by Richard Lori
When they got in the cab, the driver asked in his weary voice, “Where ya wanna go?”
Fuller gave him the address and sat back. He was still thinking about Sue more than about getting home. He was not sure, but he could swear there was a look of loneliness in her eyes. He shook his head and knew he had only wished it there because that was how he felt. He had nobody to share his life with in spite of his marriage to Rita. She had become more of a roommate than a wife for him, the love having faded long ago with her constant scorn.
Was it possible that Sue might feel the same way he did? She seemed not to have anyone either because she lived alone in that big house. Of course, that did not mean anything. She probably had many friends who she spent time with, and a boyfriend she dated. It was very unlikely that someone as smart and attractive as Sue would share in the isolation he felt.
Somehow, he could not bring himself to accept this possibility though. She had to be lonely because he was lonely. There must be others somewhere in the world that felt the same way he did, and Sue was one of them.
Most people rejected him, laughing behind his back. He was the big joke around the office where he was “Fuller the peter puller.” This was because he would sit and organize the program flow in his mind before starting to enter code in the computer. Once when he was doing this, Mr. Mattson walked by his desk and told him to quit pulling his peter and get to work. Others overheard this and never let him live it down. He pretended that the taunting did not bother him, but in reality, it cut deep. As a boy, he often thought that when he grew up he would no longer have to take abuse from his peers. Years later, he was still the outcast that everybody rejected.
He had tried many times to explain his situation, first to his mother, and then to Rita. Neither understood his feelings or seemed to want to. All they did was tell him how he should change himself so they would not bother him anymore. His mother told him to go to school, get a degree and become an important man. Then he could laugh at them. He had followed her advice and they still laughed.
Rita had tried to change his appearance and interests. In college, she had thrown away all his clothes and dragged him to the store to pick out a new wardrobe. Then it was off to the barber for a new hairstyle. After this, she dragged him to football games, rock concerts and parties. She felt that if he only socialized with other people, they would accept him more. Beside that, she wanted to prove to everyone that she could get a boyfriend. He knew that she did not care how he felt when others laughed at him, only that she had the boyfriend that the others ridiculed. Her efforts had failed though because thousands of dollars and many parties later, they still laughed.
To this day, whenever he saw his mother, she would tell him what he should do at work to succeed. Rita still bought his clothes and would not let him wear the styles he liked. He felt the shirt he wore and realized the clothes Sue had given him were the most comfortable he had worn in years.
“Oh,” he whispered to himself when he remembered the clothes he left in Sue’s bathroom. The concern on his face transformed to a smile, knowing that now he would have to go back to get them from her.
“Hey yo. I said we here.”
The driver had tried to get his attention several times, but Fuller was too deep in thought. He said, “I’m sorry. Did you say something?”
“I said we here.”
Although annoyed, the driver still seemed drowsy, the act of speaking a tremendous effort.
Fuller looked at the dim street. All the houses were in darkness, the lightning having knocked out the power on this end of the block. The only illumination was from a streetlight down the road, a glowing island in a sea of darkness.
“I’m sorry, but you must be mistaken, I don’t think this is my house,” Fuller said.
“Well that’s the address you give me,” he yawned.
The house number was dim, the only illumination being the headlights of the car reflecting off the wet pavement. It was right though. The problem was that the house number was displayed using reflective metal tape instead of the wooden letters he hung up last year.
Fuller said, “The house numbers are right, but this can’t be Maple Street.”
The driver pointed his finger to the lonely streetlight. “Y’all sees the sign down there? It says Maple, don’t it?”
Fuller squinted and was just able to make out the word “Maple.” He turned back to the house and thought the strain from his earlier ordeal was affecting his vision. He was very tired.
Since this had to be his house, he paid the driver and walked to the front door. It was bolted like it should be, but his key would not unlock it. After several failed attempts, he cursed and walked around to the back door.
The house eclipsed the feeble streetlight so the backyard was in total blackness. An occasional lightning strike in the distance was his only illumination to navigate by. It was during one of these flashes that Fuller realized there was no furniture on the patio. He cursed aloud at this. He had just bought a set of redwood chairs and a table to match, and its disappearance agitated him.
He thought the strong winds had carried it away until he saw the back door was ajar. Then he realized something must be terribly wrong since Rita was religious about locking the doors at night. He usually had to check each door several times to satisfy her paranoia. Even when he insisted he had checked earlier, she still complained until he got up to inspect them one more time. He knew that Rita would never allow the back door to remain unlocked, let alone open. He thought there must be burglars that had already taken the furniture outside and were now cleaning out the inside. That the last thing someone would steal was patio furniture did not cross his mind.
Fuller stood with his eyes transfixed on the door, uncertain of what to do. He was too scared to go into the house, fearful that the burglars would beat him senseless or worse. He had never been one to walk into a fight and was reluctant to do so now. His sole thought was to get help so he would not have to fend off the trespassers. Without considering the consequences, he sneaked into the house to call the police.
He crept into the kitchen, hoping the thief was deaf to the creaking of the floor with every step he took. Without even the lightning to see by, he was blind and had to feel his way while he crossed the pit of blackness. He stumbled into something and realized it was a chair when he heard the dry screech as it scraped across the vinyl floor. He felt farther to his left and found the kitchen table in a location where it was not supposed to be. Although this puzzled him, he continued walking until he reached the other side of the room. He felt along the wall in an attempt to find the telephone, but unfamiliar objects hanging there kept distracting his hands.
When he felt the coiled snake of the cord, he worked his way up to the phone and took the receiver off its hook. The grid of glowing buttons bathed his face in golden light, and he breathed a sigh of relief that at least the phone was in service.
He pressed 911 and was soon whispering to the woman on the other end of the line. He started to explain that there was a burglar in his house when a stream of light began cutting its way down the hallway. Without thinking, he eased the phone back on the hook and held his breath. Someone was walking towards him, a flashlight beam of cold blue slicing a path before them. He stepped forward, flattening his chest against the kitchen wall in an effort to become absorbed into its surface. His whole body heaved in and out as his pounding heart tried to thrust him from the secure haven.
The light continued to narrow, its intensity growing while the intruder advanced down the hall. His mind racing with thoughts of running, Fuller crept backwards. On taking his third step back, the floor creaked when the full weight of his body came down. He froze in his tracks, praying that the burglar had not heard.
“Who’s there?” called a baritone voice from the hallway.
Fuller stood like a statue, not knowing whether to run as fast as he could or stay and hope to avoid
detection. His mind was made up for him when the man jumped into the doorway of the kitchen. The flashlight beam darted around the room and stopped when it landed on Fuller. Blinded by its intensity, he turned and started running towards the back door. After he careened over the chair he had bumped into earlier, his face hit the floor with a slap, and the cut on his forehead reopened. He struggled to get to his feet but the man launched himself onto Fuller. Although still dazed by the fall, he twisted his body around underneath the crushing weight and managed to break himself partially loose. The intruder, still holding onto the heavy metal flashlight, started using it like a club, pummeling it against Fuller’s bloody forehead. After several sharp blows, Fuller grabbed the end of the flashlight and tried to tear it loose from the assailant’s powerful grip. The room pulsed like a strobe as the lamp shot back and forth from their wrestling.
With the intruder’s greater strength, Fuller lost his grasp on the light. His vision blurred with a patch of stars once the makeshift club impacted against his forehead several more times. He did not even feel the last few blows as he sank into unconsciousness.
*****
Fuller stirred, his hands going to his head to find the knife embedded in his skull. As he groped around, he realized that the sharp pain only felt like a knife but was a tender lump on his forehead. Once the memory of what had happened trickled into his mind, he realized the flashlight had been striking the same spot injured on Sue’s porch.
As he cracked open his eyes, he shaded them with his hand to block out the bright lights but was comforted that the electricity was working. He was in a strange kitchen with police all around and a paramedic hovering over his prone body. This was all he was able to take in before the medic started talking to him.
“Just lay still until I’m through looking you over, sir,” the man said as he restrained Fuller from sitting up.
He winced with pain while the medic cleaned the wound, but was heartened by the police hovering about. He was safe now but wondered where he was and if they had caught the burglar that had broken into his house. He closed his eyes against the glare of the lights, but the calling of his name aroused him some time later.
“All right, Fuller, wake up. I want to talk to you now,” a man sitting on one of the kitchen chairs said to him.
Realizing he must have drifted off to sleep he said, “Sure. What happened?”
As he sat up, he saw most of the other police officers had left, and the medic was gone too.
“I’m Detective Mike Riley, and I have a few questions for you.” The officer spoke in a monotone, reminding Fuller of an old television police drama.
“Sure,” said Fuller, his mind still blurry.
“What’s your full name?”
“Jonathon Franklin Fuller. Where am I anyway?” he asked, wanting to get answers for some of his own questions.
The policeman ignored the second part. “What’s your address?”
“9721 Maple Street.” Again attempting to put to rest some of his own questions, Fuller asked, “How did I get here?”
Riley ignored Fuller’s question again. His face was blank while he continued, “What were you doing in this house tonight?”
“I don’t know how I got into this house. All I know is that I walked into my own house and found a burglar and…”
Riley broke in before he could finish, “Let’s cut the crap, Fuller, or whoever you are, I already know you don’t live here. I do know that you broke into this house, and the owner, Mr. Richter, caught you. I want to know why you entered the premises. What were you after?”
Fuller paused for a moment, not comprehending what Riley meant. “Wait. What do you mean I broke into this house? Like I started to tell you, I walked into my own house, and a burglar started hitting me over the head with a flashlight.”
“Okay. I’ll play along for a little while. Since a burglar broke into your house, what’s your address so I can file a report?”
“I already told you: 9721 Maple Street.”
“Listen, Fuller, I’m gonna lose my patience if you don’t stop playing this little game of yours,” said Riley, his face starting to redden.
“I’m not playing any games, Detective. Do you think I like getting beat up by a burglar with a flashlight?” Fuller was starting to anger too and felt that if anyone was playing games, it was this policeman. He reached around to his back pocket. “Here I’ll show you my driver’s license. It’s got my address on it.” When his hand finished hunting through the empty pocket he said, “Damn, that crook must have taken it.”
“Is this what you’re looking for?” asked Riley, handing Fuller his license.
“Yes, it is,” said Fuller, letting out a heavy breath as he took it. “Now you can see the address on my license,” he said, pointing to the glossy card.
Riley snorted. “All I see is a fake license with this address on it.” He snatched the card back from Fuller. “I’ll have to admit though, this is about the best job of a forged license I’ve ever seen.”
Fuller, turning red, said, “What do you mean a forged license? That’s not a fake. This isn’t my house either.”
“Well now, you finally decided to start leveling with me. Since this isn’t your house, what are you doing here?”
“I have no idea. The last thing I remember is being in my house with some guy on top of me beating me with his flashlight.”
“So you were in your house when this happened?”
“Yes.”
“I see. Then what’s your address.”
“I’ve told you already! 9721 Maple,” declared Fuller, his voice cracking. He was confused and did not know why this policeman was torturing him like this. He had always respected the police but was beginning to change his opinion.
Riley got to his feet. “All right, wise guy. Get up.”
Fuller stood, still weak from the clubbing.
Riley led him through the interior of the unfamiliar house and out the front door. “Okay, see those house numbers? What do they say?”
Fuller read the silver numbers. “Ninety-seven twenty-one.”
“Very good, Fuller,” quipped Riley. “Now, what does that street sign down there say?” he asked, pointing his finger down the street.
Fuller squinted at the sign, barely deciphering it through the glaring lights flashing from the police vehicles. It took several seconds for his confused mind to interpret what he saw, but when the realization occurred, his mouth fell open. The sign said “Maple Street.” He looked up and down the block at the houses. There were subtle differences, but overall they all had the familiar look of his neighborhood. He looked back at the house from which he had exited and his jaw worked up and down as if to say something, but nothing came out. He walked down the porch steps and again stared back at the house.
“What’s going on here? This looks like my house, and my neighborhood for that matter, but it isn’t. It can’t be. The furniture inside that house isn’t mine, but the outside looks like mine with some differences. The street is Maple but, but… I don’t understand.”
Fuller’s whole body became numb and his legs weak, so he dropped himself onto the damp stoop.
Riley looked down at him. “All right, Fuller, get up. I’m going to take you downtown.”
Fuller groaned while he rose. He began to follow the detective when his head turned towards the house next door. His neighbor Virginia was peering at him through a half-open screen door. Excitement rose at seeing someone he recognized. He said, “Wait a minute, Officer. That’s my neighbor Virginia Lindsey over there. She knows me and can explain what’s going on.”
“Okay, let’s go,” said Riley. “I hope for your sake that she can.”
As they walked up to her, Fuller said, “Hi, Virginia, I’m so glad to see you. Can you please tell this man that you know me and that I live here?”
He pointed to the house they had come from.
The woman snarled, “I’m sorry, do I know you?”
“Of course. I’m your neighbor John Fuller. I live in that house right over there.”
“Janet and Russell Richter live there, and I have no idea who you are.”
“Virginia, what are you talking about? I’ve lived in that house for four years. Don’t you remember when we…”
“All right. I’ve heard enough, Fuller. Let’s go,” said Riley, grabbing him by the arm and dragging him away.
“But I need to talk to Virginia, she knows me and…”
“Yeah, sure. Come on.”
Fuller struggled and started to break free screaming, “Virginia, please tell them who I am!” He grabbed Riley’s fingers and pried at them. “Let me go! I have to talk to her!”
Desperate to get this last remaining hold on a reality he lost, Fuller started to punch and kick Riley to get away and talk to Virginia. He threw a forceful punch, and when Riley hit the ground, his eyes bulged wide at the sudden strength Fuller was displaying. Fuller had no time to notice though as he darted towards the woman who he was sure was his neighbor. He did not get far though because another police officer came running from behind and tackled him.
Fuller’s forehead pummeled against the concrete when he landed. The world began to spin as though he were on some frenzied amusement park ride. As the whirling intensified and consciousness slipped, his last thought was if he kept smashing his head in that very same spot, he was bound to crack a hole in his skull.
*****
Fuller sat on the clammy jail floor thinking of how he had come into his current situation. Even in the dark reality of the cell, the whole thing seemed nightmarish. He had gone out to buy Rita cola and ended up getting lost, misplacing his car and breaking into a house. The strangest part of all though was meeting his neighbor Virginia and her not knowing who he was. He could explain away all the other strange occurrences that had passed, but this one he was hard pressed to do. He had seen Virginia nearly every day over the last four years and was positive it was her last night. She was the only neighbor Rita liked on the whole block, and they had become friends.
He looked at his ink-stained fingers and shivered, not knowing whether the memory of the finger printing or the dank room chilled him. He thought that maybe if he had not panicked, they might not have arrested him. He could have explained the reason for his being in the house a mistake. The cab driver had brought him to that house by accident, and he did not realize it in the blackout. After all, the address was the same as his house, which was probably on the other side of town.
Instead, he had pushed the police officer to the ground and started running towards Virginia, which had caused them to think he was trying to get away. The thought of knocking the detective down brought a smile to his face though. Fuller had never done that to anyone in his life, let alone a policeman. Even though he knew he should not and that it only made things worse, it still propped up his ego to know that he was capable of being physically aggressive.
They had thrown him into a thirty-by-thirty-foot room with drunks and other felons who all had different stories of how they had ended up there. While he had been sitting there glowing with his small victory, he was being watched by one of his cellmates. The squat little man observing him sat down beside him.
The smell of sweat and whiskey assaulted Fuller, and he was forced to take shallow breaths to avoid passing out from the aroma. He had the urge to vomit when he saw that the other man had already done so himself all over the front of his shabby coat. To avoid offending the man, Fuller fought down the urge to walk away. Although he had done pretty well with the police officer, he did not want to start a fight with this drunk, or any of the other gruff-looking men.
“Hi. My name ish Chester Walker. What’s yoursh?” shabby slurred out. He extended his hand to Fuller.
“John Fuller,” he replied. Out of habit, he took the offered hand and shook it. It felt grimy to the touch, and Fuller absently wiped his own hand on his pants after releasing it.
“Pleased to meet ya, John. Tell me, do ya have a cigarette that ya could borrow me?” Chester moved closer, licking his lips in anticipation.
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t smoke,” said Fuller, inching away while swallowing hard the stomach bile that was working its way up his throat.
“That’s aright, I need ta quit anyway,” he slurred, his lips pouting. Chester, still seeming to like Fuller’s company, asked, “So tell me, what ya in for?”
He wanted to say it was none of his business. Hoping to get rid of him though, he said, “Breaking and entering and assaulting an officer.”
“Geez, a nice-looking boy like you? Why’d ya wanna do something like that for?”
“It was all a mistake. The electricity was out and I walked into the wrong house. The guy that lived there thought I was a burglar and started beating me with a flashlight. When the police got there, I guess I panicked and shoved a cop to the ground.”
“You knocked a cop on his ass?” Chester trumpeted, a huge grin coming to his face. Through corroded, amber teeth he said, “Hey, buddy, you’s okay in my book.”
Chester, who seemed the excitable type, had said this too loud. Other prisoners had overheard him and came over to find out more.
Another of Fuller’s cellmates walked up and inquired, “Hey man, you say you knock a cop on his ass? You know I did the same thing about two years ago, and they beat the crap outta me. They work you over too?”
“No, but I think I pissed them off a little bit,” said Fuller to the laughing faces around him.
The crowd that was forming surprised Fuller. While he normally did not like being in the spotlight, in this case, he appreciated the attention for doing something so masculine. He would have further reveled in his boasting if it had not been for one large and wooly bear of a man. He pushed his way through the group and listened while Fuller recounted his story.
When Fuller reached the part about shoving the policeman, the hefty man started to laugh, snorting like a rooting pig. “What the hell you talkin’ ’bout, boy? Some whimpy little fuck like you ain’t gonna push no cop on the ground. I think you’re just a big bullshitter.” He had squatted down and said this last part in Fuller’s face.
Fuller, who had been emboldened in his manhood only seconds before, shrank inward. The man was twice his size, and the sight of his bulging muscles made Fuller cower. He sat in silence, not saying anything for fear the big man would toss him around like a rag doll. Chester, however, shot to his feet and zipped to the other side of the cell, as far away from Fuller as he could get. Others did likewise, while several more stood there waiting to see what kind of action would break up the monotony.
“Well, boy? How come you got nothin’ to say to me? If you bad enough to fuck with a cop, you must be bad enough to say somethin’ to me.”
“Well I ah… ah…” Fuller stuttered. He could not think of how to respond. He just wanted to get away from the Neanderthal towering over him.
“Well is that all you can say is ah… ah… ah, boy?” the large man laughed in his face, a rancid blend of tobacco and salami assaulting Fuller’s nose.
“I ah… ah…” Again, he was at a loss for words. Before he could say anything more intelligible, Neanderthal grabbed him by the shirt and picked him off the floor. Fuller, who thought he had been cold before, started to shudder.
“Why don’t you leave me alone?” he stammered out.
“Why don’t you stop bullshitting everyone and tell us what a whimp you are?” the bully grunted.
“Hey! What the hell’s going on back there?” a voice from the front of the cell belted out.
The giant man threw Fuller into the corner and lumbered away as though nothing had happened. When the small cluster of men cleared away, Fuller could see two
policemen were opening the cell door. The smaller of the two bellowed, “Fuller, get over here!”
When he stood and walked over, the police officer barked, “What’s going on, Fuller?”
He was about to blurt out the details but instead looked over his shoulder at the goliath. His glare made Fuller shiver again, so he cleared his throat and choked out, “Nothing.”
“Well, it’s going to stay that way because you’re coming with me.”
Fuller turned his head and smiled at the glowering giant before following the officers from the cell. They led him down a maze of hallways into a room with a grubby, oak table and chairs.
“Sit down,” the larger of the two grunted. He shoved Fuller into one of the hard wooden chairs, his face almost lurching into the graffiti-scarred tabletop.
Fuller managed to squeak out a “Hey, wait a min…” before the small one said, “Just shut up and wait here.”
When the two left the room by a second door, Fuller noted the heavy click as they locked it behind them.
*****
Fuller was exhausted from his escapades so laid his head on the stained tabletop, drifting into a twilight sleep. He was not sure how long he had been like this when he was awakened by the bang of the door. His head snapped up to see that Detective Riley had entered the room by the same door the other two had exited. He was glaring at Fuller with his arms folded.
“Gee, I hope I didn’t wake you from your beauty sleep, Fuller,” quipped Riley.
“I’m sorry. I’m very tired,” he yawned.
“Yeah, I guess assaulting an officer can be very exhausting.”
Fuller looked at the tabletop and said nothing.
Riley sat opposite Fuller, opening a file folder he had been carrying. He spread the contents on the table before him and started shaking his head back and forth.
“Well, Fuller, you’re one lucky son of a bitch. Mr. Richter, you know, the man whose house you broke into, has decided not to press charges. We explained to him that you claimed to have entered his house by mistake. Since nothing was missing, he didn’t feel that it was worth the trouble of going to court for. Besides, I think he rather enjoyed beating the crap out of you. The only thing he wants is for you to pay for the flashlight he broke over your head.
Fuller cracked into a smile. “Does that mean I can go?”
“No, it does not!” Riley blared. “I don’t like you, Fuller. There’s something more going on here than you walking into the wrong house. Your driver’s license, credit cards, social security card, even your Goddamn library card say you are John Fuller. But you know what’s funny? When I ran your license through the computer, you didn’t come up. It said we entered an invalid number. Same thing with the credit cards, and your social security number came up with somebody else’s name. I and everybody else that’s seen these cards would swear that they’re real. So, either they’re all fake and you’re a master forger, or there’s been some kind of mass computer glitch and you’ve been accidentally erased from society.”
Riley stared at Fuller as though he expected some kind of response. When he didn’t get one, he continued, “That’s all right. You don’t have to explain anything to me. But I’ll tell you one thing, you assaulted a police officer, and I’m not going to let that one go. Not only that, Fuller, if I can’t find out who you are, I’ll have to turn you over to the FBI as a possible terrorist.”
“A terrorist?” Fuller called out, almost springing from the seat when his muscles tensed. “I’m not a terrorist. I already told you who I am. I can’t explain why my license and credit cards come up invalid any more than I can explain why someone else is living in my house or why my next door neighbor doesn’t know who I am. I don’t know what’s going on.”
Riley leaned forward in the chair. “Come on, Fuller. Who are you? You working for the Mexican nationalists or something?”
“Who are they? I don’t know anything about them.”
Riley shook his head. “Sure, sure. Listen, even if you are, you know it’ll be easier on you if you confess to me now. You know what happens to terror suspects, Fuller? Once the FBI gets a hold of you, they’ll ship you to La Mesa and let the intelligence boys down there interrogate you.”
Beginning to sweat, Fuller’s voice quivered, “What’s La Mesa?”
“La Mesa prison. You know, where they send all the terrorists. Now, I don’t approve of what those heavy-handed apes down there do to a man, but you will talk after they’re through. I guarantee it.” He looked down and appeared to talk to himself more than to Fuller. “I lost sleep for days the last time I had to turn someone over to those animals,” he said through gritted teeth.
“I told you I’m not a terrorist! I don’t know what’s going on. I’m just as confused about all this as you are.”
Riley shot up from the chair, knocking it to the floor with a crack. “Listen, Fuller, what kind of asshole do you take me for? The only thing you’re confused about is how you’re going to talk your sweet ass out of the jam you’re in,” Riley boomed out.
He would have continued verbally lashing Fuller except another policeman stuck his head in the door. “Riley, the FBI’s on the phone for you.”
Riley stood there like he was not aware of the other man, his eyes continuing to glare at Fuller. He finally turned to him. “All right. I’m coming.”
He gathered the papers on the table, stuffed them into the folder and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
Still tensed from Riley’s onslaught, Fuller relaxed and sank into the chair, the uncertainty of recent events bubbling in his mind. Why had he, as Riley put it, been erased from society. He could not have amnesia. He remembered who he was, where he came from and a million details of his lifetime. Besides that, his license and other cards confirmed who he was. It was everybody else that was crazy, never having existed in their eyes. The thought of this scared Fuller. While society had always ridiculed him, it had never treated him like he did not exist. Even laughter at his expense would be welcome right now if only he could have contact from someone he knew.
He had to find somebody who remembered him. Rita? No matter what, she would know who he was. The problem was that he did not know where to find her. He could not go home to her because, although his house was there, somebody else was living in it. He had tried to call Rita from Sue’s house but had only gotten a recording that the number was not in service. Some strange woman had answered when he had tried to call his mother, so that was no good either.
“Wait a minute,” he exclaimed out loud. “I’ve got to talk to Sue. She’ll be able to help me.”
Not thinking, he rose from the chair, walked to the door and started opening it. When he realized it was actually opening, he shut it again. Riley had been so angry he had forgotten to lock the door.
I can’t just walk out of here, Fuller thought. He considered it for a second more then smiled. “Or can I?”
He opened the door a crack and peered through it. Outside he could see a vast squad room filled with police officers. Some were sitting at desks filling out reports, and others were booking an assortment of drunks, prostitutes, and other felons. Still others were standing about arguing among themselves about things that Fuller could not hear. However, none were paying the slightest attention to him or even looking in his direction. He took a deep breath, opened the door all the way and walked into the room. Despite the fear tugging at him, he tried to act casual while he zigzagged his way through the maze of desks looking for a way out. Now that he was in the thick of it though, he thought himself crazy for attempting something so daring.
He knew he must be looking conspicuous by now and started taking slow deep breathes to calm his pounding heart. He slowed his pace but continued walking when he saw a police officer ahead staring straight at him. Knowing he could not stop or turn without appearing suspicious, h
e continued on. If he did not confront the other man, the officer would stop and question him anyway.
When he got close enough, Fuller asked a little too loudly, “Excuse me. Where can I find a payphone?”
The officer pointed over his shoulder. “Down those stairs and to the left.”
“Thanks,” said Fuller, continuing past the man and not looking back until he got to the stairs. By that time, the policeman had dismissed Fuller and was engrossed in something else.
As he went down the stairs, he let out the breath he had been holding. He was not through this yet, but he knew he had tackled the hard part.
When he reached the foot of the stairs, he saw the phones. Beyond them were the exit doors. He walked through one and onto the twilit street, joyous about what he had done. He never thought he would have had the courage to leave like he did.
His celebration was short-lived though when he realized that Riley must be entering the interrogation room by now and was finding Fuller gone. His discomfort rose to fear so he picked up the pace of his steps to a fast walk. When he made it around the corner from the police station, he could not contain himself any longer. He started running as fast as he could, not having a clue where he was going. When he turned another corner still running, he met the rising sun of the new day that was about to begin.
CHAPTER 4