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| Category: Fiction:Crime | |
| About the Book | |
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A RUDE AWAKENING Chris awoke in the middle of the night—a common occurrence for him, as he suffered from an overactive bladder condition--and had to get up one or more times most nights to empty his bladder. But this time, something was very different: the greyish walls surrounding around him, the hard bed covered with the thin plastic mattress he had been lying on. It was hardly the first time that Chris had felt disoriented when he had awakened in the wee hours of the morning. There were the times, after he had been on military duty and bivouacking with his unit in the field, and shortly after coming home when he awoke believing he was out in the field. But this wasn’t outside some place or in his home. “Where am I?” he asked himself. He glanced at the metallic toilet across the small room; it seemed to be missing a seat and was next to a small metal sink. Then he remembered what had happened—at least part of it, and where and why he was there. There were no bars; no, just a hard, metal door with a thin rectangular pane of reinforced glass, through which those paid to watch over him, could peer in. “Yes,” he told himself. He was locked up. “But how did it happen?” he asked himself, and then began to recall some of the events. of the previous day that had culminated in him being where he was. The narrow highway was clear—in both directions, no traffic in sight, or at least that was what his senses had told him. So, he made the turn and was now traveling in the opposite direction when he felt the impact of something striking the front passenger side of his vehicle. From his sitting position inside the cab of his pickup truck, which was up against dense layers of bushes, he didn’t see anything unusual, certainly nothing that might have collided with his own vehicle. Whatever had struck his truck couldn’t have been a very large object, he surmised; maybe an animal or a rock, perhaps a piece of wood, or pieces from bushes bordering the narrow highway. Such incidents—objects and motor vehicles colliding with each other—were quite common on these types of roadways. From his elevated position sitting in his vehicle, he continued to survey the area as best he could for something, anything that might shed some light on what had happened. But he saw nothing and considered it much too dangerous to exit his vehicle and risk being struck by fast-moving traffic. He shook his head, still wondering what had happened, and finally drove home, which was only a mile or so from where he was. When had arrived home and walked towards the entrance of the house, he couldn’t believe what he saw: extensive damage to the front passenger side of his vehicle. He knew that he had to inform his insurance company about the damage right away, but was too shaken up to answer a lot of questions that an insurance representative would ask of him, most of which he wouldn’t have difficulty answering in his confused condition. He had something to eat and then lay down on the bed to rest. Later while he was cleaning up after himself in the kitchen, he heard an undetermined number of vehicles on the gravel of the unpaved, poorly maintained road outside his house. When he glanced out the screen door, his eyes were overwhelmed by law enforcement vehicles—police, sheriff, highway patrol, and even a SWAT team.
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| About the Author | |
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Born in Texas, Clarence grew up in California and later Arizona. He served in the U.S. Army, Reserves, and National Guard, and had a career in technical documentation. The author of seven other books, he works as a freelance writer and lives with his family in southeastern Arizona. |