Nathan's Clan of Deadheads Read online

  “Hey, where’s the schmear? You know I can’t have a bagel without cream cheese.”

  “Oh, for cryin’ out loud, Brody.” The man with the dark hair rose, went behind the counter, and returned with a small metal container but stopped short of taking his seat. “Tommy, what are you staring at?”

  “That guy over there,” the guy with the wild blond hair replied, pointing at Nathan.

  “Well stop it, it’s not polite,” the woman said, accepting the bowl and passing it down with, “here, Marvin, are you happy now?”

  Her partner, Marvin or Brody, Nathan couldn’t be sure which name the man used, leaned forward to see who Tommy indicated. “Eh, what difference does it make? It’s not like the guy knows he’s being watched.”

  “Dudes, I’m telling you, there’s somebody in there.” Tommy expressed his curiosity by peering toward Nathan.

  “All the more reason. Now stop it,” the woman chided.

  “Why would someone want to do that? Sheesh, it gave me the creeps and I didn’t even do it on purpose.” The man shivered in dramatic fashion.

  “A lot of us do it for amusement. Making the living do weird things can be quite entertaining sometimes. As long as we don’t hurt them, or do any permanent damage, I don’t see the harm in it.” The woman lifted her bagel to take a bite, and stopped to look at it. “Maybe he just wants to experience real taste again.”

  Nathan allowed a smile at that remark.

  Tommy looked across the table and started to laugh. “Oh, man, Marvin, I remember when that happened. It was hysterical, dude. Very entertaining. You looked like some nerdy guy at a nightclub trying to dance. You were all,” his arms flailed around, bumping through the guy next to him, and his laughter turned to giggles.

  “Okay, okay, hippie, we get the point,” Marvin snarled, and slathered cream cheese across one half of his bagel.

  “Oh, lighten up, Marv. Is it his fault if it strikes him funny?” his female companion asked.

  “Yeah, Brody,” the man next to Tommy agreed. “You’ve been surly all morning.”

  “It’ll strike him funny all right.” Marvin shook a balled-up fist in the air.

  “Oh, does someone need a hug? Do you need your Uncle Tommy to give you a hug this morning?” Still laughing, he rose to push his way through the table.

  Marvin laughed. “Hey, you can both eat my shorts.”

  “Marvin, is that any way to talk?” the woman asked, shoulder length auburn hair glistening as it shifted with the sudden turn of her head.

  The man next to Tommy lifted his coffee cup toward her. “He missed the Harvard class on manners, Jenna.”

  “I keep trying remedial lessons. They don’t seem to stick, Mike,” she replied.

  Tommy still stood with the table surrounding his translucent body, turned toward Nathan and started walking.

  “Where’re you going?” Mike asked.

  “Over there to talk to him,” Tommy said. “I want to ask him something.” He sat in a chair directly opposite Nathan and smiled. “How’s it going, dude?”

  Careful not to make eye contact, or provide any indication he saw or heard anything beyond the living norm, Nathan took a sip of his coffee and turned to watch Tina sort through her morning order tickets. He even made it a point to stare directly past Tommy as if he wasn’t visible at all.

  “Hello?” Tommy waved a hand in front of Nathan’s face.

  A loud crash erupted as silverware clattered to the floor amongst the shattering of plates and glasses, and Nathan flinched.

  “Oh, come on, dude, I know you’re in there.” Tommy waited another moment, then made his way back to the group. “Huh, guess he’s not the social type, but there is definitely someone in that guy.”

  “Or maybe you’re just imagining things, hippie,” Marvin taunted.

  “No, I swear, dudes. I saw a blur when Tina dropped the bus tub. Watch when he moves. You can see the hesitation. The real thing is just a tad behind.”

  “I think you’re a tad behind.” Marvin took another bite of the bagel he held in one hand.

  Moving with deliberate purpose, Nathan pulled his wallet out, peeled off a twenty and a ten, dropped them on the table, and walked out. After the skirmish in Cincinnati, it wouldn’t be good to have anyone, particularly a dead anyone, recognize him after he slipped out of Chris. That was a risk he couldn’t take.

  Chapter 14

  Upon quick consultation of Google Maps, Nathan decided the best place to shed this body and stash the truck for safekeeping would be a small park between some railroad tracks and what was labeled as the Mad River. Fairly close by, it would make walking an easy chore. Not that walking around caused the dead to tire. Well, not that he was aware of in his limited experience of negotiating the realm of the deceased outside of a host body.

  He drove across the nearest bridge, made his way to the park, and pulled the nose of the truck as far into shrubbery as possible. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d left the vehicle like this, but it still caused jitters. His previous switches had all been done near enough to West Virginia where folks didn’t worry about an old pick-up truck left at the side of the road. Heck, one could sit and rust completely away in some parts of the county, weeds and bramble overtaking the whole entire thing. What if someone here called it in as abandoned? He’d be stuck trying to sneak the damn thing out of an impound lot in the dead of night. Well, he couldn’t think of an alternative.

  Near the riverbank, yet hidden from any possible boaters and the open park, he retrieved wallet, keys, and cell phone from the various pockets he’d stashed them in, and stuffed them into his jeans. He slipped out of Chris’ body and gave a wide berth to the truck as he retraced his steps back into the city.

  Chapter 15

  After spending several days testing the lay of the land near the Wright-Patterson Air Force Base, where he figured his best chances might be for a new self, he stopped at a small bar outside the main gate. With the bartender otherwise engaged, Nathan poured himself a mug of beer from the tap. He perched on a stool nursing the drink, watching the local news on a muted television. Two uniformed Airmen from the base tossed darts at a well-worn board, a foursome hovered around a pool table, and two more argued over the rules of the shuffleboard game along the far wall.

  Nathan sat alone; not another dearly departed soul inhabited the entire place.

  The beer tasted okay to him, but it didn’t have the vibrancy he craved. It lacked intensity on the tongue without a live body. A sigh built in his chest and cut short when the news anchor shared the screen with a photo of Chris. The image swapped to a film clip of the man wandering aimlessly, courtesy of a Mindy Dawson according to the text on the screen, with a vacant stare in his eyes. Nathan scoured the bar top, located the remote stashed next to the register, reached over and turned the sound on. The news feed cut back to the studio and the anchorman.

  “The man emerged from Eastwood Park asking people who and where he was. When police questioned him, he had no form of identification, and no recollection of how he’d gotten there or where he belonged. If you have any knowledge of this man’s identity, you’re asked to please call the number for Missing and Exploited Persons, listed on your screen.”

  The bartender looked around the room with a confused expression, and muted the set. “No messing with the TV, guys. If you want the sound on, ask.” No one responded. Ignoring the No Smoking sign, he went back to his cigarette, and sipped from his own bottle of brew.

  The report continued as a street reporter stood outside a medical center interviewing Dr. Haj Hassan, or so said the printed information below his image. Nathan thought he picked out the word “fine” from the doctor’s lips that accompanied a nodding head.

  “Well, at least I know he’s okay,” Nathan mumbled, “but thank God he doesn’t remember anything.” He shrugged, swigged the last of his beer, and put down the empty mug. The barman stared, mouth agape, and then shook himself as if trying to wake up. “Sorry,” Nathan
said, more out of habit because the man couldn’t hear him anyway, and faded through the front door to continue his search.

  After a fast check on the truck, Nathan took his time and wandered to many different corners of the city over the next week, determined to get this one right. But sitting at the bar in Mr. C’s restaurant, rumored to be a popular steakhouse due to the food and top-shelf liquor they stocked, he decided to forego any meal until it could be savored via a breathing, tasting person.

  Though meals of squirrel, rabbit, wild hog, and the occasional duck or goose served up at the compound at home were supplemented by steaks (sometimes purchased along with the necessary dry goods) nothing compared to a top-notch chef creating magic. From the aroma wafting from the kitchen, this place firmly hit the top ten on Nathan’s list of places to try.

  The second segment of the noon news telecast opened with a wide shot of the anchor and Stacey in make-up, a wig coiffed to perfection. “In a follow-up to one of last week’s stories on the plight of an apparent amnesia patient, we have an exclusive interview with Stacey Grimes.” The anchorwoman swiveled her chair. “You say you met this man several days ago and he introduced himself with the name Nathaniel?”

  “Oh, yes. Nathaniel Ray Crockett. Nathan. He said some folks call him Nate.”

  “Oh, shit!” Nathan choked on a sip of beer, and looked around to see if anyone noticed the reaction.

  “And he seemed perfectly fine at the time?”

  “My, yes. Isn’t it just awful, him found wandering around like that? I can’t imagine what might’ve happened. He was so kind, so polite—called me ma’am and everything. He took me to dinner and then we…” Stacey visibly blushed with a demure expression, and changed tracks mid-station. “Well, that would be a bit TMI, wouldn’t it?”

  The newswoman didn’t skip a beat. “Can you supply any other information about him. Did he tell you where he was from?”

  “No, not that I can remember. Only, he spoke with a bit of an accent.”

  “Foreign?” the newswoman interjected.

  “No, no. Southern.”

  The camera changed view to zoom in on the news anchor. “Anyone having additional information that might assist Mr. Crockett should call the number at the bottom of the screen.” She turned and the camera shot widened to include her guest. “Stacey, thank you for your help. I know his friends and relatives will be relieved.”

  “Oh, I sure hope so. You’re very welcome.”

  The report made Nathan consider upping the ante on the timeline, but also gave him pause. It brought a situation to light Nathan had never considered. His name was out there and connected to someone. How soon could he introduce an entirely different face with the same name? Maybe he needed to lie low for another few days. It didn’t mean he couldn’t look, and perhaps even decide on someone. The other issue that sprang to mind: the truck plates could be traced to that name. As he considered how to handle the situation, like remove the plates and bury them under a rock or next to a tree, familiar-sounding voices behind him jumped into a conversation.

  “Did you see that?” Tommy asked.

  Mike followed a finger pointing to the television. “See what?”

  “The guy on that report?”

  “What about it?”

  “Dude, that was the guy in Epstein’s. I’m sure of it,” Tommy insisted.

  “So?”

  “Come on, Mike, that means the deadhead is somewhere out in the city.”

  “Good for him. Now, finish your soda so we can―”

  “But, that means he was in there a long time. That’s more than messing with people. You think we should tell Jenna, or maybe Nancy?” Tommy’s voice carried a serious tone.

  Nathan considered asking what this Tommy meant about the two women, but fear of possible discovery kept him from turning around. The southern dialect may have diminished while he inhabited Chris, but in phantom form it bellowed like a cow giving birth. Maybe that wouldn’t be enough to arouse suspicion, but if they tried to ask for a name, well, sir, that could be a might tricky. Maybe he could use Zakariah’s name. But maybe…

  “I think we should get to the theater before we miss the beginning of the movie.”

  “Aw, Marvin, you do look out for your Uncle Tommy, don’t you. I think someone deserves a hug for that.”

  “I’ll give you a hug, hippie.” Marvin said in mock threat.

  Thankfully, the voices receded and saved Nathan any further immediate angst.

  Chapter 16

  Jenna escaped the tedium of Marvin’s attitude, and spent the bulk of the day following her need to rescue victims of violence. Not more than two miles from Epstein’s, right after leaving the “boys,” as she liked to refer to them, a young girl struggled to keep from being pushed into a van.

  She slid into the teen, pulled the knapsack from the girl’s back and swung in a roundhouse. It knocked her assailant off balance and she ran. Several blocks away, she slowed to a walk, digging into the girl’s memory to figure out where she belonged. Not home. She’d left there months ago. She lived in an encampment under the bridge, next to Eastwood Park, with a contingent of homeless youths. Jenna contemplated taking her back to her parents, but knew that rarely worked. The majority of children simply returned to the streets.

  The increase in domestic violence stunned her. How much of an impact did the poor economy play into the situation? Couples, young and middle-aged trapped, mired in mountains of debt, barely holding on; older ones falling into the too old to hire, too young to retire gap; the elderly who rose to the dead plane from a suicide pact saying, “We wanted to leave the children something besides a pile of debt.”

  Her mind turned to the youngest of victims, the children too young to be left to their own devices, to fight for a place of survival in the world. The weight of it made her ache, like struggling to get from under the whole of Mt. Everest. They were the toughest to deal with; where to take them, what to do with them. Certainly not to any Child Protective Services, where they’d end up in foster care. That was a life she knew all too well. Not that all foster families treated their charges like personal servants. But her own experience turned her against that option.

  Finding no signs of drugs in the young girl, Jenna walked to the encampment, sat on a rock at the water’s edge, and slipped out. She watched the girl for a while, her mind seeking a way to help these children who ran from abuse, molestation, and neglect, or all three. Kids who listened to their parents argue and fret, because one less mouth to feed might be of help, kids who thought the streets their only refuge.

  Jenna’s ears picked up on piercing screams of pain and fright. They were close. Where? Anger pushed her stature above the trees as she scoured her surroundings. She moved to the south end of the park. The sounds emanated from an interior glade hidden in the trees, the one she knew Jason had used to regain his strength after a particularly difficult take.

  A gaggle of teenagers surrounded a young man. His face bloodied, pants torn to reveal scraped knees, jacket covered in dirt and leaves, his chest heaved to breathe. He managed to get up and, wearily but steadily, turning in a tight circle, faced his attackers.

  “Come on, faggot. Show us what you got.”

  “Yeah, come on, cocksucker.”

  “What do you want from me?” Tears spilled down his face.

  “We’re gonna teach you a lesson. We don’t like queers in our park.”

  “I didn’t—”

  Three of the gang lunged at him. They shoved him in a sadistic round robin. He hit the ground face first, and the cartilage in his nose crunched. Two grabbed his pants and yanked them down to his ankles. The young man tried to stand and stumbled to the ground. Kicks to his torso and groin landed, and landed again as hateful epithets of disgust flew about the clearing. Chants of encouragement and suggestions of torture from the surrounding tormentors increased.

  For the first time in her dead life Jenna stood helpless. Her mind whirled until she gave up on a plan an
d dove into the fracas. Her punches swung through the attackers. She needed to slow them, check them. An “oof” expelled from one of the boys, and she spread a grim, determined smile across her lips. Her kicks landed in groins, fists grabbed at them and squeezed. Their screams of pain increased her determination. When those three scrambled out of her reach and ran for the parking lot, she turned to face the rest of the group.

  They stood with confused expressions. “What the fuck?”

  “Hey! Where’re you going?”

  “I’ll finish this fucker off.” One volunteered and took a step.

  Jenna launched herself to protect the young man lying on the ground. “You aren’t finishing anything, you little shithead.” She raised her fist and swung. It raked through an arm. The surprised yelp halted further punches. Astonished, she leaned in for a closer look. “A girl?” Is this really what being a kid had become?

  The girl’s eyes grew wide as a hand rose to her face. “A rock? Did you just throw a rock at me?” She looked down at the boy on the ground with hatred.

  For as much as she didn’t want to, Jenna’s balled-up fist pounded into her stomach as the girl dove at the still figure on the ground. The girl’s left knee slammed into a jagged rock and she screamed out. The remaining kids turned and ran.

  “Want some more? Come on, I’ll play your game. You little assholes think you can go around bullying.” Jenna threw a kick into her side. “Come on, bully me.”

  Jenna stood over her waiting for even the slightest move toward the victim. Instead, the girl stood and limped off to follow her friends to the parking lot. A soft groan drew Jenna’s attention. With arms encircling his chest, the boy pulled knees to stomach, and silent sobs wracked his torso. Leaves crunched beneath his rocking motion, and gave up the aroma of their death.