Prequel - The Sad Short Life of a Loser

The first thing 15-year-old Peter Shipley remembered when he awoke in the hospital was the celebration party at A&W after they took the district title in BB division football. He was the starting quarterback of the game and enjoyed no small amount of praise for his role in capturing the win. He was athletic, cunning, and sly to the ways of the defending team (Kent HS). Thus, he was able to run the ball not just once but three times across the goal line, emerging unscathed at the end of the game to the applause and cheers of his team, his school - and the parents who braved the chilly weather to make the trip on the final away game of the Season. It was Friday, October 27^th, 1989, and Halloween was approaching.

As the youngest Junior at Southern Auburn High School, Pete was an unprecedented overachiever who was young enough to enjoy the prestige and fun of the holiday parties, and old enough to recognize that he would soon become one of the youngest freshmen at UW. He easily maintained the highest marks in his overloaded curriculum and worked as hard as everyone else on the field and during practice. His only regret was attending a B-rated school where athletes were less likely to fall under the eyes of talent scouts.

Then - in the blink of an eye (literally), it was all gone. One moment he was jogging along the dark road towards his home, less than a mile from the popular restaurant - and the next, tragedy. He opened one good eye to the harsh brightness of the surgical lights glaring down at him. Voices were loud and disjointed ringing out from all sides. His entire body hurt and he tried to cry out, gagging and coughing harshly for the attempt, causing even greater pain to spasm through his neck and head. The voices faded away as his vision blurred and then darkened.

Several days later he was awake and aware enough to learn what had happened. During his jog home from the celebration, he was struck from behind by a drunk driver who was behind the wheel of a Johnson Controls company car. The news coverage was widespread and litigation attorneys lined up vying for the opportunity to sue the company on his behalf and win his family a large settlement. The only members of his family who came to visit him regularly were his mother Janet and older sister Veronica. His father was either too busy or too drunk to make the effort and it was telling that the man who was once proud as punch of his all-star son - couldn’t be bothered to visit what was now certain to become a massive burden on his life. Even his classmates and close friends seemed to avoid visiting him after the first week of his hospitalization. The vast array of flowers, balloons, stuffed animals, and get-well cards that decorated his room were but a thinly veiled façade to the utter solitude that surrounded him.

Peter knew almost immediately that he had lost the use of his legs. Even if he weren’t paraplegic because of the spinal injury, his legs were too badly damaged for him to even remotely rehabilitate. Eventually, an infection claimed his right lower leg and the ‘pressor’ agents that kept him alive for the first tenuous hours caused him to lose his left toes and eventually the entire left foot. When his girlfriend Brittney finally came to see him during his second week, he could feel the trepidation surrounding her. Hushed whispers could be heard in the hallway from her friends that she brought along for moral support. She couldn’t have picked a worse time to visit as he had just undergone the amputation of both feet and he was still heavily medicated and suffering intense denial at the loss. Her fear and hesitation served only to anger him and he lashed out in rage. The last thing he wanted was to suffer the pity of others while he wallowed on his own. She ultimately fled in tears with his harsh vindictive words following her into the hallway.

It would be nearly two months before he was transferred to a skilled nursing facility to continue his rehabilitation and another three months after that before he returned to a broken home. Only his mother Janet awaited him and not with happy anticipation. His father Robert had left several months previous and Veronica had moved to Pullman where she began her studies at WSU. His room was located on the second floor but - due to his condition, he had to sleep in the living room. Knowing the burden he placed on his mother he gave everything he had to his rehabilitation and was eventually able to take care of himself provided certain conditions were in place. With his wheelchair, he was able to cook for himself using the microwave. A ramp in front of the kitchen sink enabled him to take care of the dishes, and laundry became possible when they used part of the settlement money to acquire a front-loading washer.

At first, his mother felt as if they could live for ages on the nearly half-million-dollar cash settlement so she balked at returning to the workforce. Peter finally coaxed her into sitting down, allowing him to explain their expenses and the projected depletion of their savings. That resulted in a double-edged sword effect in that she did return to work as an office assistant for their family dentist. But she also became downright miserly in what she would consider spending any amount of money on.

Completing his high school education from home became his sole priority, and the district worked with him. He was absolved of all athletic requirements due to the nature of his disability and he was able to focus on his academic studies. Even though he missed two semesters he was able to catch up and surpass the academic calendar - completing his senior high school curriculum in less than four months after the school year started.

Try as he might he could not convince his mother to allow him to purchase one of the new personal computers that were coming out. He tried applying logic to her, assuring her that it would soon become as household as television - and he could use it for his upcoming college studies. When she refused, he found himself making the arduous trek to the main city Library where he spent many hours a day taking advantage of the new desktop units and the recent expansion of the ARPANET protocols for email and intranet communications. While he was there, he also reviewed the latest copies of MAC World and PC Magazines. He watched the cyber world blossom and began teaching himself original coding in BASIC, DOS, and Turbo C.

Without the athletic scholarship he was anticipating, his university dreams vanished. What few scholarships he applied for offered him little more than a pittance toward the tuition fees he would need. When he pleaded with his mom about his future, she refused to budge, insisting they would make it on the settlement and her meager income. When she learned of a night course where she could study to become a certified dental assistant, she felt no such qualms about funding and completing the program. Eventually, she commanded a higher wage and enjoyed a sense of personal accomplishment.

Her celebrated achievement proved to be her ultimate undoing when she contracted a deadly aberrant hemorrhagic fever from the particulate droplets of a patient who had just traveled from an endemic region of South Korea. Sadly, her symptoms were missed until the clinical signs of the disease were too conclusive to ignore. Her untimely death was a blessing to the medical community who became hyper vigilant for future transmissions - and tragic for Peter who, at the age of 17 was deemed an incompetent minor and made a ward of the state. When he asked his sister to come home and stay on as his guardian she refused. The house was made the property of the State and auctioned off to help cover the cost of his continued care. Peter was moved into a group home of similarly disabled men, where he stayed until he reached the age of 21 and successfully sued for his autonomy.

It was no blessing being on his own and having no friends or family to rely upon for assistance he wound up living in a dilapidated studio apartment that was paid for as part of his settlement with Johnson Controls. For income, he worked as a clerical assistant for Puget Sound Power & Light Co. where he was able to make better use of his computer skills. In three months, he was able to save enough money for his own IBM 486 DX personal computer. In the coming months, he saved up and added a CD-ROM and eventually upgraded his system to the vaunted Windows-95 OS.

He stayed on when his company merged with Washington Energy Co. to become Puget Sound Energy and slowly advanced, climbing the corporate ladder until he achieved the status of IT Project Manager.

He was 25 when he first became romantically involved with another coworker and eventually married. Margaret Yu was a Taiwanese native who relocated to Washington State as a student and extended her Visa with a work permit sponsored by PSE. To become a permanent resident, she had either to become a citizen through a protracted immigration process or marry an American. Recognizing the introverted, quiet, and self-conscious supervisor as an easy mark, she plied her exotic Asian charms to full effect and broke through his defensive barriers. When she asked him to teach her the programming language used by their company, he readily agreed to meet with her after hours. Sometimes they met at her place and sometimes he met her in the local public library where they could use the public computers to access the company mainframe. Never once did he invite her to his own home, where he lived in a single-studio apartment outfitted for his disability.

As they became comfortable with each other, both at work and as a couple, he began to draw back his emotional defensive barriers. It took some time before she was able to convince him that he was more than able to fulfill her physical needs. When they first became intimate, he allowed her to fellate him after they bathed together. Lying upon her large bed she sucked his penis to rigid hardness and then mounted him timidly, unused to his large size. When he pushed up against her, she cried out as he stretched her apart. Her experience was far less pleasurable than his and he came in minutes, ejaculating up into her as she held herself steady atop him.

Later as they snuggled in bed, she contemplated her choice and convinced herself that it was worth the sacrifice as long as she kept her eye on the prize. He simply marveled that such an exotic beauty could have feelings for him to begin with, much less the budding emotion they were starting to share. Her apartment was posh and feminine in every respect and it provided wheelchair access enabling him to get around easily. So, when the choice to move in together came about - it was without hesitation that he moved out of his flat, into hers. As a bachelor he lived a very minimalist lifestyle, dedicating his money to computers and gaming. His medical expenses also required a significant capital outlay because no insurance plan would cover his preexisting conditions. He was essentially a broke geek, living paycheck to paycheck when he became involved with Margaret.

Their marriage was no spontaneous affair, but rather a culmination of many hours of pillow talk and careful planning. She confessed her desire to gain citizenship and shared her dream of moving her parents and brother to America from Taipei, Taiwan. He gave her ulterior goals little thought as he stressed over saving up to buy an engagement ring that he felt was worthy of her. He gave up much of his gaming time to put in extra hours at work to pad his paycheck enough to eventually save up enough. Even with a sizeable downpayment, he ended up applying for financing from the Jeweler to procure the band she wanted.

At her urging they flew to Vegas and married quickly and economically. Their honeymoon was rushed and she rewarded him with lots of sex. When they weren’t fucking like newlyweds, they were at the casino playing the slots or eating huge meals at the buffet to replenish their energy. A short week later they were back in Renton and reintegrated with the monotony of the workforce. Unlike Peter, she was very prudent with her money and tucked away enough to relocate her family when the time came. She didn’t bother sharing her finances with her new husband, allotting only a portion of her payroll to their joint account. For his part, he was neither privy nor inclined to pry into her personal space. When she spoke over the phone to her family, she spoke in Mandarin so he had no clue what was discussed or planned. She secretly went on birth control as well, having no desire at all for children, even though she discussed the idea with him occasionally.

To accommodate her distant family, they agreed that a bigger home was necessary. The mortgage they secured for the 3000 square foot multilevel home in Auburn, stretched his finances to the limit. He vied for an upper management position but the IT department was still in its infancy and not regarded as important as it would be one day. His only other recourse was to redouble his efforts to work even more hours and strive for as much overtime as possible. This severely curtailed his time with his bride and he began to find himself reverting to his introverted bachelor mindset. Unlike her old apartment, the house was not retrofitted for wheelchair access so he was limited to the ground floor and basement unless he humbled himself to crawl up the stairs to the bedrooms, and living spaces. Because of his long hours, he began sleeping in the smaller room off the kitchen on the main level so as not to disturb his wife.

When her parents and brother finally arrived, the house became a busy depot of activity overnight. At first, they seemed aloof to him, and it galled him to feel like a lesser man in his own home. But eventually, Margaret soothed his sensitive ego by assuring him that it was just the Chinese way and that they meant no harm by their behavior. Still, he retreated further from them and kept to himself in the sanctity of his small room. By their first anniversary, it felt to him as if he were merely existing to provide a roof over their heads. He rarely saw Margaret, even at work and when she did make the time to engage with him, she seemed emotionally vacant.

Often the house was full of Asian guests who behaved as if they lived there and were entitled to his hospitality. For many months he resented the overbearing, arrogance and vowed to take it up with Margaret soon to make them disperse and give him some peace. That encounter never happened and eventually, he began sinking into a state of bitter self-pity and depression.

At the young age of 27 Peter turned to alcohol to numb his mind from the oppressive sense of defeat and regret that consumed him. The handicap-accessible public transit system was routine for him to travel from home to work and back home again. It became routine for him to disembark from the bus one stop before his home and swing into the nearby pub where his money was always welcome and nobody thought anything of him wheeling himself home after achieving blissful inebriation. His coming and going was rarely noted by the other members of the household. It was when his excessive drinking started to interfere with his work that he found himself once more relevant to his wife and family. He was reprimanded more than once for his job performance and behavior - and was even sent home for being drunk on the job. The attention he received from Margaret was anything but caring or supportive. When he was given a ‘final warning’ and offered rehabilitation, she essentially dropped him off at the inpatient treatment facility and told him not to return unless he cleaned himself up.

His rehabilitation failed miserably and he left the facility with a smoking habit he picked up from the other patients. He remained sober for three days before he found himself in the Emergency Room being treated for a methamphetamine overdose that he could not recall. By the time he was discharged, he was terminated from his job and locked out of his home. Returning to his familiar pub he depleted his cash and left in a celebratory mood with his old mates from rehab who took him to a run-down and condemned apartment. It was his two colleagues, Jamie and Franky, who coerced him into helping them with a perfect plan to ‘score’ some more meth. A young man and well-known dealer named Bobby ‘G’ was known to frequent the area and cook with some of the transients in the building. While Peter squatted by the entrance, Jamie and Franky hid further inside, lying in wait for the prearranged signal. When Peter recognized the dealer and beckoned for him to come in, the other two attacked him and beat him into a coma before stealing his supply. They didn’t even bother to move to another room, cooking the shooting on the spot.

When Peter awoke, he was surrounded by police and found himself cuffed and dragged away to a squad car. Eventually, he was booked into the King County jail and charged as an accessory to manslaughter in the beating death of Bobby G. It only took a week before he was tried, convicted, and sentenced to 13 years in prison. Walla Walla State Penitentiary was about as close to Hell as one could get. It was worse for a cripple bound to a wheelchair. Pity was the last thing he expected or received at ‘the Walls”. After suffering unspeakable torments at the hands of other inmates and nearly dying twice, he began learning to avoid exposure by spending time in the infirmary as a volunteer or at the library.

He survived for 4 years before crossing paths with the newest and most notorious inmate of them all - recently convicted Gary Ridgeway ‘The Green River Killer’ himself. After meeting the man and talking with him several times he managed to ostracize himself. On Christmas Eve 2004, Peter was set upon by a gang of vengeful gangbangers and beaten severely between repeated rapes. When he was found unresponsive in the showers, he was rushed to Providence St. Mary’s Hospital where he was pronounced dead on arrival.

Chapter One - Have I Been Here Before?

It felt good to stretch his legs again after leaving A&W and the riotous celebration. His legs were starting to cramp up after the final game of the season. He had run the ball three times for touchdowns besides throwing for ten completions and three other scoring drives. ‘Too bad the UW scouts weren’t around for that performance,’ he grumbled to himself as he jogged through the foggy dusk. The fog rose from the Duwamish River that flowed quietly next to the road he ran on. He shuddered thinking about the recent grisly discovery of the bodies of several young women who were found nearby - victims of the ‘Green River Killer’ who was presumably still at large. He remembered the hysteria that gripped the region as recently as last Spring when everyone was convinced that a killer lived in their neighborhood. He zipped up his Letterman jacket and slowed his pace as he approached another bridge that crossed the infamous waterway. For a second, he regretted not taking advantage of the offer to drive him home but he remembered the stiffness in his thighs and calves and picked up his pace once more. He lived less than a mile from the restaurant and it was a simple flat road. He was a dedicated runner and typically jogged five miles on the weekends, whenever his parents weren’t tripping out about the latest body dump discovery.

At that moment he felt as if he were living his life to its fullest. He was breezing through his Junior Year with a 4.0 average. His curriculum was loaded with AP classes as well as Pre-Calculus, a senior course but one he was able to take on as part of the new district Pre-College Pathway (PCP) program. When he began 12^th grade next Fall, he would be commuting between his high school and the Green River Community College. Upon graduation, he would have his Associate in Science as well as his diploma. And with any luck his coach would get the UW scouts to review his tapes and score him an athletic scholarship to compliment the Academic ride he hoped to apply for next year. His Dad was always driving him to aim to apply himself more and push himself harder. He only offered encouraging remarks to his sister Veronica who got an academic full-ride to WSU in Pullman. Ronnie always seemed to shine in the eyes of their dad. But in Peter’s case, he was always slow to praise and quick to criticize. His mom was the stay-at-home sort who rarely made the effort to attend a game or practice. They lived well on his dad’s salary from Weyerhauser where he worked as an executive. Peter held a part-time job at The Old Cannery House furniture store in Sumner and hoped to work full-time during Summer Break to earn enough for a computer. He had his eye on the new Sharp 80486 with Windows 3.0.

His reflections were interrupted by the sound of a car racing up behind him. He felt and heard the vehicle approaching and saw his shadow stretch out before him from the bright glare of headlights. He had just left the bridge with its divided median that protected pedestrians - and jogged just inside the white line marking the left shoulder. He was initially unconcerned because he was running into traffic and felt no danger from cars on the opposite side of the road. Then he heard the bone-chilling screech of tires skidding on asphalt and turned back just in time to open his mouth in shock as the white van plowed into him head-on. His last thought before the devastating impact was the absolute certainty - that he had been here before.

When he was next aware of his surroundings, he could not understand what was happening or why he felt horrific pain throughout his entire body. The lights were so bright that they hurt his…eye. He couldn’t see out of one eye for some reason. And the sounds - beeps, alarms, voices raised in apprehension, some shouting. He was lifted by several hands and then dumped roughly onto another surface, the lights got brighter and the shock made him cry out - or try to. He ended up gagging over something in his throat that prevented him from screaming. There was a terrible stabbing pain in his side. More voices yelled over him and he felt himself moving as if he were riding on a wagon or sled. The lights faded and he felt dizzy, nauseated, and racked with agonizing pain. More bright lights and different figures standing over him. His vision was blurry from tears but the voices seemed calmer. He was in an operating room and once more the sense of déjà vu crept into his befuddled mind.

---

‘How can I be reliving the same nightmare?’ he asked himself over and over as he lay in the hospital bed recovering from the multiple surgeries, they had to perform to save his life. Both of his femurs were repaired with metal frames protruding from his thighs. His right arm was similarly pinned and suspended by ropes from a frame. Metal rods also protruded from his hip and pelvis. A tight plastic collar encircled his neck to prevent him from moving his damaged cervical spine and his head was held firmly by a metal halo contraption that rested on his shoulders. The worst part was the chest tube, a hard piece of plastic tubing that they stuck between his ribs and into his chest to reinflate his lung and drain away the blood. He had a tension pneumothorax that would have certainly killed him before he even made it to the hospital - if the EMTs hadn’t stuck a needle into his side to relieve the pressure. Every part of him hurt even though they kept him heavily drugged. He couldn’t even pee by himself as there was a tube going into his penis to drain his urine.

Just a few days prior, he was in the ICU with his head lowered to help keep his blood pressure stable until they corrected all of the internal bleeding. Now he lay in bed with his head elevated 90 degrees. He couldn’t move anything but his left arm and even that was covered in a hard cast from his wrist to his elbow. The front half of his room was decorated with several hand-drawn posters, and there were tables covered with flowers, balloons, stuffed animals, and get-well cards from practically everyone in the city. He vaguely remembered a few visits from classmates and many adults he couldn’t recall ever meeting. His mom came and spent several hours with him each day for the first week but then her visits tapered off to once or twice a week. He saw his sister once and he was told that his father had stopped by twice while he was asleep.

When the lawyers started coming by, he began having more recollections of a previous…dream. How could he know and anticipate what they were telling him and why they were vying for the chance to represent him in a lawsuit? His TV was never turned on but someone had brought in a portable CD player and FM radio and he remembered the news breaks so clearly that he could almost predict them and the songs that were playing in the background. Several attorneys left business cards with him on his bedside table but it was next to impossible to check them out without causing pain to lance through his hips, back, and chest.

During his second week of hospitalization, on a Wednesday he got an expected visit from his girlfriend, Brittney. She peeked nervously through his door and saw that he was awake. He met her eyes and already knew that she had moved on but wasn’t sure how to break it to him. He heard the whispered voices of several other girls that she had brought along as backup. They remained in the hallway as she reluctantly stepped into his room. This was another moment of clarity in which he recalled losing his shit on her and sending her fleeing in tears. He sighed regrettably this time, having no desire at all to relive the drama. He was resigned to the moment and it seemed almost inconsequential to him that it had to be replayed once more.

“Hi Peter,” she said softly as she moved closer to the side of his bed. He was able to open both of his eyes once more but the heavy brace around his skull restricted his vision to what was directly in front of him with limited periphery.

“Hi,” he replied with a harsh voice.

“You look terrible.”

He grunted and winced in pain. “I feel worse.”

“I’m really sorry, that this happened to you,” she murmured. “The entire school was in shock over the whole thing.”

“Look…Brit,” he started.

“I can’t believe you survived! They said you died on the table…” she blurted.

“Brit…” he tried again and she stopped talking to face him.

“I know why you are here,” he said softly. “And I get it. I’m gonna be crippled for the rest of my life and that is not what you signed up for when we started going out.”

She began shaking her head and tried to object but he waved his left hand to stop her.

“It’s okay,” he stated firmly. He felt no sense of anger this time, only rational acceptance. He felt much older than the girl who stood beside him. “Look, if it helps, tell them that I broke it off, okay?” He met her eyes again and saw tears threatening to spill from them. “Tell them I am wallowing in self-pity and lashed out at you screaming and bawling and threw you out of my room.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she just looked down at her feet and pursed her lips anxiously as she considered his words. Then she sniffed and reached over to touch his cheek, snatching her hand back quickly after the brief contact. Without another word, she just nodded and turned to leave. The door closed softly behind her.

After she was gone, he considered how different the encounter was from his odd recollection of another distant memory. It almost seemed as if he were watching an old movie about himself - but played by a much older actor. Sometimes he recalled the events clearly and other times he had no memory at all of them.

One unexpected event played out just a couple of hours after his ‘second’ breakup with Brittney. He was resting with his eyes closed, trying to anticipate what was going to happen when a familiar voice invaded his introspection.

“Hey, Shipley!” a young masculine voice called from his doorway. He opened his eyes to see his best friend Alan Shoemaker standing nervously in the doorway. “Are you still in a coma?” Alan was a year older than him but still a sophomore - even though he was easily as smart as every other junior in Peter’s grade. His Korean mother refused to let him skip a grade. He stood eye-to-eye with him at five foot, ten inches, but carried more weight around his mid-section. His stocky build, sharp mind, soft Asian features, and thick Coke bottle glasses all served to present him as a total geek.

“Hey Al,” he replied evenly. “Come in. I think I have a small break in my busy schedule to spare a few moments.” He pronounced it ‘Shed-jewel’ with a mock accent to lighten the mood.

Alan grinned and held the door open. “I didn’t come alone,” he said as he stepped aside to allow another friendly figure to enter. Kathy Parsons was another one of his ‘nerdy’ friends, except she was a Senior and probably (if barely) as smart as he was. She would be graduating this year at 17 as a Valedictorian. She was taller than either of them by an inch and had a wiry thin frame that was notably distorted by mild scoliosis and an inverted sternum from a genetic condition called pectus excavatum. She had Native American features and claimed to be from Puyallup Indian descent. While she was far from beautiful in the Teen Vogue sense, Peter thought she had exotic features that made her pretty to look at.

The two of them lifted his spirits as soon as they entered the room. At first, he thought it was because he craved companionship but then he realized that this visit deviated from his ‘expected outcomes’. It was unexpected and wholly unpredictable.

They both seemed hesitant as they came to stand on either side of his bed.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he told them somberly. “David Hasselhoff ain't got nothing on the new Peter Shipley.” He tried not to wince as he chuckled at their disbelief at his ebullience.

They almost seemed relieved by his candor and Alan began shaking his head slowly from side to side.

“No, dude,” he said with mock severity. “You look more like a used-up crash-test dummy that got tossed in a dumpster and set on fire.”

Kathy gasped at his harsh analogy but Peter laughed hard enough to cause a painful groan.

“Oh God!” he gasped. “Don’t make me laugh anymore, please. That hurt.”

“Sorry!” his nerdy friend replied contritely. Then his eyes brightened. “Hey, I brought you the latest issue of MAC World and PC Mag.” He held up the magazines.

Peter gaped back at him through his black eyes. “Oh great! Thanks, man,” he snorted. “How do expect me to read a fucking magazine when I’m strung up like a puppet?”

Alan looked stricken by his words but he bristled when Kathy started giggling. “Maybe you can hold it and turn the pages for him, Shoe,” she quipped.

“Hardy-fucking-har,” he grumbled back, “Assholes.”

“Seriously though, thanks for the magazines,” Peter conceded. “I think I can manage to read them if I get my nurse to raise my knees a bit.”

“You’ll love this issue,” Alan replied eagerly. “It’s all about the 80486s and the new Pentium processor that they are about to release.”

Something shifted in Peter’s mind as he continued to struggle with the overlapping memories that plagued his present. His expression must have reflected his confusion because both of his friends asked him if he was okay at the same time.

“Huh?” He shook it off (figuratively). “Uh yeah, just have these ‘spells’ now and then,” he explained as he muddled through another distant memory of his mom and him meeting with a stern-faced lawyer at his bedside. Some German-sounding name.

“Hey, Kat?” he said looking her way. “Can you grab those business cards on the table beside you?”

She looked over and picked up four cards, looking each over curiously.

“Can you read off the names?” he asked.

“Let’s see,” she said. “Olsen, Bradley Attorney at Law,”

“Toss it. Next?”

“Swartz and Zegler…” That was the guy. He remembered how the well-dressed lawyer stood at his bedside and talked over him to his mom and how they agreed to the terms of his services.

“Toss it. Next?”

“Marconi, Zales & Kraft…”

“Toss it. What’s the last one?”

“Bales, Scott W.,” she mused as she held it up for him to read.

“That’s the one,” he said. “Can you do me another favor? Use that phone to call him and hold the receiver for me to talk to him?”

She seemed genuinely pleased to be able to help him as she took the phone and punched the numbers into it before holding it to her ear. Once it started ringing, she placed it as close to his face as she could.

“This is Scott,” a voice said near his ear. “How can I help you?”

“Hi Mr. Bales, this is Peter Shipley, the kid who got run over a couple of weeks ago,” he replied.

“Oh yes! Mr. Shipley. I’m happy to hear from you,” the lawyer replied excitedly. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m getting better every day. Hey, listen…is there any way I could meet with you? Soon?” he asked.

“Why certainly, I can be there in less than an hour. Have you and your mother decided to go ahead with litigation then?” Peter could sense the eagerness in his voice.

“Yeah, um. Well, I was hoping to speak with you about that before we discuss it with her. I understand that I am a minor but I just want to talk about some stuff first. Is that okay?”

He could sense the sudden hesitation in the man’s voice. “Um. Well, I suppose I can try and answer any questions you may have. Of course, this will be purely a casual visit,” he stated.

“Great! Thanks so much. I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Sure thing. Bye” The line clicked and the call ended.

He nodded slightly and Kathy placed the receiver back on the table. “Thanks.”

“So, what was that about?” Alan asked.

“I just need to set the narrative for this whole lawsuit thing, so that I don’t end up getting screwed,” he replied. “And I can see now that I need a computer more than ever. Since I won't be getting around on my feet anymore.” They had already removed his right leg about four inches below the knee. His left foot was kept bandaged but he saw the blackened toes whenever they changed the dressings and he knew it would be amputated before long.

There was awkward silence after his remark and he regretted making his friends uncomfortable. “Look guys, that was just gallows humor,” he assured them. “I really appreciate you coming by to visit. And thanks for the magazines too.” He yawned feigning exhaustion. “Can you guys come back soon? Like tomorrow?”

They took the hint and agreed quickly. They promised to return the following afternoon and left him to his thoughts. He considered the nagging memories of a different past and wondered if he could reshape events this time to offer him a more favorable outcome. It was certain that he had nothing to lose for trying.

---

“Look, Mr. Bales, I love my mom to death but I don’t think her head is in the right place at the moment with everything that is happening,” he said as the door closed behind the nurse who had come in to check him over and let him sip water from a straw.

Scott Bales, Attorney at Law, sat next to his bed in one of the ugly institutional orange seats they provided for visitors. He was 27 years old and had passed the State Bar less than 2 years previously. While he claimed independence he still worked under the partnership and guidance of his father who was cutting back his work time to travel more. Scott stood six feet, four inches tall, and sported an athletic build. His wild red hair seemed to defy any attempt to groom it and his clean-shaven face made him appear far younger than he was. Peter liked him from the moment they met.

He cleared his throat to dispel the awkward silence. “I am very sorry to hear about your dad abandoning you guys like that,” he offered as he sat straight. “I know Corcan Wise will serve your mom well during the divorce. We went to Law School together at Gonzaga.”

“My dad is an asshole,” he growled under his breath. “I hope she takes him for everything she can get. It’s not like he can’t afford it as an executive with Weyerhaeuser.” He felt his voice start to fail and Scott instinctively reached over to grab the water pitcher with the straw in it. Peter nodded appreciatively as he took another long sip. “Thank you,” he gasped after swallowing. “My mom used to work for our family dentist as a secretary and scheduler, but I don’t want her feeling like she has to go back to work over me, you know?”

The young attorney nodded. There was something about this injured young man that struck him as different. He wasn’t just lying there whining about his injuries and screaming for revenge. He seemed mature for his age and seemed more concerned for his mom’s welfare than his own.

“I’m sure she will get to keep the house and he will have to pay her some form of alimony so that she doesn’t have to worry about grocery money or electricity bills,” he continued. “And he will have to pay some amount of child support for me at least for the next three years.”

“Hmm, I’d be willing to bet that - with your disability, he will be providing monetary support well into your 20’s,” Scott replied.

“And that is pretty much what I was hoping to talk with you about in regards to the lawsuit,” Peter began. “My point is that we will be fine financially from the get-go, so I wanted to ask about how you would go after Johnson Controls for damages and liability. Do you think they will settle quickly out of court or try to fight it, and how will any award be payable to us?”

This was not the type of conversation he expected to be having with a fifteen-year-old. He wondered again at the calm and educated structure of the boy’s words. “Oh, I do not doubt that they will settle,” he replied confidently, “And very quickly. I’d be surprised if they weren’t pacing outside in the parking lot waiting for the opportunity to speak with you. This is all the more reason for you to retain an attorney quickly so that we can shelter you from all the nonsense they will promise and not deliver.”

“I will talk to Mom after this meeting,” he replied. “For now, you can consider yourself retained. You mentioned before that your fees would come out of the settlement, correct?”

Scott nodded as the impact of the statement sunk in. “Yes of course. It would be immoral and unethical to expect you and your mother to come up with retainer fees at a time like this.” He paused and leaned forward. “Peter…may I call you Peter?” he asked receiving a nod. “I get the impression that you are far better versed in these proceedings than a typical young man of your age.”

“I hate to sound like I’m boasting but I am well ahead of my peers in education,” the boy replied trying to sound more like a teenager. “I am already a junior in high school and my entire curriculum is…was AP studies.”

The attorney considered this. He was impressed with his (soon-to-be) client’s intellect but still felt that there was more to the lad than met the eye. “So, tell me what you hope or expect to come out of all this,” he prompted.

Peter thought about his next words carefully, knowing they would likely decide the entire outcome of the litigation. “Knowing that we will be okay for now, I am thinking about my future.” He hesitated for emphasis, “Or rather ‘our’ future, because - one day I expect to be taking care of my mom instead of the other way around.”

‘Good answer,’ the attorney thought growing more impressed with his client by the minute. “Go on.”

“Okay, now speaking hypothetically - we go in asking for some great gob of money,” he said lifting his hand and pointing to the water pitcher. The lawyer stood and helped him to take another drink. “I don’t know how much you will make for your part but assume we wind up winning a sizeable chunk of money - say $750,000 or so.”

Scott found himself doing some instant calculations in his head, considering the initial demands, negotiations, fees, court costs, taxes… He quietly applauded the young man for his astuteness, nodding for him to continue.

“Since we don’t have to worry about the basics, I can think of just a few immediate concerns that will have to be addressed during our negotiations,” He grimaced as he tried to shift to a less uncomfortable position. “I won't be able to walk, so there are a couple of things right off the bat that need to be done. I won't be able to climb the stairs to my old room so our living room will need to be retrofitted for my handicap.”

This took the young attorney by surprise and he pulled a legal pad from his briefcase to begin taking notes.

“Our house will need to be made wheelchair accessible with ramps and countertops that I can reach to provide for myself. I can’t think of everything off the top of my head but things like cooking food, taking a bath or shower, etcetera - these are all things that Johnson Controls should have to provide.” He waited while the attorney wrote down his thoughts.

“You know, Peter,” he said looking up from his pad. “Your mom is going to have to convey you to and from your appointments and such. She will need a car or van that can accommodate a wheelchair.”

He could see the excited gleam in the young man’s eyes as he realized the truth of that.

More than ever, Peter was glad that he chose this man to be their attorney. They spoke for over an hour as they discussed his immediate future and goals.

“I was hoping to attend UW on a Football scholarship but that is dust in the wind now,” he added without a trace of regret or self-pity. “I am still hoping to attend college though and for that, I will need a computer - a good one.” He gestured with his hand at the magazine lying open on the bedside table. “I dog-eared the page that has a model I’d kill for.”

Scott stood and reached for the PC Mag, thumbing through it. The Toshiba 80486 with the thin profile LCD monitor was a beauty. He nodded agreeably and made another note on his tablet. He glanced at the MAC World beneath it. “Are you into programming?”

“Yeah. Alan, Kat, and I have a dream of creating and selling PC games one day,” he replied. “You will meet them sooner or later; we are pretty tight. We have already been working on a program written in C.”

“That’s pretty impressive. You are really into computers then.”

“Oh yeah. I think they are going to propel us into the new millennium and I intend to ride that rocket into the stratosphere!” He coughed painfully but declined the offer for more water. “Which sort of brings up another topic I was hoping to get your advice on.”

The young attorney had just put his notepad back into his briefcase and sat up. “Oh? What is that?”

“Instead of just getting a big old chunk of money that is going to sit in a bank account earning crappy interest - I was hoping to invest a part of it, a good-sized part.”

He had been preparing to leave but now his interest was piqued and he settled back into the hard seat. “What have you got in mind?”

“I want to buy stock in some of these companies that are starting to make breakthroughs in technology and computing. I need to set up an online brokerage account but I need an adult to sign off on it for me. Once it is established and funded, I can manage it on my own. But for now, I need someone like you to help me set it up.”

“You are talking about a limited power of attorney then,” Scott replied.

“Exactly, I know you are gonna ask, so let me just say that my mom is the last person I can ask…well, next to my fucking father.”

“Why is that?” he asked curiously. He already knew he would agree to it because he sensed something progressive about the young man that he very much wanted to watch over.

“Mom is clueless about this sort of thing and what I want to do, goes against just about everything she knows or stands for. The church we attend is…still in the dark ages and when it comes to forward thinking and independence…,” he left his thought unfinished but the lawyer knew exactly where he was coming from.

“Okay, so we set up an account with someone like Charles Schwab, Fidelity, or Edward Jones - that’s who my father uses…”

“I was thinking about E-Trade,” Peter interrupted. “They are an online broker and their commissions are way cheaper.”

Scott frowned at him. “You’re not planning on being free and loose with the whole day trading thing, are you?”

“God no!” Peter replied. ‘Not yet anyways,’ he thought to himself. “I plan on buying the heck out of companies like Microsoft, IBM, Intel, Apple, AMD, and that new database company Oracle.”

“Microsoft, eh? You know my dad knows Paul Allen,” Scott mused. ‘This kid has a head on his shoulders.’

“Can you get me his autograph?” Peter replied wistfully.

---

“Mom. Those parasites are not looking out for anyone but themselves. You can’t let them talk to you without a lawyer present!” Peter almost yelled at his mom later that afternoon.

“Honey, relax,” she replied sounding cross over his tone. “First of all, I am an adult and am capable of talking to anyone I like. Second, I didn’t agree to anything. And third, you need to stop worrying about this and let the grown-ups deal with it. You have to focus on healing your body and getting better,” she held his water pitcher tightly in her hands and kept trying to get him to drink.

“Mom, stop!” he snapped angrily, regretting it immediately. He sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m not thirsty right now. And I know you are trying to do the best you can with the cards that we have been dealt. I love you and appreciate everything you are doing.” He took a deep breath as she hesitantly put the pitcher back on the table. “Look, I just want to be a part of this, okay? I may just be a kid but I am pretty smart. You always brag about that to the ladies at church, don’t you?”

Janet Shipley was 43 years old and carried herself like she was channeling June Cleaver and Florence Henderson. She sniffed. “Boasting is a sin, rooted in pride.”

He smiled as she calmed herself. “So is gambling but you still play Bingo every Saturday evening,” he snorted, then smiled, “It’s not a sin to be proud of your genius son,” he added, grinning as she rolled her eyes. She took his hand and he squeezed it.

“You know what those nice men offered?” she asked excitedly. “They want to pay for all of your college education! Isn’t that wonderful, dear?”

He sighed. “Of course, they did, Mom. And they should,” he muttered. “Did they mention how I’m going to get there and back? Did they offer to help with prosthetic legs when the time comes? Are they willing to pay for my time in the hospital that isn’t covered by Dad’s insurance?” He knew he had already gone entirely over her head with his questions and he could see by the haunted look in her eyes that he had hit upon the very fears that were keeping her awake at night. He squeezed her hand once more.

“Look, Mom. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this stuff. I know that you have too - but you are being crushed by everything else that is going on. So, I want you to just take a moment and listen to me, okay? As an adult. Can you do that?”

She regarded her son lying in his bed with all of the hardware, wires, tubes, and monitors-trying to see the handsome young man he once was. Tears sprang to her eyes as she held his hand and nodded. “I’m listening baby.”

“Good,” he replied warmly. “Now - first of all. We are going to be okay. I am going to get better and I will be able to take care of myself soon so you don’t have to worry about it. And I don’t want you to fret about going back to work to pay the bills.” He could tell by her expression that that was precisely what she was fretting about. “Dad is a fucking asshole for just taking off and leaving you like that… No!” he exclaimed as she gasped at his language. “I won't apologize for how I feel about him. He is a jerk and will pay for what he has done. You will be getting alimony to help with the utilities and food. The house is paid for so you don’t have to worry about that.”

She nodded at his words and visibly relaxed as he continued. “He will be required to pay you child support for as long as I live under your roof.” She started to argue but he cut her off. “I know - in most cases, it’s until I turn eighteen. But he abandoned you right after I got hurt and that will not look good in the eyes of the judge who rules in your divorce.”

She nodded once again. “That is something that Mr. Wise suggested the other day when we met at his office.”

He squeezed her hand once again encouragingly. “See? Everything is going to turn out for the better. Now listen. This deal with Johnson Controls has to be handled by lawyers, okay? They have already circled their wagons and are trying to salvage what they can of their reputation. Make no mistake here - they only care about how they can put this to rest with as little damage to their bottom line as possible. They are not looking to make amends with me or us.”

“Now that’s not true…” she started but he held up his hand.

“Mom…you promised to listen.”

She closed her mouth defensively and sat back. He could tell he had lost the momentum he was hoping to win her over with.

He sighed deeply and growled in frustration. She reached for his water pitcher questioningly and he nodded allowing her to help him take a drink. He sighed again and decided to change tactics.

“Look, Mom. I know you believe in turning to the church when bad things happen and I know you feel that there is inherent good in everything and everyone - and that God will look after us in our time of need.” He gazed evenly at her and she did not meet his eyes when he spoke. “These people, this company…they are not the good guys in this story. Think about it for a moment. Picture yourself surrounded by those other ladies at church, talking about the accident as if it had happened to somebody other than me. You wouldn’t be defending them as innocent players. A responsible corporation does not allow its employees to drive around on company business, in company cars - drunk.” He saw that she meekly nodded her agreement. “They are 100% responsible and liable for all of this. And that is why we have to retain an attorney to look after our interests, instead of letting them dictate the outcome.”

She sighed. The whole thing was just too much for her and she wanted nothing more than to just go back to the way things were before the accident, even if it included her troubled marriage. “I know you are right sweetheart, but I just don’t think we can afford to pay for one right now.” She leaned forward and placed her face into the palms of her hands. “I don’t even know how we are going to make it through til the divorce is over and the settlement kicks in.”

Peter tried to reach her but couldn’t. “Mom, look at me. Sit up and look at me. I need you to hear what I am about to tell you. It’s going to be okay.”

She shook for a second and then straightened, taking a tissue from his box to wipe her eyes and blow her nose. “I’m so sorry baby. It’s just so much to bear…”

“I get it. And as you have said to me so often, ‘He’ never burdens us with more than we can handle. Now listen, we don’t have to pay for the lawyer upfront. They will often represent their clients for free and take their fee from the final settlement.”

She sniffed disdainfully as she looked at the business card on his bedside table, curious that the others had disappeared. “I don’t see how these law firms are any different than Johnson Controls when it comes to looking after their bottom line,” she grumbled.

“You are not wrong Mom,” he agreed. “But stop for a minute and think about it this way. We are getting ready to go to battle. It’s a metaphor but a sound one. Now the ‘other team’ has a lineup of hard hitters and fast rushers and at the moment the only defense we have is…well nothing other than the thoughts and prayers of our friends and the ‘goodwill’ of a court system that is already leveraged towards the best litigators.”

He waited for his words to sink in before continuing. “By getting an attorney to represent us, they will not only be looking out for their bottom line but also striving to see that we get everything we are entitled to - some of which you probably haven’t even considered fully. Like my future medical expenses, and retrofitting our home so that I can get around in a wheelchair. Or providing us with a vehicle that is designed for a person like me with a handicap.”

She looked shocked at his words. “Baby you are not going to be in a wheel…”

“They are cutting my other foot off next week, Mom,” he interrupted.

She shook her head vigorously and stood up. “They certainly are not! Where did you hear such…”

“Mom!” he cried out causing her to pause. “Just take a peek under the dressing on my left foot.”

For her part, Janet glanced fearfully at the foot of his bed but refused to move towards it to look.

“My toes are all blackened and dead, my foot is useless and will soon die too,” he stated softly as she grabbed another tissue before sitting down and weeping. “They have no choice, mom. I will be leaving here as a double amputee, in a wheelchair, probably for the rest of my life.” He let her sob for a minute before he cleared his throat causing her to instinctively sit up and reach for his pitcher. After he took a sip, he cleared his throat again. “I’m sorry Mom. But that is a fact that I have to live with and you have to accept. But it will be okay, I promise.”

“How?” she blurted emotionally. Tears stained her cheeks as she gazed at him miserably. “How is this…” she waved her hands at him, his bed and all the gadgets connected to him, “going to be, okay?” She sank into her chair and began crying, “Oh my God, you’re never going to walk again,” she sobbed.

“Oh yes, I will,” he retorted forcefully. She sniffed and looked back at his determined face.

“Prosthetics, Mom,” he replied confidently. “But that is a while from now. Right now, we need to focus on doing what is right for us.”

At that precise moment, there was a light tap on his door and they both glanced over to see Scott Bales peek his head in. “Uh, Hi,” he stammered, feeling the tension in the room. “Is this an okay time?”

Janet rose to her feet and turned to gaze at him suspiciously. “I’m sorry, who are you?” she demanded.

Peter cleared his throat again. “Mom, please. Allow me,” he nodded to the attorney. “Please come in Mr. Bales.”

Scott opened the door and stepped into the room dressed sharply in a suit and tie with a coat thrown over his shoulder. He carried a shiny soft leather attaché case with his left. Despite his crisp professional look, his bright red hair remained at odds with his clean-cut appearance. He smiled brightly as he approached.

“Mom, this is Scott Bales. He is an accident and personal injury attorney,” Peter introduced. “His card is on the table. Scott, this is my mother, Janet.”

Despite her reservations, she reflexively accepted his polite hand after he draped his jacket over his left arm and reached out. His youth and charm did little to put her at ease - even if he was good on the eyes.

“It is truly a pleasure to make your acquaintance Ms. Shipley,” he said as they shook hands. “Peter has told me so much about you.”

The temperature in the room promptly chilled as the woman stiffened and turned to glare at her son. “Oh, did he now? What pray-tell, did you talk about?” She snatched her hand away and Scott’s expression became troubled.

“Mom. First of all - I called him. It was me who asked him to come by and discuss this accident and…”

“You what?” She screeched hysterically. “You don’t get to just call on lawyers young man! And you…” she whirled on the surprised attorney like a wraith. “Who do you think you are coming here to discuss anything with a minor?”

“MOM! That’s enough!” Peter yelled over her causing him to wince for the discomfort it caused. “Sit down, please! And let me explain everything.”

Something about his tone and delivery startled her and she promptly did as he asked. Her eyes still smoldered as she stared at the uncertain gentleman standing across from her.

“Mom,” Peter sighed, “Please put the knives away. It’s not the way it seems. Like I told you I have had nothing but time to lay here and think about stuff. I had questions and I called Mr. Bales. He came here at my request and we talked about things. Nothing was ever decided upon and I certainly didn’t retain him behind your back. I couldn’t anyways. I’m just a kid remember?” He then took a page from her book and mimicked her voice, “Now say something nice.” She was always on him about - if he didn’t have something nice to say, then don’t say anything. And when he tried to argue; those were her exact words every time.

Janet bit her lip as she struggled with his confounded tactic, which cut her off at the… She blushed at the thought, considering his present condition. With a sniff, she lifted her chin and regarded the young red-haired man. “Mr. Bales, it is a pleasure to meet you. I might add that you appear a very well-put-together young man.” That would be enough to honor the gesture of goodwill.

“Thank you, Ma’am. I am but a product of my mother’s upbringing,” he replied with an easy smile.

“Are you a Christian Mr. Bales?” she quipped. Peter groaned inwardly as he sensed the imminent interrogation.

The Attorney smiled again and held up his hand which displayed a pure gold ring fashioned into a Celtic knot with a cross upon the front crafted loosely from a clover leaf. It was the symbol of Saint Patrick. “Pure-blooded Irish Catholic ma'am.”

“He’s twenty-seven years old, graduated from Gonzaga University - Magna Cum Laude, and is currently unmarried…I think,” Peter interjected taking the wind out of her sails once more.

The color rose in her cheeks as she sighed resignedly and sat once more in her seat, sweeping invisible dust bunnies off her dress. “Well…at least he’s a respectable man of God,” she allowed as she sulked.

“I think he’s also acquainted with your divorce lawyer,” her son added glibly. “Mr. Wise, isn’t it?”

She glanced up as Scott nodded. “Indeed. I know Corcan well. We went to law school and took the Bar together,” he stated. “I might add that you are well represented by him, Ms. Shipley.”

She accepted his compliment with reservation. “Forgive me for saying this but Mr. Wise seemed much older than…”

“Jeez Mom! They went to school together,” Peter interrupted.

Scott held up his hand. “It’s quite alright. She is correct. He is much older than me. He was a Board-certified Anesthesiologist before he switched careers,” he grinned with a wink. “Something about a bitter divorce and an ex-wife who was entitled to a substantial amount of his wage as a doctor.” He cleared his throat. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”

She held her hand to her mouth as she listened to the scandalous gossip with intent.

“Sounds like you are in good hands then,” Peter interjected coyly.

“Well, then why don’t we just get down to business and explain to me what this is all about,” she replied disdainfully as she sat properly beside his bed. The attorney remained standing across from her.

“Okay,” Peter began, “In a nutshell I want us to retain Mr. Bales here as our attorney, in the lawsuit for damages against Johnson Controls. Despite your misgivings about his age, he is a third-generation family attorney and still works with his father and grandfather on occasion.” He lifted his hand to indicate them all. “He doesn’t require a single penny upfront and will collect his retainer from any settlement that we win.” He gestured to the red-haired lawyer. “And I will shut up now and let him carry on.”

Scott Bales chuckled and placed his attaché case on the bed beside Peter's covered leg. “Thank you, Mr. Shipley,” he said producing several pieces of paper. “As your legal representative, the first thing I would do is obtain copies of the police reports and the findings from the crash scene investigators.” He handed the papers across Peter’s lap to the curious woman. “These are the reports in question…should you retain me.” He smiled at her with another wink.

Janet reached over and took the papers that she hadn’t even heard of before that moment.

“The conclusions are pretty straightforward and damning for the defendants, which in this case is Johnson Controls. They are blatantly liable and will have a very difficult time trying to spin it any other way. To do so in court would just make them look foolish,” he continued. “There is absolutely no way they won't try to settle to avoid an unpleasant publicity nightmare.”

He let her glance through the papers, some of which contained graphic and unsettling images of the crash site shortly after Peter was rescued and transported to the Emergency Room. She shuddered and put the forms in her lap. She shook her head in disbelief, “How could something like this happen?”

He reached into his briefcase and produced several more sheets printed on expensive paper. “This is a preliminary list of damages that we would be seeking compensation for. Not everything in our demands will be monetary,” he added as he pointed to several bullets. “For instance, they will be responsible for the remodeling of your home to meet Washington State Statutes for handicap and wheelchair accessibility - and providing you with a new wheelchair-accessible vehicle. They will provide any medical mobility device prescribed to help Peter move about or ambulate, and they will pay for every penny of your continued medical care resulting from the accident - for the rest of your life. The rest are monetary amounts based on national guidelines for specific damages.

“Because this is such a profound life-altering circumstance they should be made to compensate and assist you in realigning your career dreams so that you can one day provide for yourself. This includes retraining or any educational expenses you undertake to prepare for your new future.

“I know this is hard to swallow but there is a dollar figure amount for the loss of a limb or a specific permanent disability,” he concluded.

“Cool!” Peter replied. “How much are my feet worth?” Janet gasped at his morbid inquiry but looked toward the attorney expectantly.

“By last year's punitive dismemberment reimbursement rates, loss of a single foot is worth approximately $100,000. But if you end up losing both feet that will be higher by a significant amount. I will be asking for $750,000,” he answered easily. “Before I can itemize the rest of your specific injuries, I will need access to your medical treatment records.”

The silence became oppressive as no one spoke for several minutes. Janet looked back at her son to find him staring back at her expectantly. “What?” she asked harshly.

“Mom - I think this is where you say: ‘Mr. Bales I would like to retain you as our attorney’,” Peter prompted.

She looked over at the young man and found him smiling at her compassionately. He gave a slight nod of his head. “I promise you, Ms. Shipley, I have nothing but the best interests of you and your son in my heart, going forward. God as my witness,” he intentionally lifted his hand to kiss the ring on his finger.

With a heavy sigh, she finally nodded her head. “Mr. Bales I would like to retain you as our attorney.”

He solemnly reached into his attaché case once more and produced a neat bundle of forms. “I just need to go over each of these forms with you before you sign them and then I will swing by the medical records department on my way out, to see if they will surrender Peter’s records without a subpoena.” He stepped around the bed and set the papers on the bedside table. She stood to join him.

“This first form is the authorization to serve as your attorney. By signing this you agree to allow me to represent you as my client in any litigation proceeding, settlement negotiations, and any transactional negotiations.” He produced a fancy pen from his breast pocket and handed it to her. She looked over each form briefly and then initialed and signed where he indicated.

“This page discloses my fee which amounts to 28% of the final settlement amount including any non-monetary damages awarded. So, if they agree to pay, say, $84,000 in construction fees towards the retrofitting of your home - then that amount becomes part of the total settlement. The highlighted paragraph shows a hypothetical scenario where we win a total settlement of $1,250,000. In this case, my retainer fee would be $350,000.” She balked at the amount of his fee but then realized they would be getting almost a million dollars of their own. She signed and initialed.

“Next you authorize me to access all of Peter’s medical records and any legal reports such as the police and investigative findings that I will need.” He indicated the pertinent parts of the next form and indicated her spots to sign and initial.

“This is a necessary form that protects me from indemnity should any findings go contrary to the expected outcome.” He hesitated as she frowned at the document. “It is wholly unnecessary in this case because I am confident, we are iron-clad here. But hypothetically if it went to court, and the defendants could somehow prove that Peter was responsible for the accident - say he jumped out intentionally or threw rocks at the driver, or some other silly nonsense - the case may get thrown out. Again, we don’t have to worry because there are plenty of corroborating witness statements and they would have to be insane to try and fight this in court.” His logic eased her misgivings and she signed it where indicated.

“And this is just a temporary limited power of attorney that allows me to act on Peter’s behalf - in your absence when the time comes to disburse settlement funds into whatever investment, trust, or holding vehicles you may have lined up. It’s not important right now and I will discuss all of it with you when the time comes - but I need the authorization at this time.” He finished explaining and she signed it like the others.

Scott collected all the forms and returned them to his briefcase, offering Peter a wink as he did so. “I will make copies of all this for you and bring them by when we meet again. In the meantime, I will file a cease-and-desist order with the other party so that they will stop trying to harass you into settling for less than what you are entitled.” He gathered his blazer and slung it over his shoulder once more before stepping towards the door. Turning back, he smiled at them both. “Thank you once again for allowing me to represent you in this unpleasant situation. You have my card if you need to contact me for anything. It also has my father’s number if you can’t reach me for whatever reason, or if you aren’t happy with my performance. I can attest to the firmness of his hand. I’ll be in touch soon.” And with that, he stepped out of the room and let the door close softly behind him.

Janet remained quiet as she sat back down beside her son and reached over to rub his leg gently.

“So that went pretty well,” Peter said softly.

“Mmmhmm,” she replied absently. “Anything else you want to spring on me while I’m still sitting down?”

He swallowed uneasily. “Well, since you brought it up…”

She looked back at him sharply and he wet his lips nervously. “What?”

“Alan and Kat came by this morning and brought me those two magazines,” he darted his eyes at the bedside table. “Check out that computer on page 26 of PC Mag.”

She rolled her eyes in disgust as she reached for the magazine. “Computers again?” It was an old talking point with them.

“C’mon Mom, I’m gonna need one more than ever now,” he begged.

“Why is that?” she asked thumbing through the magazine.

“Well, I can’t just get up and go work a regular old nine-to-five job anymore. And it will help me with knocking out the rest of high school. And I will be needing it when I start college now.”

“Mmmhmm,” she replied noncommittally.

Chapter Two - Rehab is a Bitch!

“So, when do you get to have all this metal shit taken out of you?” Kathy asked as she tapped on one of the steel pins sticking out of his right arm.

“It’s only been two weeks Kat,” he replied as he flexed his left arm and scratched his nose. They had just removed the hard cast and replaced it with a padded wrap to serve as a reminder to him that it was still healing. ‘Like I’m gonna go flipping down the hall anytime soon,’ he thought. “Probably at least another week or two. Hopefully, they will all be out by Valentine’s Day.”

The tall, lanky girl casually traced her fingers up the halo apparatus that pinned his head in place. “Got plans? Dancing?” She was looking away indifferently but her mind was awaiting his answer with sharp anticipation.

He snorted. “Depends on your idea of dancing. Do you know the flopping halibut?”

‘I’d flop around with you,’ she said to herself. “Sounds kinky,” she replied with a smirk. “Is it a couples dance?”

He hiccupped and laughed. “Where is Al at?”

She hid her disappointment that he wasn’t just happy to have her alone with him. “He said he would come by later. His mom is ragging on him for one of his grades or something.” Finally, she sauntered over to the chair next to his bed and plopped into it, resting her arms along his bed rail and her chin on her arms. “So, what do you want to do?” ‘Make out for a while?’

“I dunno,” he sighed. “Sometimes I get so bored just laying here. There’s only so much to think about, ya know?”

“I guess so. I’m not in your shoes,” she gulped at her unintentional gaff, but he didn’t seem to notice. “I’d think that thoughts are as random and innumerable as stars, you know?”

“I guess I just keep getting stuck over the same thoughts, is all. I can only take them so far when I know there is more there.” He paused chewing his lip. “I just can’t get to it. It’s like a riddle I should know the answer to, but don’t.”

“Sounds like you need more information then,” she replied quickly. “Is it a subject matter you are trying to master - like the Fibonacci spiral?”

He snorted, “Each number in the sequence is equal to the last two…done.”

“Maybe you could distract yourself with a book,” she suggested.

He pursed his lips shrewdly and nodded slowly. “That is exactly what I need.” He turned his head toward her slightly. “Could you get me a few at the library?”

She nodded lazily with her head on her arms. “Sure. What do you want?”

He thought about it. “Anything on corporate finance and Wall Street investing. Stocks, bonds, mutual funds, options, futures, anything you can find.”

She sat up and shook her hair out of her face. She had long black hair that fell to her lower back and she rarely tied it up or braided it. “Yeah, I can do that for you. It’ll cost you though.”

He rolled his eyes at her. “Let me just grab my wallet…”

“Your money ain't no good round here pale face,” she teased him back.

“What do you want then?”

“I’ll let you know when the time is right,” she replied smugly, before putting her head back on her arms so she could watch him.

“Well, that killed three minutes,” he said with a grin. “What else you got?”

She giggled. “Want me to rub your feet?”

He coughed and winced as he laughed. “Bitch! That was cold!”

“Nah,” she grinned. “Hey, when they cut off the other one, do you think they will let you keep it?” she asked with a gleam in her eye.

He gaped at her incredulously. “Why the hell would I want to keep my old dead foot?”

“So, you can stick it in a jar and put it on the mantel beside your old dead brain!” She tapped his bedrail with her hands and swung at an invisible cymbal. “Badum tish!” she mimed. “Now that was cold!”

Despite the soreness, he couldn’t help the laughter as he tried to keep from shaking his body. “Oh…God! That…hurts!”

“Good, laughter is the best medicine,” she quipped.

“Not when you have a chest tube,” he gasped back.

---

The day before Valentine's Day, the surgical team had a meeting with him and his mother to discuss the prognosis of his ischemic limb. They performed numerous sensory tests to determine just where he felt pain, cold, and heat. Once they finished their exam, they drew a line around his lower leg just above his ankle denoting the point of amputation. When he drew back his gown, he compared the line with his other missing limb.

“I may be crazy for even asking this,” he said hesitantly, “but could you cut it off at the same length as my other leg?”

There was a harsh gasp from his mother but the doctors all listened with interest as he explained how it would probably be easier for him to adjust to prosthetics eventually if he didn’t have to stumble around on mismatched legs.

“Young man,” the chief of surgery commented, “that is a very astute observation on your part. You have been thinking about this for a while I can tell.”

“Yessir,” he replied humbly, “and I realize it's probably contrary to the institution to remove tissue that is still…alive.” He lifted his left hand and rested it on the external brace holding the pins in his left thigh. “I just wonder, that’s all.”

The old balding doctor rubbed his chin thoughtfully and nodded. “We have to discuss this and I want to reach out to a colleague of mine over at Walter Reed.” He gestured and the group of white coats left the room together leaving him alone with his incredulous mom.

The following morning, they came for him early and took him to the OR where they removed the external fixators from both his legs and his right arm. When he woke up before noon, he spent several groggy moments taking inventory of himself. He felt less weighed down and encumbered. Glancing about he was relieved to see the metal pins and frames absent. His head remained secured firmly in the cranial traction but he was elevated enough that he could reach down and pull back the sheets covering his legs. Both of them ended roughly 4 inches below his knees, though the left one was wrapped in a thick white gauze dressing. The chest tube had been removed a week ago and he was hoping to be able to soon go pee for himself. Reassured by his discovery he let his head ease back onto the pillow and closed his eyes to rest.

Several hours later the anesthetic had worn off and he required large doses of morphine to control the pain. They let him sleep for the first couple of days until he was able to bear the discomfort with minimal narcotics. When Alan and Kathy came by to visit him two days after Valentine’s, they found him stuffing his face from a heart-shaped box of chocolates. He looked up and regarded them with a bright expression.

“Hey guys,” he mumbled with his mouth full. “Did you bring me these?” He held out the near-empty box full of wrappers. There were several pieces that he had placed back after taking a bite out of them. “Have some.”

Kat poked through the wreckage, shaking her head. “I did, but - damn dude…I didn’t think they would let you eat the whole box in one sitting,” she mused.

“They never told me I couldn’t,” he replied licking his chocolate-covered fingers. He surrendered the candy and allowed them to pick some of the un-chewed pieces.

“You look pretty chipper for someone who just got his other foot chopped off,” Alan said rummaging for a piece of chocolate.

“Man having all those fucking rods out of my legs, hip, and arm is awesome!” he replied. He held up his right arm with its soft cast and turned his hand around. “See? I am right-handed again. Now I can rewrite all those notes I took down last week.” He was referring to the dozen or so books that Kat had brought for him to read. As he began learning about the basics of investing, he asked her for a couple note books and pens to take notes with. It was a slow process with his offhand but he took his time and made sure he could read everything he jotted down. There was a stack of books on his table with torn pieces of paper for bookmarks through them. He was champing at the bit to begin buying stock but Scott advised him that they were still weeks to months away from a settlement.

When his mom saw him reading so diligently and taking notes, she grumbled that his time would be better spent getting caught up with his schoolwork.

“Have them bring it by,” he replied nonchalantly, “I can get it done too.”

She knew better than to challenge him on it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Kathy sang as she chewed on her piece.

“What, no kiss?” Peter joked.

She curled her lip at him. “And risk putting my eye out on that Robocop get up?” she replied snidely, secretly longing for nothing less.

“What, are you two going steady now?” Alan asked with a disgusted tone. Kat could’ve kissed him for bringing it up. “Like Donny and Marie?”

Peter frowned at him. “Do I look like Donny Osmond?”

“Captain and Tennille?”

Kathy poked him. “Do I look like Toni?”

The Asian Nerd scrutinized her for a moment. “Hmmm. More like Cher.”

“That’s make me Sonny,” Peter quipped.

“I like it!” she beamed reaching over to touch his untrimmed hair inside the halo traction ring. “You’ve got the hair for it; you just need the handlebar under your nose.”

“Mom says I need a haircut and wants them to take the hardware off long enough to give me a trim.” He scratched his scalp over his right ear.

“Sure, risk total paralysis for the sake of a haircut,” she growled.

“That’s pretty much what the nurses told her.”

Alan was wearing a backpack and slipped his arm out of one of the straps. “I wish you had access to a computer here,” he said pulling out a thick binder. In the middle of it was a small stack of 5 ¼” floppy disks held together with a rubber band. “I got Slots and Bingo here but I really need your help with them.” He set the disks on the table and set the notebook beside it. When he opened it, the pages were full of handwritten strings of complex C code. They were working on creating several games but Peter was convinced that if they could develop a simple slot machine and build on it, it would be a huge success on the bulletin board network. Maybe they could even sell it to a program developer.

He took the notebook and began reviewing the notes. They were written in different hands. He recognized the harsh blocky text from Alan's pudgy grip and the thinner elegant script from Kat’s left-handed writing. There was a great deal of his notes included, but it had been several weeks since he contributed to the effort. He was still the better programmer in C, however, and they relied on him to fix all the bugs as they came up.

“Why did you cross out all these attributes?” he asked as he began thinking in the programming language.

“Because it fucks everything up when you hit jackpots,” Alan replied.

“There’s nothing random about it,” Kat added. “They are almost sequential and the payouts are staggered in orderly increments.”

They remained silent for several minutes as he pored over the notes frowning. “I think there is something wrong with all these iostream inputs,” he murmured. “But I can’t do anything with this.” He put the notes down and rubbed his eyes tiredly. “I need to get in front of it to see how each ‘cout’ displays.”

Kathy nodded with her lips pressed together. “Every time you win the ‘Jackpot’ or ‘Big Money!’ the fonts are all wrong and my color commands aren’t working.”

“That’s because they aren’t ordered properly in the main function. You need to write it into the standard namespace declaration.” He sighed in frustration. “I need a fricking computer!” he grumbled.

“I could bring mine here,” his friend replied hesitantly.

“Al, that beast weighs a ton,” he replied. “You’d kill yourself lugging it down the hall, much less across town.”

“It’s okay,” Kathy replied trying to ease his angst. “We can figure it out. It just takes us longer. The Bingo graphics are awesome. The tumbler and chute are finally working out and the balls appear and roll down the chute like we wanted.” She flipped to another section of the notebook. “The problem is when it switches displays between the tumbler and the player's cards.”

Peter sighed and rubbed his eyes. “Leave the notes with me tonight and I’ll look them over when my brain isn’t all foggy from these drugs.”

His two friends sat quietly beside his bed and watched him for several minutes. There was a small TV guide next to the television sitting on a shelf in the corner. Alan grabbed it and began thumbing through it. “Wanna watch some boob tube?” he asked. “Doogie Howser, Quantum Leap, Baywatch…” he winced and glanced at the taller senior across from him. She rolled her eyes at his embarrassment.

“Quantum Leap,” Peter replied suddenly interested. His friend got up and turned on the television and the channel box beside it.

---

It took two weeks of begging pleading and an adolescent meltdown before the neuro/spinal specialist listened to Peter and considered removing the external cranial fixator. He was surprised when the doctors rounded and advised him of their plan.

“You are going on a road trip tomorrow Mr. Shipley,” the Chief of Surgery stated. There was a feeling of anticipation in the room.

In his head, Peter started repeating the lyrics of an old Beatles song:

‘Got a good reason,
For taking the easy way out.’

“Um, okay,” he replied setting aside his newest edition of PC Gamer. “Where am I going?” He automatically looked toward the grinning senior resident Dr. Merchant whom he was most familiar. “Shouldn’t my mom be here for this?”

The 26-year-old ‘Doogie Howser’ nodded. “She is on her way as far as I know,” he replied. “I spoke to her about an hour ago.”

“We can come back once she gets here if you like.” Dr. Hearst (Chief of Surgery) added.

“Oh, no,” Peter cut in, interested. “I’m all about some day-trippin’. Please, fill me in.”

Only ‘Doogie’ caught the reference and grinned once more. “Well, you are always talking about how you wanted to go to UW.”

He stared back at the group blankly. “Um.”

Dr. Merchant stepped closer and wrapped his knuckles on the halo frame that kept his head pinned in place. “Dr. Osterman wants to obtain better imaging of your cervical spine before he will consider removing the Iron Maiden,” it was a term of endearment that Peter, Kathy, and Alan came up with a while back; it stuck.

Peter began thinking of what they had said so far and started putting the pieces together. “A CAT scan?”

The Chief of Surgery nodded. “We are still installing ours, but the Montlake Campus has one of the best on this coast,” he said. “And one of the only MRIs.”

“MRI,” Peter replied, testing the term. “Magnetic something right?”

Just then his door opened and his mother entered the room appearing slightly disheveled. He caught a glimpse of an unfamiliar man standing out in the hallway before she closed the door.

“I’m so sorry for the delay, doctors,” she greeted nervously as she walked over to stand beside Peter’s bed. She touched his face and shoulder reassuringly.

“It’s quite alright Ms. Shipley,” Dr. Hearst replied. “We were just presenting your son with a plan for tomorrow to help us determine how his spinal injury is healing.”

“I’m going on a road trip to UW hospital,” he told his mom with a grin. “I’m gonna get a CAT scan!”

She looked curiously around at all the white coats. “A CAT Scan?”

Dr. Hearst nodded. “It’s a relatively new technology that allows us to view the head and spine in 3 dimensions. And we are also going to do an MRI since we are there and the unit is available. That will give Dr. Osterman a much better idea of how far Peter’s spine has healed.”

“And with luck, he can remove the rest of this hardware and progress into rehabilitation,” Dr. Merchant concluded.

Another knock sounded on his door and his two friends burst in. They stopped just inside the room, staring in astonishment at all of the doctors and his mom.

“Um…wow,” Kat said while Alan fidgeted with his backpack.

Peter caught another glimpse of the man in the hallway and felt a sense of concern at his rough unkept appearance and bitter scowl. Then the door closed behind them and everyone was looking at the two gangly nerds.

“Is this a bad time?” Alan gawked.

“Honey, we are having an important family discussion right now,” Janet said firmly. “Perhaps you can just wait out…”

“I’m going on a road trip tomorrow!” Peter interrupted. He grinned at his astonished friends. “Goin’ to UW for a CAT scan and an MRI. Then maybe I can lose the Iron Maiden!”

It was entirely happenstance that the tall native American girl was wearing a faded black Iron Maiden Seventh Son tour shirt at that particular moment. It wasn’t lost on any of the men gathered around as they all peered at her briefly. Their gazes probably had nothing to do with her lack of a bra or her prominent nipples that pressed against the material.

She still reacted by crossing her arms self-consciously as the color rose in her cheeks.

“Whoa, dude!” Alan exclaimed, oblivious to the situation. “Magnetic resonance imaging is high-tech! That’s like, right out of TRON.”

Kathy giggled. “You’re gonna be ‘de-rezzed’ Sonny.”

“Is any of this dangerous?” Janet asked trying to get the meeting back on track. “Will he be exposed to too much radiation?”

Dr. Merchant nodded acknowledging her concern. “It is negligible Ms. Shipley. The radiation in the CAT scan is concentrated along a plane or ‘slice’ if you will, that is thinner than a human hair. We receive more radiation from a television set to be honest. And the MRI emits no radiation at all. It is perfectly safe for him.”

“Um,” Alan cleared his throat and then blushed when everyone turned to look at him. “But the Iron Maiden is metal right?” he asked. They continued looking at him expectantly. “I mean the MRI uses a 5-ton magnet, right? Won't it, like, rip his head off or something?”

His choice of words served only to cause Peter’s mom to have a near heart attack.

“Jesus! Alan!” Kathy whirled angrily and slugged him in the chest.

Janet’s eyes widened and she glanced at Dr. Hearst with a panicked expression.

“Oof!” the half-Korean gasped from the punch. “Hey! Sorry!” he wheezed. “I was just asking!”

Peter just shook his head and laughed out loud which served to calm the room down. “Jesus Christ Al!” he giggled. “Are you trying to kill my mom or what?”

Dr. Merchant raised his hands placatingly and cleared his throat. “Please. Just relax,” he said. “Ms. Shipley, despite our young genius’s words, I can assure you that everything will be perfectly fine.” He turned to gaze sharply at the contrite boy before continuing. “First off, we will be removing the external fixator entirely - it wouldn’t fit inside the tube anyway. Second,” he directed his gaze back to Peter’s friend, “no one has, or ever will be dismembered by an MRI.”

The meeting lasted for ten more minutes before the group of doctors disbursed.

“Who’s the stiff outside, mom?” Peter asked pointedly after they left.

She looked exceedingly uncomfortable and wouldn’t look at him as she replied, “Just a friend. His name is Paul and he is helping me out with things while you are laid up in here.”

“What sort of things?” he pressed, but she didn’t answer. “Are you dating already?”

She looked shocked by his interrogation and bristled. “No! It’s none of your concern anyway.” She bent over and kissed his forehead. “I have to go. Don’t stay up too late, you have a big day tomorrow.” She sniffed disdainfully at the piles of computer books and magazines and notebooks. She turned her sour expression onto Alan and Kathy who smiled back at her nervously. Then she walked over to the door and opened it. They all followed her with their eyes and watched as she nodded to the man waiting for her. He looked strung out, with worn-out denim jeans, a thread-bare, stained t-shirt, and a ripped army surplus field jacket. His dark brown hair was greasy and uncombed and he had the tell-tale scars of childhood acne all over his face. He glared back into the room, peering at each of the three teenagers before the door closed once more.

“Well Paul looks like Captain Loser,” Alan muttered after they had left.

“Tell me about it,” Kat grumbled. Then she turned and slugged him again angrily.

“Ow! What the fuck, whore face?” he snapped.

“Way to go and almost give his mom a stroke you dumb ass!” she growled back.

“I’m sorry!” he replied, both to her and Peter. “I was just asking is all.”

“Never mind,” Peter said ending the argument. “Let’s just hope I can get this fuck…” he stuttered as his door opened to admit one of his nurses. She was looking at him with her eyebrows raised. “Erm…this ‘freaking’ chunk of metal off my brain case,” he finished sheepishly. She came over to check his vital signs and asked him how his pain was. He said it was about a three of ten and asked for Tylenol or Motrin rather than the narcotics. For some reason, his frequent invasive thoughts made him fearful of the drugs they kept giving to him when his pain was bad.

After she left to get his medication Alan removed another notebook from his bag and set it on the table.

“I think we worked it out,” he said cheerfully as Peter opened the notebook and began scanning the lines of handwritten code. “We used your mini program to help run diagnostics on the code sequences and it helped tag a ton of character omissions and overstrikes. Once we fixed all that, executables started working like a charm.”

Kathy lowered his bedrail on her side and sat on the edge of his bed. She felt pins and needles up her spine when he touched her skin where her shirt lifted above the hem of her jeans. She could’ve purred when he ran his hand softly against her back. “I wish you could try out Oingo Bingo,” she said. She coined the name after one of her favorite bands. “I think it is ready for beta testing on the Gooney board.”

The Gooney Board was a popular BBS networking system that attracted thousands of computer programmers and gamers who checked out free shareware programs and played online games and interactive role-playing start-ups like Dungeons and Dragons and Star Wars. They planned to release a limited version of each game for people to try out and - if they liked it, they could buy the full version by mail order. Each game could be copied onto a 5 ¼” floppy disk and sent to the customer through USPS Media Mail for practically free. If they could make enough money in sales the first thing Alan was going to do was upgrade his disk drives and slave them together to help them burn several floppies at a time to help meet demand. Peter was hoping for enough to buy his PC and Kat just wanted a 1990 Camaro RS.

“I’ve been thinking about something we should probably discuss, now that these two games are about to get released,” Peter said as he absently slipped his hand up the inside of her shirt. She made no move to interrupt him.

Alan was sitting in a chair opposite them with his feet up on the bed.

“If we are going to go into business together, we need to establish a company.” He was about to continue when the nurse returned with his Tylenol.

“You mean like a corporation?” Alan asked as he swallowed the pills and took a drink of water.

Peter cleared his throat, thanked the nurse, and nodded. “More like a limited liability partnership.” He shuffled through his books and pulled out a thin paperback. “In Wyoming they have a State Statute called an LLC for partners in the oil drilling business.” The nurse regarded them curiously as she turned to leave the room. “I spoke with Scott and, with his help, we can establish something similar so that we are each represented equally and protected for…whatever. We could call it PAK Gaming or something and all sales will go to the company. We would have a Tax ID so that we can purchase floppy disks wholesale along with everything else we use to produce our programs. Then we pay ourselves out of the company profits.”

They looked at him and nodded while the door closed behind the curious nurse.

“That sounds like a lot of red tape to jump through,” Kathy mused. “But kinda of cool. Are we old enough to do it?” She relaxed back against him and felt like she was on cloud nine.

“There is no age restriction involved,” Peter replied. “It’s in our best interests anyway so I’m having Mr. Bales provide me the application forms. I’m drawing up a simple set of bylaws for us to go over and vote on. Then we just have to pay a $30 filing fee to get it registered with the State. We can make up business cards, letterheads, a business logo…”

“Cool, I call dibs on designing the Logo,” Kat chirped. She was by far the best artist of the three - and the entire school for that matter. “Who has thirty bucks?”

Alan raised his hand. “I do. But I expect to get paid back.”

“You can take it out of the first sales,” Peter suggested. “The first ten orders should cover it.”

They planned on selling Oingo Bingo for $3 and the Zombie Slots for $5.

“When do you think, you can start getting out of bed and get mobile?” Kathy asked as she placed her hand tentatively on his thigh over the blanket.

“Check it out,” he answered pointing to the corner of his room where a wheelchair was parked. “I already got to go outside and even eat in the cafeteria today,” he said brightly. “Pushing the wheels is a bitch with the Iron Maiden on my head, but hopefully I can take it off soon.”

“Then what?” Alan asked.

“Then I get to go to a nursing home full of old folks for a month or two of convalescence,” he answered. “Scott says the settlement is going forward as expected and once the Arbitrator guy signs off on everything, they will begin retrofitting our house so that I can roll in and out the door on ramps and stuff. I won't be able to move home until that is completed.”

“So, then we can take you to the library and show you how the games are working!” He let his feet drop to the floor and stood excitedly. “Dude, I can’t wait for you to be able to check them out.

Peter felt suddenly empowered and ready to take on the world once again. Life was looking up for once and he could sense that things were aligning favorably for him. He could smell Kathy’s soft fragrance from her shampoo and he reveled in the sense that she wanted to be with him despite his disability.

“We gotta get if we’re gonna catch the next bus,” Alan said as he slipped into his backpack.

“Yeah, I know,” Peter sighed regrettably. “Could you give Kat and me a second, buddy?”

The stocky Asian boy regarded them for a moment before making a gagging noise and stepping out of the room. “Don’t name it after me,” his sarcastic voice trailed off as the door closed.

Kathy turned toward him and leaned closer. “What’s up, Sonny?” she asked quietly. She searched his blue eyes for any sign of unease. There wasn’t any.

“Hey, um,” he felt his cheeks warming as he struggled for words. “I just want to say thanks, you know, for everything.” Inside he cursed himself for being a total chicken shit. ‘Grow up idiot!’ He cleared his throat and looked into her soft brown eyes. “I mean. You are incredible, I think. And even though you’re almost a senior citizen… I’m, I like…”

She snorted and grabbed him by his jaw, pinching his cheeks. “Senior citizen my ass!” she growled and then leaned forward to press her lips against his. It was an awkward first kiss because of the external fixator with its metal posts and pins, but they were both oblivious to the situation as they locked their mouths together and tasted one another's tongues. He felt her draw in a deep breath and then sigh with complete, blissful surrender, as she gave herself entirely to him with one simple gesture. He breathed deeply as well and grabbed her sides with both of his hands, tracing the outer curves of her breasts relishing the contact. He held her like he never wanted to let go and they stayed like that for several minutes.

That was a preview of Deja Vu Part One: Rock Bottom. To read the rest purchase the book.

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