RUNNING SCARED # 12


I woke up the next morning and wondered what was wrong. Things felt different somehow. It took me until noon to figure out that the difference was I no longer had that constant feeling of dread in my stomach. I felt positively energized for the first time in months. Anxiety and dread fueled by adrenaline had kept me on the move or hiding out or catatonic ever since I left the hospital in Seattle almost two years earlier. And, for the moment, that had changed.

I’d been through several major transitions in those two years. First the months of shock while my face was healing where I got through each day minute by minute, no ability to plan for more than a day at a time, drifting south, finally settling in the tent in the redwoods near Murietta where I slept a lot and prayed primitive “Please God…” prayers. I was unable to figure anything out past taking care of elemental food and shelter needs -- functionally a homeless person with post-traumatic stress issues. Not that I was aware of it at the time.

All I knew was that for the first time in my life reading was more of a chore than a pleasure. I’d find myself having to reread sentences three or four times to squeeze out some meaning; my attention span was almost non-existent.

Then came involvement in the Saturday night poker game, and encountering Aaron, and moving to town where I sort of settled into small town life. Returning to Seattle to appear before the grand jury necessitated more of a thinking-and-planning stage. I still was running scared, but could cope better. Now I felt almost whole again.

However, I reminded myself that my momentary euphoria needed to be tempered by caution from the real threat of casual violence embodied in Ryder or the kids who had attacked me at The Tav, or, less likely at that moment it seemed to me, from Vern.

By the time I set out to visit Abigail the following week, and to check my e-mail, nothing more had happened to spook me. At the library the e-mail message from Katherine just said, “Big news. Call me.” I didn’t know whether to be alarmed or relieved, but my heart rate zoomed up. I called Katherine’s office, but she wasn’t in.

I decided I needed a phone again, so bought one, and put in another call to her leaving my new number with her office for a call back. I thought I might as well wait to phone Aaron until I knew what was going on. I had an appointment to meet Abigail at a nearby McDonald’s for lunch.

She greeted me with a shy smile as I walked in the door. She looked rested and happy. Over burgers she told me about the shelter she was living in and that she was studying to get her GED. She was planning to attend the community college in the fall. In the meantime she had been working part-time at an espresso cafe and saving her money to get a place of her own.

“What are you planning to study in college?” I asked.

“I.T.” she said. “Information Technology – computer skills. I’m already pretty good, but I need more practice.” She sounded excited. “Maybe I’ll become a private detective someday – specializing in computer forensics.”

“Sounds good,” I said. I asked her if she missed going to regular high school.

“Not really,” she said. “Most of the kids there were pretty lame most of the time.” I thought how she had been forced to grow up earlier than her peers. I found myself impressed with her goals and her maturity. I told her so, and promised to keep in touch.

Katherine called me an hour later. “Vern was indicted on Wednesday on charges of corruption,” she blurted. And before I could say anything she added,” And on Thursday, according to a statement to the press from the district attorney’s office, he had a small stroke. He’s supposedly been under a doctor’s care ever since.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him to fake being ill,” I said. She admitted she didn’t know the real truth of the matter, just the reports in the news. “If it’s true,” I said, “I should be in less danger, but I can’t afford complacency.” She agreed and said she’d phone me if she learned anything more. I asked about the kids. She said that they seemed to be doing fine in college, and that neither of them said anything about Vern having been in contact with them.

“Oh yeah,” she said, “I got a phone call from a Fern Albright wanting to know how to get a hold of you. She hadn’t heard you were missing. I just played dumb and didn’t tell her much.”

“She’s my reclusive aunt. Lives in Oregon. I’ll call her.”

“She didn’t leave a phone number,” Katherine said.

“I’ll manage,” I said before hanging up. As it turned out I couldn’t find any trace of a phone number for her. On my way back to Madrona I thought about paying my aunt a visit.