RUNNING SCARED CHAPTER 6


Long before the train arrived in Redding I started feeling weird, like someone was watching me. Maybe it was all the stress of the trip to Seattle. Or, all the old memories both good and bad that I’d been trying to push away. I headed towards the restrooms and casually looked around as I wandered through several nearby cars. I could see no one taking a special interest in me, but I still felt creeped out.

Paranoia has its uses. I decided to play it safe. Plan B entailed calling Aaron to ask him to wait for me behind the old Victorian hotel in Garberville the next morning instead of picking me up in Redding. When he agreed I rang off before I could answer any questions. Later at the train station I went to the ladies room and locked myself into a stall to search carefully through my possessions for anything that looked like a tracking device. I wouldn’t have put it past Vern to have something like that done as I was leaving the Grand Jury room.

I felt a little stupid going through the motions not being sure what I was searching for, but tried to be thorough anyway. Despite my paranoia I almost missed it. It looked like an ordinary ballpoint pen, but one I didn’t recognize as mine, so I took it apart. It was too different. I fumbled and almost dropped one end trying to get it back together. I felt shocked; my breathing accelerated and I almost passed out. I removed my jacket and sat down for a while to get myself under control. I began deep breathing. Panic wouldn’t help.

Twenty minutes later I was wearing my reversible jacket purple plaid side out, had turned my pouch bag into a backpack, and was almost ready to leave the bathroom. First task was to get the tracking device moving away from me. Just then a young woman came in. Her sweatshirt said Oregon Ducks. “What’s that?” I asked, and she mentioned returning to college in Eugene. As she passed me I slipped the ballpoint pen into the open top of her purse. I waited, washing my hands obsessively until she had gone, before leaving the bathroom.

I wondered if they, whoever “they” were, had actually identified me by sight, or were just planning on locating me whenever I stopped. I wondered what was supposed to happen to me. I wondered what the hell I thought I was doing. All I knew was that I was afraid and couldn’t stop running.

At the information counter I got directions to the bus station where I bought a ticket west to Arcata -- due to arrive at 8 pm that night. While I waited for the bus I put my cell phone into a manila envelope and addressed it to Aaron; if by chance, despite my precautions, I got stopped I wanted nothing to connect me to him or to Murietta. I dropped it into the mailbox outside and walked across the street to a Radio Shack for a disposable cell phone

Fortunately my bus seatmate mentioned she was driving south from Arcata and would be glad to have someone ride along to talk to on the long drive. It was almost midnight when we got to Garberville and she let me off at the hotel. I checked in, paid for one night only, and staggered to my room. I dropped onto the bed completely exhausted. I was scared and didn’t know what to do besides return to Murietta and keep hiding out there. I wasn’t sure what lengths Vern would go to to shut me up. Ever since he had beat me up I feared his violence.

Over the last fourteen months Aaron had nominated himself as my protector and I felt I should be grateful for that and for his friendship, but he had taken it badly when I had turned down his offer to drive me to Seattle. He’d said there was a hardware store he needed to visit -- anyway. I had said no -- anyway.

I had felt it was important to be able and willing to take care of myself -- to stand on my own two feet. I had allowed Aaron to teach me some simple martial arts moves to increase my self-reliance. However, it hadn’t saved me from being scared much of the time especially in Seattle. And now I was properly terrified.

Having been raised without a father I seem to have been vulnerable to men who promised to take care of me. I’d been lucky in the twenty years I’d had with Paul. Although we’d had our problems I’d been devastated when he was killed in an auto accident. When I met Vern a year later he said he had just lost his wife to cancer so we had seemed to have the loss of a spouse in common. Later I heard rumors that there had been some questions concerning her death. But at the time he seemed strong and reliable and I’d allowed myself to be rushed into marriage. I’d not been prepared for the ongoing verbal abuse that had escalated into the violence I was running from.

I drifted into sleep and troubled dreams of being hunted through a shapeless menacing cityscape. The next morning I glimpsed myself in the mirror. Unfortunately I looked almost as bad as I felt, my eyes dark pools in my damaged face. Stress always intensified the scars. I should have had some plastic surgery done when I had the chance. I snuck down the back stairs without formally checking out and found Aaron waiting in his pickup truck. He got out and gave me a quick awkward hug. “I’m glad you’re back safely,” he said.

“Me too,” I said. “Right now I need two favors, I’d like to ride in the camper shell until we get out of town.” He unlocked the door in the back and I jumped inside. “And, most important,” I added, “please get me an espresso americano with cream at the coffee shack on our way.” He shut me inside the shell where I huddled in the cold as we bumped along for the next twenty minutes. The shell was noisy as well as cold and the residual sawdust stirred up by the ride made me sneeze, so I was glad when he stopped and I could move into the cab where it was warm.

I grabbed my coffee out of the cup holder and took a sip. “Thanks,” I said waving the coffee at him, “and for picking me up here in Garberville too.”

Aaron shot me a worried glance before he resumed driving. “Well, you saved me a lot of driving, but what’s up with the cloak and dagger moves?” he asked. “What happened yesterday?” I glossed over the Seattle events and told him what happened the previous day on the train.

He began to look alarmed. I saw him fight for control and a low-key response. “Well, I do have to admire your problem-solving skills,” he finally observed. “You didn’t panic…”

“I panicked at first when I found that damn pen,” I admitted, “but just for a little while.”

“Okay, you didn’t stay panicked. You evaluated the problem, and then took appropriate action.”

“I’d rather you told me what you really think,” I said.

“I think you’re a damn fool!” His whole body was suddenly animated and furious. “A lucky damn fool!”

“That’s more like it,” I said.

“But,” he added calmly, “a fool who is a good problem-solver.” We traded smiles of mutual appreciation.

“So, what’s been happening in Murietta while I was gone?”

“Every day Rose asks me when you’ll be back. And, I finally finished that table I’ve been working on.” He glanced over at me. “Also, without you around to make trouble I worked out a few troublesome kinks with the boat.”

“Thanks a lot.”

“Oh, and I’ll be gone for a few days next week.”

“Delivering the table to San Jose?”

“Yes.” He paused. “I’d invite you to come along, but my half-sister, Gwen, is coming for a visit. She’ll be driving back with me, and will be staying in the cabin next to you at the motel. I’m hoping you’ll get a chance to talk some sense into her. She still refuses to leave that worthless husband of hers.”

“But, you said you thought I was a damn fool.”

“That’s why you’ll have more credibility with her than I do.”

“I’m going to ignore that last remark,” I said. We sat in a comfortable silence for a few miles while I finished my coffee. “By the way,” I began, “I had a moment of lucidity last night in the middle of the nightmares. I’ve been guilty of hubris several times over – thinking I could avoid getting found out. Thinking I could outsmart Vern or his fixers.”

“That sounds like progress,” Aaron said. “Maybe you’ll accept my help with a little more grace from now on.”

“Don’t count on it,” I said, my tone of voice sharper than I’d intended, obviously feeling defensive.

“Okay, no grace expected. To quote a current cliché from a different context: ‘Nothing will happen that you don’t want to happen. But I will continue to give you my unvarnished opinion.”

“I expect nothing less, Aaron,” I said. “And, before you can remind me, I know you have some expertise I probably don’t.”

“No “probably” about it,” he said.

It was almost noon by the time we arrived in Murietta. “Leave me off at Rose’s. I’ll let her know I’m back.”

Aaron pulled up behind the café. I thought he’d just let me off, but he turned the engine off and got out. I grabbed my backpack. “Wait a minute,” he said pulling something out of his shirt pocket. “Here, it’s a duplicate.” He thrust the treehouse key towards me. It was on a slim chain I could wear around my neck. “If anything happens while I’m away, you know where you can go to be safe. If I don’t see you around, I’ll know where to come to look. Okay?”

I was touched. “Okay,” I said. “Thanks.” It was funny. Neither of us had mentioned his treehouse since the day we met, and now I had a key. Something to hang on to in the midst of my worries.

RUNNING SCARED CHAPTER V


“We missed you at poker last night, Hon,” Rose said opening the screen door and sitting down at the picnic table. She was wasting no time digging for information. “What’s the deal with what’s-his-name, Aaron?“ She waved her arms at me. Rose was Italian and had been a good friend ever since I’d landed in Murietta nearly four months ago. She called everybody “Hon.”

The tent I’d been camping out in was hers. I’d gotten acquainted with her when the car I’d hitched a ride in was being repaired next door. By the time the car was fixed I had decided to stop running for a while and camp out in the redwood grove outside of town. I’d needed to rest up and give my jaw and facial injuries more time to heal.

I still felt I needed to be careful not to tell her, or anyone, too much. I’d already lied and said I was a widow and that I’d been in a recent automobile accident and didn’t want to talk about it. But Murietta was a small town – not quite a thousand people and, according to Rose, the gossip mill was the biggest entertainment since the movie theater had closed a dozen years ago. It was difficult always feeling caught between paranoia and complacency, but it bothered me that it took a stranger warn me of potential trouble.

“That Aaron,” she said, digging harder, “I’ve seen him around town the last couple of years, but he’s pretty much of a loner -- builds furniture in his wood shop. Not too friendly. His business has a strange name. But I understand that rich people from the Bay Area come all the way up here to get custom-made desks and tables.”

I shrugged. “I just met him. You know more about him than I do.” I mentioned that Aaron had warned me about some teenagers being too interested in my camp.

“Oh, it’s probably just the Farris boys, Hon,” she said, “but I can see why you packed it in. It’s about time you found a warm place for the winter anyway.”

“It may be time for me to be moving along,” I began.

“You’ve got a friend or two here now,” Rose began, “and I know we can find you a private room somewhere. Let me make a few calls. You can stay in the back room of the cafe for a night or two. Then decide.”

“I don’t want to be any trouble,” I said.

“You’re no trouble, Hon,” she assured me. She stood, fluffing up her hair that was an unnatural shade of red this week. “Time to get back to work. Those after-church brunch groups will be crowding in soon.”

All afternoon while I washed dishes I chastised myself for not getting more things done in the four months I’d been in Murietta. I still had to work off the books because I didn’t want to use my actual social security number. I had no I D at all. I’d just been drifting, eating at Rose’s, exchanging an hour or two of work at the paperback exchange for reading material, playing poker on Saturday nights, hoping things with Vern would be quickly resolved. But increasingly it looked as if it would be months, maybe years before anything changed in Seattle and I could feel free again.

I kept in touch with Katherine once a month by getting a ride to Garberville and
e-mailing her from the cyber café there. She was the only person who knew for sure that I was even alive. Katherine kept me abreast of what was happening with the promised Grand Jury about Vern’s dirty dealings. She kept in touch with Gwen at Northwestern and David at MIT. I hated having had to disappear, to have them worry about what might have happened to their mother, but couldn’t risk putting them in jeopardy.

Hours later I was finishing up my dinner out back as the sun began to settle into the fog bank on the western horizon. I was debating the pros and cons of sticking around Murietta versus the idea of trying to hide out, maybe in San Francisco, when a voice behind me said, “Do you want to see my shop?”

Startled, I whirled around. I knew it was Aaron, but was equally startled by how irritated I was at him. “Do you always have to sneak up on people?” I asked with a great deal of asperity.

He considered the question for a moment and seemed taken aback by my attitude. “No,” he said, “I don’t.” He paused, and solemnly said, “I could try a roadrunner ‘beep-beep’ if that would help.”

I smiled in spite of myself. “That might work,” I said. “Where did you disappear to this morning?”

“I have trouble sitting still,” he said. “I’d used up my quota for the day.” I noticed he seldom answered a question directly. I was having trouble figuring out how old he was. He might be fortyish – a good ten years younger than me, or maybe closer to my age. But there was something boyish about him. I figured him for a military background; his straight posture; his quiet competency; the haunted look in his eyes from time to time. His discomfort with questions.

So, what did my discomfort with questions say about me, I wondered. And wondered further if my eyes had a haunted look.

“Earth to Morgan,” Aaron said. “So, how about it?” he asked.

“How about what?”

“Do you want to see my shop?”

“Sure, why not.” I said. I locked the back door of the café and followed him up the alley in the gathering dusk. I’d only met him twenty-four hours ago, had exchanged a few words with him a few times, and perhaps too readily followed where he led and believed what he said. “I do need to be back by nine,” I said trying to set some boundaries however belatedly.

He looked back, the trace of a smile on his face. “Not a problem.”

Murietta’s main street was six blocks long and featured Rose’s Café, the gas station next door, a community church, a tavern, a small general store, a six-unit motel, a paperback book exchange and knitting shop combined, the shuttered movie theater, and several other empty store fronts. Doc Warren’s office was only open two days a week.

Aaron’s shop was four blocks away on a back street. A tiny carved wooden sign beside the door said, “The Weeping Chair.” The only windows ran high up along the front and sides of the large building.

“It used to be a small lumber mill,” Aaron said unlocking the door and flipping on the lights. Inside it resembled a large barn. On the right there was a set of doors both tall and wide. In the middle was the half-constructed hull of a good-sized wooden boat. Around the perimeter were table saws and workbenches with tools neatly arranged on pegboards. The pleasant scent of sawdust and turpentine hung in the air.

There was a rolling chest that looked like a gigantic jewelry box with many long narrow drawers. Aaron slid out the top drawer which could have held blueprints, but turned out to hold dozens of chisels resting on green felt. Eyes shining he introduced me to several of them by name, giving me the history of each one. Where he had found it, who had made it, how rare it was and what it did. It was the first time I’d seen him animated and open.

I mentioned that the workmanship in the treehouse had obviously benefited from his skill and good tools. He seemed pleased by my comment.

“There are no nails or screws in the tree, you know,” he said. “All the joints were carefully fitted together.” I asked how long it had taken to build. “Eighteen months,” he said. “Part-time.” He gestured towards a half dozen desks and coffee tables in different stages of construction in one corner. “Gotta earn a living.”

Opposite of the big doors was a loft. Aaron gestured towards it. “Sleeping quarters.” And underneath he pointed out the galley, the head, and a corner office with a tidy desk, a computer, and several filing cabinets. “The helm. I steer my business from there.”

I noticed he couched most everything in nautical terms. “Sounds like you spent some time in the navy?” I began.

He stopped still and gave me a searching look. “I’ve spent a lot of time around boats.” My casual question seemed to shut him down. I was sorry I’d asked it.

Just to the left of the door through which we had entered was a wooden rocking chair. “The weeping chair, I presume,” I said. “What’s the story on that?”

He visibly relaxed. “Every wooden boat shop traditionally has a weeping chair for when, despite having measured twice and cut once, the pieces refuse to fit together properly.” His face wore a rueful look. “I suppose it could be called ‘the swearing chair’, or ‘the problem-solving chair’.” Aaron glanced at his watch. “Time to go. I wouldn’t want to keep you out past curfew.” As he locked up he asked, “Do you by chance play backgammon?”

“Not really,” I said. “Just Saturday night poker. And, I’m always looking for a worthy opponent to play Scrabble with.”

“I understand the worthy opponent idea. How about I teach you backgammon, and you can teach me Scrabble?”

“I may not be around here much longer,” I said. “I’m trying to decide if it’s time to be moving along.”

“Where to?” he asked. I told him I wasn’t sure yet.

Later as I slipped into my sleeping bag I wondered what was going on. Aaron was an interesting distraction that I didn’t need. And I had no clue what he was really after, knowing that ultimately it was only important that I be clear about what I was really after. Half the reason I was where I was had to do with answering that question. The other half was the question of how I got into this situation

. One thing I knew for sure – I no longer trusted myself on some fundamental level. That lack of trust seemed to have created a paralysis of will. Making decisions past taking care of daily needs often was an impossibility.

Aaron was skittish and enigmatic. I was able to read him clearly in some respects, but not in others. One of the reasons I did so well in the weekly poker games was my ability to read the other players as well as understand the group dynamics. As long as I was careful not to win too much money I’d be readily accepted. I did wonder if I’d do as well in a high-stakes game where everyone needed to be good at reading tells – those involuntary ways in which we betray our true intentions. Here in Murietta everybody knew everybody else and the intent of the game was primarily social.

I wasn’t all that social, but Rose had vouched for me and that was good enough to start. I’d eventually passed muster with the rest of them over the last few months. Gwen, from the paperback exchange, and Rose were the only other women, and I usually got along with men. So, it wasn’t as if I didn’t get along with Aaron. But he worried me.

RUNNING SCARED CHAPTER IV


“I appreciate all your help, Aaron,” I said. “I’ll get my things out of your way, but it may take me a couple of trips to get it into town.” I realized it was the first time I’d had a chance to size him up. He was wearing sunglasses and a khaki baseball hat. He was a compact man, lean and maybe a couple inches taller than my 5 feet, 5 inches.

“No problem,” he said, turning away from my scrutiny. “Let me help you pack it out. That way it will take just one trip.”

“You’ve done too much already,” I protested.

“So sue me,” he said and ducked into the cleft in the tree. I could hear him securing the ladder. He thrust the garbage bag of my things toward me, and efficiently loaded up the tent and stove into his backpack. I watched as he turned around and put a pile of animal scat near the entrance to the tree.

“Won’t that attract animals?” I asked.

“It’s been treated with an animal repellant, and most people will find it repellant as well.” A faint smile teased at his mouth.

“Wait,” I said, “here’s your key.” He took it and tucked it into a shirt pocket buttoning it in. I quickly stuffed as many of my things as I could into my backpack, carrying the bag with everything else in one hand.

“Okay,” he said, “where to?”

“Rose’s café,” I replied, “she’ll let me stow my things in her back room until I decide what I’m going to do next.” I started off down the trail and we walked in silence for a while. As we approached town I said, “How about I buy you breakfast?” I needed to find out as much as I could about the guys who had my campsite staked out. .

I thought he might refuse my offer, but he finally said, “It’s a deal.”

“I have some questions,” I warned.

“I’m not very good with answers,” he warned back, “but I’ll do what I can.”

At the back door of the café I said, “Wait here,” and shrugged my backpack onto the small picnic table. “Do you know what you want for breakfast?”

“Pancakes and black tea,” he said, taking a seat at the table.

I found Rose and got permission to stow my things as well as to work off the extra breakfast. I turned in the breakfast order, and Aaron and I transferred my things into a corner of the back room.

“I hope you don’t mind eating out back,” I said. I always tried to keep as low a profile as I could in town. Rose herself brought out our meals. I could see her bristling with curiosity. “Rose, this is Aaron. Aaron, Rose.” They nodded at each other and Rose went back inside. I knew I’d get third-degreed when next I saw her.

After we ate for a few minutes Aaron said, “So, who’s out to get you?”

He had caught me off guard. “I’m not at liberty to talk about that,” I said, feeling I’d phrased it awkwardly.

“I’m impressed,” he said. “That’s usually my line. So, what’s your question?”

“Questions,” I said. “First, what can you tell me about the guys who had my campsite staked out, and what does that mean?”

“It just means they were coming back from time to time to see who might be there. I’d usually see them early in the day, so I followed them from town this morning. Then I made sure they saw me take the tent down. I don’t think you’ll have any trouble with them again.” I asked if he knew who they were. “A couple of brothers, local teenagers looking for trouble,” he said. They’re known around here for petty theft and public drunkenness. Garden-variety bullies who are not interested in a real confrontation.” He paused and looked at me quizzically.

I sighed with relief and, changing the subject, said, “Your treehouse is wonderful. Thanks again for sharing it with me. But how do you know you can trust me not to talk about it.”

“Calculated risk,” he said taking off his sunglasses and giving me a penetrating stare. I noticed his eyes were blue. “Are you going to talk about it?”

“No, of course not,” I said defensively.

“That was my best guess.” He stacked his mug on his empty plate and started to get up. He looked ready to bolt, but paused with a half-smile on his face. “Looks like exchanging personal stories is out for both of us, so what’s left?”

“There’s always safe topics like religion and politics,” I said with a smile. “Do you want more tea?”

He considered the question for a moment. “Sure,” he said and settled back down.. By the time I returned with his tea he had disappeared. Somehow I wasn’t surprised.

MYSTERY CHAPTER THREE


I’d left my backpack on as I struggled up the rope ladder thinking maybe I wouldn’t have enough energy to do this more than once today. I’d already worked several hours at Rose’s Café that evening. It was dry enough inside the tree but almost pitch dark. I had no extra hand for my flashlight, but it was on a lanyard around my neck and I should have turned it on before I started.

I worried about spiders, about falling, about the folly of trusting a stranger. I kept climbing, the muscles in my shoulders and thighs protesting as I hauled myself ever higher. I could sense the void as I ran out of ladder. I fell across the small platform and rested before switching my flashlight on. I half sat up and carefully shrugged out of my backpack. The door facing me was about three and a half feet high, maybe three feet wide.

I scooted forward, fumbling the key out of my pocket and inserted it into the lock and turned it clockwise. There was no doorknob, but the door swung silently inward. I wondered if there was a light switch; I wondered if there was any light at all. I had no idea how long my flashlight batteries were good for. I felt inside along the right-hand edge. Sure enough there was a round thing with a switch. I flipped it and the round thing turned out to be one of those stick-up lights they use in closets. I turned my flashlight off and looked around.

The place gleamed with polished wood. It looked like the cabin of a sailboat – a beautifully crafted sailboat. Three wooden steps led down into the hull. I decided to retrieve my backpack and pull up the rope ladder before I entered. Both these things required effort and I was already tired not only from the effort but also from the stress of uncertainty.

I stepped down into the cabin. I located several more lights and switched them on. I noticed several windows with dark cloth shades that needed to be closed so as not to attract unwanted attention whether from humans or moths. They folded down and sealed with Velcro on the sides.

I took a deep breath and looked around. A long bench extended along the left hand side of the room. On the right there was a tiny galley: a sink holding a one-gallon jug of water presumably for drinking; a one burner propane stove with a tea kettle on top; a stack of Rubbermaid bins with tight lids serving as a pantry. The top bin held a few pans, one plate, one mug, one glass, and silverware for one. My benefactor obviously did no entertaining.

At the far end from the door I saw a hammock and a sleeping bag. Above the hammock within easy reach was a small bookshelf holding several books on birds each in a zip-lock bag, and a pair of binoculars. In an alcove by the door I found a composting toilet. All the comforts of home, and much nicer than many homes I’d seen.

I was stunned at the amount of work that had gone into creating this safe haven. Everything had had to be hauled into the woods and up the tree. I suspected that few other people had seen this hideout. Why me? I wondered. And was I really safe?

Maybe it was time to move on. I’d already stayed much longer in this place than I’d intended to, but my riverside tent and simple existence had been comfortable enough. And I’d been trading dishwashing and other kitchen chores at Rose’s Café for meals. Maybe I’d become too comfortable, too complacent. It was already August and would be getting colder soon. What would I do for the winter?

Exhausted, I turned out the lights, removed my shoes, spread out the sleeping bag and crawled awkwardly into the hammock. I doubted I’d be able to sleep, but needed to rest if I could. I kept my flashlight close by in case I needed to get up.

I was awakened the next morning by birdsong around 6am. I almost fell getting out of the hammock. My body was sore and stiff from yesterday’s exertions. I made the rounds and rolled up the window shades. The only large window opening was placed over the galley stove and perfectly situated to provide a view of redwood branches and morning fog from the comfort of the hammock. It was chilly so I crawled back into the sleeping bag and fell asleep again.


It was almost ten and sunlight was filtering through the branches when I woke up again. As I hurried to get ready to leave I realized I not only had no idea who this man who had helped me was, but also had no idea what his agenda was. And I didn’t even know his name.

I struggled down the rope ladder muscles protesting. I found my tent and a garbage bag full of my few possessions inside the base of the tree as promised. I peeked outside and carefully looked around before emerging into the hazy daylight.

“Sleep well?” he asked. I almost jumped out of my skin. Once again he had approached silently, and once again he kept his distance. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I’m fine. Thank you,” I said feeling the full awkwardness of the situation. “Do you have a name?” I finally asked.

“Yes,” he said, “I do have a name.” A shy smile flashed across his face.

“I didn’t mean to be rude,” I said. “You can call me Morgan.” And I extended my hand.

“Aaron,” he said and stepped forward. We shook hands like kindergartners following parental directions.

MYSTERY CHAPTER TWO


As I traveled south I thought back to when I met Aaron. Dusk had been settling into the redwoods as I approached my campsite on the river that summer day. I was hurrying because of the impending dark, my heavy backpack slowing me down. Suddenly, a figure appeared on the narrow game trail about fifteen feet in front of me. I began backing up ready to run. The man put a finger to his lips then lowered his hands to his side and opened them as if to show he was no threat.

In a low voice he said, “A couple of guys have your place staked out. I thought you’d want to know.”

I wondered if Vern or his cohorts had finally found me. “How do you know where my place is?” I asked.

“I live around here,” he said. “I notice who’s coming and going.”

“I’ve been here for months. How come I haven’t seen you before? I haven’t seen any houses either.”

“I don’t live in a house,” he said. “I think they’re just locals looking for trouble, but best to avoid them if possible. I can help you.”

“Why should I trust you or anything you say?” He looked to be okay, but I was on the run because of trusting someone that I shouldn’t have. He was slight in build, was wearing dark green jeans and a plaid shirt under a dark windbreaker.

“You shouldn’t,” he said. “I’d expect you to continue to do whatever you need to do to take good care of yourself. I still can help.”

“Why would you?”

“Why not?” he asked, and gave me a shy smile. “Good neighbor policy maybe?”

“So what do you suggest? What can you do to help me?”

“It’s not safe for you to continue to camp where you are anymore. I can strike your camp and bring your things to wherever you want. I can give you a safe place to stay for now, either here or in town.”

“Here? What do you mean here?”

“My place is a short distance away, and safe. I can give you the key.”

“Show me,” I said chastising myself for risking being foolish. “But, keep your distance.”

“Not a problem,” he reassured me, turning his back and moving deeper into the woods. He made no noise as he moved away.

I followed cautiously behind him as he disappeared into the forest moving off the game trail. What the hell was I doing? I stopped and almost turned around to flee when his voice came filtering through the heavy air. “It’s right here,” he said.

I came up behind him. “Right where?” All I saw were trees and the one he stood in front of was massive, one of the old redwood giants.

“Stay there,” he said, and disappeared. It was so dark I couldn’t see anything anymore. I heard some soft sounds nearby. I inched forward. He suddenly popped out of a hidden cleft in the tree. “Here’s the key;” he extended his hand and backed away flicking on a small flashlight. He put a large brass key on the ground in front of me and shone the light on it. “You can climb a ladder, right?”

“Rr-right,” I said. “But where am I going?”

“Into the tree here. Turn right, and you’ll find a rope ladder. Climb up twenty-five feet. There you’ll find a small platform and a door. You have a flashlight with you?” I indicated I did and fumbled it out of my pocket. “Inside the door is my place. You can take off your backpack, then pull the ladder up so no one, including me, can surprise you.”

“Then what?”

“Do you want me to collect your tent and things?”

“I don’t know…,” I began.

“It’s your call,” he said. “I can walk you back to town and you can stay in my shop until you find someplace else. I’ll come back here for the night. Or, you can stay here. There’s a hammock aloft. I’ll get your things, stow them here below, and I’ll return around ten tomorrow morning. You could be gone by then if you want.”

I was tired. I needed a chance to think. Besides I was curious. “Okay,” I said. “That’s a plan I can live with. I’ll see you tomorrow at ten.” I stooped down and picked up the key.

He flashed me a grin and disappeared silently. I turned and felt my way to the ladder and started climbing.

RUNNING SCARED


I hadn’t expected to feel so jumpy. I scurried down the sidewalk in Pioneer Square clutching the hijab hoping it wouldn’t come undone from my head and shoulders before I got to Katherine’s office. I was beginning to regret my choice of disguise; I simply had not spent enough time getting used to wearing it; an amateur’s mistake. My face ached from the October cold. The sodden leaves underfoot made walking treacherous. The sky was shades of gray and full of moisture, but it wasn’t raining yet.

A hand clutched my elbow and I almost slipped. “Please lady, just a dollar, please,” a raspy voice entreated. I stopped and glanced at the emaciated woman at my side. I’d been away from Seattle for almost eighteen months now, but still couldn’t afford to get recognized. She seemed genuine enough. I fumbled a dollar out of my bag for her, and hurried away -- my heartbeat thundering in my ears. I thought I’d gotten over running scared. So much for denial.

I ducked into the red brick building and up the stairs. I paused a moment in the hall to collect myself. Half whispering I gave Katherine’s secretary Myra my new name and turned away quickly to get out of her line of sight. “She’ll be just a minute,” Myra said. I nodded. I felt like it was a test to be able to get by Myra without getting found out. I turned around and pretended to study the nautical watercolors hanging on the old brick walls.

Perhaps it had been foolish of me to come, but I was in town for my Grand Jury
testimony and Katherine had saved my life. I owed her. A few minutes later Myra said, “Miss,” to get my attention and waved me towards Katherine who had opened her office door. Once inside Katherine hugged me. “I’ve missed you,” she said and looked me over carefully. “You look better than the last time I saw you;” she reached up and touched my face gently. “And, thinner,” she added. “I really appreciate your coming. I have a client who needs your help.”

I unwound the hijab, stepped out of the long skirt, and folded them into my bag. Running my fingers through my short curly hair I adjusted my jeans and asked Katherine to tell me about her client. “I have to head uptown in an hour,” I said.

“I’ll drive you there. No argument,” Katherine said. “Sharon is in the next room; she can tell you her story. I think it will be quite clear why I asked you to talk with her.” Katherine opened the door to the conference room where I glimpsed a tall blonde looking out the window. “Sharon, this is my friend. I’ll let her introduce herself.” Katherine closed the door quietly.

“You can call me Morgan,” I began as Sharon turned to face me. I could feel myself flinch. Her hair was draped over the left side of her face, her hand half-concealing her mouth, but it was obvious she had been badly beaten, her jaw wired shut. It was like looking in a mirror from all those months ago; her carefully applied makeup could not conceal the bruises around her eyes.

“Don’t look at me,” she ducked her head half turning away. “I’m too ugly this way.” Her injuries caused her voice to slur and stumble.

Getting a grip on my emotions I sat down at the conference table and said, “The bruises will fade, your jaw will heal. We need to talk about what you need to do next. Tell me what happened.”

She slipped into a chair across from me. “He didn’t mean to hurt me this badly,” she said, and I wondered how badly he did mean to hurt her. “But I can’t go back until I look okay again. Bruce gets angry when he sees my bruises; it makes him feel bad. And if I stay away too long he’ll be mad about that too. I don’t know what to do.”

“Husband? Boyfriend?” I asked. She told me she’d been married eight years and had one son who lived with his father, her former husband. Her current husband Bruce was a security guard who had wanted to be a policeman. He’d hit her before, but this was the first time she had had to go to the hospital. He’d been arrested. Katherine had checked Sharon out of the hospital before he was released. Sharon had just talked to Bruce by phone. He wanted her to return home immediately. She was afraid.

“He’s just flipped out because he has to take anger management classes again,” she said.

“What do you want to do?” I asked.

“I want everything to go back to the way it used to be,” she wailed. “Maybe if I could learn to be better – to not make him so angry.” She looked down and studied her carefully manicured hands.

I remembered back when I had felt exactly the same way about Vern. I felt sorry for her, but knew that anything less than tough love wouldn’t help her. “Not going to happen. Not possible,” I said. “His anger is not about you.” She began weeping. I waited her out, and looked around for the box of Kleenex. I rapped the box down sharply on the table in front of her. She startled, then grabbed a handful of tissues and began mopping herself up.

“Your face has taken enough of a beating without your making it worse with crying.” The only things I could give her that would be useful were truth and a sense of choices. “It’s time you learned to take better care of yourself. You have several options.
According to you, going back to Bruce now, or later, exposes you to more anger. You may not be able to walk away next time.”

She looked up, shocked. “Oh, no. He loves me; he tells me he loves me all the time.” She busily shredded the tissues in her hand.

“Do you feel loved?” I asked.

She began crying again. “But I can’t leave him,” she protested. “He said if I left him or mentioned the word divorce he would hunt me down and kill me.”

“Doesn’t sound like love to me,” I said. “If you can’t go back to him, and can’t leave him without fearing for your life, what’s left?” I paused. “I assume Katherine has mentioned the battered women’s shelter here in Seattle.”

“It’d be too easy for him to find me,” she said. More likely it would be too easy for her to call him again.

“You need to have a place where your injuries can heal,” I said. “You need to learn to live without him, without the drama, without the pain. There are other battered women’s shelters nearby and even in other states. That should be your first step. Katherine can arrange things. There’s a kind of underground railway for battered women that can furnish transportation.”

“I thought you were supposed to help me,” she said. She reeked of needing to be taken care of.

“I am helping you as much as I can right now,” I said. “You need to learn to help yourself. Think of me as a mentor – someone who has been where you need to go. Someone who may not have the right answers, but someone who can help you ask the right questions.”

“I do have a question,” Sharon said. “I can’t stand it when people look at me – the way my face is.” Her hands touched her injured face carefully.

“You can say you were in an automobile accident. Beyond that, learn to say, ‘I don’t want to talk about it,’ with no further explanation. Never explain too much. If you say more than a sentence or two you’ve taken a defensive position anyway.”

“It’s really okay to say I don’t want to talk about it?”

“It’s your life, your story. You’ll find people who will hear your story and will take care of you and treat you like a baby. Some of that kind of attention is necessary, but often comes at a high price. Too much sympathy can make it more difficult to do the hard stuff.”

“What hard stuff?”

“Learning to be comfortable with being alone – to do without a man, learning to be self-sufficient, learning to be poor for a while.”

“I’ve been alone before. I’ve been poor in my life. I don’t want to be alone or poor again.” She started to tremble.

“Right now, today, your reality is that you are alone, and you have no money of your own. You have to start from there.”

“I can’t just walk away from all my clothes, my jewelry, my stuff at home; it’s gotta be worth something. I could sell some of it.”

“As long as Bruce is threatening to kill you, it’s not your home anymore. And your stuff is not worth risking your life for. If the stuff is that important to you, get a lawyer, file for divorce. A lawyer can help you get your stuff.”

“I can’t do that,” she wailed.

I could see her slipping away, beyond the reach of reason; drowning in self-pity. I could feel her panic, her desperation. Although I was feeling frustrated, I reached out and took her trembling hand. “You have everything you need to get through today,” I tried to reassure her. “You’re safe for today.”

**********************

A half hour later in Katherine’s car I said, “Sharon’s not yet ready for anything I might be able to help her with. She’s not able to be angry enough at him; every other sentence she makes excuses for him. Just like I used to do with Vern.”

“It was worth a shot anyway. Thanks for trying,” Katherine said. “Tell me what you’ve been doing since I last saw you.”

“I spent the first summer in a tent in the redwoods, just enjoying the peace and quiet,” I said. “Since then I’ve lived in several small towns in Northern California. I’ve washed dishes for food. Too bad I couldn’t work as a paralegal again, but that’s my reality for now.”

“I worried about you after you turned down witness protection,” Katherine said.

“I just couldn’t bear the thought of being so controlled by anyone else again. Perhaps it was foolish of me but I’m doing okay. I’m hoping Vern will get indicted and convicted, but maybe I’d still be afraid of what he might be able to do me even then.”

You can still get help here if you need it,” Katherine reminded me. “You don’t have to act so tough all the time. At least not for those who know you.”

“I need to act tough for me,” I said. “I need to be tough or I’m not going to make it,” I admitted as she dropped me off where the Grand Jury was meeting.