Drt by Eric Thomas Read Free Book Online Page A

this was a vivid manifestation of confusion and anxiety. This could no longer be ignored; it wasn’t just dreams anymore.  
    I pushed the button on the face of my air conditioner and it beeped as it shuddered to life. The angled vents vomited a cold breeze into the room. Two things were clear: this needed to be dealt with and it needed to be kept secret, because I wanted to make sure Bob didn’t have to think of me. If he knew his overnight guy was going crazy, I might be fired, and then I would be left to deal with the homeless shelter Fritos-scented situation.
    I found a week old newspaper lying on the dresser in a heap, its pages curling and sponging the moisture in the air. I pinched up the pile of grimy information and threw it on the bed. Normally I would be going straight to bed but sleep wasn't possible when dead men yell at you from the side of a road.  
    I pushed the papers around the mattress. Support groups, looking for support groups. Anxiety support groups. I felt like I could handle that and it sounded like it might be free. I looked through the small white boxes filled with text as I ran a finger down the page, help starving children…volunteer bar-tend…learn about UNIX…volunteer bike tours….alcoholics seeking help…why didn't you tell me about the car…weekly anxiety and depression session...ah, yes, I thought. There it is.  
    The ad was written by a mind who was concerned with space. “Penn Quarter...Teaism…Sundays @ noon…Be Well.”  
    Be well. The words cascaded like the sound of a waterfall in the middle of a forest. I closed my eyes and smelled peace. I thought about a lazy brook that wandered through a thatch of trees. I thought about smelling the dirt and leaves, and the water, the clear clean smell of water running through a stream. I could visualize it, like I was there. I closed my eyes and felt my body relax. Standing in a forest listening to birds and the creek, looking around the trees and feeling peace, a tractor trailer cab twisted around the trees smells like gas with flashing lights, emergency lights, tow trucks whining, spitting, hissing, black blood clotting, pumped in chunks from a dying heart vomiting formed lumps onto the dust and dirt below the-.
    I opened my eyes and looked at the ad again. “Be Well.” I loved the words but I needed to stay away from thinking about trees, at least for the time being.
    Sleep was still going to be a challenge, but I thought about the group, “Be Well”, it already sounded like a rope from above. An offer to be saved from the roof of a burning building and a moment of indecisiveness would leave me to die.  
    Maybe food would help. I got out of bed and pulled on sweat pants and a white shirt that were lying in the corner of the room. Both of them were adorned with a spatter pattern of stains but I didn't notice. I left the air conditioner on and walked outside.  
    The sun was starting to dominate the skyline. Its effects were no longer pink and orange suggestions. The ball of fire was now starting to shine onto the waking world. I squinted, not used to seeing the sun that powerful in the sky. I held a hand of protection out in front of my face and went to the car.  
    I got in the car, closed the door and started. I squinted at the two cars coming down the street, police cars. They were creeping along at the speed you travel when you are searching for an address.  
    My face felt hot and my chest almost exploded. I knew what had happened. The police on the scene of the crash found the cell phone. Acting on protocol, they checked the last couple of numbers that were on the phone. Maybe they noticed the traffic center number, maybe they called it. Either way they would know.  
    Then they would talk to Bob, find out my name and maybe even my address. They could have just plugged my name into a computer with a couple of other bits of information and then they had it, quick, easy, over.
    I folded forward in terror. The feeling had