Page 27 of Monk
“You don’t like the church, do you?”
I shrug. “Let’s just say it’s God I don’t much care for. He was never around when I needed him most. Didn’t really take an active part in my life, you know?”
Gilson nods sadly, but I see the determination in his eyes. He’s definitely not going to let this go. I turn to the crowd and catch the sunlight flashing on a head of long, red hair moving among the press of bodies, and I am hit with a wave of nostalgia as my mind instantly goes back to a better time in my life. Or at least, to some better memories in what was still a shitty time in my life. I can’t help it. Even now, after all these years, whenever I see red hair, my mind always flashes right back to my memory of her. Like an involuntary reflex.
“I’d like you to come set up a time and come in to talk to me, Jake. I really—”
“I already told Cosmo I’ll set up an appointment with a counselor I used to see.”
“That’s all well and good, and I encourage you to do that. But I still want you to come spend some time talking to me.”
My eyes keep moving, looking for the red hair in the crowd. I know it’s not her. By now, she’s probably moved on, gotten married, had a brood of kids, or some shit like that. Or maybe she’s decided to forego children and is now some bigshot lawyer in New York or something. The crusading attorney, putting away all the bad guys. That sounds a lot more like her. She always did want to get out of Blue Rock and live a more exciting life, somewhere that offered more than this place, and make a difference in the world.
Gilson’s voice draws me out of my head and back to the present. And when I turn back to him, I see that he’s genuinely concerned.
“You need the Pharaohs, Jake. You need the family and fellowship they provide. Maybe more than anybody I’ve ever known. If you don’t get a handle on this anger that drives you to violence, Prophet may not have any choice but to cut you loose. And I don’t want to see that happen.”
My stomach lurches and I suddenly feel lightheaded. The idea that I can have my patch taken from me has always been in my mind, of course. But it’s always been in the abstract. It’s not something I’ve ever thought possible. We’re brothers. We share a bond. And what Gilson is telling me, that it can all be snatched from me, leaving me alone and adrift, starts to hit me like a runaway freight train.
“Call and schedule an appointment with me, Jake,” Gilson urges. “Prophet and those men love you. And they want you to get past this.”
I’m still reeling, trying to process everything he’s saying when I feel a presence to my left. Turning toward it, I expect to see one of the punks from the gas station—because that’ll certainly be the cherry on top of this shit sundae. Instead, I see a ghost that’s risen from the grave for no other reason than to taunt me… because my day hasn’t been fucked up enough as it is.
The sun turns her red locks into flames that sway gently in the breeze and makes her green eyes sparkle like chips of emerald. Her skin is so fair it seems to glow with an inner light as it always has, and the only word I can think of to describe her is… ethereal. She’s as beautiful today as the last time I saw her more than ten years ago.
She stands there looking at me with the same expression of shock on my face, but she recovers more quickly. Her expression morphs from one of surprise to that of pure rage, a snarl forming on her mouth and her face suddenly turning bright red.
As I watch her walking toward me, my heart is slamming against my ribcage and it feels like a nest of oily snakes is twisting and writhing around in my gut. My every muscle seems to have locked up and I’m rooted to my spot. All I can do is stand here like an idiot and watch her approach me, the darkness in her expression growing with every step she takes.
“You son of a bitch,” she hisses as she draws within a couple of feet.
“Young lady, there’s no need for this.”
Gilson’s voice seems very far away, and I can barely hear it. She acts like she doesn’t even hear it at all. I watch it all unfolding and know exactly what’s about to happen but seem entirely powerless to do anything to stop it. More than that, I don’t think I even want to stop it. It’s what I deserve, after all. It’s probably far less than what I do, if I’m being honest.
The sharp crack of flesh meeting flesh, loud as a gunshot, fills my ears first. A moment later, I feel the stinging in my cheek beginning to explode, and I’m fairly sure there’s a red mark now in the shape of a hand on my face. My eyes settle on hers, and the surreal feeling of the moment only gets thicker. As if shocked by what she’s done, she takes a step back and looks up at me, her eyes wide, her mouth hanging open.
“Hi, Kasey,” I say. “It’s been a while.”
Chapter Eleven
Kasey
The first thing I become aware of is the painful sting in my hand. The second thing I notice is the utter stillness and silence in the courtyard around me. It’s as if the world has suddenly decided to hold its breath. And third, the fact that Jacob Tulowisky is standing here, right in front of me, feels like the same slap in the face I have just given him.
The sound of guffawing and chortling behind me draws my attention, and I notice a group of scruffy looking bikers leaning on each other, their faces twisted with laughter. It’s then that I realize that Jacob is dressed just like them… boots, blue jeans, a flannel shirt, and a leather vest studded with patches.
Although he looks different than the last time I saw him—he’s now harder and more rugged—I can recognize those light blue, almost silver, eyes framed by that sandy blonde hair, anywhere. They haven’t lost a single iota of their intensity.
“How dare you,” I hiss.
“Young lady there is no need—”
I round on the priest, my eyes filled with fury. Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly and try to temper my rage. I’m not religious, but even I know better than to be disrespectful to a priest.
“It’s okay, Father Gilson,” Jacob says. “I deserved that.”
I turn back to him, my eyes narrow, the efforts at controlling my anger failing. Jacob just stares back at me, his gaze blank, his face devoid of any emotion whatsoever. And that complete lack of anything on his face feels like a punch to my stomach. It’s difficult to breathe, and I feel like there’s a fist in my chest, grabbing and squeezing my heart.
