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Lucas,
Sorry to hear that your flashbacks have returned. Have you been using the coping techniques your counselor taught you?
I type back:
I have been. I just need to figure out what triggered them, then I’ll be fine.
I send the reply and the proposals, change into my running clothes, and pack up for the day.
A handful of cars are in the dirt parking lot when I arrive at my favorite hiking trail, but the area is otherwise free of people.
I jump down from my SUV and breathe in the grounding scent of pine and soil and spring. The cool mountain breeze brushes my skin, bringing with it the tingling sensation of change. Thick clouds, bunched up on the horizon and dark with the promise of rain, advance toward the mountains.
I still have time, though, before I need to worry about them.
I jog to the start of the trail and stretch the tightness in my muscles. I concentrate on the movement, shutting everything else out for now.
Satisfied that I’m limber enough for what comes next, I begin running. Hard. Other than my panted breaths, the wind in the trees, the occasional call of a bird or the scurrying of a squirrel, and the muffled tread of my stride, the area is quiet.
The inner peace that comes from being surrounded by nature eases away any residual tension from my day. I keep running, thankful I have this place so close to home. Thankful I’m still alive to enjoy it.
I focus on the dirt path, littered with roots and stones. All thoughts are pushed aside to keep me from tripping and landing on my face or twisting my knee.
I run past several people hiking to their vehicles. No one I recognize.
Forty minutes later, clouds heavy with rain creep closer as the trail begins to loop back to the parking lot. Sweat drips down my body, soaks through my T-shirt.
My shoulder aches slightly, which is normal with the changing weather. It’s been that way ever since the accident in Afghanistan that ended my military career.
The parking lot is empty by the time I approach it. The wind is stronger now, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s raining by the time I get home.
I take a moment to stretch out my muscles, paying extra attention to the injured shoulder.
By the time I steer onto my street, the clouds have surrendered all hope. I flip on my windshield wipers. Ahead of me, flashing red and blue lights streak through the pouring rain. Red and blue lights that are parked near my house.
But the lights aren’t coming from one cop car.
Or two.
Three vehicles are lighting up the street as if it’s opening night on Broadway.
It must be another boring night for Maple Ridge’s finest, and they’ve all come to help Mrs. Johnson find the teapot she misplaced. Misplaced but misguidedly thought had been stolen. Again.
No, that can’t be it. Even our police department doesn’t get that bored.
A sinking feeling hits me, dragging my stomach with it.
Christ. Something must have happened to one of my neighbors.
Except, there’s no hint of an ambulance. No sign of EMS.
It must have only recently happened.
I ease into my driveway. Before I can reach for the garage door opener, a police officer steps in front of my SUV from the path leading to my house. I press on the brake.
Four officers stand on my lawn, their faces as eager as a cougar before it rips the flesh off its victim. They don’t even seem to notice it’s raining.
What the fuck?
