Chapter 42

"Time to wake up," a man's loud voice bellowed outside the dumpster in which Jeremiah was still lying
cold inside.

The man struggled to awaken himself from the harsh slumber in which he had been trapped. He could
hear the man outside repeat his four words over and over again, but for the life of him Jeremiah
couldn't figure out just who he could have been speaking to. All of the sudden, a blasting knock at the
dumpster caused Jeremiah to jump so violently that he hit the top of his head on the dumpster's steel
lid.

"Who's in there?" An old, dingy looking, bearded black man opened the lid.

The sunlight rushed right inside the dumpster to where Jeremiah had to shield his eyes. The man then
attempted to get up only to remember the effects of the beating he endured. Immediately he slumped
back down into the pile of filth.

"Man, what are you doin' in there?" The old man looked confused. "Are you drunk or somethin'?"

Rubbing his aching jaw, Jeremiah once more tried to sit up until his hands reached the rim of the cold
dumpster. "What...what day is it?" He slurred.

"It's Halloween, man. Where you been?" the old man snickered.

"In the fucking trash can, there's where." Jeremiah cantankerously griped as he climbed up and out of
the dumpster, holding his sore ribs as tight as he could.

The second his feet hit the hard pavement he staggered backwards into the dumpster scaring
numerous cats away in the process.

"Who were you yelling at a moment ago?" Jeremiah asked.



"Oh, I was just waking up my buddies around here." He pointed at the scurrying felines. "On chilly
mornings like these they tend to oversleep. They usually hide out in these here dumpsters, too."

Jeremiah's face and body felt like someone had beaten him repeatedly with baseball bats. He wrapped
his jacket around his body as tightly as he could before limping away from the dumpster and old man.

"It's time to wake up, friend!" The homeless man shouted.

Jeremiah paused and glanced behind him at the man who was steadily waving back at him. Even
without his glasses he could see the fellow as clear as if he were standing directly in front of him. Such
a thing hadn't occurred since he was a child.

Jeremiah turned and resumed his brooding march out of the alley and around the corner to the bar's
empty parking lot, empty, save for his own car that was, much to his shock, still parked in its original
spot. Without even going for his keys Jeremiah opened the driver's side door and got in. The second
he shut the door he sat perfectly still inside the frigid vehicle and rested his painful body in the seat.
What was going through his head was a tidal wave of everything horrific, and unexpectedly serene.
With such vivid precision he recalled the event back at his apartment, as well as the faces at the bar.
But then there was the old man in the alley.

Jeremiah sat and sulked while shivering inside his body. He dropped his head and closed his eyes in
an attempt to drown out any emotion, but it was completely useless; there was entirely too much quiet,
and all the quiet seemed to do was remind him of what he had survived up until then. Jeremiah then
lifted his head back up and looked right into the rearview mirror at his busted up face. A large bleeding
cut above his right eyebrow, a broken nose and a split lip which revealed a missing tooth behind it. By
then, the sore ribs were a secondary matter.

He dropped his head and took in a deep breath before gazing all around his car until his eyes
connected with his books that were in the backseat. Jeremiah reached behind him and took one book.



He opened its cover and skimmed through its contents. One picture after another only caused the
man's already stinging head to throb all the harder until he simply tossed the book into the passenger's
seat. Jeremiah sat and looked out at the parking lot before glancing back at the book beside him. Then,
with as much rage as he could gather the man picked up the book and flung it to the floor.

He then reached behind him and picked up the rest of the books before taking and slamming them
against the door and seats so hard that the upholstery began tearing. One by one he angrily threw
each book to the floor before finally ceasing his tirade and leaning his head up against the window
beside him.

He exhaled as deeply as he could before pitifully whispering, "I'm so sorry, Isaac. But what could I have
done? How could I have helped you?"

Jeremiah rammed his head as hard as he could on the car's horn. He then took out his keys and
inserted them into the ignition.

"I know, mom and dad!" He yelled at the top of his lungs. "I know!"

From there, he started the vehicle and didn't even wait for it to warm up before taking off down the
road.


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