Choose Your Own Adventure with The Jerry Bennett Ch. 2
The Parish slept along with the rest of the Plaza District, nestled between the other galleries, artsy retail shops, and clever restaurant concepts like a pack of mutts piled together to survive the cold winter night. He wanted to chuckle, but remembered that there were no vocal chords left to resonate his once boisterous laugh.
He wasn’t sure if he felt cold because of the crisp morning air, or if it was the absence of true nerve endings. His sensations were all now false. Distant impression no more vivid than a rumblepack on a video game controller or the fake scents of a scratch-and-sniff book. Jerry was aware that he would be crying if he had the capability. Sorrow to joy to sorrow and back to joy. At least this made him still feel human.
Kenny’s car sidled up to the parking space next to him. Jerry felt the car’s vibrations, even smelled the exhaust. Glimmering green words appeared in his mind, identifying the car style, focusing in on Kenny’s face, pulling up his Facebook page, playing a video of a cat with a lightsaber posted on his timeline.
Kenny rose out of the car and stared at Jerry, or rather Jerry’s truck. Kenny ran to the Parish, tested the doors, then cupped his hands on the windows so he could look within. Kenny unlocked the doors, then looked around the Plaza District.
“Jerry!” Kenny shouted as if calling a stray dog in the woods.
Kenny walked to the modest white pickup truck and placed his hand on the hood to feel the warmth of the engine. He scanned the Plaza District again, pulled out his phone and punched in a number.
“Hey, Jerry’s truck is outside the church,” Kenny said into the phone. Jerry thought he could faintly hear his wife’s voice on the other side of the line.
“Yeah, just sitting here,” Kenny continued. “Okay.”
Kenny lowered the phone and dropped it into his pocket. He placed his hand on the hood again.
The touch comforted Jerry.
“We’re praying for you buddy,” Kenny whispered, eyes closed. Moments passed, Kenny turned and returned to the Parish doors. Again, Jerry was left with a hopeless confusion.
Yet, somewhere deep within the machinery of his new body, he sensed grace still glowing like a candle deep within a cold, hollow mine. He wanted to move, he wanted to find answers, but he needed time to think.
But the police cruisers arrived too soon, penning Jerry inside the parking spot. A tow truck soon followed. Jerry was panicking, but fought his instinct to hop the curb and speed away.
Jerry focused on the tow truck, watching the driver fuss with the chains, lowering the towing fork, guessing at what fate the tow truck would lead him to. Examinations by detectives, maybe a scrap yard. Perhaps she would keep him around, savoring the reminder of her missing love, but perhaps it would be too much for her. Jerry couldn’t blame her.
She just as alone and terrified as Jerry. He thought of running just to run and disappear forever so she could mourn and heal.
The tow fork slide beneath Jerry and a red light flashed a warning in Jerry’s mind. Its intensity grew as the driver unhooked the cables and attached the first to Jerry’s frame.
Images appeared. Six. A truck, a plane, a cannon, a train, a submarine, and a robot. Confused, Jerry watched the images glowing in his mind, unsure of their significance. They blinked, Jerry sensed they begged a decision. Curious, Jerry chose.
Movement, fast, and throughout his body. It felt as if he was breaking at every joint, his guts twisting, a severe dizziness sweeping over him. He was off-balance, his orientation spinning. He was on his feet, stumbling, falling backwards from the tow truck, but the chain snapped tight. He fell onto a knee, gazing now out of a singular pair of eyes, looking over a metallic, angular body, the tow truck hooked to his arm. Police officers were scrambling behind their cruisers. The tow truck had been pulled up onto the curb. Jerry unhooked from the truck and stood, keeping his feet, but swaying like a drunk.
Pistols were pointed at him. Jerry rose his hands defensively. Other flashing images placed boxes over the pistols. A screen emerged, labeled “Weapons” and containing a rocket launcher, a chain gun, a sword, and what looked to be a flamethrower.
“No!” Jerry told the screen, then started at the sound of his own voice. It was electronic, clear, loud, and distinctly his. The Parish door swung open and Kenny ran out, stopping before Jerry. They stared at each other. Jerry looked to the windows of the Parish to see his own reflection. He stood nine feet tall, thick-shouldered, but still bearing his thick, grey beard and black-framed glasses, both now steel.
“Jerry?” Kenny called. Jerry looked down to the man.
“Yes,” Jerry spoke, testing his voice.
“This is impossible.”
Jerry looked to the cops, then back to his pastor.
“Tell my wife I am still here,” Jerry said, his voice faltering. “Tell her I am still alive. I don’t know what happened, but I still love her.”
Kenny’s mouth moved, but couldn’t find words.
“Pray for me,” Jerry said.
“I will.”
Jerry turned to the police officers, pistols still aimed. Sirens were approaching in the distance. He felt swarmed, the terror almost overwhelming.
WHAT DO YOU DO?
Surrender OR Run
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