See John write

“I was only a small boy. I think I was seven. My dad and me were homeless. And it was so cold, Mr. Brown. So cold.” I shuddered as I remembered.

Sterling Brown continued to listen through the phone, nodding as I spoke.

“There was also this mom and her boy. He was my age. And people were always saying that we were twins, we looked so much the same.

“But my dad always said they were different. We had seen people come visit them, you know, bring them shoes and food and coats and stuff. Dad said that made them different. We didn’t have nobody that cared about us. We had to make it on our own and all.

“Like I said, it was winter and muddy and cold. And one day in the mud, I found a box of matches. I couldn’t get a fire started outside ’cause of the wind. So I snuck into a factory building. I just had to get warm, you know. I didn’t have no coat and it was so cold.”

I felt my emotions start to choke off my throat. I blinked and shook my head.

Sterling Brown watched me intently. “Go on. You can tell me, son,” he said.

“Well, I got a fire started inside. And, it was so warm … it was warm and I hadn’t been warm in a long time. So I laid close to the fire.” I paused, “And then I … I fell asleep.”

Sterling Brown nodded. “And that’s when the building caught fire?” he asked.

I nodded. “You know, I ain’t never told this to any one before.”

I could tell Mr. Brown understood. He patiently waited for me to continue.

“I didn’t know they were in there, you know. We that were homeless pretty much stayed out of the buildings. Too much trouble. But they must have been really cold too. But I swear I didn’t know they were in there. I didn’t know.

“But when I woke up, the smoke and flames were everywhere. And that’s when I heard the screaming … I never heard nothing like that. It was so horrible.”

I closed my eyes for a moment. My stomach felt a little sick. I swallowed hard.

“I didn’t think I was gonna make it. The smoke was so black. … But then she grabbed my wrist.”

“The mom?” Mr. Brown asked.

I nodded. “She was in bad shape. It felt more like bones than a hand. But she got a hold of me and somehow we kind of crawled and pulled each other to the door.”

Mr. Brown leaned back in his chair for a moment and stroked his chin. “I remember now,” he said into the phone. “I remember the news. She died, but they called her a hero for saving her boy.”

I studied his face. Did he understand yet? What will happen to me?

“And she saved you too?” Mr. Brown leaned forward again in his chair.

I took a deep breath. “No, sir,” I answered.

“I don’t understand.”

“My dad said this was my chance. That the people who visited her—he said that they’d take me. That I’d have a chance … to have a life.”

Sterling Brown’s forehead was wrinkled with confusion. “You mean …”

“It was all so confusing—almost like a dream. … The firemen and police, they thought I was her boy. They thought I was Alex.”

“And they thought you were the dead boy inside the factory,” Mr. Brown looked down and ran a hand through his grey hair.

We sat in silence for a moment. I didn’t know what to think. I had just told a complete stranger my secret. A dark truth. A hidden truth. But there in a bleak jail, with guards around every corner, I felt a lightness. A freedom.

Sterling Brown sat up and looked me in the eye again. “And you’ve never told anyone about this until now.”

“No, sir. … But somehow, someone found out.”

“What do you mean?”

“Have you ever heard of The Society?” I asked.

The color drained from Mr. Brown’s face. For the first time, he seemed uncomfortable. He glanced nervously around.

“Yes … yes, I have.”

I slumped over in the back seat of the cruiser. My nerves were numb. I could hardly think; the hours of running, the residual effects of the sedative, the constant adrenaline rush—it all came crashing down. I felt like I could hardly keep my eyes open.

I seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. In my mind, I kept seeing the room in the warehouse. Everyone walking around and around, staring off into nothingness. Everyone repeating their secrets. I felt like the room was pulling me in.

Then the cruiser came to a stop.

I blinked a few times. I looked up to see the front door of the police station. I was shocked. The same officer who took me out to the middle of nowhere … the same officer who tried to give me his gun.

I shook my head and tried to make sense of what was happening.

In another minute, I was in front of a camera. Then my fingerprints were taken. Then I was taken to a cell. I watched the other officers and support staff. No one even glanced at me. No one spoke to me.

I sat alone on a hard bunk. Down the hall, a couple of other prisoners were talking. Time seemed to stand still. I wasn’t sure what time it was. I tried to remember what day it was. My mind struggled to put all the events of the last few days in order.

I heard the door open. The guard walked down the hallway and stopped in front of my cell. He put a large key in the lock. “Feldman, you’ve got a visitor,” he said.

I followed him down the hall to a row of small cubicles. Each had a hard chair and a phone. Thick plexiglass separated the prisoner side from the visitor side. I was lead to one of the chairs and I sat down. I looked through the plexiglass to see a complete stranger seated on the other side. He was a grey-haired gentleman wearing a dark business suit. His dark eyes studied me for a moment. Then we both reached for the phones.

“Are you Alexander Feldman?” the stranger asked me.

“Yeah,” I answered. “Who are you?”

“I’m Sterling Brown.”

My heart thumped in my chest. I nodded slowly and studied his face. “Oh,” I said without thinking.

“I believe you tried to see me earlier today,” he said, his voice full of curiosity.

“I think you may know my father,” I offered, not sure what else to say.

“Who is your father?”

“His name is Daniel Flores.”

“Daniel Flores?” Mr. Brown repeated. “I don’t recognize that name.”

“He’s … um … he’s homeless. Lives under the freeway.”

Sterling Brown stared at me.

“Mr. Brown, can I trust you?” I asked in desperation.

“Yes, son, you can trust me.”

“Twenty two years ago there was a fire. It was in a factory. It was started by a homeless boy.”

“I think I remember,” Mr. Brown said as he leaned forward in his chair.

She was standing there with Pervis’ arms around her neck in the middle of the parking ramp. She stared at me, her eyes cold.

Then she said something. I couldn’t hear her, but I knew what she said. “We know who you are.”

I pulled the gearshift into neutral and threw the door open. As I stepped out of the car, it began to roll forward. “You can have your car back,” I said as I let go of the door.

Instantly, there was mass chaos. Pervis running one way, his sister running the other. The parking attendant scrambling out of his booth as the black car smashed through the gate arm and crashed into the little glass booth.

I walked calmly to the front door of the building. I heard people yelling at me, but I kept walking.

As I stepped into the lobby, a young attractive receptionist smiled at me. I walked to her desk while I tucked my shirt in and tried to smooth out my clothes.

“Can I help you?” she asked in a quiet tone.

“Yes,” I said, matching her tone. “I need to see Sterling Brown.”

“Sterling Brown? Do you have an appointment?”

“No, actually this is an emergency,” I answered.

She chuckled a little as though I were making a joke. But I quickly shook my head. Her face turned serious. “An emergency?”

Just then there was the sound of sirens blaring in the street outside. “Yes,” I said forcefully.

“I’m afraid Mr. Brown only sees a handful of clients these days. And only by appoint—”

“Miss,” I interrupted, “this is truly a matter of life and death. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

She studied my face for a moment. Then slowly she picked up the phone. She turned her face away from me and spoke very softly into the phone. I tried to listen but couldn’t hear exactly what she was saying.

Then I heard the front door swing open and I turned around. A police officer and a man in a black leather jacket walked into the lobby. The officer placed his hand on the grip of his handgun in its holster. He looked straight at me. Our eyes locked and I immediately recognized him. The officer from the highway. The officer who tried to make me take his gun.

I looked around the lobby. A bank of elevators. A few overstuffed leather chairs. No other exit. No escape.

I looked back to the receptionist who was just hanging up the phone. She was already shaking her head. “I’m sorry,” she said.

At that moment, I felt the officer’s hand grip the back of my neck. The receptionist squealed and jumped.

“Alexander Feldman, you are under arrest.” The officer pushed me into the receptionist’s counter and kicked my legs apart.

As the front of the car swung past the officer, I saw him start talking into the radio that was clipped to his shoulder. His eyes seemed to still be studying Pervis through the windshield. We completed the turn only to find three police cruisers coming down the street, straight towards us. Their lights were flashing.

My hand gripped the gear shift and my eyes darted back and forth, searching for some escape. We were completely trapped. There were crowds now on every sidewalk and the street was jammed with cars. I revved the engine without even thinking about it, I was ready to dart through the smallest of openings if I could only find one.

Just then, the three police cruisers seemed to part. Two of them switched off their lights and pulled to the side of the road. One officer got out and flagged me forward. I checked my rearview mirror, the officer who had spoken to us was now talking to the folks in the next car.

I took a deep breath.

Don’t panic, I told myself.

I eased the black car out of the traffic jam and turned toward Charlington Place. The glass and steel buildings completely shaded the street. The men and women in suits made their way busily up and down the sidewalks and in and out of the buildings. No one seemed to be paying any attention to us.

I came to an intersection. The street sign said Pingery Place. I looked down the block and squinted to try to make out the sign on the next street. It looked like it started with a “C” but I couldn’t tell for certain.

My gaze was suddenly broken by someone stopping in the crosswalk directly in front of the car. I leaned a little to try to see around him, then suddenly my eyes focused right on him. He was wearing a leather jacket and dark glasses. He had turned to face the car. I glanced around to see if he was alone. Two more leather jackets appeared on the corner.

Just then the light turned green. I revved the engine and lunged the car forward toward him. He stood his ground. I revved the engine louder and the car behind me blasted its horn. The man in the leather jacket slowly turned and crossed to the sidewalk.

I sped down the street, almost completely forgetting about Charlington Place. As I approached the next light, I was still looking over my shoulder. When I glanced forward, there was the sign right in front of me. It read Charlington Place. I swerved sharply into the left turn lane.

Sterling Brown, Sterling Brown, I repeated to myself. How am I supposed to find one person?

I saw a sign for parking and turned on my blinker. “We’d better get rid of the car,” I said to Pervis.

Pervis was almost completely doubled over. His arms still wrapped tightly around his middle.

I turned onto the ramp which lead to the underground parking. Immediately, I saw her stepping from the shadows. Her wild strawberry blonde curls twisted in every direction. Pervis sat up and snapped his head from her to me.

“That’s my sister!” he said excitedly.

“I know,” I said.

Pervis looked again at his sister and then back to me. He reached for the door handle.

“Wait,” I pleaded. But he pulled the door open and jumped out.

I looked up and her pale blue eyes were locked on me. Pervis ran to her and threw his arms around her. But she never looked away from me.

I checked my rearview mirror and saw an impatient man waving his hands in the car behind me.

I glanced at the front of the building. On the glass door it read, “Christensen, Walters, and Brown Law Office.”

Hi. Thanks for visiting my blog today. I know, it’s been too long. I’ve been a little busy. I’ve been vacationing with my family and starting a new job all in the same week.

And as I sat down to write today, I was overcome with blog jealousy. You see, we had a crazy camping trip at the lake. Seriously. It was filled with wild, unexpected, slightly life-threatening events. And as I was about to start to tell you about it, I realized that I should have taken photos. You know, something tangible. Some proof of the dramatic events. But no, I have nothing.

But my sister, the sole reason for the genesis of this blog, is phenomenal at remembering to grab her digital camera whenever the wild, unexpected, or slightly life-threatening happens. Like this post on her blog for example. A rotted popsicle stick—now that’s real entertainment.

But no. I have no photos. No proof.

Like if I tried to tell you about how our little marshmallow-roasting fire somehow released a tiny ember which casually floated over into our box of firewood and then when microburst winds suddenly whipped the tiny ember into flames and then how my little brother threw the burning box onto the fire pit and then how the whole box burst into giant flames and how glowing ashes were whipped by the wind across the dry grass of the campground and how many of our fellow campers leaped to our rescue and helped stamp out the fire before it became something on the evening news—if I tried to tell you about that, wouldn’t it be so much better if I had taken just one photo?
Or perhaps a photo of how those same microburst winds pulled out the stake that was securing one end of my boat to the beach? Or maybe a photo of me swimming out at 10:30 at night to rescue my boat? You’d like to see a photo of that wouldn’t you?

Or I could have taken a photo of Josh getting up on a wakeboard for the first time. Or Nate riding the kneeboard for the first time. Or Elizabeth reluctantly skiing for the first time this summer. All worthy photo moments. All would have added to the richness of the story here on my blog.

But no, I’ve got nothing. Just sitting here with blog jealousy of those who recognize those great photo opportunities when they happen.

Maybe I’ll learn.

I felt all the blood drain from my face. His words hung in the air like a rotten stench.

Slowly, Pervis turned to face me. He looked me in the eye. I could tell he was waiting for me to tell him it wasn’t true. To tell him everything was OK.

I felt like I could hardly breathe. I tried to swallow but my throat was dry. The longer the silence drew on, the more concern I could see on Pervis’ face. As I began to stammer, my eye spotted something in the rearview mirror. I snapped my head around to see a car headed our way.

I shifted into gear and turned left.

“Pervis,” I said, “I’m not a killer. … You’re gonna have to trust me.”

I sped past industrial buildings and abandoned factories. I continued to make my way toward the highrise building I had spotted earlier. Pervis sat silent, still clutching his gut like he was going to be sick.

Repeatedly, I checked the rearview mirror. It seemed the car wasn’t following us. I turned another corner and we were clearly entering the business district. A few men and women in suits walked up and down the sidewalks.

I looked for any familiar landmark. The buildings and streets seemed like any city. Nothing seemed to give me any bearings. I searched for a sign indicating a freeway entrance or major highway.

I came to an intersection and flicked on my right blinker. I rounded the corner and was greeted by a whole street full of brake lights. Up ahead I could see the flashing lights of several police cars. I was stuck. A wave of panic washed over me. I glanced at Pervis; he leaned forward a little and shook his head.

A police officer was making his way down the row of vehicles. At each driver’s window, he would pause and talk to the driver for a moment. Then he would point as if giving directions.

My mind flashed back to the officer who had tried to force me to take his gun. My heart was pounding and I felt my face begin to sweat. I watched as he finished giving instructions to the car in front of me. As the car pulled away, the officer flagged me to pull forward.

I tried to act calm. I rolled down my window.

“The road’s blocked by a pretty nasty accident,” the officer explained. “Where are you headed?” he asked.

The question caught me by complete surprise. “Um,” I stammered.

“Is there some problem?” The officer bent down and looked at Pervis.

“No, no, we’re OK,” I said quickly. “I just got a little turned around.”

The officer looked from Pervis back to me.

“Charlington Place,” I blurted out. “We were looking for Charlington Place.”

The officer looked back at Pervis and nodded slowly. “Yeah, it’s over this way about four blocks.” He pointed behind us and to the left. “It’s probably best if you just make a U-turn.” He took a couple steps back and began to flag me around.

I put the car in gear and quickly made a U-turn.

Sorry about the scant posts here this week. I’ve been totally swamped at work trying to wrap things up. It doesn’t help that the week before I gave my notice, two of my employees also gave notice. Let’s see. It was a team of 4 (including me). Minus 2 employees and 1 manager.

I think you get the picture.

Hopefully, next week we’ll all find out which way the Fog of Dreams turns. I can’t wait to find out what happens to poor old Alexander. And did he really kill people? Man, maybe I will squeeze in some time today.

Last night, Janet and I thoroughly enjoyed the movie Freedom Writers. But before I talk about the movie, I have to talk about our DVD player. You see, several years ago, I heard about this cool device that reads ahead in the closed captioning and can block out swearing from movies and even TV.

We ended up purchasing a DVD player with the TV Guardian built in. I believe we probably would have turned off the movie last night if it weren’t for this feature. It was clear that the language used in the movie was very harsh. In fact, I wondered if not that many years ago it would have been rated R simply for the strong language.

But instead of turning it off, we enjoyed a powerful true story of a teacher who truly made a difference in the lives of her students. The performances were so moving and real that we were completely captivated. Our eyes were opened to the plight of these young people growing up in the violent gang culture. And our hearts were opened to the limitless possibilities of every child of God on this earth when someone will simply love them, care about them, and believe in them.

Janet summed it up by saying, “Wow, it makes me feel like I’m not doing anything meaningful with my life.” Well, I hope you get the idea.

Here’s a link to a DVD player like ours. I highly recommend it. You simply don’t have to be subjected to the filthy language in movies today. (You can also buy a separate device that you can run all your video through: VCR, DVD, and TV. Someday, we’ll need to invest in one of those too.)

I closed my eyes and continued to hold completely still, trying to listen to the men outside the car. After several minutes, I couldn’t hear their muffled voices anymore. I opened one eye and looked out the windows. I couldn’t be certain, but it looked like they had walked away.

This could be my only chance, I thought.

I carefully sat up, slowly raising my head up over the seat. The car was in a huge parking lot in front of a dark warehouse. I glanced all around and couldn’t see a single person. Everything looked deserted, not even another car in the lot.

I looked back at the warehouse for a moment. I had no idea where I was, what city I was in, or for that matter what state I was in. But there was something about the warehouse … familiar. Then it hit me—the dream. This was the warehouse in my dream.

My stomach tightened up. What was going on? How could I have dreamt about someplace I’d never been?

I had to get away. My head still felt groggy and my arms and legs felt heavy. But I knew I couldn’t wait. I moved closer to the door and filled my lungs with the stale cigarette air. One moment before I was ready to swing the door open and start running, something caught my eye. I froze. In the ignition of the car—the keys were in the ignition.

Quickly, I glanced around. Everything remained quiet and deserted. I pulled myself between the front seats and slid into the driver’s seat. My heart was pounding out of my chest. I turned the key and the engine fired up. I slammed the car into gear and jammed my foot onto the accelerator. I turned sharply to the right, heading for the exit. The lot was fenced but the gate was open and I could see the empty road beyond.

As I sped across the empty lot. I checked the rear-view mirror for anyone following—but I could see no one. I turned my eyes back to the gate. Then suddenly, I saw him. One man running along the fence toward the gate. I shifted again and accelerated. He sprinted harder. It was going to be close.

He’s gonna beat me to the gate. If I hit him …

I slammed on the brakes and skidded to a stop right in front of him. His hands were out in front of him as if to catch the hood of the car. His eyes were full of terror. He took a step back and looked through the windshield right into my eyes. We both froze for a moment.

It was Pervis.

And just like my dream, his eyes were desperate. And pleading.

An eerie feeling swept over me. I threw the door open and stood up.

“Pervis!” I yelled at him. “Get in the car. Now!”

His face looked like a frightened child. I glanced over my shoulder. Three leather jackets came running out of the warehouse.

“We don’t have time. You either get in or I’m gonna run you over. Your choice,” I said as forcefully as I could.

He shook his hands and took another step backward. Then his eyes locked on the three men running toward us. In a flash, he ran to the passenger door and jumped in. I jumped back in and jammed the car into gear. We tore down the road and skidded around the corner.

“Which way to a main highway?” I asked Pervis desperately.

“Uhh … ” Pervis stammered.

“Don’t you know where we are?”

He shook his head and looked down at the floor.

I sped through a four-way stop and then skidded around another corner. Nothing looked familiar. I searched the horizon for any landmark, anything that might tell me where we were. I caught a glimpse of a high-rise building, up ahead and to my left.

Big buildings equal big roads, I thought to myself. I checked the rear-view mirror, no one was following. I eased up on the accelerator and slowed down a little. Last thing I need is another traffic cop.

The road came to a T and I pulled the car to a stop. I looked over at Pervis. His legs were crossed and his arms were folded tightly across his belly. His face was full of concern and he was biting his bottom lip.

“You OK?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said almost apologetically.

“It’s OK, Pervis. I got you out of there,” I said trying to offer some reassurance.

“But they told me about you,” Pervis said nervously.

“What did they tell you about me?”

“They said … they said …” He wrapped his arms even tighter around his belly.

“What?” I asked.

“You killed a mom and her little boy.”

Screaming. Screaming. Someone is screaming.

My eyes flew open. The flames were everywhere. Black smoke hung right over my face. I coughed hard and rolled onto my belly. I could see the bottom of the steel door I had snuck through. Quickly, I inched my way across the floor, trying to stay below the unb