Praying for Sleep

hope you’ll do my wife and me the courtesy of keeping the Ridgeton sheriff informed about what’s happening here.”
    “I’ll do that, sure.”
    Nodding to the trooper and ignoring Adler, Owen left the office. He was walking down the dank, murky corridor when the captain stepped into the hall and caught up with him.
    “ ’Scuse me, sir? A question?”
    The trooper was a big man though Owen was bigger and Haversham stepped back a pace so that he wasn’t looking up into Owen’s eyes at so steep an angle. “You out doing some camping when you heard about this?”
    “I’m sorry?”
    “The reason I ask is, you’re dressed like you’ve been camping. Or hunting.”
    “I just threw on some clothes and drove over here.”
    “All the way from Ridgeton?”
    “It’s straight down the highway. I’ll confess. I didn’t obey the posted.”
    “You might’ve called.” When he received no response the captain continued, “You armed, by any chance?”
    Owen asked if Haversham wanted to see his pistol permit.
    “That won’t be necessary, no. What line of work you in?”
    “I’m an attorney.”
    “Lawyer, huh?” This seemed to please Haversham. “What sort?”
    “Corporate mostly.”
    “The doctor back there, he’s got a pretty low opinion of this Hrubek. And I suspect you and your wife do too. Now this fellow may be criminally insane but in the eyes of the law he isn’t no dog. He’s a human being and if somebody was to shoot him down they’d be guilty of murder just the same as they’d shot a minister. But I don’t need to tell you that, being a lawyer and all.”
    “Let me ask you something, Captain. Have you ever seen Michael Hrubek up close? You ever faced him?”
    “I sympathize with you, sir. But I’m telling you, we find him dead somewhere, I personally’ll be coming to talk to you. Even if you get off with manslaughter, that’ll be the end of your legal practice.”
    Owen looked back into the calm eyes of the captain, who finally said, “Those are just some things to consider.”
    “Duly noted, Captain. Good night to you now.”

    From the corner of his eye Michael Hrubek—running through tall grass—noticed headlights on a service road that paralleled his path along the highway. The car was keeping pace with his speed and he believed it was following him. The vehicle stopped suddenly, made a sharp turn and headed in his direction. “Conspirators!” he crowed. Amid the panic that enveloped him like a cloud of hornets he tripped and fell forward onto the shoulder. Cinders, pebbles and bits of glass embedded themselves in his palms and blood appeared. He screamed briefly, picked himself up and ran forty feet into the forest, crashing through a line of low brush then dropping onto the ground. A few moments later the green cube of a car drove past slowly and stopped.
    A door slammed and a man climbed out. The conspirator walked in a slow circle near the perimeter of the forest. Hrubek curled up on his side. He closed his eyes and prayed that he might fall asleep so that he’d grow invisible.
    “Michael!” the man called tentatively, as if undecided whether to shout or whisper. “Are you there?”
    Something familiar about the voice.
    “Michael, it’s me.”
    Dr. Richard! the stunned patient realized. Dr. Richard Kohler from Marsden!
    Or was it? Careful here. Something funny’s going on.
    “Michael, I want to talk to you. Can you hear me?”
    Hrubek opened his eyes and gazed out from between two ferns. It looked like Dr. Richard. How did those fuckers do it? Hrubek nervously scooted under a bush. His eyes flicked up and down suspiciously as he examined the man, studying the doctor’s thin frame, dark-blue suit, black penny loafers and Argyle socks. His backpack the color of old blood. Sure, this looked just like Dr. Richard. Identical! Hrubek gave the conspirator credit for disguising himself so cleverly.
    Smart fucker, make no mistake.
    “They told me you’d run off. Michael, is that you? I thought I saw you.”
    The footsteps grew closer, crushing leaves beneath the dainty feet. Hrubek pulled his own backpack to his side. It was heavy and clinked with the sound of metal and chains. He froze at the noise then rummaged inside quietly. At the bottom he found the pistol.
    “Michael, I know you’re scared. I want to help you.”
    He aimed the pistol at the shadowy form that approached. He’d shoot the impostor in the head. No, that’d be too merciful. I’ll aim for the