Agoraphobia

Day 771 (Bridge)

Just after sunrise, I woke up from a fitful night's sleep to find Uncle Peter, Grandpa Kevin, and Frank talking in the kitchen. Grandpa made us a great breakfast of eggs, cured meat, garlic toast, and apple juice. Frank bubbled with small talk about living on his own and how he came across his two dogs. He even exchanged funny stories with Grandpa Kevin. It was strange to hear them laughing together. Grandpa was like that; he could have a pleasant conversation with almost anybody.

As I looked over at Uncle Peter, I could almost see the wheels turning as he weighed Frank's misdeeds against the benefits of having a third non-agoraphobic person on the farm. 

"Frank," said Uncle Peter at last. "Immediately after breakfast, we need to put you to work. Saving those three people was a nice down payment towards redemption. But you'll need to earn your keep by fishing."

"Hey, no problem." agreed Frank. "Whatever I can do to help. I'm just glad to be back." Frank attempting to be gracious and affable was something I never thought I'd witness.

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A short time later, Uncle Peter was pushing Frank towards the river while I carried his fishing equipment. 

"Are these really necessary?" asked Frank, rattling the handcuffs that bound his hands to his wheelchair's armrest. 

Uncle Peter shrugged. "We'll take the cuffs off at the river."

It was early, so it was still cool outside. But in another hour, it would turn hot and steamy. Already, the cicadas were singing.

As Uncle Peter pushed the wheelchair, he engaged in light conversation.

But the conversation was a little TOO light... 

Suspiciously light... 

Uncle Peter was overcompensating for some reason.

Frank was not a stupid man. He knew how to read people as well as me. He suspected something was amiss... "We're not going to fish, are we?" he asked. My heart skipped a beat.

"No," answered Uncle Peter as he adjusted our heading toward the bridge.

"Are you going to banish me again?"

"Sure." lied Uncle Peter. 

But Frank did not believe him. A brief, tense silence followed. "Are you going to kill me?" asked Frank. Uncle Peter didn't respond, but continued to push him. "Why?!" Frank asked, panic lacing his voice. "Why kill me?"

"It's been a year since I banished you. Not a day has gone by I wasn't worried you were somewhere on the horizon with a deer rifle's scope trained on my head. Or you were in D.C., conspiring with the president to drone-strike us. Now I'll never need to worry about that."

"None of that is true," Frank denied, clutching the arm of his chair tightly. "I'll admit, for a while, I nursed dark thoughts against you. But I've changed."

"Samber and I visited your vehicle yesterday. We found the military scope rifle. You don't hunt. The only reason for you to have a scope rifle is to kill me."

"That's not true. I've no reason to kill you. I've changed."

My stomach tightened. I could almost read the thoughts tumbling one after another through the back of Frank's head. His mind was like a rat dropped into a maze, scurrying down dead-end corridors, desperately looking for a way out.

"You haven't changed," countered Uncle Peter. "You're still the same self-serving asshole you were before. Take those three houseboat people... When I asked you why you didn't provide them with vitamin C, you said you didn't want to 'lose leverage'."