Pool

Weathering the Storm

A Rowdy Riley Reeves Story

Michael Pool

The water had been overflowing into the streets for two days and the storm still showed

no signs of letting up as we cruised up the flooded boulevard, sheets of rain tearing into us like

riffle volleys. Every block or so the aluminum fishing boat’s bottom scraped across something

drowned below the water, though I could never tell what exactly we’d hit. Maybe the top of a

car, or a street sign. Even if I knew, it wouldn’t have mattered., Tthere was nothing to do but

keep going. No way I was turning back now.

I had nothing to turn back for in Tyler anyway. Soon-to-be ex-husband who couldn’t

fathom a world where I didn’t kneel at the dry-drunk altaer on Sunday to worship his new-found

piety and sobriety, even if his attitude never changed. Very few paying cases. and Eeven fewer

clients who weren’t corporate bullies looking to unburden their bottom lines of a few payout

commitments. Whole town full of liars and cheats and no one seemed to mind anymore so long

as they hit their knees on Sunday at Green Acres Baptist.

At least not enough to hire anyone to do something about it., Eespecially not a woman

like me.

I’d started working these cold cases on the side out of frustrationas a distraction. A, a

chance to make my way out of the buckle of the Bible belt and maybe help find a little of the

justice I felt so cheated of justice for the world while I found myself again in the process. If such

1

Pool

a thing as justice still existed. Or self, post marriage., Wwhich I wasn’t so sure about anymore.

Evil existed either way., and Ggiven the choice to either accept it or drag it into the light

for everyone to see, I knew where my heart would land. It sure as hell beat insurance SIU SIU

work.

“You got any idea where he gon be, Miss Riley?” Donald,, an acquaintance who’d agreed

to boat me into Harvey’s churning heart in exchange for a couple hundred dollars, had asked as

we boated our way in from Conroe.

“I’ll know when we find him, I guess,” I replied. It wasn’tThough not much of an answer,

but it was the truth. As of yet we hadn’t gotten so much as a sniff of him, and hope was starting

to fadeing.

Now, hours later, every time I looked at Donald he just shook his head like I’d lost my

mind., Wwhich was probably true. He’d informed me forty-five minutes ago earlier that this was

ourthe last hour., After thatthen he’d have to head back with or without me, lest his wife be

worried full-on sick.

We’d been out in the flooded streets for fourteen hours straight, done as much rescuing

stranded people as looking for my target, who I could only identify by his boat in that melee. My

blue L.L. Bean rain shell had turned navy with waterlog., and Mmy hands were pruned and dried

out from the salt water, which had also formed a layer on my curly black hair. My cracked lips

hurt every time I tried to talk,, sso I kept my words to a minimum.

My target was a man named Carl Vincent Farlow., Aa local storm chaser and, if my

investigation was correct, a prolific serial killer who’d been hiding his evil beneath the veil of

tornadoes and hurricanes and other disasters for at least twenty-five years. I’d spoken to him

under the guise of writing an article about storm chasers, who rarely worked alone, as he did. It

2

Pool

had been tThe look in his eyes that told me he’d never be able to resist wading into the

hurricane’s flood zone to ply his craft., and I’d been right.

We’d followed the signal from a tracker I’d placed on my target’s truck during the

interview. We came, out of East Texas, his own fishing boat in tow, into the swampy southeast

Texas pine groves, under clouds balled up like fists., Tthen rain that thickened by the mile until it

started to drown the landscape. We’d stayed a mile or so behind him at all times to avoid

detection.

I knew what he intended to do. I’d sifted through a mountain of case files, talked to

people all the way back into his childhood. I, learned about his not-so-covert narcissism and

outright cruelty to anything or anyone he caught alone or unaware, which had started on the

Gladewater ranch where he was raised.

We’d lost him not long after putting in., Tthe tracker was still on his truck rather than his

boat, which had been an oversight on my part. I hadn’t had access to the boat, which because he

kept it locked up in his rundown metal boathouse in the Shadybrook trailer park out on Lake

Palestine.

We’d been looking for him ever since. I was frustrated, and cold. But I knew things had a

way of turning on a dime in this business., and Lluck favored those who could weather the storm

of uncertainty.

And just like that, they turneddid. We rounded a corner and there he was, hand extended

out over the edge of his boat toward a young woman and her dog floating in the surge in what

looked to be an inflatable children’s swimming pool. Her off-brown hair was matted and

frazzled., and Tthe dog looked just as bad. I couldn’t see her face from our distance, but it must

have been terrified to be in that situation.

3

Pool

The lack of a child in the makeshift raft sent chills up my back. It and made me forget

how miserable I’d been just seconds before. No telling what this woman had been through or lost

in that same time period.

As I stood to call out to her the sound of grinding metal tore into my eardrums., and in

Tthe next moment I was went headfirst into the murky, metallic-smelling water. I came up

gasping for breath, dazed, but with my head on a swivel looking to see if he’d gotten her into the

boat already. All my blurred eyes could make out was the silver sidewall of Donald’s aluminum

boat, and his deep ebony hand reaching out for mine.

“Did he take her?” I screamed, my mouth taking on enough foul, briny water to make me

choke. I couldn’t hear his response over the rain pounding into the water at my ear level. I tried

to look for them again, but Donald and the boat were in my line of sitghte. “Keep them in sight!”

I added, reaching for him. My hand found Donald’s., and Aafter asome struggle he pulled me

back out of the water, soaked down to my core now. I stood and scanned the horizon through

sheeting rainfall, squinting against the dusk.

When I saw the empty swimming pool, adrenaline pulsed through every corner of my

being. I took a deep breath and, focused my vision.

“There,” Donald said, pointing off to the right about a hundred yards beyond the empty

inflated pool. “They gonewent round that corner.”

I nodded, shivering from the cold water and fear of what might be beneath it.

“You okay?” Donald asked. “Got blood on yo forehead.”

“I’m fine,” I said. “Now go., Ffollow before we lose him again.” I wiped my forearm

across my brow and didn’t even bother to look and to see if it had blood on it. I tried to shake off

the water’s chill with little success,, checked my rear waistband holster to be sure I still had my

4

Pool

MP Shield. It was there, but so wet it probably wouldn’t fire if I needed it.

“You sure?” Donald asked. The skepticism in his voice showed a concern for my well-

being that went deeper than physical health. As far as he knew I was just a crazy white woman

his wife had met at church who’d drug him out against his better senses to look for ghosts in a

natural disaster. But Donald was a good man., I knew that. It had been he who insisted on

rescuing so many people while we searched., Nnot that I’d been against it. I was, just focused on

getting Farlow.

I took another deep breath. “No, I’m not sure. But I’m reasonably sure that if we lose

them now it will be the last time anyone sees that woman alive. So GOgo!”

Donald snapped into motion and, managed to get the engine restarted. We lurched

forward. The engine made odd mechanical sounds.s and Iit seemed unable to rev up to normal

speed. One thing I can guarantee you is that Murphy’s Law is the only constant in investigative

work. It will show up and strand you in the worst possible moments.

“Prop’s damaged,” Donald said. “Not sure how long it gon’ last before we be rowin’ our

way back to civilization.”

“Just, please, go as fast as we can,” I said. “I’ll find a way to buy you a new boat after

this. Whatever it takes.”

Donald nodded and revved the throttle all the way up. The boat groaned its way up to

about fifteen miles per hourthirteen knots and we headed in a slow arc around the corner where

they’d vanished.

The word civilization played in a loop in my head as we bounced along across the water’s

surface. It’s amazing how fast nature can broach that veneer., Eespecially in a wild place like

Texas. Human beings have never managed to climb outside of her grasp, whether we know it or

5

Pool

not. All the buildings, stoplights, and infrastructure we will ever build are nothing more than a

comforting lie we tell ourselves about our place in her natural order.

My head throbbed to my pulse as we turned the corner and limped our way out onto the

next block.

“Do you see them?” I asked Donald.

He shaded his eyes from a sun that wasn’t there. I, squinted against the arriving darkness.

“Nah, I cain’t see nuthin. Maybe they gone down the next corner. You want me to light em up,

just in case?”

I didn’t want Farlow to see us if he was there, but had no other choice.

“Yeah, light it up., Mmaybe they’ve pulled off into one of the second stories up ahead,

but I doubt it.”

The spotlight struck a building’s front doorthe front door of a building like a lightning

bolt. Donald ran it up the row of buildings on the left side of the street, then the right., but Tthe

boat was nowhere in sight.

As my heart sank, something moved in the water about thirty feet ahead and to our left. I

tapped Donald on the arm and pointed toward the sound., and Wwhen he adjusted the spotlight

to where I’d pointed, it landed on a terrified dog’s face bobbing above the water. She looked to

be some sort of Cocker Spaniel mix.; Hher brown, curling hair was matted around two terrified

eyes.

I knew without even having the thought that Farlow had thrown her overboard. Which

meant we had no time to lose. The dog was already swimming toward us as Donald maneuvered

the boat over to her. He, reached in and pulled her out of the water with one arm.

“Poor little thang,” he said, “I cain’t stand seein’ people treat a animal that way.”

6

Pool

Donald dropped the dog in the bottom of the boat and she wagged her tail out of instinct

more than pleasure. She, scampered her way through two inches of water across the boat to me. I

took her into my arms and clicked on my headlamp to have a look at her, satisfied it still worked

after going in the water.

She wore a plaid-patterned pink collar with a shiny pink tag in the shape of a bone

hanging off it that said her name was Ladybird. Her owner’s name and address were scrawled

engraved onto the tag in block-engraved lettering. Cheryll Baker, 155 South Biscayne St. 713-

455-1212.

“Now, where’s your mamma?” I said to Ladybird. She shivered and curled up into my

lap, still terrified. The adrenaline I’d felt had iced over into fear for me, too., and now Aa sense

of doom was starting to creep in on my better intentions. Donald shut off the spotlight and

pushed the boat back into full throttle almost as if he could read my worry., and Wwe grumbled

down the flooded street in search of our ghosts.

We stopped at the next two intersections to shine the spotlight down each direction of the

street with no luck. They were nowhere to be found. As if to put icing on the cake, the winds

picked back up and the boat began to rock as we rode along with bits of debris and slanting rain

slapping against our faces. I’d never felt so cold in my life., Tthe kind of cold that turns the

marrow in your bones to ice.

It was tThree more blocks before later we caught sight of the boat tied up outside the

second- story window of a contemporary condo building south of the intersection., about fifty

yards down. The water was so high that the second story had become street level.

“Shut off theat light and the engine and use the trolling motor to pull down alongside that

boat,” I ordered, not cold enough to lose my bossy nature. Donald obliged me, careful to take it

7

Pool

slow. I squinted against the darkness to see if they might just be layinglying prone in the boat. I

had a feeling , knowing they would were probably be inside the building.

We hit the boat with a soft bump. I muffled it by placing my hand in the space between

the two boats. I used my headlamp to peer around the boat’s inner edges, not sure what I was

searching for.

Blood, maybe.

But there was nothing. The window, now virtually at water level, had a slatted storm

shutter on the outside of it. It was, which was shut and latched from the inside. I clicked my

headlamp back off. No way we were getting that open. Farlow must have chosen it because the

tenant of that particular unit had forgotten to battonbatten down the hatches.

Or maybe they’ had used it for escape. I looked up to see that the third story of the

building had small balconies with what looked to be sliding glass doors providicing access to the

interiorinside them, and nothing to protect the glass.

Without a word I snapped into motion., I stepped off our boat and onto Farlow’s and. I

made my way across it to where it was tied off to the storm shutter’s handle.

I turned and leaned back out across the boat toward Donald. He had to find him with

Ladybird cradled in his arms and., Tthe dog was shaking so bad I could see it even in the low

light.

“What you wanna do?” Donald said in a low voice.

“Do you have a way to mark this location so you can get back here?” I asked.

“I find my way back anywhere once if I been there once,” Donald said.

“Okay. I want you to go see if you can find a Sheriff’s boat or someone else official and

bring them back here. I’m going inside through the upstairs balcony.”

8

Pool

Donald raised his eyebrows, but didn’t seem surprised at my idea. “He gon kill her?” he

asked.

“After he hurts her,” I said. “But we’re going to stop him. Now go.”

Donald nodded. He, backed the boat away like a ninja using the trolling motor, then fired

up the engine and ground off down the street. I hoped he’d be lucky enough to find someone

sooner rather than later. My own life might well depend on that luck.

I turned back to face the building and climbed up on one of the mounted swivel fishing

chairs. I had to, leanned out over the edge of the boat. I reached to reach up for the floor of the

balcony above. I, couldn’t reach it without jumping. With the sway the boat would give I didn’t

think I could make it., Bbut what other choice did I have?

Screw it, I thought. So I jumped. My fingers caught on the slick tile between the slats. I

started to pull myself up only to find myself inverted with two wet hands full of air instead.

I landed hard on the boat’s bottom with my elbow tucked against my side. I, had to take a

big gasp to regain the breath the impact had stolen. After a few wheezes I sat up. Electricity

rolled up and down the tendons in my left arm from shoulder to fingertip. I worried it might be

broken, though after a moment it started to regain some feeling.

The wind and debris and pounding rain felt as if it would swallow me then. Everything

throbbed., but Mmost of all I could feel the broken heart from my lost marriage somewhere in

there for the first time in months.

The rain and nervous cold felt like tendrils pulling me down into a dark, helpless place, a

victimhood from which I might never recover. The weaker parts of me wished for a home that no

longer existed., They wishedand for warmth, andbut most of all for a world where a man

couldn’t hide his evil in a storm’s chaos.

9

Pool

But that world didn’t exist., and Aall that was left to do was to try to stop him from

working in this one. I drug myselfclimbed back up on the chair and steadied myself one more

time. I took as deep of a breath as I could manage, then jumped again.

My fingers connected to the slick tile once more.

At first it felt as if the grip would fade., but I pressed harder, fingertips burning like they

might pop, managed to steady myself for a millisecond while I wrapped one hand around an iron

slat, then the other., I prayeding they wouldn’t come loose under my weight.

They held., and I pulled myself up until I could wedge a foot between two other slats,

then use it to inch my whole body up until I stood on the outside of the balcony, bruised lungs

heaving from the effort after having the wind knocked out of them.

I edged over the railing and onto the porch,, pulled on the door and found it locked. A set

of white curtains had been drawn closed behind it.

I pulled on the door again., and though Iit was still locked, but there wasit had a little give

to it. I’d heard of criminals breaking into such doors by tilting them on their tracks until the latch

slipped out beneath the bracket on the wall. Most people stick a rod on the inner track to avoid

that. it, but Iit was my best shot. If there was a rod there I’d have to break the glass. Either way I

was going in.

I looked around the porch for anything that might help me get some leverage for the task.

I found it in a broken wind chime made from what looked to be powder-coated, foot-long steel

strips connected by fishing line. I picked up one of the snapped-off tines and felt the edge. It was

maybe a centimeter thick., Ssmall enough that I was able to jam it into the gap between the

door’s bottom and the track on the opposite side from the lock, then brace it on an upturned

flower pot as a fulcrum.

10

Pool

The tine flexed beneath the pressure. The door gave just a bit. I leaned a knee on the tine.

The metal edging of the tracktrack’s metal edging started to bend. I stood and used my left foot

to press down on it, then with both hands gave the door a yank. The latch popped as it gave from

inside the door. I took my foot off the metal tine and let it fall to the floor. The door slid rough

along the now-damaged tracks, but it came open enough for me to slip inside.

I clicked my headlamp on and found myself in the living room of what looked to be a

one-bedroom condominium, maybe seven -hundred square feet. The squeaking of my soakedMy

soaked boots squeaking against the white-tiled floor disturbed that quiet, still place. The hair on

my neck stood on end from the strange sensation that abandoned places carry, a mixture of what

might have been in the past and what might never be again.

I made my way past the IKEA decordécor and, unlocked the front door’s deadbolt. I and

stepped out into the hall andl. I noted the unit number, 311. I, and then made my way down the

black hallway toward a blood-red exit sign still illuminated by backup power. The door lever

echoed down the stairwell and startled me so much that I almost let the door slam back shut

behind me. I, but caught it at the last second. Every movement felt like calling a warning out on a

loudspeaker.

I took the stairs one at a time, aware of my own breathing, which sounded in soft

wheezes and kept an irregular pace. At the exit door one floor down I was careful to open it slow.

I slid my body inside and closed it even slower, until it sat even with the latch but didn’ not click

all the way shut. I un-holstered my M&P and held it down at my right side. I, knowing it might

not fire, but I hadhaving no otherbetter options.

I’d have to hope the threat was enough to keep him cornered.

A faint moaning carried down the hall as I approached the door to apartment 211. I eased

11

Pool

up to the door wishing I had some sort of night vision. I felt, feeling the boogyman’s presence of

the boogeyman in every inch of black space outside the headlamp’s beam.

The squishing of my feet inside soaked bootsMy squishing feet sounded like sirens in the

hall’s eerie quiet. Every moan or creak of the building sent blood pulsing through my

extremities.

I checked the handle. , but Oof course it was locked. I had no way of knowing whether

the deadbolt would be engaged., I just knew I had to get inside, sooner rather than later. How

long had I been at this? It might already be too late.

I took a step back to steady myself, brought my left knee up to my chest, and put all my

weight and squatting power into a front kick next to the knob, something I’d learned in a cardio

kickboxing class years before.

The thud echoed down the hall so loud it hurt my ears, but the door took it without

giving. I kicked again. Then again. On the fourth kick it splintered, then split., and Tthe door

folded inward. I hit it with my shoulder like a linebacker and it gave all at once, depositing me

on the tile flooring inside. I bounced back to my feet swiveling my MP around the room,,

expecting Farlow to hit me at any second.

I moved past the kitchenette deeper into the dark apartment, stepped past the adjacent bar

and cleared it as best I could. The room stood empty and still, save for my held breath and

shaking hands. I exhaled, then and took a deep breath to replace the depleted air in my lungs. No

telling how long I’d been holding it., but Iit felt like hours. That’s when the smell hit me.

Metallic and rich and unmistakable.

Blood.

I bolted down the hallway, weapon at my side again now. I threw open the door to a small

12

Pool

bedroom, which looked undisturbed. The door across from it was a bathroom, also empty. That

left one more door, at the end of the hall. I took a deep breath and slammed it open, expecting

chaos to erupt.

The scene inside held horrors I had not sufficiently imagined. The girl, naked with her

wrists bound to the iron headboard by zip ties, had half her scalp peeled back., Hher matted

brown hair hunganging off her like a discarded wig, to exposinge a magenta-stained skull. She

had what looked to be puncture wounds in her abdomen, though I didn’t have time to assess

them just then.

And tThere he was., Carl Vincent Farlow, true to his coward nature., Sstruggling with

theat room’s storm shutter, trying to escape out the window.

“Stop!” I yelled.

The sound of my voice had two effects. It caused him to struggle harder with the latch,

and also seemed to bring the girl back into consciousness. The moan she let out almost didn’t

sound human. It, held every ounce of despair and suffering a decent person couldan imagine is

possible. The sound enraged me.

Farlow heard her too. He, turned then to face me. That’s when Mmy headlamp’s beam

caught the hunting knife in his left hand. The woman on the bed moaned again, fainter this time.

Farlow snarled, then charged. My finger snapped on the trigger, but all it brought were harmless

clicks that echoed into time and space.

Things felt like they were happening incredibly fast and impossibly slow all in the same

moment. His subdued knife’s blade shone red in the headlamp’s beam.

Instinct kicked in. I hurled the pistol at him like a tomahawk. The headlamp blinded him

so thatand he didn’t see it coming asuntil it it slammed butt-first into his nose. I felt the crunch of

13

Pool

his nose cartilage as much as heard it.

He dropped the knife and hit his knees with both hands over his face. I sprang into action,

dove into him like I used to tackle my brothers playing football in the yard as kids. They’d been

bigger than me, just as Farlow was now., so Mmy father had taught me to hit everyone as hard as

I could on every play to even that out. It had worked well until I broke my brother Charlie’s front

tooth. and Peopleeveryone started callingcalled him Chip after that. After that Tthey teased me

too by calling me Rowdy Riley. They and wouldn’t never let me play againnymore.

Now, thirty years later, that experience might be saving mysave my life, and another life

too. I’ve always hated when men treat women like we’re weak. It’s Tthat same rowdy country

girl is still inside me. Just like my mother. It took our kind of women to handle the Reeves men.

I hammered into Farlow’s chest, knocking him backwards. His feet got caught up beneath

him so that he folded straight back on top of his shins. His knees popped like cattle prods as he

tumbled over backwards.

He was the one screaming then.

I sat on his chest like mounting a horse and dropped a headbutt on his already-mangled

nose. He lost consciousness then., though I gave him a few punches for good measure, one of

which broke two knuckles in my left hand along with his eye socket. I rolled off of him and

retrieved the pistol, then moved to check on the girl. She’d lost a lot of blood and, had a weak

pulse.

“Somebody help us!” I screamed, knowing no one would come, but hoping there might

be someone left in the building anyway. Only the storm’s churning responded.

I retrieved Farlow’s knife from the floor and used it to cut her hands loose with my right

hand. I, then fastenedused one of the bed’s pillow cases like a bonnet to pull her scalp down and

14

Pool

secure it back to her head. She was unconscious again now, so I examined her puncture wounds.

What I saw horrified me.

He’d peeled pieces of her off like layers off an onion to, exposeing the pulsing muscular

tissue beneath. Not knowing what to do about it, I did my best to wrap the wounds with sheets

and used the pillows to elevate her feet, hoping to slow her shock. After I’d done my best I

covered her with blankets to keep her warm.

She needed way more help than I could give. She’s probably not going to make it, I

thought. Cheryll Baker, I assumed. A woman, whose name mostly represented a frightened

cocker spaniel to me. The poor thing, had thought Farlow might save her from tragedy. Instead

she’d fallen victim to his depravity. I hated all men in that moment, though maybe it was my ex I

was really hatingreally hated. I knew deep down that there were good men everywhere, though

somehow there would never be enough of them to stop the bad ones from knocking down the

door.

But I could stop this one. I ejected the clip from the pistol and thumbed the bullets out

onto the bed. I, racked the slide to eject the round from the chamber. Then I used the other pillow

case to dry out the chamber and the rounds as best I could before popping a few into the clip and

slamming it back in. I racked the slide again, placing a dry round in the chamber.

Farlow had started to stir by then. He sat up. His eyes had almost swelled shut, but he

managed to open them and look at me. I pointed the pistol at the center of his face, maybe five

feet from him. It was the first time in my life I’d ever wanted to kill anything. He shook his head

and mumbled something unintelligible by way of pleading for his life.

“How’s does it feel to have your life in someone’s hands who wants to watch you die?” I

asked him.

15

Pool

He whispered something that sounded like, “Please, don’t.”

I thought I heard voices outside the shutters. It was now or never., Donald could be back

any second with help. I squeezed the trigger, hoping to watch Farlow’s face transition into a

hundred thousand smaller pieces.

The pistol clicked, again.

I pulled the trigger four more times to no avail. Farlow smiled a half-toothed smile as if

in triumph., so I utilized another front kick to absolve him of his remaining teeth.

He crumbled to the floor again. I found more zip ties in his open backpack, used them to

bind his wrists and ankles. I could have given the gun another try, but the violence had left me

then, thank god.

I stepped over his mangled, bound body to the raised window, and managed after some

effort to get the shutters open. The storm had lost a bit of steam outside. It would have felt less

dangerous than the tense, quiet room behind me either way. Maybe even, and less dangerous

than the storm that had welled up inside me when I’d attempted to take Farlow’s life.

I heard the boats before I saw them., and Iit wasn’t long before they rounded the corner. A

Sheriff’s rescue boat came into view with Donald seated up front still holding the rescued dog.

There were, and two fishing boats behind it.

“You okay, Miss Riley?” Donald called out to me. I nodded by way ofmy response. I

explained as best I could what had happened, then did my best to help them get Cheryl Baker

strapped onto a spine board and passed out the window and into one of the boats. The sound

Ladybird made at the sight of her mangled master brought the storm in my heart back to full

bore.

It has never left me since.

16

Pool

They drug Farlow out the window still hogtied and only half conscious., but Hhe still

managed a snarl for me.

“I had a bad feeling about you when you came out to my place,” Farlow said. I told him

the feeling was mutual, and that I’d be happy to end up in hell someday asso long as I ran into

him there. He kept his mouth shut after that.

I had the complicated feeling of wishing I’d killed him, embedded in a great relief that I

hadn’t. I’d almost let my rage throw my new life away before it got started. A portion of that rage

belonged to my ex-husband, who had tried to attack me in a drunken stupor and ended up in only

slightly less bettermuch the same shape asthan Farlow.

I felt ready for that new life, standing there, bloody and soaked to my core, having rubbed

up so close with pure evil and death in the weeds of my own unraveled existence.

A red hue broke through the storm to our wWest as we motored off in search of

something resembling safety. It felt like, chasing a lost horizon line that could never quite be

caught.

No telling how much dirt and destruction might be housed beneath the water along the

way. Maybe the best a person could hope for was a smooth enough ride to stay above the surface

and survive. If so, thatit would have to be enough. At least it was a start, and, I knew in my heart

thatand a new start was exactly what I needed the most.

17