The Beast of 1977 (Book 1) Chapter 12

Mr. Mercer drove down the road at a steady pace while conversing back and forth with Deacon
Hawthorne who was seated in the front while Lynnette, Isaac and Isaiah were all packed in the back
seat of the car. The deacon's bald, light skinned head bobbed up and down, agreeing with just about
everything that Mr. Mercer was mentioning about the book of Galatians, while Isaac kept his attention
solely at the passing scenery outside his window.

He had hardly said a single word ever since leaving church earlier; he didn't even acknowledge his own
son when he reached out for him to be picked up into his arms. Isaac's head was elsewhere that
cloudy afternoon.

Light flurries rained down from the sky, making it look like a complete whiteout, even though not one
flake seemed to be sticking to the ground. With every building that passed, Isaac's stomach growled
even more loud and irate.

"Uh oh," Deacon Hawthorne said, "sounds like someone didn't eat breakfast this morning."

"That boy always eats breakfast." Mr. Mercer giggled. "I can't imagine why he would be so hungry
now."

Isaac could tell that his menacing silence was causing a bitter chill in the backseat. Even though he
didn't want to look at her, Isaac could feel Lynnette's eyes pierce his flesh.

"Pastor Mercer," Lynnette all of the suddenly called out.

"Yes, ma'am," Mr. Mercer replied.

"Your son here told me a very interesting story about you the other night."

As if someone had clocked him over the head, Isaac awoke from his deep spell and stared peculiarly at
Lynnette.



"He told me that you once were a pimp and a drug dealer before you became a pastor."

"Oh, did he now?" Mr. Mercer amazingly smiled.

"Yes, sir. Is it true? Because I'm having a very hard time believing that one myself."

"Yes, my dear, it's very true." Mr. Mercer appeared amused. "That was way back when Satan had his
claws all over me. I was into a lot of mess back then. Then I met Mrs. Mercer, and well...let's just say
that the Lord brings us special people to save our lives. And Isaac's mama was a very special person
indeed."

"Amen, she surely was." Deacon Hawthorne nodded.

"I see," Lynnette grinned.

"And then after all that, Isaac came along?"

"Yes...the end." Mr. Mercer laughed out loud.

Everyone inside the car, including Isaac, joined in on the chorus of laughter at the young man's
expense.

"You all are some stone-cold, jive people." Isaac smirked. "You even got my own son laughing at me."
He looked down and over at Isaiah who was grinning from ear to ear in his winter coat that had the
hood down above his forehead.

"You know we're only foolin' with you, son." Mr. Mercer calmed down. "You're alright with me. But we'd
better get some gas or else we won't make it to Don's at all.

As Mr. Mercer pulled into the Texaco station, little Isaiah chimed along with the ringing that the black,
rubber hose made when the car rolled into the lot.



"Was that the baby doing that, too?" Deacon Hawthorne smiled as he looked at the child.

"Yes, sir," Lynnette replied. "He always does that every time we stop at the filling station. I think it's his
favorite sound in the whole wide world."

"I'll pump for you, dad." Isaac said while zipping up his coat.

"Okay then." Mr. Mercer complied as he reached into his pocket, pulled out his wallet and handed Isaac
a ten dollar bill." Go ahead and fill it up."

Isaac took the money and got out. As he marched his way into the blowing fury that was flying flurries
towards the tiny cashier's hut, a homeless man, smoking a cigarette caught his attention. For some odd
reason Isaac couldn't seem to take his eyes off of the man; it was like he was familiar with him. It was
by sheer luck that he didn't bump into anyone along the way.

Isaac continued to walk before a face inexplicably flashed before his eyes. It was the face of a man, a
light-skinned, young man that resembled an old, childhood friend. In his mouth he wanted to say a
name, but his jaws seemed to be completely immobile.

"Hey, man, watch it!" A large black man warned as he and Isaac bumped into one another.

Isaac regained his senses and resumed his journey once more to the line where five other people were
already standing, who instead of wanting to buy gasoline, only desired to purchase cartons and packs
of cigarettes. Isaac, too, longed for a smoke, but at least he could wait until he got home.

Right in front of him was a young woman. She stood only a few inches shorter than Isaac. The lady
was wearing an autumn orange and brown knit hat, a long, black leather coat that reached her knees
and a pair of long, black leather boots.



Her long dreadlocks that sprouted from underneath her hat were yet another thing that snatched
Isaac's already blundering attention for the day.

He waited behind the woman as she whispered at the clerk. Isaac impatiently rolled his eyes, thinking
she too was in line for smokes. The very instant the woman made her purchase she turned and
eyeballed Isaac. Isaac looked back at the woman before nearly falling to the ground in devastating fear.
She as well stopped dead in her tracks, as if someone had pointed a gun at her head.

Their bright, amber eyes stared into each other's fear-stricken faces. Nothing or no one could tear them
apart from the other at that breathtaking moment; they were locked like two finely tuned targets.

"You're up next, Amigo." The cashier announced.

Isaac jumped back into the world and skittishly stepped forward to the counter while keeping his eyes
on the woman who was racing back to her green Monte Carlo that was parked in the lot.

Forgetting why he even got out of his father's car to begin with, Isaac tore himself away from the
counter and stormed back to the lot to watch the woman's vehicle rip out of the station and onto the
road.

He caught a mere glimpse of the license plate county name before racing back to his dad's car and
jumping in.

"Did you pump already?" Mr. Mercer asked.

Sweating and breathing as if he had been running for miles, Isaac responded, "Uh...no, sir. They just
shut down the pumps for a while. We gotta go to another station."

Sighing, Mr. Mercer said, "Well, we'd better hurry and find another station soon, or else we'll be pushing
this old car home."



Ignoring every person inside the vehicle, Isaac held on to his door's handle as tight as he could.

He would have given just about anything in the world at that second just to see the bright green Monte
Carlo one more time; even if it meant giving his own life in the process.


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