The Beast of 1977 (Book 1)

Chapter 7

Lake Logan went on for nearly eighty miles until it conjoined with Lake Erie. Isaac sat at the tip of the pier. The icy wind sliced right through his open coat and shirt and into his body like a rusty butcher knife.

His completely numb physique rocked back and forth on the ledge as though it were weightless.

The waves fiercely crashed and jostled up and down as if they were distressed or angered. Gripped strongly in the young man's right hand was a headless seagull. Its blood dripped down from out of its neck like water from a flowing faucet; being still a fresh kill.

Isaac's head hung low. His bottom lip was drooping, allowing the blood from the fowl to slowly funnel out of his gaping mouth. His eyes were slightly opened, but there was no life in them whatsoever that harsh afternoon as the brutally cold waves splashed onto both his pair of dress shoes and the bottom portion of his Sunday pants, causing them to become more damp by the minute.

Behind Isaac, in a fifty yard distance, sat a bright green 1975 Monte Carlo with its engine humming. The windows were darkly tinted to where only the clandestine individual inside could see out.

The driver sat in the flashy vehicle and calmly watched the young, spellbound man down at the pier all by himself, appearing as if he were only inches away from being swept out into the violent current that was lashing out at him.

The driver in the green car just happened to be in the perfect position to possibly rear end Isaac directly into the water. But instead, the mysterious person put the car in reverse and simply drove away.

Isaac never budged an inch, unless the wind had nudged him. His eyelids didn't blink. It was as if his body was there, but his soul had remained back at the garage, along with his two former friends.

Doctor Levin stood over his desk in his small, uncoordinated office while peering down at an x-ray of Isaac's skull and chatting over the phone with his ever so tenacious wife.

It didn't seem to bother him all too much that what he was staring at took center stage over what his wife was desperately trying to convey to him. He would catch only every other sentence that she was saying, and if she asked him to repeat what she had said he would find himself prevaricating the entire conversation right where he stood.

"I realize that, honey, but does your sister have to go to bed at eight? I have some very important colleagues stopping by tonight." Jeremiah wined while focusing his blue eyes closer in on the x-ray. "Just think what it would look like if they walked in and saw Justine sprawled out on the couch like a homeless woman."

For him, being a psychiatrist and not a medical doctor meant that he really had no idea as to what exactly he was looking at. In his eyes it was only a human skull.

"I know, Julie." He moaned. "We'll just have to take it step by step. "I'm a shrink, not a rabbi." Levin shoved aside the one x-ray and pulled another set from out of a manila folder that was already lying on his paper burdened desk.

He raised the images up to the light and closely studied all three sets. One was taken of Isaac's chest, the second of his arms and the last was of his legs and feet. He wasn't a physician, but even he could see the hateful damage that had taken place in the x-rays. Text content © NôvelDrama.Org.

All of the sudden, his wife's incessant banter over the phone had become mere gibberish within the span of three minutes.

With a dry throat, Jeremiah said, "Uh, honey, let me call you back later. I've got a patient arriving soon. I love you, too." He mumbled as he hung up the phone without taking his eyes off of the disturbing

images in front of him.