Jeremiah dreamt the same dream every night. He was walking down a long hall. It never seemed to end. With each footstep he only found more brown carpet beneath him. He kept filing past doors. The numbers next to the doors started at one and gradually increased until he didn't bother to read them anymore. They were just anonymous zeros and ones, with the occasional five or eight thrown in.

At the end of the hall, he could see a door with light streaming through it. Each time he took a step it was closer, but then it seemed to move away again. Jeremiah thought it was stupid. He wished he could just stop the dream and change it, maybe try to open one of the doors he kept walking past, or turn around and go back.

Jeremiah woke with a start every morning. He looked around at his room and everything was normal-it was all the same. There was his desk-scattered with homework he had never done. There were his posters-Kiss, Van Halen, and Aerosmith. Various magazines and dirty clothes were scattered all over the floor. On the back of his door was a mini-basketball hoop left over from junior high.

He sat up, wiped the cold sweat off his face. Then he turned off his shrieking alarm clock. For the second before he got out of bed, he wavered on the thought that the dream meant something, but it vanished from his mind when he heard his mom yelling for him to wake up.

As he put his glasses on, he wondered what he had been thinking about.

He ate his usual breakfast, an English muffin with a glass of orange juice. It took him five minutes.

"Another day," he thought as he slid his feet into his sneakers. He wondered if it was Wednesday or Thursday.

"Jeremiah, you're gonna be late!!" his mom yelled. She made him angry; she said the same thing every morning. He grumbled a reply without really saying anything. It was his specialty. As he walked out the door, he zipped up his vest and grabbed his backpack.

"Jeremiah!" his mom yelled. He was halfway across the yard. What did she want now? "Jeremiah, were you raised in a barn? Close the door behind you!"

"Okay, mom. Have a good day, huh?"

"You too, honey, " she smiled.

He stopped to look at his car. It was only a pile of rust, but he loved it. Someday he'd paint it blue with red flames and hop up the engine. Maybe get a loud stereo, or headers. The important thing was that it was his car, and he could do whatever he wanted with it.

Walking to school was the best part of Jeremiah's day, especially on a morning like this. The end of summer was the perfect time of the year. Leaves were just beginning to change color, the wind blew ever so softly, and the smell of the sagebrush was incredible. He loved the desert, and the way that Rockford, an oasis of tall elm trees and quiet houses, was right in the middle of it.

As he walked, the sun glinted in and out of the tall trees overhead. He passed yard after yard of lush green grass, flower gardens, and little kids' toys. The occasional car hummed past him in disregard. He stopped at a blue house about two blocks from his own. His friend Mack was just coming out. Mack threw his backpack over the porch railing and hurdled into the yard. Mack's baggy clothes rippled in the wind.

Mack was the typical all-American kid. He had grown up tall and strong, playing basketball and baseball. He was always on the all-star team in little league and, as far back as Jeremiah could remember - the envy of all Rockford athletes his age.

"How's it going this morning?" Jeremiah asked.

"Pretty damn good," Mack replied, picking up a basketball and shooting it at his hoop. The ball swished through the hoop, nothing but net, and bounced into the bushes on the side of Mack's garage. "How do you like my parents' new car?"

"Wow, when did they get that?" Jeremiah asked. He walked through the open door of the left garage and circled the new Lincoln. Mack was pretty much a rich kid as well as an athlete; it was something he always tried to rub in Jeremiah's face. Jeremiah's parents drove a '68 Ford truck and a run down '86 Voyager.

"Over the weekend, " Mack answered.

"It looks really nice."

"Yeah, it does."

They walked the rest of the way to school in silence. Since they lived behind the school, they always went in the side door. As usual, Rockford High School was a quiet morgue at seven thirty in the morning. School didn't start until 8:00.

Without saying a word, they went their separate ways. Mack's locker was just inside the door, but Jeremiah's was on the other side of the school.

The back hall was flooded with light, and Jeremiah held his hand up to keep the sun out of his eyes. He loved the sun, but not in his eyes.

He dropped his hand.

A perfect feminine figure was coming towards him. He almost dropped his books at the sight of her. She was silhouetted by rays of sun shooting in every direction. Something supernatural touched him. He squinted into the light, trying to see her face, but all he saw was her dark outline against an ever-increasing glow. A shiver ran down his spine and he looked away for just a second. When he glanced back, she was gone. He wondered where she could have gone. A classroom maybe?

He stopped walking. For the first time he noticed people milling about in the hallways. They were laughing and talking. It seemed to Jeremiah that they slowly appeared, one by one. Everyone in Rockford High was a ghost. Around three o'clock every afternoon they slowly faded into the air, only to fade in again the next morning.

Jeremiah turned around and walked back to his locker. Somehow he had passed it without noticing. He glanced around, hoping no one had seen him. He already felt stupid enough as it was. He noticed the roar of teenage voices echoing throughout the halls as he spinned the dial on his lock. Mack walked up.

"What happened, you get sidetracked?" Mack said, commenting on the fact that Jeremiah was still wearing his backpack.

"I don't know," Jeremiah answered. He was confused.

Mack looked at him funny, then shrugged. "Blue skies today. Looks like summer might stay awhile longer."

"Looks like it."

"Yeah," Mack smiled. "So did you finish your biology homework?"

Jeremiah shook his head. "You know me. I am allergic to homework."

"Well, I finished it."

"Good for you, " he retorted.

They walked once around the halls before the bell rang. It was a typical day at Rockford High School. There were lots of happy people sitting around lazily, and a few people who were diligently finishing the last of yesterday's homework. Jeremiah, of course, hated all of them. Every single one of them was wasting their time. They were simply accepting what society had shoved down their throats.

He went to his first class, computer applications. Computers were interesting even though they couldn't do much for him. He played games as much as possible. The work was easy enough, but the simple fact that it was work made him avoid it.

About halfway through the class, the principal of the school came on over the intercom. "Students and staff, I have a very painful announcement to make." Jeremiah stopped typing. The whole class fell silent. They had never heard the principal say a word like "pain." The principal continued: "At 10:30 last night, one of our students and her family were in a car wreck. They were sideswiped by a drunk driver on their way home from LaGrande."

Jeremiah felt a lump in his throat. He swallowed with difficulty. He knew who it was. Angie Blake. She was his best friend.

"Angie Blake, " the principal paused and the intercom skipped, "was pronounced dead at the scene."

Jeremiah closed his eyes and dropped his head. His whole body went numb and cold. He was riveted to his chair in horror.

The principal said a few more miscellaneous words - pronouncing each one with rhythm and pausing between each sentence. Jeremiah didn't hear any of it. A dark, black hole of emptiness was growing inside of him. The pit of his stomach was in turmoil.

"If you would like to donate money to the family, a fund is being set up. It will go towards medical expenses and the funeral. School will be dismissed at the regular time today. Thank you."

Even after the intercom was turned off, with its familiar click, the room stayed silent. Jeremiah finally looked up. Looks of disbelief were on the faces of everybody. He shuddered. There was still a knot in his throat.

"I can't stay here today," he thought.

He ran out of the room, not bothering to grab his binder before he left. No one else was in the halls except for a few freshmen near the water fountain. He stopped at his locker for just a minute, to grab his jacket and wallet. As he ran by the front office, Mrs. Shelton tried to stop him. "You have to sign out Jeremiah."

He barely heard her. Outside, he saw the campus security officer, who was supposed to enforce the closed campus. He ran the other way and down the street. He didn't think that the officer would try to stop him, but he didn't want to risk the chance.     Somehow he found himself at home. His parents had already left for work, so no one was home. He went inside and grabbed the keys to his Volkswagon. It had run last week, but it was about to quit and he was supposed to rebuild the engine. He sat down and turned it over.

It wouldn't start.

He was so frustrated with everything; he started pounding on it.

"I hate you! I hate you. I hate you. I hate you."

He went back inside and grabbed the keys to his dad's car. No one ever drove that car. It was a fully restored 1969 Corvette. He would be in big trouble, but he just couldn't bring himself to care about trouble. He unlocked the garage door, opened it, and got in the car. It started on the first try.

Without even closing the doors he had left open, Jeremiah raced away. On the highway, he passed a trucker, and almost hit an oncoming car. He cut the trucker off and kept driving. He heard the trucker yell at him, "Hey, you dumb idiot!"

"F*&% you!" he screamed back.

Finally, he was out of town, on top of the rim rock in the warm sun. He went up there a lot to hike and fish, but he'd never really been to that particular spot. He had passed it while running cross-country one day. It was just a point that looked down at the highway, and further back toward town.

He sat down on the very edge of the rock. If he just leaned forward, he would fall over the edge. Then he would be dead also.

The sun was very warm, and so was the rock underneath. He picked his feet up and put his chin on his knee. Why did she have to die? Couldn't it have been someone else?

"God!" he screamed. "Why, God?"     He didn't even believe in God.

Angie always told him, when he asked why she was happy, "Jesus loves me." She reminded him of a little girl when she said that, though she didn't say it that way.

He heard her voice, "Jesus loves you. He died on the cross, so that everybody could be forgiven of their sings and enter the kingdom of God." It was bullshit to him. He wondered why she always told him that though. "Jesus loves you."

Jeremiah wondered how anyone could believe in something they hadn't seen. In the glovebox of the Corvette, Jeremiah found a pack of cigarettes. He didn't have any matches though. Then he remembered the lighter in the car. After he lit the first cigarette, he laid down on the edge of the rock, squinting at the sun and thinking. The cigarette tasted good; it tasted right.

Of course he had been in love with Angie. She wouldn't go out with him, though. He wasn't a Christian. In fact, he was almost the opposite-always at parties, always drunk on Friday night. She would still walk home with him sometimes, though. When he first got his car, he drove to her house, honking the horn the whole way.

He parked on the edge of the driveway and left it running because he was scared that it might not start again. A small cloud of dark smoke slowly dissipated as he stepped out of the car. Angie came out and stood on the edge of the porch. A look of confusion crossed her face.

"Look, I got a car!! Jeremiah had grinned. He felt so good. He had worked all summer long, just saving money. The money wasn't for the car, though. He wasn't sure what it was for. A rainy day, maybe? No, the truth was that he just saved it because he didn't have anything to do with it. Then one day he decided he wanted a car. Maybe that way he could drive around with girls piled in everywhere. He'd go cruising and drag race other people.

The truth was that Jeremiah thought that it might make him happy to have the car. Everyone else he knew was happy with life. He just couldn't figure out exactly what it was that made them happy. He didn't believe Angie when she said that Jesus made her happy. He had believed that Gene Simmons was an immortal superman for awhile. But Gene didn't make him happy, and he knew Gene was real.

He remembered vividly that Angie had turned to go back inside, hesitantly. Then she had turned around and half walked, half skipped out to look at the old bug.

"I kind of like it," she smiled. Jeremiah remembered that she had said once that she thought bugs were "cute."

"Want to go for a ride?" he asked. The question caught her off guard. Eventually she said yes, though. Jeremiah couldn't remember what number of words he had used to talk her into leaving with him in front of her parents.

The sun was warm, and Jeremiah felt very sleepy. He threw the cigarette butt over the edge. A memory swirled in his mind of Mr. Hionas, saying "Do you want to taste death? Smoke a cigarette! Cigarettes kill, young people."

"Good!" he thought. He lit up another. Death tasted good.

Jeremiah finished the cigarette and fell asleep. He dreamed about driving Angie around and dropping her off again, saying "See you on Monday!" Then he dreamt that he was walking down a long hall. It was the same dream he always had. There were doors after doors, all painted white with gold numbers. The first doors were something like 0A, 0B, 0C, and so on. Eventually though the letters had been dropped and they were just numbers. Somewhere near the end of the hall, the doors and the walls around them were covered in numbers. He wondered how you could mail a letter to that place, since the envelope probably wouldn't have enough room for all the numbers.

Suddenly the dream had changed.

Instead of the usual very bright light at the end of the hall, a figure now stood silhouetted there. He sensed in some vague way that it was Angie, but he couldn't express what made him so sure of this. Another small voice told him that it was just the girl he had seen that morning in school. Then the girl turned, and her face was in the light. It was Angie, and she was very happy. "Jesus loves you," he heard her say.

He was closer to the end of the hall than he had ever been before.

Suddenly Mack stepped out of a door to his right and grabbed him. "Jeremiah, wake up." Jeremiah blinked in the light. He tried to get up, but Mack held him in one place. "Whoa buddy, you're going to fall over the edge."

"Oh man," Jeremiah put his hand on the back of his neck. It was so sore. "What are you doing here?"

"I just had the feeling you'd be here. You've got some real guts to steal your dad's Corvette."

"Yeah," Jeremiah looked down over the edge of the cliff. He felt good, he felt bigger than life. "I just saw Angie." Mack looked at him like he was crazy. "In my dream I mean." He smiled.

"Whatever dude, " Mack paused. "Come on, give me a ride home."

"Okay, but where are we going to put your bike?"

"I don't know."  Mack paused.  "Hey, uh. . ." he sighed. "I'm really sorry."

"Yeah.  I know you are. Do you want to go with me on Sunday?"

"What. . . go where? The funeral isn't until next week."

Jeremiah started the Corvette. "No, I mean go to church. I want to see what this Jesus thing is all about."

Mack looked at him incredulously.

"'Jesus loves me, and he loves you.' That's all Angie ever said. I want to know if that's what really made her happy. I want to know if He can make me happy, too." Jeremiah started to drive away. Mack was speechless; he didn't know how to answer. "Besides, I saw Angie in the dream. She looked happy; she was in heaven and she told me again, 'Jesus loves you.'"

Mack looked at him, and for the first time Jeremiah noticed a small hint of doubt. "Sure, man. I'll go with you. Maybe Jesus is the secret we've been missing." Mack looked down at his hands and shivered. "Maybe Jesus is the secret we've been missing."

Brain Candy E-Zine has no rights to this story.  The rights belong to the author.

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