Hunted

Chapter One Willie Brand heard the phone ringing in his sleep. He actually dreamed about picking up the receiver and beginning a conversation. It was the same conversation he had dreamed himself having so many times in his life. The state bureau of criminal investigation was calling. They had changed their minds. They needed him; they actually needed and wanted him. He wasn't going to be stuck in this one-horse town after all. He fantasized running over to tell the old man. He expected as always to find him there still in his prison correction officer's uniform, but just as always, when he got there, the rocking chair on the front porch was rocking, but there was no one in it.It was too late...too late to make him proud. Why was it always so important to do that anyway? Was it because the old man never expected he would amount to anything? When did he first decide that? When does a father look at a son and feel a deep sense of disappointment? Hadn't he built himself up, became athletic and determined at an early age he would go into law enforcement? Other boys his age weren't thinking past the upcoming weekend or what new toy they would get. Why wasn't his attitude something in which his father could take pride?He remembered the first time he wore his Cub Scouts uniform. How proud he felt strutting about the house in the blue and gold. He had already won a medal for his mastery of tying knots and making a fire on a camping outing. His comfort and expertise in the forest brought him compliment after compliment from his den mother. When he brought all that home, his father glanced at it with vague interest barely uttering a grunt of pride. Why did he always see a stranger in his father's eyes, like something detestable that had been left on the doorstep?He opened his own eyes because the phone was still ringing and keeping them closed didn't stop it. The numbers on the pad glowed back through the darkness at him, resembling a small creature with green neon orbs. It went in and out of focus, something that was happening to him more and more these days, making it harder to conclude about the reality of what he saw, what he heard. Was he awake? Or was the glowing phone in his dream, too?His mother had heard the phone ringing one tragic afternoon. He could envision it all: the way she looked up from what she was reading, her hesitation, and then her slow, but resolved walk to the table in the hallway where the phone rested, in this case like a sleeping black snake. His mother was truly amazing. Sometimes, the phone would ring and she would say, "There's trouble," and sure enough there was. How could she do that? A ring was a ring to him.Maybe it was that ability that finally drove her into the deep depression, a dark hole of sadness from which she could not emerge, a hole which finally determined she had to be institutionalized. Was he responsible for that, too? Too bad he never had a brother or a sister. An only child has to bear the burden of his parents' troubles and their guilt as well as his own. It was too heavy a load. The shadows in the corners of his mind were growing like a cancer.His phone continued to ring and the cold numbness that had seeped in under his face retreated. The phone became clear in his vision. Like it or not, this wasn't a dream. This was the crusty world of reality in which he resided.He thrust out his arm and seized the receiver violently, slicing the next ring just as it had begun. Most of the local people, the old-timers, had never gotten used to the idea of calling the police station, especially this early in the morning. They either knew his number or found it out and called him directly. It didn't matter how early it was or how late it was. He knew people believed they could call him any time they wanted. He theorized that just because he wasn't married, they thought they could abuse him continually. How many times had he beeNeiderman, Andrew is the author of 'Hunted', published 2005 under ISBN 9780743483209 and ISBN 0743483200.