A Kris Medford Mystery: Redemption

The Following Week

Sunday, 2:00 PM - April 12, 2015 - Redemption

SUNDAY

Prologue

Effingham, Illinois, is the small town where the crossroads of opportunity meet and where Brian Fielding spent his childhood. He was born and raised in the idyllic Midwest American town, where their greatest claim to fame is that they erected the world's largest cross in their quaint little burg. The cross-spoke for Brian's hometown, where Jesus reigned supreme, and everyone knew how everyone should believe. His father was part of the working class, where he was a driver for the concrete company in town. His mother was the high school secretary, which meant that he could never get away with anything. He lived with his parents as an only child, and they had one dog, a cat when Brian was young, and a pet goat for a few years. Mostly, Brian had a quiet life with Johnny Carson playing at night, I Love Lucy reruns after school, and church services every Sunday without fail.

When Brian was in ninth grade, he learned the cost of having a mother who knew everything about everyone. He got jumped after school and beat up because his mother ratted out one of the local gang members. Brian paid the price with their revenge. They humiliated him in front of the entire ninth-grade class, and he had to walk around campus with a black eye for a whole week. His shame grew after they taunted and harassed him mercilessly, and soon after that, he became known as Mommy's little boy. The last straw came one afternoon towards the end of the school year as he walked home. Brian's sense of himself shattered that day after they kicked him in the face and left him on the ground, bleeding. He lay motionless for about five minutes behind the grocery store. He zeroed in on the pain in his body, and it took everything he had to keep from crying. He focused his eyes on a bottle cap that lay on the ground. It looked like a mountain from where he lay. He noticed the yellow trim around the edge, and he wondered where it came from. Was it a beer or a soda top? His mind wandered to thinking about a bottle of cold root beer, and his mouth watered, which brought him back to his body and his pain. He also felt the small stones embedded in his arm, and he knew that he would have to move soon. With as much care as possible, he pushed himself up to a sitting position, and the pain of his assault crashed through his brain. He sobbed one gulp of air, but he refused to cry. He slowly brushed the stones from his arm and prepared himself for the walk home. His head spun as he stood and gathered himself. He could feel the blood still dripping down his face as he weaved a little and tried to regain his balance. As he turned to begin his trek home, his eye caught the red and yellow of the bottle cap. He bent down and lifted it to his left eye so he could read the label. It was for Reeds, Extra Ginger Beer. He fingered it a few seconds as he caught his breath. Slowly he dropped the bottle cap into his pocket and headed for home. In his daze and through the pain, he felt a growing sense of commitment and resolve. It was the last time Brian Fielding would suffer humiliation at the hands of cowards. His revenge was final.

Brian was mostly clean before his mother arrived home, but he couldn't hide the fact of the fight. In the end, both of his parents were angry and demanded that he come clean as to what happened and who did this. His father uncharacteristically pounded the table in his frustration to pry the truth from his beaten and bruised son. Brian could see the pain in his parents' eyes as they slowly realized that he would not let them help.

After midnight, the house found its night rhythm, and the tick-tock of the hall clock set the tone. When he was sure that his parents were fast asleep, Brian quietly opened the bedroom window. Once he had the window open enough to fit his body through, he, just as quietly, wiggled the screen off and pulled it into his room. With the stealth of an expert cat burglar, Brian made his way to the back of the house. As he crept beside the house towards the garage, he thought about how easy this seemed and how natural it felt to be outside and alone, wrapped in the darkness of a small town sleeping. He made his way to the garage, where he found his two bats; one was wood, the other aluminum.

He stood in the dark garage and massaged the aluminum bat while he considered his next steps. He knew that he had to be strategic. He needed to be careful not to get caught. Only his enemies would see his face. He took a deep breath and forced himself to relax while remembering a breathing exercise his gym coach taught him last year. Breathe into your nose slowly and exhale through your mouth. He did this three times until his head was quiet; he made his plans. Fifteen minutes later, he climbed back into his bedroom; he was calm, relaxed, and feeling a growing sense of control.

The following morning Brian awoke, and he felt different. His conviction was just as strong as the night before, but he had lost his fear or his anxiety; he had lost something, but not his commitment. At the breakfast table, his parents once again implored him to come clean, but he simply said, "I have it handled. Don't get involved this time." Something in his tone and conviction came through, and his parents resigned themselves to this new experience. As he stood in the foyer gathering his books and putting on his shoes, he heard his father say quietly, "He's becoming a man. He'll take care of things." Brian felt that much more in control of the situation as he walked away from his house toward school.

Gary was Brian's nemesis since the first grade, and he lived a couple of blocks over. As time went on, Gary had become angrier and angrier, and years later, he was a broken person. Brian knew that Gary's home life was crap, and for years that was enough to be empathetic. Brian realized, as he calmly waited, that he didn't care today. He couldn't care. Without much in the way of any emotions, Brian made his way over to Gary's street. He watched Gary's house from a few houses away, which was still and dark in the early morning. The rest of the neighborhood folks busied themselves with the morning hustle and bustle, but everything was silent in Brian's head. He watched cars pull out of driveways and thought about their resolute plodding to make it through another day. Brian stood, quietly watching and patiently waiting.

Gary came out of his house five minutes after class had already started. He pulled a cigarette from the pack in his front shirt pocket and squinted his eyes as he stood to light it. He pulled in a lungful of smoke and exhaled slowly. He scanned the street then he took off in the direction of the high school. About halfway down the block, with his back turned towards Brian, Gary took a left into an alleyway, and Brian knew that his time had come. As Brian reached into the bushes to pull out the aluminum bat that he placed there the previous night, everything seemed to slow down to a standstill, and he knew what he needed to do. Brian ran across the street, and in a full-out sprint, he made it to the alleyway in less than thirty seconds. He glanced down the alley and saw Gary crouching where he appeared to be rolling a joint. His concentration gave Brian the few seconds he needed to catch up to him. Brian quickly made his way toward Gary, and he said loudly to startle him, "Hey! You gonna share?"

Gary's body jolted, and he dropped the joint, then stood quickly and was at the ready in an instant. Before he could even say a word, there was a dull thud as the bat contacted Gary's head, and he slowly melted to the ground and lay unconscious on the dirt. Brian took the bat, and in one full swing, using all his humiliation, frustration, shame, and anger, he shattered Gary's leg. The bat hit his leg with one large crunch; Gary moaned again, then he was quiet. Brian quickly looked around, gripped his bat tightly, and wiped it on Gary's shirt. He turned to walk away, but with one last moment of resolve, he turned back to him and kicked him in his lower back as hard as he could. A barely inaudible word snuck out - revenge. Then he turned his back on Gary, tossed the bat into an open garbage can, and walked to school.

Sunday, 8:30 AM - March 29, 2015 - My Name is Kris

My name is Kris Medford, and I am just beginning another crazy day! In the past six months, my life has gone from being crazy and insane to completely turned upside down, and I am feeling like a hamster on a wheel. I can't make the world stop being crazy, I don't think, but I can try to make my life a little saner and quieter. However, that doesn't seem to be an option today as I find myself surrounded by boxes.

Six months ago, I was making a new life for myself. I had a new job, and I was prepared to settle down and try to fit into the world. I wanted to find a man, make a commitment, and start my new life like a normal person. It seems that despite all my efforts, which, if I'm really honest with myself, I barely try; I'm far from normal, and I think I have come to understand that I create most of the insanity in my life. I moved to Santa Fe, New Mexico, in October of last year after much soul searching. I took a great job working with some amazing people, and surprisingly I found a man! I came to Santa Fe to work for a family foundation doing exciting small business development stuff. So, I guess I haven't done that terribly bad if I really think about it. On the other hand, because I have a penchant for sticking my nose into other people's business, I was able to blow my life apart in my first week. I don't think I was consciously trying to create chaos and havoc, but apparently, it's my gift, and I have to focus on my strengths. Right?

The most amazing thing that happened, though, was that I met a woman named Reina. She is all of four feet nine inches and a hair over five feet with her crazy pumps. She came to me when the chaos was at its peak, and I was in a complete daze. I vaguely remember the evening because my other gift is the ability to forget. I tend to push whatever I deem too heavy to deal with into a box in the corner of my brain, where it is locked away to emerge at the most inappropriate times. I know I'm not alone in my ability, but I believe I have learned to nurture my denial into a true art form. It scares my therapist just a little bit.

Reina – that's all I know about who she is. She doesn't share her last name; I have sleuthed her to the ends of the Internet, and I don't know anything more about this strange and mysterious woman. She appears out of nowhere. It's one of her gifts. Last week, she appeared as if out of thin air while I was waiting in line at the bank's drive-through. I just turned my head to flash a smile at a truck full of construction workers who were staring at me when I heard my door pull closed, and my heart jumped into my throat! I turned, and there she was. Sitting there looking like she needed a booster seat, she stared up at me with a beatific smile. After I screamed and went on about how inappropriate it is to scare people like that, she admitted that I was crazy enough to warrant caution. Then she moved into why she was there, to begin with, and acting as if I were the crazy one. She's my new boss.

Yes! I can't believe that I have done this, but I did. I left the foundation three weeks ago, and so did Sam. The man I found. Actually, I think he found me because he is far from the lost one in our little duo, and we are both redoing our lives to embark on the adventure of a lifetime. Honestly, I'm not sure what I'm doing.

On the one hand, I can't believe that the Goddess-of-the-Little People, Reina, with no last name, has talked me into this crazy situation. On the other hand, she has led me with purpose and clarity, and I feel as if I can control some things for the first time in my life. She's showing me what it means to be a woman, and sadly, despite my fruitless attempts to make the world different, it is not about the makeup, the fabulous hair, or the Jimmy Choo shoes. However, I've decided that practical and grounded also can be fashionable, and I refuse to budge on the point.

I met Reina on the front steps of my house on the night when I found myself incapable of containing myself. In psychology terms, according to my therapist, I had decompensated. In real terms, I lost my cookies. I lost my ability to keep all the shit in the little box that I hide in the corner of my brain from exploding. It came to a head when, after a week of insanity, stress, fear, and anger, I confronted my long-lost brother. To keep it simple, I decompensated all over him and did some serious damage – to both of us. It seems that once I let loose on him, I couldn't stop myself.

For weeks afterward, I was in a fog. I shivered uncontrollably and had flashbacks of the many awful moments in my life. Can you say PTSD? I still can't understand how I didn't know that I am clinically diagnosable. When I stop and think about it, I'm in awe at my inability to see myself. It's an existential kind of fear, and sometimes I wonder how sentient we are. Only six months ago, I was a shaking, shivering mess listening to my therapist tell me that I have a mental illness and that I am responsible for managing it. I didn't even know what that meant at the time. Half a year later, it has become all too clear what being responsible for PTSD means. Then in walked Reina. Again, in her mysterious way, she showed up at my office, and she told me that if I could learn to trust her, she could provide some answers.

She asked me to put my life in her hands. I believe her words were more like, "I believe that the person you are, really, and the person you want to be are not the same. What I can offer you is a way to find your power and strength. I can help make who you want to be and who you are as close to the same as possible. "Looking back, I can't say what convinced me to trust her, even if it was just a little bit. I think it had something to do with wanting what she has. She has a sense about her that lets you know that she is in command, and for some reason, I know that this little itty-bitty person could wrap me around a pole and leave me for cat food in a minute. I want that – the confidence part, not the cat food part. I want it more than I have wanted anything in my life. Therefore, I trust her in the best way that I know how to trust a person.

The day after we officially met in my office, I received a Fed Ex delivery. It was a full fitness routine. I have been a P90xer for years now, so I took her first intrusion into my very committed workout process as a joke. She had included a little handwritten note that said, "I will know if you cheat, so don't. Do every step, every day, for ninety days, and then you won't have to do them ever again." I had dived in headfirst, and after the third hour on day one, I was exhausted, angry, frustrated, and working to convince myself that Reina was crazy. All I remember from that day was that I passed out on the couch, and the next morning, when I rolled myself to my knees at 3:30 AM, I started on day two of the Reina death programs, and I haven't stopped since. Moreover, she was right. At the end of ninety days, I received a new box and a new routine, and I didn't have to do the first one ever again. Battle-axe! My goal is to get what she has, and I don't think I'm even close.

Sunday, 10:00 AM - March 29, 2015 - Training to be Ready

It's a little warm as I organize all the boxes in the small driveway. I hope to get them ready to pack into…