RESURGENCE

CHAPTER 24 & Conrad's diary

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Sheriff Michael Ratcliffe was driving his patrol car to the Hamilton police station and was about thirty miles south of the city. It had drizzled a bit that evening, and the air was cold enough for him to put the car windows up. The sheriff was a man of immovable faith, and he firmly believed that all men are created good, but it’s always the circumstances that turn them into criminals. He pitied the men who lost their souls and followed in the devil’s footsteps; he wanted to help rather than punish them. Fortunately for him, Hamilton was a low crime area and the criminals he regularly dealt with were petty thieves and drug addicts. They had nicknamed him ‘the preacher’ for the speech he gave to each one of them after the arrest. He tried motivating them, giving examples of famous people who went through hard times and came out on top. Not many criminals changed their ways after hearing him but, every now and then, some of them were moved by the sheriff’s sympathy and effort.

The speed limit was fifty-five, but the patrol car was tearing down the road at a solid eighty miles an hour. The sheriff wasn’t aware of it. He was in deep thought, reliving his childhood memories of playing ball in the backyard with his dad and sleeping in the treehouse. Never before had he felt such a surge of emotions swamp his consciousness. Nostalgic memories had made his eyes wet, and he blinked rapidly to regain proper visibility. Just as he finished wiping his eyes with the back of his index finger, he saw a man crossing the road. He was about ten feet away and walking right into the path of the car. The sheriff yanked the steering to the left and the car turned into the oncoming lane—the front wheels locked the steering and the rear of the car started sliding on the wet road. Before he could turn the steering wheel in the opposite direction, he heard a loud thump—the back of the car had hit the man. The sheriff froze as he felt the impact, and the car continued to move off the road, passing the oncoming lane and ending up in the ditch next to the road. 

###

Meanwhile in Franklin, CA:

“I need to take this call, it’s my brother.” said Michelle as she got up and left the conference room.

“Hello,” she answered the call as she came out in the hallway.

“Hello,” said Dan weakly, “Michelle?”

“Yeah, Dan, it’s me.”

“I need to talk to you, sis’. I think I need help.”

“What’s the matter? Everything alright? Are you okay?” said Michelle. It has to be some sort of a family emergency, she thought.      

They hadn’t talked in years, and she felt awkward even hearing his voice.

“I’m not,” he said and paused. She could hear him breathe heavily, and from the noise in the background, she figured he was walking someplace outdoors.

“Whats’s wrong?” she asked. I hope that mother is not dead, she thought, dreading what he might say.

“I ... I ... I don’t know how to say this. I’m sorry for what happened and please forgive me.”

Michelle, surprised and lost for words, felt a touch of sympathy in her heart. It must have been hard for him to live with guilt for all these years, she thought. 

“Are you drunk?” she asked.

“No,” he said. “I wanna meet you in person and apologize and take the load off my chest.” 

You bitch, thought Dan, I just need to see you once. I’ll break your neck with my bare hands. You are the reason my family is dead. I’ll make you pay for it.

“I’m managing a tough project and don’t get much free time these days. Maybe, we can meet some time next month. I appreciate you calling and accept your apology.”

Michelle heard a screeching noise, and then the line went dead.

She tried to call Dan back but the call went straight to voicemail.

Maybe he threw the phone away in frustration, she thought. 

Dan Anderson died at 8:01 p.m. due to spinal fracture at multiple locations. He was hit by a police patrol car as he was crossing the SR1 highway while talking on his phone.

From Conrad Hayley’s Diary-

June14, 2034

‘Man is God’s best creation.’ I’ve heard that somewhere, maybe even read it. According to me, man’s best creations are the masterpieces by the maestro’s: Da Vinci, Van Gogh, or Picasso. Although man does his best to preserve these masterpieces, time decays them. They need to be restored by the hands of lesser artists, so the future generations can appreciate the beauty and the richness of truly great art. Similarly, by using the Age-Reversal therapy, man is restoring God’s best creation.

Small talk irritates me. It’s been months since I had a conversation with anyone. I feel perfectly sane, but I think I may be a little depressed.

I love watching the birds.

They are beautiful, elegant, and quiet.