“God,” he cried aloud, “Help me…”
Vacation? If this was a vacation, he needed help. He'd ridden for miles up and down the coast, searching…for what? He didn't know. He'd stopped here, only a mere hundred miles from his home in the mountains.
All he knew was that he was hurting and he didn't know how to stop. This long numb void inside him screamed for a release.
Glancing about him subconsciously, Sam McKay leaned against his bike and let out the most mournful sound a soul could unleash, something in between a loud sob and a deep seeded moan. It seemed to echo against the backdrop of a small forest. It was better than crying. He did it again. It was as though the pain inside him flowed away from him, leaving him. He could feel it leaving. Was this what he needed all along, a place to let it all out? To release the hurt that had bound him.
Realizing he was finding some sort of release, he sat on the ground, and looked up into the sky. There was no answer to his prayers. However, something was definitely happening here. The hurt continued, but he did realize that just making that gosh awful sound helped him heal somehow. He did it again.
This time he thought he heard something in the bushes, probably just his imagination. There was nothing but mountains and oceans surrounding him. No one was out here this early of the morning. Here wasn't anywhere in particular, it was somewhere on the Pacific coast, but it had no real definition. He was miles from town, miles from civilization. No one was about.
The crashing sound of the waves distracted him, he closed his eyes and began to let the sound surround him. It was like a mournful operetta. Good thing there wasn't anyone around; if anyone heard him someone might think him crazy. Still, if this worked, why not. He had to do something.