A HEALTHY AMOUNT of fear kept you alert and breathing in the streets. This was different. This was a fear of being carved up like a Tribal Totem pole. The crime scene photos Reuben showed him days ago, at the diner, leavened Reg’s apprehension. It also didn’t help that he knew Fare would probably drink his blood. Approaching footsteps added shudder icing, atop his growing anxiety cake.
{Told you he wasn't going anywhere. We tied him up good.}
"Yeah, Jeremy, you told me. Now, let me—”
{I’m going to have a little fun with this one first. In fact, until it’s time for you to do your thing, Johnnie boy, I’ll take over.}
Something happened to Him. Something that in all the time of Jeremy being around, never happened before. Him felt a floaty, dreamy sensation, and then his soul was sucked into a vacuum of darkness. He didn’t have control anymore.
{Jeremy, what’s happening?}
"Quiet, retard. I don’t need you bothering me in my head, while I am trying to have some fun with ..." Jeremy held up Reg's ID from his wallet. "… Detective Reginald T. Williams. So, you ain’t just a regular flatfoot?"
This is not right. Him is supposed to be out. Jeremy is supposed to be in.
As if possessed, Johnathan’s left arm flailed through the air, threatening to topple him over.
"Hey, mental midget, did I do this to you when I was inside? Calm down, or I’ll leave you in there to stay.”
Transposed Johnathan’s left arm dropped to his side. Him was still freaked out, but did not want to risk being left inside.
{I don't understand, Jeremy. How did I get in here, and you out there? I didn’t know you could do that.}
"Johnnie boy, I swear, if you say one more word, you will never get out again.”
Him did not speak, because if that happened, it would be one more word.
What in the name of the exorcism of Emily Rose is going on? Was Reg hearing what he thought? Jeremy is back? He isn’t supposed to show up for another month.
According to Dr. Whitfield, Jeremy was the aggressor. He had been gaining leverage as time passed. So much so, she used an experimental drug to nullify his influence.
Reg was fairly confident he could talk Him down with promises of no cages. The fact that Dr. Whitfield was still alive was the ace up his sleeve. Jeremy being there, and apparently in charge, put a new shade of lipstick on his dilemma pig.
“She's a looker,” Jeremy said, slobbering over a picture of Carol in Reg’s wallet.
“Listen, Jeremy—" Reg started.
"You know who I am? Good. I would hate to have to play bumbling idiot to fool you."
The shrill in Jeremy’s voice raked through Reg’s pounding headache. It wasn’t nails on a chalkboard, but close.
"We can come to a mutual understanding. You haven’t hurt me yet, and as for the others you have hurt—"
Jeremy sneered, baring his teeth. He grabbed the rope connecting Reg’s ankles to his wrists, and twisted him onto his stomach. He lifted him away from the table and let go.
Reg’s upper chest and face met the rock floor like a new neighbor. He teetered briefly, and came to rest right side down, facing his captor. In the seconds it took for the magnitude of Fare’s strength to register, a boot to his gut rocked him back against the base of the stone slab.
“OOOMPF!” Spittle, and all the air he had ever breathed, jettisoned from his lungs.
"Pee Wee Herman has retreated to his playhouse. You’re dealing with Jeremy now.”
Reg saw the Lugz boot accelerating toward his forehead at a hundred-miles-per-hour, then blackness.