Chapter 2

At 7:30 am, I was already positioned by the intersection where Jeremiah was supposedly to pass. I had my bike with me and a few tools to loosen some of its screws, making sure it would end up totaled after my performance later.

From this part of the road, you could see no houses in sight, and there was only a stretch of woods by the sidelines.

A few cars had already passed, but I knew exactly what kind of car Jeremiah owned so I remained alert for any oncoming vehicle.

Finally, when my watch ticked to 7:47, a car with the plate number JMR4890 appeared through my binoculars about 30 yards away.

Quickly slipping the binoculars in my pack, I made the motion to mount my bike. I rode it a few paces in the middle of the road’s intersection before collapsing on the asphalt ground.

I acted as though I were hurt, rolling on my back a little and groaning. My peripheral espied Jeremiah’s car slow down to a stop a few feet away from me as I writhed on the ground.

“Ouch! My knee just got scraped,” I murmured as his car door slammed shut.

“Hey lady, are you okay?” a very large, grizzly-looking man asked me.

I sat up slowly as he came closer to me. “Yeah. I think so?” My gaze shifted to my discarded bicycle worriedly. “But I’m not so sure about my bike.”

When Jeremiah came close enough, he reached down a hand to help me up. I accepted it and his large, warm hand closed around mine and pulled me up straight. The effortless tug just proved his burly figure to be a powerful locomotive machine.

Now that I was on my full height, I could clearly see that he was two heads taller than me. I had to admit, he looked really intimidating. Somehow, he reminded me of a Viking, minus the huge battleaxe.

I groaned, pretending to limp on one foot just to make sure he would give me a ride out of common courtesy.

“That was new!” I cried out in a tone of dismay while gaping at the bicycle.

“You should get your knee patched up first.” Jeremiah nodded at my nonexistent injury before he stared at me, looking me up and down. “You new in town?”

“Yes, I just got here yesterday for vacation. I wanted to see Sylvan’s famous scenery.” I shrugged, limping toward my bike. “Do you know any repair shop I could take my bike to?”

He flashed me a lopsided grin which was partially hidden underneath the bushes of his manly facial hair. “You’re in luck woman! I was just about to head to work.”

I pretended to be confused. “Umm… so?”

“I work as a mechanic at the Clarkson’s Garage. I’m headed there now.” He jerked his head toward the car. “Get inside. I’ll get your bike in.”

With a tone of uneasiness and mild suspicion, I told him, “It’s not that I’m not grateful but I don’t exactly know you. You may be a serial killer for all I know.”

Jeremiah’s sudden burst laughter boomed across the empty crossroad. “Oh, I like you woman. You’ve got humor! But if you don’t want to remain stranded here, you might as well get inside while I’m still feeling generous.”

I then shrugged at him but complied nonetheless. “Okay then.”

Everything was working smoothly so far. I was already seated in the shotgun whilst he drove us to his workplace. He hadn’t introduced himself yet, so I tried to make a casual conversation.

"So you're a mechanic?"

"Yeah. Been working for the Clarksons for five years now," he answered smoothly whilst driving.

Roman Clarkson was his friend and boss. Two years ago, he was working for Clarkson Sr. prior to the old man's retirement.

I did some minor observation on the route he took, his character from our initial encounter and the interior of his car.

Based on how fast he was driving, I gathered he was the reckless type. The inside of his car reeked of nicotine which meant he was a smoker. He sported an unkempt beard, there was a small scar across his upper right brow, and his hair was a mass of messy brown. He looks like a lazy one to me.

Through the mirror of his car, I spotted a few boxes and random things stuffed in the back. I think I saw some running shoes there, a football and a helmet. He's into sports, just like what his background info told me. He used to be a football blocker during college, and had a knack of tackling down pass receivers.

Jeremiah also wore a jacket with the logo of the Clarkson's Garage, but his jeans were those type that had tattered holes in them and he just wore a pair of slippers with a trace of grime on its soles.

I sat back in my seat, committing everything to memory and before I knew it, we had arrived at Clarkson’s Garage in the span of six minutes.

Jeremiah had been nice enough to carry my bike inside to fix it while I followed him with a limp. I surveyed the place casually and took note of how large the shop was.

There were loud mechanical click-clacks, some weird searing and metal-to-metal scraping noises as the other employees fixed some vehicles.

In one area, Jeremiah placed my bike and told me to wait there for a few minutes so he could log himself in for the shift.

I sat on one of the old chairs which had been made of wood. Inside the place, there were a lot of thingamabobs, spare parts and equipment that I had no idea how to use.

Once Jeremiah returned, he had brought with him a first aid kit so that I could patch myself up while he did his job. We worked in silence; me pretending to clean some nonexistent injury and him trying to fix my tampered bike. At some point, Jeremiah had taken off his jacket, revealing to me his large biceps and triceps.

There was a tattoo along his arms which disappeared into his sleeveless shirt. I thought I saw a few letters there as he moved about but I couldn’t see it clearly from where I sat.

What the man lacked for grace and proper hygiene, he made up for his practical skills.

I had made sure that there were more than a few screws loose on that bike, but I guess he was the professional in that area when he fixed it in four minutes flat. Reckless but efficient.

We discussed the payment over the counter because I only had a credit card with me. I also wanted to snoop around a little to look for Samantha’s other friend.

Where in the world is he?

We were standing in the front office of the Clarkson’s Garage where an elderly man was sliding my credit card for my bill. He slid it back across the counter after settling the transaction and receipt.

Jeremiah had been leaning against the counter on one arm so he was the nearest and took the card so he could pass it to me. “Here’s your credit card, lady.”

“Thank you.” I gave him a grateful smile after slipping my credit card back to my pocket. “I'm really glad you helped me fix my bike and gave me a ride.”

He raised one bushy brow at me. “How about the part that I gave you a med kit?”

“Yes, and that too.” I nodded even though I wanted to flick his forehead. “Thank you.” I leaned forward as though trying to take a closer look at his name woven into his jacket. His chest was at my eye level so it wasn't that hard. “Jeremiah?”

He huffed like a bull. “Everybody calls me Jerry around here.”

“But I’m not from around here, am I?” I pointed out.

“It wouldn’t hurt anyone if you called me the same.”

Again, I gave him a smile. “Thanks Jerry.”

“Just doing my everyday job. Sweeping damsels of their feet and giving them a fancy ride on my noble steed.” He shrugged off, making me shake my head at his sarcastic sense of humor.

First contact on Jeremiah Rodgers established. Check.

Now, I just needed to look for that Roman Clarkson.

“Can I use your restroom?” I asked, looking around.

“No prob, Milady.”

My entire body tensed up. “W-what?”

Jerry rolled his eyes upon seeing my shocked reaction. “I’m no serial killer, Milady. I just found your name on your credit card,” he explained like it was so obvious.

Shoot! I hadn’t thought of that.

My credit card had my name on it, written in bold capital letters.

Darn it! So much for fake names. I had a good one in mind too.

“All this time I’ve been calling you lady and coincidentally, your name is Mi-lady.” He chuckled to himself at the word play.

“Yeah. Yeah.” I shook my head laughing along with him. “So, the restroom?”

“It’s in the back. Turn right and it’s the third door on the left side. You’ll know it when you smell it. ”

“Are you serious?” I asked him in disbelief.

“No. Of course not.” He rolled his eyes again, but I swore I saw his lips twitching into a smile. “Can’t you take a joke woman? Now scram. I gotta get back to work.” Jerry started walking away and waved a hand behind him. “See you around.”

Well, that went astonishingly well for our first encounter.

I then turned to the old man at the counter, smiling. "Hello sir."

The old gent looked mildly surprised at my attempt to engage in a conversation with him.

"Why hello there, young lass. What may I do for you?" he asked in his kind old voice, his own smile reaching his eyes.

What a pleasant old man...

"I was just hoping where I can find the owner of this garage? I'd like to speak with him. I am in dire need of his assistance."

The old man chuckled, shaking his head at me. "A lot of women here in Sylvan are in dire need of his attention miss. You'll have to get in line."

I blinked rapidly, not expecting that response. "Oh, I didn't mean it that way. You have me misunderstood sir."

"Yes, yes, young miss." He waved me a hand dismissively. "Everybody says that when they come here looking for him. He's a handsome man, he is. And a smart one too. But he ain't ever had any girls. I've been here since he was a boy, I can tell you that."

"Alright..." I trailed off, "but may I speak with him?" I glanced at his tag and added, "Mr. Rusco?"

He gestured a hand toward the corridors. "Yes, of course. Just good luck finding him. His father is overprotective of him. He is the only son after all."

"I see. Thank you."

Turning on my heel, I walked along the corridors of the shop and tried searching for my next subject door-after-door.

Where is that Roman Clarkson hiding anyway?

Finally, when I turned to another corridor, I heard muffled angry voices behind one door.

I went closer to inspect it.

“…know it.”

“But… shop. When the… Sylvan.”

“... into the woods.”

I couldn’t hear everything clearly. For the life of me, I wished I’d brought a bugging device, a stethoscope or at least a funnel or a plastic cup so that I could prop it along the wooden door to hear them better. As a last resort, I glued my ear tightly against the door.

“...me. Yes… you’re right… everything we worked hard…”

“...more important… What are… my son… Don’t…”

While I was too busy eavesdropping on the unknown quarrelers, someone cleared their throat from behind me causing me to jump literally.

“Gosh! You scared me.” My whole body was flushed against the door as I inspected the man who had just caught me snooping around red-handed.

Roman Clarkson, whom I recognized in an instant, had almond-shaped deep brown eyes and jet black hair. He stood just a feet away, wearing a denim jacket, a simple white shirt and loose jeans. His face was unreadable.

“I was looking for the restroom,” I quickly lied. But then, that didn’t explain the fact that I was eavesdropping… “And then, I heard loud voices from this door, so my curiosity got the best of me.”

Roman’s expression remained neutral and calm while his wise brown eyes surveyed me. He moved closer, trapping me in place.

At other times, I would never allow myself to be cornered, but he was looking at me in a very strange manner that I had no idea how to properly respond.

Darn it! He could at least gimme some facial expression I can gauge.

I didn’t notice I had been holding my breath until the door behind me suddenly opened, causing me to fall backwards as it did. As a knee-jerk reaction, I reached forward and grabbed into Roman’s jacket, taking him down with me.

“Oomph!” We both landed on the hard ground, my breathed knocked out of my body by his heavy weight.

When I opened my eyes, I found Roman’s handsome face inches away from mine. His face was so close, so cold, and empty. It’s as if he hadn’t been affected by the fall.

Belatedly, I realized that his large hand was nestling the back of my head. His hand had protected me from the impact.

“What do we have here?” a familiar dark growl snapped us both to attention. Together, we turned to the direction of the voice.

Uh-oh! I knew exactly who's growl that was.