Drt by Eric Thomas Read Free Book Online Page B

splashed into my face like a bucket of cold water, the idea that they knew. They knew and they were coming, at least to detain me. I felt my legs shaking and my mind go static. I closed my eyes, and then squeezed them tighter. My heart beating like a drum roll and my stomach was unable to remain steady. There was no hope, no hope for me.  
    I would be apprehended first. They would put me through vigorous questioning where there would be several cops in the room. They would question what happened, ask what I said to the dead man, ask what I was looking at when the driver was on the phone with me, ask why I had a meeting with my boss the day prior, what was I really looking at on Craig’s List? They would throw me in a cell, hands cuffed behind, in a dirt pit in the ground, with giant bright lights far above me, laying supine and trying to pull my shoulder out of the dirt, hands bound behind so that I can't shield my face from the brilliant white light above, still able to see the shadows of figures with their gleaming teeth and eyes, the only thing visible in the shadow, smiling and laughing at my pain, utter pain and humiliation while they laugh open mouthed forever because I will be there forever in torture and humiliation and hunger and hatred and sorrow, in a pit of dirt with hands bound and bright lights beaming upon me, never be able to leave, never able to turn over, dying in this thirst and hot and bright because I wasn't good at anything, because that had cost someone his life, someone who had birthdays and holidays every year surrounded by familiar family members who cared about him, would never again have any of those things because of a pathetic waste named Greg, a nothing, an invisible man that no one likes, who couldn't just act like a competent human being for once-
    I heard the sound of the nightstick tapping on my window. My terror hit a new gear. I looked up. A young police officer was smiling in the driver’s side window, his hand making the circle motion to roll the window down. With a sick heart, I complied.
    “I’M SORRY!” I screamed, near tears.
    “Sorry for what?” asked the officer, his voice had a soft Virginia accent.
    “I didn’t tell-“ I snapped out of it. The officer looked friendly but confused. “I didn’t tell my friend Happy Birthday! I’m so sorry about that.” There’s no way I sounded convincing.
    “You look like you need some sleep,” said the officer. He pulled a piece of paper to his face. “Do you know Leigh Ann Morris?”
    “No.” I was calming down.
    “Well, the address brought me here,” he turned and looked at the house across the street, “but nobody’s answering. Do you know what time they’re home?”
    “No, I…I work the overnight shift.”
    “Yeah, where at?”
    “I work on the News and Traffic station.”
    He smiled wide. “Are you the traffic guy on the radio?”
    “Yeah, Greg Harris.”
    “Wow. Greg Harris! I hear you every time I get stuck on the late shift. Wow, not what I was expecting at all.”
    I usually hated when people said that, but this time I was more relieved about avoiding the scenario I had freaked out about. “Thanks for listening.”
    “You probably hear that a lot.”
    “...”
    “All right, well, you’re free to go.”  
    My breathing was still labored as I pushed the gas and the car headed forward. A few quick turns and I was in the McDonald's parking lot. I sat for a moment to reflect on the last few hours.  
    These moments of anxiety were going to come more often and be more severe as they washed over me one after another with no end. I immediately ruled out a doctor. My insurance was through work and I couldn’t risk the people there knowing that I was going to the doctor for confusion. That also ruled out therapy.  
    The Be Well meeting wasn't until the weekend. I would have to get through Friday and Saturday. I wasn't really sure how much more of this I could take but at least there was a peaceful light at