Chapter 9
The following week dragged on endlessly,
a slow torture of paranoia,
and constant,
and exhausting hyper-vigilance.
I found myself checking the security cameras,
ten or fifteen times a single day,
zooming in on passing vehicles,
and staring at the mail carrier,
with deep,
and completely irrational suspicion.
Pierce called me on a rainy Thursday morning,
his voice low,
and deeply serious,
bringing news I desperately did not want to hear.
My men tracked him down,
Pierce informed me bluntly,
he did not leave the city after the hotel incident.
My grip tightened fiercely on the phone,
and I closed my eyes in pure frustration.
Where is he,
I asked coldly,
ready to drive there myself,
and physically remove him from the town limit.
He is living in a tent,
Pierce replied softly,
in the woods near the old lumber yard,
just outside the main city borders.
He is working day labor at the construction site,
getting paid under the table in cash,
and keeping completely to himself.
I listened to the detailed report,
feeling a strange mixture of anger,
and a disturbing,
and unwelcome sense of pity.
My son,
who once wore thousand-dollar suits,
and drove a stolen luxury sports car,
was now living in a muddy tent,
and doing back-breaking manual labor,
just to survive the cold nights.
Do you want me to call the local police,
Pierce asked gently,
they can clear out the homeless camp,
and force him to move along.
I hesitated for a long moment,
staring out my study window at the heavy rain,
picturing the miserable,
and freezing conditions in those dark woods.
No,
I finally answered quietly,
leave him alone for now,
just keep watching him from a distance,
and let me know if he comes anywhere near the suburbs.
I ended the call with a heavy sigh,
rubbing my throbbing temples,
and trying to push the pathetic image of him,
out of my tired mind.
It was his own fault,
I reminded myself harshly,
he had made his terrible choices,
and now he was facing the severe consequences,
of his greedy,
and criminal actions.
I walked out of the study,
finding Diane in the bright living room,
folding a large pile of warm blankets,
for her upcoming charity drive.
The winter is going to be brutal this year,
she said sadly,
looking out at the gray,
and stormy sky,
I worry about the people who have no shelter,
and no warm place to sleep at night.
Her words hit me like a physical blow,
a sharp knife twisting deeply in my gut,
and I had to turn my face away quickly,
so she would not see the sudden guilt,
flashing in my eyes.
You are a very kind woman,
I managed to say,
my voice sounding slightly choked,
and unnaturally tight.
We do what we can,
she smiled warmly,
completely unaware that her only child,
was currently freezing in a wet tent,
just a few miles away from our warm fire.
I helped her fold the remaining blankets,
my hands moving mechanically,
while my mind wrestled violently,
with the impossible,
and heartbreaking choice I had made.
The heavy rains of autumn continued to fall,
turning the ground into thick mud,
and stripping the beautiful trees of their bright leaves,
leaving them completely bare,
and looking terribly skeletal against the gray sky.
I could not stop thinking about the lumber yard,
and the pathetic image of the small tent,
getting battered by the relentless,
and freezing winds.
One Tuesday afternoon,
while Diane was out buying baking supplies,
I found myself grabbing my heavy wool coat,
and my car keys,
driven by a morbid,
and completely irrational impulse.
I drove out of the secure suburbs,
heading toward the industrial side of the town,
where the abandoned factories,
and the old train tracks lay rusting in the rain.
I parked my expensive car a few blocks away,
pulling my collar up against the biting cold,
and I walked slowly toward the wooded area,
my expensive shoes sinking into the deep mud.
I stayed hidden behind a large oak tree,
peering through the thick,
and wet brush,
until I spotted a cluster of three small tents,
tucked away under a bridge overpass.
One of the tents was a faded green color,
patched with silver duct tape,
and looking entirely incapable of keeping out the cold.
A small fire burned weakly in a metal barrel,
and a figure sat on a plastic bucket beside it,
huddled deeply inside a cheap,
and oversized jacket.
I recognized the sharp profile instantly,
despite the thick,
and unkempt beard that now covered his face.
It was Aaron.
He was holding a small tin can of beans,
eating them cold with a plastic spoon,
his hands shaking visibly in the freezing wind.
He looked up at the gray sky for a moment,
his expression one of absolute,
and utter defeat,
and I felt a sudden,
and terrifying crack form in the thick ice,
that surrounded my hardened heart.
This was the boy I had taught to ride a bicycle,
the boy I had carried on my shoulders at the parade,
reduced to a shivering,
and starving ghost,
living in the dirt like a wild animal.
I took a slight step forward,
an instinctual urge to help him pulling at my legs,
but I stopped myself abruptly,
remembering the forged bank documents,
and the terrified look on Diane's face,
when we were evicted from our family home.
He is a dangerous criminal,
I whispered to myself in the cold rain,
he is entirely toxic,
and he will destroy us again if I let him in.
I forced myself to turn around,
walking away from the miserable camp,
my heart feeling as heavy as a lead weight,
and my soul feeling completely stained,
with dark,
and unforgivable guilt.
I drove back to my warm,
and perfectly safe house,
stripping off my muddy shoes in the garage,
and washing the dirt from my cold hands,
with harsh,
and scalding hot water.
Diane greeted me with a warm hug,
smelling of sweet cinnamon,
and fresh baked bread,
and I held her tightly against my chest,
burying my face in her soft hair,
trying to erase the terrible image of the green tent,
from my fractured mind.
I told her I had gone for a long drive,
to clear my head from the business stress,
and she kissed my cheek gently,
May you like
believing my simple lie,
without a single shadow of doubt.
