Breakfast, served a few hours later, was cold cereal with a half pint of milk, and a couple of cold pancakes. I wolfed it down; delicious, under the circumstances. Another had joined my cell, unnoticed and on his own mat, sometime during the early morning. After breakfast I was led to another cell, big enough for just me, but attached to an open area we could pace around at will if let out. I lie down on the bunk for a while, then a jailer came and let me out to pace, but after a few go rounds, counter clockwise, I asked to be put back in my cell, and I caught a bit more sleep.
I was awakened by a jailer calling my name. He let me out and led me to a room where a charity group was assessing prisoners’ ability to find shelter if assisted with bail. I sat across from one of the evaluators and began to answer his questions, but before we finished yet another jailer came through looking for me, and asked me to come along. “Come on,” he said “we gotta get you out of here.”
Both my boss, Tim Zieglerson, the Radiation Safety Officer of Roqueforte University, and my next door neighbor, Andriy Aksamit, Ukranian by birth, had come to bail me out. My wife (we have since divorced) had given Andriy the money to bail me out. Tim had come to do the same, but the two arrived simultaneously, and Tim deferred to Andriy. Bottom line, I was soon out. Andriy gave me my glasses, and had also brought my ride. I was free. I thanked them both as we walked out to the parking garage. Tim told me to take as much time off as I needed, and Andriy offered to help in any way.
We parted, and I left the garage with a few ideas on what to do next. I first stopped at a drug store and got a pair of over the glasses sunglasses. My eyes hurt and the sunlight was too much. Then I went to a motel. I couldn’t go home because of the restraining order. I wanted to clean up.
As I stripped down in the motel I took note of my wounds. Face not too bad, a few abrasions. Elbows and underarms a bit bruised, turning purplish. I vaguely remembered being smacked on the arms with a baton. Or wait: pried open as I tucked up. Hit and pried. Worked over. Still, nothing broken, and it could have been worse. Memory bits spotted my consciousness for the next few days. I turned sideways and the mirror revealed a curved red streak on my left shoulder blade. I thought it my be a shoe imprint from the Sheriff’s Deputies standing on my back to hold me down. The truth would later prove more insidious, but that was my first thought. I got a few pictures, then showered.
Feeling better afterward, I picked up a phone book and hunted up an attorney. I found one in my town, Pennford, and gave him a call. He could see me that day at 3 pm. It was 11, so I decide to take a little nap. I set the alarm.
Shocked in the Suburbs 