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Tom likes Jack. He's a good kid in a bad state.
The others at the station don’t really take his issues into mind, he’s heard them call the kid some pretty horrible stuff in the past. After they realized how close they both were, that Tom went above and beyond to help him– to scour that book store he loves so much to pick out some books he thinks he’d appreciate, buying him new bags out of his own pocket money when he inevitably gets robbed for the third time a week– they stopped saying it in front of his face.
To them, the other cops in town who’d not been there for very long, he was just the strange, retarded cashier who worked that shitty gas station at the edge of town. Tom knew that wasn’t the case, while he may not have known Jack too well before the accident, before that terrible head injury, he never thought ill of him for his health issues. Needing a bit of extra help in life, struggling a bit more than others doesn’t make someone retarded .
He’s always had an issue with that word, and seeing it used so liberally to demean the kid because of his health issues rubbed him the wrong way. Jack wasn’t very socially intelligent, something of which they were both aware of, but he had a vast knowledge of incredibly strange topics, and his frequent lack of filter and blunt demeanor made him an interesting conversation partner. He was polite to him, would give him free coffee on the house– which tasted surprisingly good considering it’s gas station coffee, but hey, the kid makes a mean cup of Joe, right?-- and would sit down to have their chats. Honestly, he had to be careful to watch the clock while chatting with the kid, because if he didn’t he’d get lost in the relaxed lull of it and stay too late.
Jack couldn’t express himself well, something made painfully clear after that accident he’d been in with his high school sweetheart. On the rare occasions the topic was brought up, he’d do his best to reassure Jack of his innocence, that no, he really hadn’t caused that accident. Someone else had, someone who he wanted nothing more than to catch, to bring to justice and fully relieve Jack of his guilt, but he knew he couldn’t.
He owed him a favour, after all, and he took his favours very seriously.
Tom himself carried around his own guilt regarding the accident, regarding Jack in general. He regrets not speaking up, not telling his fellow officers off for their disrespectful treatment of Jack, he regrets not giving Jack the respects he deserves. Jack deserves to know about Him, to know what he’s planning, but Tom has nowhere to even start with that. What would he even say? He doesn’t truly know what this grand plan is, he has no real proof that he even exists. Really, he’s aware that he’s just as bad as those other deputies– no, worse even. He’s worse.
Tom is aware of the weird that goes down in town, the bizarre and supernatural. He’s been with the police station for a long, long time, so naturally he’s encountered it fairly constantly through his work there. He knows the rules of the gas station, knows not to question the sinkholes that open up one day, swallowing an entire building only to fill itself back in the next day, leaving only a field of grass where a building once stood, completely untouched by man's creation. He knows about Him, because how could he not? He made himself known to him long ago, the Sheriff knew of Him as well along with the few other long term deputies. They knew because they were all in his pocket, they all owed him something, and thus at any point He could call in his favour and have them do whatever he pleased. For Tom’s favour, he’d demanded he keep quiet of his findings, of knowing who had been responsible for Sabine’s accident. He could, under no circumstance let Jack know that he knew who the culprit was, and that he knew why it happened to begin with.
Jack couldn’t leave, and she, Sabine, was going to take him away from town, away from His reach, and he could not allow that.
Jack was important, he had some grand duty to fulfill, something to do with what was coming, whatever that may be. He never informed him of what that duty was, and what was coming, but considering it was him who was orchestrating it all… It likely wasn’t good.
These are the reasons for his guilt, that he can’t help Jack, that he can’t be honest with him. Tom wants nothing more than to tell him, but…
The bottom of the cracked old mug meets the slightly sticky tabletop in front of him. He glances up, catching the tired eyes of Jack as he slides into the opposite side of the booth from him. He’s never looked worse, he’s missing a limb and a finger and overall looks a mess. He’s had a truly rough go at life– it breaks his heart that kind people like him get to face the brunt of life's cruelties while He gets to sit back and watch, orchestrating it all.
“You know Tom, I really have no idea if these visits are all in my head or if you’re some kind of ghost.” It’s said in a joking manner, but he can see the bone deep weariness in him. His visits help, he knows, he’s able to slip him what little advice he can, and Jack, for a few moments, has a familiar face to confide in, but he can hardly stand to watch him continually deteriorate with every visit.
“Not sure, kid. You’ve always had an interestin’ mind. Weird being dead, don’t always know what's real.” Jack laughed.
“Yeah, I get that.” Tom didn’t doubt it.
Sometimes, being dead, he wasn’t even sure if it was all real. That his visits were real, that still existed in some corporeal form. It was quiet, being dead, but quiet doesn’t mean peaceful. Having to watch someone you care about spiral further and further down sucks any peace that could have been found out of it.
“How have those friends of yours been?” Friends, yeah, Jack had made a few of them. He was glad– the kid didn’t deserve to be alone, to face what was coming, whatever that may be, on his own. He’d observed them a few times, Rosa, his peppy new coworker with a clear crush on Jack, which he of course did not notice. There was something strange about her, she repelled all the strangeness, a stark contrast to Jack who seemed like a magnet for that sort of stuff. Jerry, the single remaining cultist from the Mathemetist program that’d gone and disappeared all those months ago. He was glad that that boy had gotten out, that he was doing better nowadays. He and Jack were a lot more similar then they likely knew, so Tom couldn’t help but be glad they’d found one another. He’d also taken quite good care to save Jack on many occasions, something he appreciated. Lastly, there was his replacement, a young woman Jack’s age named Amy. Tom was glad they’d picked someone so competent to take over his duties as the deputy assigned to the gas station– a job not to be taken lightly. There had been many, many deputies before him, and they rarely lasted long, or made it out too well.
Not that he was one to cast judgement on the latter.
But his replacement, Amy, did her job well. Clearly she was invested in protecting Jack at all costs, dropping everything at any point to come and pick Jack up just to escort him somewhere else. She had a mean glare that, when cast on those ballsy enough to attempt to mess with Jack in her presence, sent many of the weaker men running. Sometimes, the dumber ones tried to fight her on it, but they were quickly shown that, while she may be a woman, someone they may perceive as below them, she could sure as hell bury them six feet below in a matter of seconds.
He appreciated all these traits in her, and he was confident that she would take good care of Jack in his absence.
“Jerry’s… well, Jerry, so erratic and constantly high? He’s been helping out a whole lot around here, though, since Mama and Pops…” Tom nodded, he understood what Jack meant. Those two eccentrics were the only thing in place protecting Jack and this shithole station, and with them gone… “I fired Rosa, though. Successfully.”
“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me. You’ve been trying to fire that girl for a while. How’d she take it?”
“Uh, well, nobody cried? But she did yell at me a lot, and gave me a pretty mean message to send to the new owner of the gas station…” Tom’s brow rose.
“You didn’t tell her?” Jack’s shoulders curled in slightly defensively, fingers shifting to get a tighter grip around his mug.
“I didn’t want her to hate me? And it’s not like I can tell her about the weird shit that goes on here… It stays away from her, y’know?” He nodded.
“Normal folks like her don’t see that sorta stuff often, and when they do, they jump through hoops to try and rationalize it. It probably is for the best if she isn’t ‘round here to get caught up in it.” Jack’s shoulders slumped, relaxing. For a moment, he further analyzed the young many across from him, scrutinising his face. “You haven’t had a hair cut in a while, have you?”
Jack blinked, confused. It looked like his brain was trying to boot up, to find where it’d last left off to try and find the context of his words. “What? Is that a metaphor?”
“No, it’s not a metaphor, kid. Your hair’s gotten pretty long recently. It’s a good look on you, brings out the curls.”
He still didn’t look like he’d caught up with him, but nevertheless responded with a confused, “Thanks?”
“No problem. How’s my replacement doing?” Jack fell back on track, seemingly glad to get onto a more familiar line of conversation.
“Oh, Amy, I’m not sure? Probably fine, but she’s been busy with some sort of super secret work. Been sending the old Deputy out recently instead.” He could hear the clear disappointment in his voice, and if Tom’s heart could have stopped, it would have.
Busy with secret work? Was the Sheriff sending her out on errands for Him? Was she mixed up in this all as well ? He hated to think that another deputy, especially an out of towner, would have fallen into the hands of Him so quickly. She was so young, too, having her life be in such a precarious position as being involved with Him, it was a damned shame . An old man like him, fine, he’d lived his life, but her? She was just beginning .
Thankfully, Jack did not notice the turmoil roiling inside of him and continued speaking. “Not that I dislike Deputy Love– I mean, I definitely don’t like him. He smells terrible, even for gas station standards and sitting in his car everyday for almost an hour sucks. He hasn’t tried to kill me though, which is a really low, sad bar, but it’s the one I’ve gotta roll with at this point. Sadly. I just wish I could see her more? Plus, we got in an argument a while back and I’m really hoping she doesn’t hate me now–”
“Relax, kid, she ain’t gonna hate you over one argument. I’m sure once she’s less busy and things have calmed down a bit, you’ll be able to see her a bit more. And then if you deem it necessary still, you can apologize for whatever the argument was about, make amends and all that.” The nervous energy seemed to abate, his rambling falling still as he slowly, lightly nodded his head. It was nearly imperceptible, the movements, but over the years Tom had known him he’d come to recognize his many tells.
“Thanks Tom.”
“No problem, kid.” He glanced up, finding the clock stationed above the door of the bathroom. The plastic was cracked, making it a tad bit difficult to read, but he could still make out three-forty-six in the low light. It was getting late, and time was running thin. He couldn’t always stay here, He wouldn’t allow it for fear he may be spilling his secrets to his favourite obsession.
“I’ve gotta go now, kid. It’s gettin’ pretty late, and I think you’d best be off doing whatever you do at this hour.” He seemed a bit surprised.
“You’re saying goodbye this time? Usually you just disappear into thin air. Really makes me question my sanity, by the way.” He cringed a little inwardly. He disappeared like that for a reason, but not one he could disclose to Jack.
There was just a hell of a lot he couldn’t tell Jack about.
“Sorry ‘bout that, kid. Sometimes I’m in a rush.”
“Ghost stuff?” He questioned.
“Yeah, something like that.” He seemed to take that as answer enough, so he nodded and leaned back into his chair.
He was aware of Jack’s problems, in fact, when he’d confided that diagnosis of his into him, he’d taken it upon himself to challenge his greatest nemesis, the internet, and google what it was. It didn’t go smoothly, but eventually he figured it out, and the more he looked into this genetic disorder, the more it didn't make sense. Year after year, he lived on. Sure, he didn’t look to be in good shape, in fact Jack looked downright miserable ninety-percent of the time, and he’d never seen him look thinner than he did now. It looked like a stiff breeze would knock him over, but he didn’t look… like he’d die from this rare disorder at any moment? He should have gone years ago, at this point, and here he was, alive. Not well, but alive.
The more he observed him, his symptoms and him as a person in general, the clearer the answer became.
Jack wasn’t dying, he never was.
Most likely, the brain damage was what had caused it. He remembered it well, the crash, and Jack wasn’t in too good of a state afterwards. Really, it seemed like he underestimated the damage it’d done to him and didn’t even know that these symptoms likely were caused by hurting himself so badly.
Was there even a diagnosis? He’d asked Him that, once, out of cautious curiosity. He hadn’t replied, only chuckled through those lifeless, wooden teeth.
Tom had taken that as answer enough.
As things fell back into a dream-like void, Jack fading from his view only to be replaced with the shimmering, familiar surroundings of his old home with his family, he wondered just how many times he’d see Jack again before one of them would no longer be capable of doing so.