“I’ll tell ya what happened, son. You ran smack dab center of a damn deer. That’s what. Blew it to bits is what you did. Lucky you’re still alive. How fast were you even going, son? Pretty damn fast by the looks of it.”
With his hand still covering his face to block out the light, Greg glanced at the dark figure looming over him again. As the features came into view, he realized this man was dressed in blue. A gun hung holstered at the hip, and a pair of handcuffs were clipped on the others side of his belt.
Shit, just what I need, Greg thought, rolling his eyes. The five-o.
Then Greg realized it was still pitch-black all around him. It was the stupid cop’s flashlight shining in his face. The rain looked as if it had stopped for the most part. He wasn’t sure how long he had been knocked out, but it couldn’t have been long. He tried to stand, but his footing wavered.
“Hold still, son. How many fingers am I holdin’ up?”
“I don’t know, man.” Greg winced. “Your flashlight is shining right in my face.”
“Oh, well shucks. My apologies, mister.” The patrolman suddenly sounded a lot more docile. Younger.
The bright light lowered to the ground at his side. Greg looked up to see the man standing over him in the grass. With a quirky little grin on his face and eyes wide, the officer held out three fingers. His blond mustache was thin and almost unnoticeable in the darkness. Greg could have sworn that the man seemed much bigger only moments ago. Looking up at him now, he surmised that this officer of the law couldn’t have been any older than his roommate back in Monroe. The young man’s hair was cut short and tight. His eyes were wide with excitement as he glared down at the injured man.
“Uhh . . . Three,” Greg muttered.
“How ‘bout now?” He clenched his fist closed.
“None?”
“That’s right,” the young officer said. “Good thing you finally started comin’ around. Had me worried for a hot minute. I ain’t never seen no dead bodies before and ain’t aimin’ to see any, any time soon. You know what I mean?”
“Yeah…I do.” Greg winced and then stood to his feet. He was feeling surprisingly more alert and after glancing at the truck again was thankful to even be alive.
He stretched, feeling his chest pop. Then he winced, remembering the possible broken ribs.
“You might want to take it slow, son,” the officer insisted. His voice changed from firm to relieved. “Thank God’s lucky stars you’re okay. Would a hated to call old Doc Minders all the way up here to Highway 165 this time a night.” The officer shined the light on the battered truck as Greg examined the dented hood. “What’s your name anyway, son?”
“Greg.” He laughed, thinking himself a bit too old to be called son by this guy. “Greg Teeter. And who you calling son? What are you, like twenty? You’re a bit on the young side to be calling me son, don’t you think?”
“No way.” The officer’s voice lit up with ecstatic zeal. “I thought I recognized you. You’re the Greg Teeter? The guitarist for The Swindlers? I love that band. When are y’all goin’ back out on tour?”
Greg sighed and rolled his eyes. Generally, he loved a good old pat on the back, but now wasn’t the time. He’d just been in a wreck and needed medical attention, and if he remembered correctly, from watching CSI and other shows like it, he wasn’t supposed to be up and walking around. The ambulance was supposed to drive up and put a neck brace on him or something. With wrecks like this, there was a chance of spinal damage.
“Yeah, man, that’s me.” Trying to get back to the situation at hand, Greg let the musician talk slide. “Is an ambulance supposed to be on the way here or something?” He looked down the winding street and didn’t see any flashing lights, other than that of the parked patrol car a little ways up the road.
“You mean, old Doc Minders?” The officer stepped forward, standing next to Greg beside the totaled Ford Ranger. “I’m gonna have to make a call in and let him know to be expectin’ company. Grayson’s a small town. We ain’t got no fancy ambulances or nothin’. Hell, the doc’s probably asleep at this hour. Shouldn’t have no problem gettin’ him to give you a once over at his office. Just got to wake him up, is all.”
Grayson? Where the hell is that? I can’t be much farther from home.
He shrugged in disgust at the damage done by that stupid deer. There was no question about it. The truck was totaled. What sucked even more than that was his lack of savings in the bank. There was no way he could afford a new set of wheels right now.
“My name’s Teddy, Teddy Walters.” Teddy reached out to shake hands with Greg.
The way his eyes were glazed over and his awkward stance was something Greg has seen more than a dozen times in his short stent of shows on the road. This cop was enamored with Greg. Probably thought he was some big shot rock-star. His grin grew from ear to ear, spreading the blond mustache even thinner than it already was.
“You know that song you guys wrote, Killer Clowns in my Living room?” Teddy smiled eagerly. He shined the flashlight up onto the truck’s windshield. “I love that song. That’s got to be one of my all-time favorites. I tell ya what.”
Greg nodded, not wanting to speak his true thoughts. A guy as hick-town-redneck as this listing to punk was something Greg didn’t think should go together. It was a disgrace to the genre. That didn’t add up. People that were real listeners of the genre didn’t grow up to be policemen and shit like that. They were rebels. Revolutionaries. Greg kept his mouth shut as they both stood in the ditch just off the road. Still slightly in disbelief, Greg shook his head at the splintered windshield. The busted grill was covered in gore and bits of deer hair.
Then suddenly, the light from Officer Teddy’s flashlight bounced off the windshield just right. Greg jumped back and almost fell on his rear from shock.
“Wow. You all right?” Teddy asked, trying to help Greg to his feet.
As Greg took the officer’s hand, he had to do a double take of the young man.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just bumped my head pretty bad in the wreck, I guess.”
“Well, let’s get you looked at.”
“Yeah . . . let’s do that.”
Greg frowned. Maybe he hit his head worse than he thought. He wasn’t crazy, but he saw what he saw. However, the last thing he was going to do was admit it to this high school kid wearing a police uniform. Greg rubbed his eyes with his forefinger and thumb. He tried to shake the image, but couldn’t. When the light had flashed a reflective glimpse of him and Teddy in the shattered windshield, he saw something. But not just something. A thing. It was like a big slimy person or monster perched on Teddy’s shoulders. Appearing to be riding on his back. For the briefest of moments, when he saw it, it saw him too. Its eyes were like black pits.
Greg’s spine felt like paper under the weight of his hefty body. Cold chills ran up his arms and for a split second, he thought he was going to faint. He shook the image, forgetting about it as Officer Teddy Walters led him to the patrol car.
“Man, you look like you seen a ghost or somethin’.”
“No…I just need to lie down for a while. I think my mind is playing games with me.” Greg said, being assisted into the passenger seat of the cruiser.
After sliding behind the wheel and buckling up, Teddy turned off the flashing lights and turned the car around. Grayson was only a few miles off of Highway 165 and they’d be into town in no time at all. Teddy radioed in directly to the doctor about the accident, which shocked Greg. He had never heard of an officer calling in directly on a medical situation like that before. The doctor seemed a little irritated for being awakened so late, but said he could gladly meet them at his office.
“Must be a pretty small town.”
“What, Grayson?” Teddy’s inflection was high. With how high his voice got from moment to moment, Greg couldn’t help but imagine the young man was just now going through puberty. “Heck, now let me see. The sign at what would be considered town hall says somthin’ l
ike 487 people right here in Grayson, Louisiana. But if I had to guess, I’d say it’s a lot lower than that. The signs at least 20 years old and ain’t been changed once.” Teddy grinned.
“Shit man, that is small.” Greg smirked while rubbing his sore shoulder.
Not taking his eyes off the road, Teddy drove hugging the curves. It wasn’t long before they took an exit that Greg would have never taken in his entire life. Would have never considered it. The exit didn’t even show that there would be a gas station or any fast food places on the exit sign. It just showed a number; Exit 12. The rain started to fall again, but not much. As the soft beads of rain glided across the glass, Greg found himself looking out the window, still dwelling on that disturbing image he saw earlier. He fell silent. Teddy didn’t seem to mind the silence. Consumed in a one-way conversation the entire way to Dr. Minders’ office, Greg just did what he could to drown it out. With the occasional nod and grunt of acknowledgment, Greg only fueled Teddy to keep ranting along.
“. . . and they are going to flip when I tell them that the Greg Teeter road in my squad car.” He tapped softly on the dash while humming a song Greg assumed was a The Swindlers song. Might as well have been. “And come to think of it, Greg, my sister still has a Swindlers shirt in her closet. That baby blue one with the screaming face. You know, the one with the purple Mohawk?”
Wow, I haven’t seen one of those shirts in years, Greg thought.
He started to smile at the idea of getting to see it and then pushed it away. He didn’t need Teddy to see him get worked up over it. That would just cause the kid to get too excited. And the last thing Greg wanted was to be in two wrecks in one night. Instead, he shrugged it off as something more mundane.
“And if I remember right,” Teddy continued, “she got that shirt signed by everyone in the band. You guys were just startin’ out way back then. You guys gotta be pretty hot stuff by now, right? How much you think a shirt like that would go for on the EBay and what not?”
“I don’t know,” Greg said, rolling his eyes but not taking them away from the passenger window.
With all this talking, his head was starting to throb anew. He rubbed his eyes to relieve the pressure. Around them, the dark, unlit roads gave way to a very small rural area. As they passed the small homes and businesses, Greg couldn’t help but feel that he had somehow just been transported though time into an alternate dimension known as the Twilight Zone. He laughed at the thought. He hadn’t seen that show in forever. All of the buildings were very Victorian and resembled what he could only assume was something from the early 1940’s.
“Well, this here is it.” Teddy said, stopping the patrol car.
They both stepped out overlooking a small rundown home with a swaying sign that read: Physician’s Office in swirling black letters. The place looked eerie and the dark street corners gave him the creeps. Looking out at the sky, there wasn’t a single cloud. It was an image that disturbed him and gave him the chills. The moon was in full tilt, a bulky gray mass hovering over him in the sky. The rain had settled, moving on.
Greg shivered as Teddy led them up the stairs and into Dr. Minders’ office.
Chapter 3
Dr. Minders’ office was less like an office and more like a cottage home. A home that had a bed and breakfast opened to the public. When Greg and Teddy reached the porch, the door was unlocked. The young officer showed himself in without bothering to knock, ushering Greg to follow. The small wraparound porch was painted white. Greg could only assume that the paint job was new, because the other homes on either side of the so called clinic showed more wear and tear. Unlike the porch he was standing on, the others had cracked, peeling paint and boards out of place. This town was old all right. On the left side of Dr. Minders’ porch, there were two heavily wood-stained rocking chairs with a checkerboard and table between them. On the other side was a lone bench painted pure white to match the rest of the deck and house. The front door had an old-timey knocker just under the peep-hole. Below that, in a window to the left, was a sign that read Closed. The business hours were posted.
“Well, rock-star, you comin’ in or what?” Teddy waved him in. “Doc’s already here. We’re gonna get you looked at. Make sure you ain’t got no screws loose.”
“What about my truck and my stuff?” Greg asked, following him inside.
“Buck’s Truck and Tow won’t be open ‘til eight in the mornin’. No sense in callin’ him.” Teddy smiled very matter-of-fact. “We’ll worry about that after we get you looked at. Have ‘em see to your truck first thing in the mornin’.”
Greg nodded, entering the first room. He didn’t much like the idea of sticking around. The vibe he was getting from this town was pretty weird. The place made him feel like he had traveled to the past somehow. His initial instincts about the doctor’s office were right. This clinic was less of an office and more of a home. The walls were lined with health posters. ‘Don’t smoke.’ ‘Exercise more.’ ‘Alcohol and what it can do.’ The living room had been converted into the waiting area with chairs and magazines placed out. The dining area and kitchen had been blocked off and were obviously a set of makeshift offices. Down the hall, each of the doors had numbers on them. And Greg could only assume even further that each bedroom had been transformed. No longer bedrooms for the people that might have lived here long ago, the rooms were now operating rooms or nursing stations of some kind.
Teddy rang the bell at the counter.
Moments later, a small old man hobbled out of one of the rooms. Moving slow and with a limp, he favored his right side. His hair was thick and shining white in the dim light. For some reason, Greg expected the man to be wearing a white overcoat, but he wasn’t. Still dressed in pajamas and fluffy slippers, the old man adjusted his thick framed glasses as he reached the waiting room. His eyes bulged from behind the lenses. His nose was large and his chin was small. Short gray hairs clung to his small chin barely thick enough to be considered stubble.
“And you must be the young man that hit that poor ol’ deer. What a shame.” Dr. Minders said, sizing Greg up.
“Yeah,” Greg agreed, rubbing his chest. “I’m feeling pretty sore all over.”
“Ha . . . He thinks I’m referring to him.” The doctor snickered, looking to Teddy. “No, boy. Damn shame you busted up that deer. Hunting season starts soon and pickings are getting pretty slim as it is. Don’t need you passers-byers killin ‘em off before we get a crack at them. You know what I’m sayin’?”
“Oh, right,” Greg said, a little confused.
“I’m just messing with you, boy.” The old man’s face lit up and both he and Teddy chuckled in unison. “Names Gilbert Minders. But most people just calls me Doc or Gil for short. Your pick. It’s whatever suits your fancy.”
“Nice to meet you, Doc. I’m Greg Teeter. Thanks for coming in so late at night.” Greg smiled, shaking the old man’s soft hand.
“Well, let’s get you looked at, shall we?” Doc turned around making his way back down the hall.
Greg started to follow.
Then Teddy called out.
“I’m gonna call into dispatch and let them know what’s goin’ on. Have them write down that we need to call Buck’s Truck and Tow first thing tomorrow. I’ll be right back.”
Greg nodded then turned back toward the old man. The doctor suggested he take off his shirt and sit on the bed in the middle of one of the rooms. Doc began by cleaning the cut on his head. The room was small. The floor was an off-white tile and the walls were painted baby-blue. Counters and cabinets, much like what you would see in a kitchen, lined one side of the room with the bed sitting on the other side. The counter was cluttered with several boxes of latex gloves, cotton swabs and such. On the wall to the left of the bed were two posters, one each to represent both the male and female anatomy and their various working parts. Between the two posters was an elongated mirror. From where Greg sat on the bed, it reflected the entire room right back at him. The air was cool and smelled of m
othballs. The smell made Greg feel right at home. His dresser drawer back at the apartment was stuffed with those things to keep his clothes smelling fresh.
“That’s a pretty nasty cut you got.”
“Hurts like hell.” Greg winced. “Stings when you touch it.”
“Of course it does. Skin is split wide open.”
“Think I’m going to need any stitches, Doc?”
Applying gauze and taping it in place, the small old man shook his head. “No. Doesn’t look that way. You were wearing your seatbelt I take it. From what Teddy said over the CB, you really lucked out.”
“Yeah. My truck is a mess.”
“I can only imagine.” Doc smiled. “You are pretty bruised up. I can see a major difference in skin tone right here along your chest were the belt held you in your seat. That’s goin’ to be feeling sore tomorrow, but it’s not that I’m worried about. This bump on your head is pretty bad. Were you knocked out at all or dizzy at any point during or after the accident?”
Greg nodded. “Yeah. I blanked out for a little while. Felt dizzy as crap when Officer Teddy found me. How old is that kid anyway?”
“Who, Teddy?” Doc laughed, and then leaned in close dropping to a low whisper. “The boy’s only 20, and between you and me, if it weren’t for his dad being the Sheriff, he’d still be flippin’ burgers at the Burger King. That boy is wired for excitement. I assume you have noticed. I’m surprised the boy’s gun hasn’t gone off in its holster yet.”
They both laughed.
“No shit? You guys got fast food around here? I sure as hell didn’t see any when we came into town.” Greg said, changing the topic away from the comments about Officer Teddy.
“Nope. Sure don’t,” the old man said, taking out a light to check Greg’s pupillary response. Shining the light in his eyes, Doc moved the light from side to side. “Here . . . follow the light for me. Good, they aren’t dilated, so that’s a good sign. And…” he continued, putting the light back in his pocket. “No gas stations either. Unless you count the busted up pump in front of the old grocery; Phil’s Feed and Things. No one ever really used that other than fillin’ lawn mowers and such. Most people around here stick to walking. Hell, the cellphone towers don’t even reach our neck of the woods, but I guess that don’t much bother an old man like me. We got by without all that fancy nonsense when I was growing up, so why bother with it now. Most of that stuff is at least thirty miles from here in either direction off of Highway 165. The only thing this town’s got going is that new plaza. Even still . . . nothing much to see there either. Unless you want to get drunk, workout, or get ice cream. Only thing that the plaza has brought this town is headaches.” He paused for a moment, lifted a finger to the air as if a light bulb went off in his head. “They do have that new diner. Well, kind a new. Best burgers this side of Louisiana. Heck, they even do call outs on delivery if your order’s big enough.”
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