He was in no condition to drive. The pain in his head was overwhelming, and he kept hearing her words "worse then what I suffered with Steffen, It has hurt me so much more." He could not stop shaking. He had no idea where he was going or why, he had lost all track of time and distance and the pain in his head would not go away. He needed a drink but there was nothing around but woods. How far away was any town? He really needed a drink, had to stop the pain in his head stop shaking. It was hard to think with her words going on and on, repeating the hurtful things she had said to him.
He saw a dirt road off to his left and without thinking about it turned off the highway. He had driven only a short distance when a vague plan started to form. He started to drive faster and faster and when he saw the biggest tree around he drove directly toward it. The crash came shortly afterward.
Why was the pain in his head still there? He was sure hitting the tree would take care of everything, end the pain, end the shaking, end the life he was tired of. After a while he realized that he could not even do a proper job of killing himself. While he was not wearing his seatbelt the damn airbag had pinned him against the seat and he was virtually unhurt. He sat there for a long time completely disoriented not knowing what to do next, he didn't want to live but he was being denied even death.
He stumbled out of the car and back onto the highway without realizing what he was doing. The car coming toward him came to an abrupt stop. A petite redhead stepped out of the car and came toward him. "Are you all right, are you hurt?"
He looked at her with unseeing eyes and said nothing. She was not sure if she should help him but he looked so helpless, so confused she led him to her car and sat him in the passenger seat. "I'm headed to Bellingham, we're only about 10 miles out and I will take you to a hospital. They will be able to help you."
When they reached the outskirts of town he seemed to recover enough that he told her, "I will be fine just let me off at the nearest intersection and I will find my way from there."
She was hesitant but he did not seem like the kind of person you argued with and she was getting nervous about him anyway. When they reached a fairly busy intersection she stopped and he got out and started walking down the street. She watched for a minute then drove on.
Jesse walked for a little distance when he spotted an open bar and walked in. "Give me two shots of whisky and a glass of beer." When the bartender brought the drinks he quickly downed the first shot, dropped the second into the beer and drank it down quickly. Pounding on the bar he demanded another round. After two more rounds the pain in his head was, if not gone at least manageable.
The waitress came over and sat down beside him. "Mr. you should take it easy. At the rate your going we'll have to scrape you off the floor. Nothing could be so bad you have to drink like that. Your already about to fall off that barstool. Come with me and I'll lead you to a booth. It will be more comfortable at least, but you really should go home. By the way, my name is Rachel,"
Jesse looked at her, "Rachel? I don't have a home, I don't have a life. This bar is the only place I want to be at the moment."
By closing time he was already so drunk that he couldn't move, think, or care about anything he just wanted to lie in this booth and die. Rachel didn't want to turn him out into the street in that condition. She asked Phil, the bartender and owner of Palo's, to help her get him up to her apartment. She lived just a block away. Between the two of them they managed to get him settled into her spare bedroom.
The next morning Rachel woke to the sound of doors slamming and the man she had brought home last night coursing loudly enough to wake the neighbors. She ran into the kitchen to quite him down. "What is the matter with you, do you want to get me kicked out of my apartment? What are you looking for?"
"I need a drink; now! Don't you have anything in this house? My head is about to blow up and the only thing that will help is a drink. Where am I anyway, and who the hell are you?"
"You don't remember last night at Palo's. I'm Rachel, the waitress. You got so drunk you passed out and we had to carry you here. I didn't know where to take you so I brought you to my apartment. I was taking a hell of a chance bringing you here when I don't even know your name or anything about you. For all I know you could be a serial killer."
"Lady, if I were a serial killer I would have killed you by now for not having anything to drink in this damned apartment. I'm in no shape to move right now, my head is going to explode at any minute. You need to find me something right now or I will be forced to do something drastic. If it would make you feel any better my name is Jesse and I'm definitely not a serial killer, just an ordinary run of the mill contract killer. Now find me something for the pain!"
Rachel was hoping that his remark about contract killer was his way of joking, but she did hesitate for a moment. He didn't strike her as the type who made many jokes or even had a sense of humor. "Jeff is probably at Palo's by now, hang on I think I have some pills around here somewhere that you can take until I can get over there and get you something to drink. I'll be right back with a bottle of whisky and some beer. That seems to be your drink of choice."
"I don't care what you get, just get it now, and don't stop at one bottle!"
She found some old painkillers that had been prescribed to her when she had dental surgery several months ago. She gave them to him and hurried out to Palo's before he blew up again. Although he frightened her she knew she was going to let him stay as long as he needed. He was hurting so badly over something that had happened in his life, and her motherly instinct had kicked in; she just wanted to comfort him. Besides which he was the most incredibly good looking man she had even seen. She was sure his troubles could not be connected to a woman for what woman in her right mind would hurt him?