, for the same reason.

Suddenly the pastor’s words pierced Jim’s daydreams, as he read Amos 5:18: “Woe to you who long for the day of the Lord! Why do you long for the day of the Lord? ….Are you sure you’re looking forward to heaven? Are you really sure? I don’t want a show of hands. I just want you to ask yourself tonight, right now, while you’re sitting here: Are you really sure you would want Gaw-duh to look at you right now, while you squirm in the depths of your iniquities? We all know what Gaw-duh did for you… what have you done for God!?!”

Jim felt that heavy, anxiety-ridden feeling in his chest, as if his heart just turned into a bowling ball, and was pulling his chest down to his knees. He felt his palms begin to perspire, and wanted to pull his hand away from Jenny’s, but didn’t want it to be obvious that he felt the wave of guilt that he did. So, he did what everybody else in the church did. He sat up straight and tried to wear the “glad he’s not talking to me” look on his face that was so common in that church.

Jim believed he was saved and was going to heaven, but for some reason whenever people would sing songs in church to the tune of “Rejoice that you’re going to heaven,” Jim could never quite fully pour himself into those songs. Because of that, he often questioned his faith and sometimes even the existence of God… or, of “Gaw-duh.” If I’m saved from my sins, why can I, at the drop of a hat, be overwhelmed with so much guilt? Almost instantly, the pastor gave an answer.

“Quite honestly, I don’t think any of you want God to save you. How can he take away your sins when you won’t give them over to Him? You’re too busy holding on to all of your filth. God can’t save you! When you hold on to your filth, YOU’RE MORE THAN GOD CAN DEAL WITH!” At that, Jim squirmed in his seat and felt that mild, burning feeling in his chest. He used to get that feeling when he felt someone was saying something that was untrue, but over the years he had been taught that that feeling comes when he’s too stubborn to see something from someone else’s perspective. “You always have to think that you’re right,” his dad always said. “Don’t lie to yourself and call it a conviction. That’s the easy way out when really you’re too stubborn to see from someone else’s point of view.” In his mind’s eye, he could almost see his father on the pulpit delivering the message of condemnation.

With no warning at all, Jim rose and walked out the side aisle and out the back door. Jenny followed shortly behind, but Jim couldn’t face her or anybody else for that matter at the moment. He took a left in the lobby and headed straight for the men’s room. He quickly walked in and entered the stall closest to the door. By the time he had seated himself on the toilet, he heard the door swing open. The familiar clip-clop told him it was Jenny. A rather gutsy move, Jim observed.

Jim’s ears followed the clip-clop past his stall and into the one next to him, where the “clip-clopper” took a seat.

Jim expected Jenny to say something, but all he got was silence. He pursed his lips and looked at his feet. Then he began drumming his fingers on his knees. More silence. Then he turned his head and faced where Jenny would be if the stall dividers weren’t in the way.

“Pass me a couple squares, I’m out.” Jim joked. His joke was returned with a familiar giggle. Once the humor of the moment faded, Jim went back to being silent.

“How did you know I didn’t just come in here to take a crap?” Jim said.

“Because you took one a half an hour ago,” Jenny said. Jim felt her smirk and returned it with a guilty smile and raised his eyebrows briefly. A point well-made.

Suddenly the door to the men’s room swung open, and Jim and Jenny could hear the murmur of the congregants in the lobby, indicating that the speaker had finished. Jim and Jenny held their breath as a man walked up to the urinal. Jim was straight-faced, but knew that he would lose it if he heard the slightest chuckle or snort from next stall. They both waited patiently while they heard that familiar ziiiip, a flush, and then footsteps out the door. A part of Jim demanded to know who this man was and why he didn’t wash his hands, but he let it slide.

“I think we should probably get outta here while we can,” Jenny said.

The two of them hustled out of the stalls and headed toward the restroom door. Jim opened the door only to meet their pastor on the way in.

“Thy misled sheep! Repent and…” the pastor began, but was cut off when the bathroom door swung shut behind Jim and Jenny.

The ride back to Jenny’s house was quiet that night. She didn’t demand anything out of Jim, and Jim was thankful. The Silverado was legally only a two-seater, but in a town as small as Filer, a cop—the one cop that works in Filer, wouldn’t pull over a car just because a man’s sweetheart was sitting in the middle of the seat cuddling up next to the driver. Jim held Jenny’s hand in her lap and she rested her head on his shoulder, starring off into who-knows-where. Jim’s conscience had simmered down, and the bowling ball feeling had gone away.
*
Jim sighed and folded the bulletin in half and then in half again, and slipped it into his pocket. Jim continued motoring down the road, dust kicking up in the air. The remainder of a smile was slowly sliding off of Jim’s face. “What have YOU done for GOD?” echoed in Jim’s mind. That sermon was over a month ago, but the words still stung Jim and haunted his conscience.

Jim looked at the gas tank. It was almost on empty. I guess I could fill the tank up for my dad, Jim thought.

“Ooh, what a Saint you are, Jimmy-boy. Twenty bucks of regular won’t save your soul!” Jim was astounded at how clear the words of his mental tormenting could be sometimes.

“Hey, wiper blades are getting a little dull too, Jimmy-boy.”

Jim turned up the volume of the static on the radio. Jim squinted as he drove toward the setting sun. He thought he saw something tall and black in the road, but the sun was behind whatever it was, making it hard to see. It looked like it was pretty close, just standing in the road while Jim rapidly approached. Before Jim knew what he was doing, he slammed the brakes and swerved to avoid whatever it was. He wasn’t sure how close he came; going as fast as Jim was, a couple of feet can seem like a couple of inches, especially when the adrenaline kicks in.

Jim came to a stop in the middle of the dirt road. Looking back, he couldn’t see anything, for the dust had swallowed everything a hundred yards back. Jim stepped out of the truck and walked backward, trying to catch a glimpse of whoever was in the road, and if they were okay. There were no houses in sight, so anybody this far out in the country on foot would probably have quite a story. However, the occasional drunks are known to wash up in the corn fields.

Jim walked about two truck lengths down the road when he finally caught a glimpse of the stranger. Wincing, Jim made out a tall and slender figure, over six feet tall. He was wearing black jeans, a black jacket, and a cowboy hat pulled down over his face. A red handkerchief covered his nose and mouth. Long strands of dark hair poured out from under the cowboy hat. He looked like something out of a western, but farmers in the area would occasionally wear a handkerchief over their faces to keep from inhaling so much dust. One hand carried a large leather suitcase, about five feet long. The stranger approached Jim.

“You okay, sir?” Jim said.

The stranger said nothing as he approached. He was about twenty yards away, outside of comfortable talking distance. Jim took a few steps backward toward the truck, but tried not to seem intimidated.

The stranger’s steps were slow, but precise. Jim didn’t think this guy was drunk. Eventually the stranger was just a few yards away from Jim, close enough to accentuate the awkward silence.

“Can I help you, sir?” Jim said.

The stranger stopped in his tracks, just outside of arms length from Jim. Without looking up, he said, “You headed to Filer?” The voice wasn’t as low and gruff as Jim expected. It was rather precise and crisp.

“Yessir, actually I am.” Jim replied. There was a moment of silence.

“What have YOU done for GOD!?!” There it was again, this time even louder in Jim’s consciousness.

Jim hesitated, and then said, “You wanna ride?”

“I would be mighty obliged,” the stranger replied.

“Can I help you with your bags?”

“Thank you kindly.”

The stranger sat the bag down on the ground. Jim picked it up by the handles and tried to hoist the bag up. At first he struggled; it must’ve weighed over 150 pounds. But because Jim couldn’t show any inferiority, he tried a different grip and managed to get the bag off the ground and into the truck.

The stranger stood at the back of the pickup, waiting to see how Jim would invite him into the pickup truck. Jim considered opening the door for him, but when most men meet tough guys, they naturally want to rise to the level of tough guy-ness, so Jim gave the pickup a “let’s get going” whack with his hand, nodded toward the cab, opened his door, and hopped in. The stranger followed.

Facing forward, Jim turned the key and asked, “Where you headed?”

“You’ll find out,” the stranger replied.

Jim didn’t completely understand the stranger, but wanted to send off the idea that he did, so Jim nodded in affirmation, shifted to drive, and headed off down the road.

“My name’s Jim, by the way,” said Jim.

The stranger looked at Jim and nodded. “Pleased to meet you.”

A couple of times Jim tried to steal a look at the stranger;s face, but the way the stranger wore his handkerchief and hat made it nearly impossible. Jim couldn’t quite figure the stranger out. In spaghetti westerns Jim had seen bank robbers who usually wore their hats tilted down and scars covering their faces. But Jim didn’t believe this guy was a bad guy-- he didn’t get that vibe from him. He didn’t necessarily seem bad, but he certainly seemed dark. No doubt about it.

They were headed West on rural route 6 toward Filer, but Filer was such a small town that Jim didn’t know why anybody would be headed that way. The biggest city nearby was Twin Falls, which was south of where they were. Of course, when Jim passed the stranger, the stranger looked like he was walking East, opposite of the direction that they were headed now. It was as if the stranger was coming towards Jim. Jim had heard his share of cliché hitchhiker stories, so he wasn’t naïve to the possible danger that existed in giving rides to strangers. While the stranger didn’t seem like he was in a hurry to get anywhere, he didn’t seem like he was wandering aimlessly. Wherever he was going, whatever he was doing, he was going about it purposefully.

“I’m only headed to Filer. If you wanted to get to Twin, you’d have to get on highway 11 and head East for about 20 miles,” said Jim. The stranger nodded as if he already knew all of this, which sent chills down Jim’s spine.

Out of the corner of Jim’s eye, he saw the stranger reach into his pocket. The whole time Jim had been keeping a watchful eye on any of the stranger’s movements, but this time, when Jim turned his head to see what—

CRASH!

Before Jim knew what was happening, Jim’s head smashed through the front window of the pickup. The steering wheel knocked the wind out of him, and he thought he felt a couple of his ribs crack. The vehicle came to an instant stop and Jim‘s head was thrown back against the rear window of the pickup, which made a loud “pop“ as his skull shattered the glass. As Jim quickly drifted into unconsciousness, he caught a glimpse of the heard of cattle crossing the road that he had collided with. Because there were so many of them, the truck stopped almost instantly.
*
Jim woke up. What at first seemed like a glowing yellow orb eventually turned into a round ceiling light with protective metal crossbars. He heard murmuring, none of which he could make out. It all sounded like technical, professional talk. He tried to sit up in his bed, but he felt a dull, bruised pain in his chest. Jim looked around to try to figure out where he was.

It didn’t take him long to realize where he was in a hospital. He was in a rather claustrophobic area, if he were to say so himself. The air felt thick and had a yellow tint. To the left just inches from his bed was a sea foam green curtain which hung from rusted metal hooks, and to his right was a wall made of corroded bathroom tile. There were only inches between the wall and the bed. Near his feet was a machine that must’ve been monitoring his vitals. The room had a stale, musty smell.

Jim’s eyes were still hazy, so he had a hard time focusing on the image of what appeared to be a nurse walking past the foot of his bed. Jim tried to speak, but hardly had the energy to use his voice. He felt a wave of fatigue wash over him, and could feel himself slipping out of consciousness. Mustering all of his available will power, he tried to focus again. Even in such a state of disillusionment, the mind still demands answers to the questions “who, what, when, where, how, and why.” Jim’s eyes struggled to focus on the nurse at the end of his feet.

Using all of his might, Jim managed to force air out of his lungs, emitting a raspy coughing sound. At once, the nurse jerked her head towards Jim, and upon realizing he was awake, marched out of the room abruptly. Jim’s brow furrowed as he tried to understand what was going on.

Moments later, a figure entered Jim’s room and walked toward him. As he got closer to Jim’s bed, Jim could tell that he was a police officer.

“Hello, Jim.” The officer spoke. Jim slowly nodded, which was about all of the response Jim was capable of at the time. “Awful car accident you got yourself in. It’s amazing you’re alive. I’d like you to try and remember any details of it that you might be able to, and I’ll compare it to the other accounts I got.”

Jim could only remember bits and pieces. Driving down the road. On his way to Jenny’s. Blank.

Jim cleared his throat.

“I… I was driving my dad’s pickup…” Jim hacked and tried to swallow. “I was going to Jenny’s. It was hot. There was dust everywhere…”

“Which way were you headed?” The officer said.

“West on rural route six,” Jim said.

“Do you remember picking anybody up?”

Jim sat for a moment. He couldn’t recall anything.

“I’m sorry,” Jim began. “Everything seems so ran together.”

“Well, we found a body.”

Instantly Jim could almost feel his whole body being compressed. The stranger!

The officer read Jim’s expressions like an open book.

“Do you remember anybody?” The officer asked.

“I… I do, now.”

“What did he look like?” The officer asked.

Jim sat for a moment, trying to remember what the stranger looked like.

“Was it a pretty young guy?” The officer said.

Jim struggled for a moment. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Not a young man, sorta like yourself?”

“No, sir…”

“I think it was a pretty young fellow. Even looks a bit like you. Perhaps I can refresh your memory,” the officer said. He grabbed the curtain to Jim’s left and yanked it all the way back.

Jim’s head turned to see what was revealed. Laying on a bed next to him was a corpse, but it wasn’t the stranger. When Jim recognized the face on the body, he felt as if all the air was forced out of him. He looked away immediately, and his panic slammed him back into unconsciousness.
*
Awaken.

It was almost as if the word was spoken to Jim. It wasn’t a female voice. But it wasn’t male either. Jim wasn’t sure if he had heard it or thought it, but he responded. He opened his eyes and blinked a few times. He faintly remembered what happened before he blacked out.

“Must’ve been a dream…” Jim uttered.

He looked to his left. The curtain that once hung isolating Jim from the rest of the room was pulled open where the (cop?) left it. He saw the bed, and it was empty. The crisp sheets were pulled to the top and the pillow was perfectly fluffed. No one had been laying in that bed at all.

Jim looked down at his toes to see if they would wiggle when he tried to make them move, but something else caught his eye. Facing the opposite direction of Jim stood a nurse. But it didn’t look like the same nurse that was in the room earlier. This one had a distinctly masculine frame.

Jim’s eyes, still not seeing clearly, could only make out the tall, slim shape of the figure. He could see that the nurse was in the typical green uniform and had a hairnet on, but the hairnet did not contain all of the hair. A few dark strands managed to seep out the back. Only part of the nurse’s face was visible, and Jim did all he could to try and make out more than just fuzzy lines and faded colors.

Jim tried to force a word out, but no noise came out. He hardly even opened his mouth. What he meant to say was “Excuse me, what’s going on?” The nurse’s back was turned to Jim, but at the precise moment that Jim asked the question in his mind, the figure’s head tilted up as if spoken to.
The nurse’s head turned a little more, in a deliberately slow turn. Jim tried to focus his eyes even harder. Finally he squeezed his eyes shut and blinked a few times. When he did, all the fears that he never realized he felt came to life before his eyes.

The tall nurse had now turned so that he was facing Jim. The feet were shoulder-width apart, hands at both sides. The body had a thick, muscular chest and rounded shoulders. The nurse raised a hand to remove the hairnet, allowing the thick black hair to fall down upon the shoulders. Then Jim saw it. The nurse, now facing Jim and looking him square in the eyes wore a red handkerchief over his face.

The stranger slowly walked toward the foot of Jim’s bed. Jim felt the walls bend and cave in toward him as he eventually could see nothing more than the wall immediately to his right, the curtain immediately to his left, and the stranger inches from his feet.

Jim’s first instinct was to crawl back in his bed, but he was unable to move; his arms and legs were strapped in. Jim’s eyesight was completely restored now, and his eyes frantically searched the stranger’s face, trying to decipher what the stranger’s intent was. The stranger’s stare pierced through the now frail mind of Jim. Jim suddenly realized that the Stranger had no eyes, just two holes. But they did not look like empty, shadowy hollows. Rather they were pitch-black; not the absence of light, but the absences of matter altogether, like black holes.

Then the stranger spoke, in a voice strikingly lower than Jim remembered.

“Do not be afraid.”

Jim felt all of the color flush from his face, and his hands and feet were cold and clammy.

Jim frantically tried to take in his entire surrounding environment. As he became more and more conscious, he began to notice things. There was absolutely no sound. There were no people passing through the room or the hallways. There was no outside noise from the street. For all he knew, there may have been no street. The clocks did not tick. Upon further investigation, they didn’t even move. Instead of where the “12” would be, there was a “0”, and both hands pointed to it. Then Jim noticed that the screen that monitored his vital signs showed only flat lines. Jim expected his heart to race, but he noticed his heart wasn’t beating at all. Neither did his breathing increase. For that matter, he realized he hadn’t taken a breath in over three minutes. He sat perfectly still, perfectly lifeless, but somehow perfectly conscious.

“What is happening?” Jim asked. “Am I dead?”

“You are not dead. You are not alive according to your understanding of the word either. It does not work like that here.”

“Where are we?”

“We are not anywhere. We are not in space or time. We are in a dimension that your mind and body were not created to comprehend.”

“We’re in a hospital,” Jim objected.

“No. Your senses tell you that you are in a hospital, but that is because that is all that we are communicating to you. If we chose to do so, you would think you were on a desert island, a roller coaster, or sitting on a park bench. Because of your sensory limitations, we created an appropriate environment that would translate to how you view reality.”

Jim sat motionless.

The stranger bent down and pulled up a large duffle bag, and sat it on the bed beside Jim. Jim noticed something peculiar though. The bag looked less like a duffle bag and more like a body bag. How had I not noticed that earlier? Jim asked himself.

The stranger then proceeded to unzip the bag to reveal the same body that sat on the bed next to Jim only minutes (hours? days?) ago.

The body was lifeless, but there had been no decay. The complexion was pale, but still had some color in it. The body looked like the life had left it only a matter of hours ago. But that was not what caught Jim’s attention. What caught Jim’s attention was the giant bruise on the side of the head. What caught Jim’s attention was the blood-stained white tanktop.

Suddenly Jim saw his bat collide with the head.

Jim stuttered while he tried to find the appropriate words for the situation, but the stranger cut him off.

“Where did you find him? That was nearly a year ago!” Jim said.

The Stranger was silent.

Jim paused, perplexed. Then the anger and confusion in his face began to melt and form helplessness.

Jim began to weep while months of guilt flooded from the corners of his mind.

The stranger did not move.

“But, what he did to Jenny! Don’t you know what he did to Jenny?” Jim said.

“The concern is not over what you or he did, but what you are going to do now.” The stranger replied.

Jim, with tears now streaming down his face, shook his head overwhelmed in both confusion and desperation.

“Carrying around this burden has crippled you. What good are you living inside this box of guilt? It is keeping you from being a son to your parents and it will keep you from being the right husband for Jenny. What happened to Jenny cannot be undone, and she will never be the same because of it. But you have a choice. You can let go of what happened, and fulfill your obligation to Jenny. Or you can choose to die a slave to guilt.”

“But I killed that man!” Jim said. “How can I out-live that?”

“If you choose to walk away from the Plan, then you will walk away from everything.” The Stranger said.

“I don’t understand.”

“You are in a burning pickup, upside down in a ditch. The paramedics are trying to get you out right now. If you choose to follow the Plan, you will be pulled free.”

“I’m going to live?” Jim asked.

“You will live, but you will never be able to use your legs again. They were pinned in-between the seat and the dashboard, and were shattered.”

“And if I choose to walk away from all this?”

“Then the paramedics will not be successful in removing you from the burning pickup.”

“How can I be anything to Jenny if I don’t have my legs?” Jim began to protest.

“Will not the One who has chosen you for His Plan equip you for what He has called you to? The time is now, whether you walk away or choose to follow the path laid out for you. Which do you choose?” Feeling the weight of his own existence crush him, Jim knew he had to decide. He took a deep breath and could hardly see the stranger through the tears.

*
Jenny sped down rural route 6, wiping her tears with her left hand while she drove with her right. Jim was supposed to pick her up from her house hours ago, so after she had sat in her living room for an hour after Jim said he would be there, she called Jim’s house. Jim’s parents said he left home an hour ago. For the next two hours, Jenny drove up and down rural route 6, as well as any other alternative routes Jim might have taken to pick her up. She never found him. Eventually she ended up at Jim’s house, where they sat in the living room quietly until they got the phone call from the police around a quarter to nine, which sent Jenny out the door and into her car, speeding to the scene of the accident. Jim’s parents followed shortly after.

Jenny’s radio crackled: “Now we’ll go to Guy Lipstein with our traffic and weather on the hour.”

“Thanks, Mike. Authorities just released this information. The body of a white male has been discovered in the Snake River. The body has been identified as Russel Lewis. This wraps up a manhunt that has gone on for two years now. Lewis has been suspected for sexually assaulting 13 women and murdering 12 of them. Lewis was found dead with a gunshot wound to the head. Police investigators have ruled it an apparent suicide…”

Could that be the guy that did those things to me? Jenny asked herself. She never expected to get any closure on what happened, so this surprised her.

It was now nine o’clock in the evening, so she could see the blaring blue and red lights flashing. She didn’t notice how many police cars, fire trucks, or ambulances there were, but the surroundings were illuminated. She slammed her car to a stop and got out quickly.

“Oh my God, Jim!” She yelled. “Please Lord, protect my Jim!”

A tall, slim police officer turned and grabbed her by the shoulders, trying to control her.

“Jenny,” he said to her.

In a frenzy, she nodded, wiped tears, and said, “What happened?”

“He lost control on this gravel road. His car spun and rolled into this ditch.”

She tried to see past the officer, and gasped when she saw the paramedics gathered around Jim’s body. Jim was not moving, and Jenny was alarmed by the frantic manner the paramedics were moving about him.

“Is he okay? Can he breathe? Is he conscious?”

Before the policeman could answer, Jenny broke from the police officer’s grasp and ran to Jim’s side.

“Ma’am, do not touch him!” One of the paramedics ordered.

She didn’t touch him, but her eyes quickly surveyed his broken body. Blood was all over Jim’s face and shirt. His eyes were closed and he was not moving. Both of his knees were bent in an inhuman way.

The police officer moved over to Jenny and picked her up by the arm. She tried to resist, but the policeman’s firm and pacifying grasp convinced her otherwise.

“Is he okay?” Jenny almost screamed.

“His legs are broken, and he will never walk again. But don’t worry, he made the right choice.

“What?” Jenny didn’t understand what the policeman meant.

“He was going to give this to you,” the policeman said, as he held out a small, white box.

Confused, Jenny opened it. Shimmering inside the box, as radiant red and blue lights bounced off it, sat a diamond ring. What once was sobbing tears now burst into hysteria as Jenny fell to the ground.

The policeman leaned over and placed his hand on her shoulder.

“He will be with you, Jenny.”

“How do you know that?” Jenny asked.

“Because he chose you,” the officer said.. The officer untied a red handkerchief from around his neck and handed it to Jenny. She held it in her hand and wiped her eyes with it. Strangely, she knew it would be all right. She didn’t know how or why, but she just knew.