Miles to Go Read Free Page B

truck passing westbound saw what was happening. Fortunately for you, the truck’s occupants had both the inclination and the courage to get involved.”
    “And shotguns,” Foulger added.
    “The men had been out duck hunting,” Eskelson said. “They laid on their horn, then drove across the median right up to the crime scene.”
    Foulger jumped in. “As they got out of their truck, Marcus Franck, the kid with the knife, went at one of the men, so he shot him.”
    “How is he?” I asked. “The kid.”
    “Not good,” Officer Foulger said, his lips tightening. “Twenty-gauge shotgun blast from eight, nine yards, he’s a mess. He probably won’t make it.”
    “The nurse said you’re guarding him.”
    “He’s not going anywhere,” Foulger said. “We’re more concerned about who might come to visit.”
    Officer Eskelson continued, “The hunters ordered the rest of the gang to the ground and called 911. You were bleeding pretty badly. One of the hunters administered first aid until the paramedics arrived. They saved your life.”
    “What are their names?” I asked.
    “Since there’s a potential fatality, their names are confidential. But I can tell them that you’d like to talk to them. I’ve been keeping them apprised of both yours and the boy’s condition.”
    “I understand.”
    “The doctor told us you’ll be here for at least a fewmore days. After that, where can we get ahold of you?” Eskelson asked.
    “My place,” Angel said. “He’s going to be staying with me until he’s recovered.” She gave them her phone number.
    Eskelson said to Angel, “You look familiar.”
    “I’m a dispatcher for the Spokane Police Department.” “I thought I knew you,” Foulger said.
    “The nurse said you might know where my backpack is,” I said.
    “It’s at the station. We can bring it by later tonight.”
    “Thank you. Will you let me know how the boy does?”
    “No problem. At least one of us will be here for the next day or two. If you need something or remember anything else relevant to the assault, just call.”
    “Get well,” Foulger said.
    “Thank you.”
    After they left, Angel walked up to the side of the bed, placing her hands on the railing. “You okay?”
    “Yes. So you’re with the police?”
    “Not really. I’m a dispatcher.”
    “Were you on call when I was attacked?”
    “No. That was someone from the night shift.” She patted my arm. “I better go. It’s late. But tomorrow’s Saturday, so I’ll be back in the morning.” She started to walk away, then stopped and turned back. “I didn’t know the whole story. You know, it’s a miracle you’re still alive.”
    I carefully rubbed my hand over my abdomen. “I suppose so.”
    “Makes you think,” she said thoughtfully. “Good night.” She walked out of the room.

CHAPTER

Five
    I tried to walk today. I felt as awkward as a baby taking his first steps and I probably looked about the same.
    Alan Christoffersen’s diary
    Sometime in the night the police returned my backpack. I woke to see it propped up in the corner of the room. I had the nurse on call look through it and retrieve my diary and a pen.
    Angel arrived a few hours later. She was dressed in an exercise outfit. Her hair was pulled back and, in the morning light, I noticed for the first time the deep, ragged scars that ran across her hairline and down the right side of her face to her jaw. I wondered how I’d never noticed them before.
    “Good morning,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
    “A little better. They might get me up to walk today.”
    “Big day.” She looked curiously at the leather book lying by my side. “What’s that?”
    “My journal. I’ve decided to chronicle my journey.”
    “Really? Am I in there?”
    “Of course.”
    “I wish that I had kept a journal,” she said. “In high school I had a friend who kept one. She used to write lies in it.”
    “She’d lie in her journal?”
    “She said that when she was old and