Shaded Chance

By Shaun McLaren

Paul Weeks has been convicted of killing his wife. He now spends his days in Southern Oregon's Green Valley Asylum where he receives a battery of treatments and medications designed to keep his demons under control. When his daughter Charlotte is kidnapped however he has no choice but to escape and rescue her. Now on the run from both the law and other more sinister forces Paul must find his daughter while battling his own troubled mind.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Shaun McLaren
• Release date: Jun 29, 2016
• ISBN: 9781311963888

Book preview

Chapter 1

The sound of his own pounding footsteps was the only noise that Paul could hear as he barreled down a dirt path as fast as his feet could move. His lungs burned and his thighs clenched in such a way that they hadn’t since his time on the track team nearly fifteen years ago. As near as he could tell, and he couldn’t be sure, he had been running as hard as he could for nearly half an hour, on this same dirt path through darkened woods that never showed any sign of changing.

He couldn’t be sure exactly when his pursuers would be after him, it all depended on when they noticed he was gone and how fast they could mobilize a posse. Search party didn’t seem like the right term in this case, Paul thought to himself, his mind wandering as his feet continued to chug. Posse seemed about right he thought, like in the old west this group meant to kill him as soon as they laid hands upon him.

Paul could feel that his body was very nearly ready to give up and he would collapse in exhaustion. He wasn’t out of shape, nor was he in shape, he hovered in that middle ground so many adults do, wanting to be in shape like they were eighteen but not really having any idea about how to do it. His time in Green Valley Asylum had added a couple inches to his waist, of that much he was certain. He tried to calculate how far he could have gone in the time since his escape, tried to calculate how long he could rest before he would need to be on the move again. Instead of doing math in his head he should have been watching where he was going.

A large tree root jutted out onto dirt path, not much of an obstacle really, but for the exhausted, weary and frightened it may as well been as special trap laid specifically for him. Paul felt his toe catch the root, and his center of gravity shift forward. He lifted his arms to shield his fall but it did little good. Paul ate dirt as his face slammed into the path and he skidded to a stop using mostly the friction from his cheekbone. Although he had no mirror his could tell from a gentle touch that the right side of his face was bleeding. The kind of abrasion typically reserved for the knee of an elven year old skateboarder now covered most of the right side of his face. Paul winced as he saw the sticky mixture of dirt and blood on the end of his finger.

Paul crawled over to the bandit tree. As he did he could tell that he had sprained his ankle and possibly broken his big toe? Paul extended his foot with the utmost care as he leaned against the tree, gasping for air and feeling every scrape and bruise from the fall burst to life with its own little message for him.

What little modesty he was afforded from the hospital gown he wore was lost, the back end had already left nothing to the imagination and now the front side sported a rather large hole torn right in the region of the crotch. Paul couldn’t help but smile as he put his hand through the hole from the inside out. Though it offered little protection and would certainly draw attention if he was seen in town, Paul figured it was still better than nothing. Nevertheless it would take just a single person a single glance in town before the cops were called. In a hospital gown someone might wonder just what in the hell was doing for a moment before calling the authorities.

Paul sat for a moment and tried to remember some of the details of Vista Ridge, the town he had passed through on his way to the asylum. The details were vague and in any case at this point they could be wrong, he had spent just over a year as a resident of the Green Valley Recovery Hospital. Even before he was a resident it had always bothered Paul that places like Green Valley tried to church up their names to make them seem like something less dangerous. Who did they think they were fooling? Everyone and their brother in Vista Ridge knew what kind of hospital Green Valley was and what type of folks went there. In fact in most circles it was still called Green Valley Asylum, rather than the more twenty first century, recovery hospital.

What he really needed to find in town was a clothes line, or a thrift store with glass windows. Paul decided he was more likely to find appropriate clothes in a store than on the random clothesline of some stranger, besides it was November most people weren’t going to be hanging laundry this time of year. Vista Ridge was a small town, the kind that really needed the tax revenue generated from a mental hospital that other larger communities could afford to shun. This would mean that his best bet for finding clothes would be in the small but busy downtown area of Vista Ridge. He would need to be there before first light if he wanted to stand any sort of a chance.

Paul pushed his back against the tree for support and struggled up onto his feet. His left ankle flared up in pain and Paul very nearly cried out. Not that it would make much difference if he did Paul thought, as anyone close enough to hear him could be on top of him in seconds at this point even if he tried to run. Hiding wouldn’t do any good at this point either; they would most certainly have dogs after him. No, Paul’s only chance of escape was to get into town, get some clothes and catch a ride out. As he put his bad foot to the ground, Paul was relieved and a bit shocked really that it supported his weight. He certainly wouldn’t be doing any more running for a while; hopefully the town wasn’t much further.

The first few steps were painful, but after a couple of minutes Paul was able to ease into a sort of limping gait that very nearly approximated walking. It was during this shuffle that Paul heard the soft but sweet sound of running water in the creek bed. One detail he did remember on his only trip through Vista Ridge was crossing a bridge on the edge of town before heading into the woods and the hospital. Besides leading him into town the water would keep the dogs off his tracks, if years of watching movies had taught him anything anyway. (Though he didn’t suppose they did.)

The water was cold and refreshing and only vaguely tasted of rocks and mud. Though this small creek would likely give him a killer case of diarrhea later on, at this point, Paul couldn’t care less.

Chapter 2

The cold November water helped to dull the pain in Paul’s throbbing ankle, however it made the rest of his body miserable. As he had hoped though the creek did lead Paul directly to a bridge on the edge of Vista Ridge. On a couple of occasions on his trek down river Paul saw the flashing lights of squad cars in places that the road ran along the river. It was still dark out though and he didn’t receive so much as a searchlight shown his way. Still, Paul thought to himself, Green Valley knew he was missing, and they had already started the search.

Although not light yet, Paul could see the faintest lighting of the sky in the east over the tops of rolling pine trees. I have less than a half an hour to get new clothes, Paul thought as he stood in the shallow water passing under the bridge.

Paul figured he must have been quite the sight, had there been someone to see him as he stalked quietly through the streets of downtown Vista Ridge. Mud covered his feet and shins with trace amounts as far up as his collar. The hospital gown, not a garment meant for a hike through the woods left little to the imagination, nothing on the backside as a matter of fact and Paul could feel the cool morning air on his exposed butt cheeks.

After a block and a half, all Paul had been able to find, were two diners and a couple of women’s clothing boutiques. Staying incognito didn’t seem likely in Juicy sweatpants and a tank top. Finally at precisely the point Paul started thinking he would have to hide out for the day and try again he saw it.

The Here and Now thrift shop occupied its own corner of a block in a standalone building on the edge of downtown. It was large, having more the look of an airplane hangar than a downtown thrift shop. The windows were plastered with fading advertisements and room for rent signs as well as large hand printed neon card board signs advertising the specials at The Here and Now. These large windows were also unfortunately completely exposed to the street from both sides.

As Paul made his way around the back of the building, the eastern sky was starting to show the first traces of pink in anticipation of sunrise. The back of The Here and Now shared an alleyway with an adjacent building. Along the back wall several dumpsters were lined up, beyond these were a small loading dock and a sliding door, the metal type with a rolling chain on the inside to open and close it vertically. There was also, Paul was relieved to see, a fairly standard sized window, with a wood frame. The window was papered with fading tan sheets from the inside. Paul had no idea what awaited him on the other side.

Paul looked around on the ground hoping to find a loose brick, large rock, or anything really to smash the window. There was nothing. The good folks of Vista Ridge apparently did not like the blight of debris in their city.

This must be the cleanest back alley in history. Paul said.

A peek inside the dumpster yielded nothing; they were almost completely empty, other than a stray McDonald’s bag and a powerful stench.

Are you serious? Paul’s voice echoed in the empty dumpster and a blast of foul air slapped his face as he dropped the lid.

Chapter 3

Inside The Here and Now thrift store a large metal rack holding dusty VCRs, stereos and other assorted small electronics stood in front of a closed paper window. Paul’s fist, wrapped tightly in a dirty hospital gown exploded through the glass and paper connecting on the inside with a VCR and sending it flying of the shelf. Paul’s unwrapped hand came next carefully unlatching the ancient window. Small shards of glass tinkled to the floor as Paul slid the window open.

The metal rack on the inside of the store prevented a clean entry. It took a fair bit of effort for Paul to first rock and then to push the rack over sending its contents crashing to the floor in a spectacular and rather loud crash. Paul glanced around to see if anyone had heard his clumsy attempt at entry. The daylight outside grew brighter with each passing moment but fortunately for Paul the streets were still empty. Gingerly and nakedly he climbed through the window and set foot inside the thrift store.

Inside Paul saw just what he had hoped to see, half a dozen long racks of clothes. The inside of the store was vast, the back corner reserved for furniture. There was a large glass case at the front of the store where the more valuable jewelry and electronics were kept and a large cluttered section on the far wall with dishes, nick knacks other house ware utensils.

Paul stepped carefully way from the mess of cords and glass on the ground and made his way to the clothing racks. He started in the middle and quickly found a suitable pair of khaki’s and a T shirt with palm trees on the front.

No underwear. Paul said.

Of course no underwear, he thought to himself, what sort of person would buy it used? He was putting his new outfit on when through front of the store a squad car slowly passed by, its red and blue strobe shining inside the store. Paul dropped to the ground, but continued to put his pants on.

Staying low he crawled between the racks of clothes to a bank of shoes. The store mostly had gaudy high heels from many a high school girl’s prom. It took some rummaging, but eventually Paul found a pair of black Chuck Taylor Converse, smashed into the back corner of the shelf. They were a little snug, but fit well enough Paul decided as he laced them up.

Staying low Paul crawled toward the rear of the store and the window he had previously smashed. He was starting to think that perhaps his little episode of B and E would go off without a hitch when the young crew-cut head of a police officer poked his head inside the broken window and immediately spotted Paul crawling along the floor. Though his heart sank, Paul was able to manage a sheepish smile though he was squinting into the bright mag light trained on his face.

You’re the one they are looking for. The officer said. There was hint of disbelief in his voice as he said it, as though this sort of occurrence only happened on television.

Most likely yes, Paul replied, look this-

Freeze! The officer yelled.

Paul heard the flashlight hit the pavement, and saw the officer draw and train his gun on him. Any sense of surprise in the young officer was replaced with fear and anger.

Paul slowly rose to his feet with his hands in the air.

I said freeze! The officer yelled.

This was clearly a first time situation for the young officer. He looked rattled and jittery. It seemed as though he really wanted nothing more than for someone else to show up and take control of the situation. He was on his own though, and he was going to fail at his first attempt at an arrest.

I heard you just fine, Paul said. He was standing now and lowered his hands, but I can’t do that. Paul took a step backward and with a quick glance surveyed the store, looking for alternate routes.

Get down on the ground, or I will be forced to open fire. The officer said.

What’s your name buddy? Paul said in a soothing voice as he took a step backward. Paul looked back again, scanning for a soft place to land. You don’t want to shoot me, and I sure as hell don’t want to be shot.

The officer stuttered for a moment as he contemplated Paul’s words, My name is Tim…please sir get down on the ground.

Paul’s legs and ankle still ached from his early morning sprint through the woods running from the spry officer Tim here didn’t sound very appealing. He was hungry and had hoped he would have been able to get something to eat before getting out of town. I don’t have any money, Paul thought to himself as he continued to walk backward. As he pondered this thought further he heard the click of the gun’s hammer being drawn back.

Officer Tim’s bullet almost struck its mark. Paul dove headlong into a long rack of dresses just as the shot was being fired. The shot ricocheted off of the linoleum floor and shattered the glass jewelry case in the front of the store. With deftness belonging only to the young and athletic, Officer Tim was through the window and on his radio in what seemed like a single motion.

This is Officer Carver; I need back up to 624 Main Street. I have the Green Valley patient on premises. I need assistance.

A large pile of colorful dresses dislodged from their hangers and landed on Paul as he tried to gain his bearings inside the clothes rack. Paul knew that once the first shot was fired it would only be a matter of seconds before the second, third and fourth followed suit. Paul stumbled out from under the clothes rack, long prom style dresses on his head and shoulders still blocked his view.

When he finally was able to poke his head out from beneath a satin purple prom dress he discovered he had been completely wrong. There were no more shots coming at him, but Officer Tim was charging at him full tilt with his shoulder lowered bracing for impact.

The blow came swift and direct into his sternum. Paul flew backwards crashing into two other racks of clothes and creating a terrific mess. He rolled around in the mound of used clothing trying to gain traction and get to his feet. Paul’s Chuck Taylor had only just found traction when Tim was on top of him, left hand holding him down, and right hand grasping for the nightstick at his waist.

Paul knew it was over, in a matter of moments a blow to the head would render him unconscious. He would wake up back in Green Valley Asylum, back in his padded room, doped up on meds. They would probably add an extra security detail to him after this incident. He would never clear his name; he would never save his daughter. Serendipity on this occasion though was with Paul. Officer Tim, in his haste had forgotten to put the hammer down on his gun before holstering it. While groping for his nightstick the gun fell to the ground and discharged into Tim’s thigh.

All that Paul heard though was the crack of the gun, a thump as Tim hit the ground and a wail of pain that never seemed to go down in pitch once it had begun. Paul clambered to his feet and saw tears in Tim’s eyes. The downed officer grasped his leg; blood spurted out in time with his pulse. Though he still wailed it was clear to Paul that Tim would not survive without help. Paul looked around and considered if only briefly leaving Tim on the floor of the here and now.

Paul sighed and knelt down next to Tim. Tim’s hands were covered in blood and more came out of his thigh with each heartbeat. Paul had to work quickly.

Officer down, officer down send an ambulance! Paul shouted into Tim’s shoulder radio. He then unbuckled, Tim’s pants and in one deft motion pulled them down to his ankles.

Tim looked at Paul with terrified surprise, as if being shot wasn’t enough he was now going to be molested by the psycho from the loony bin.

Relax, Paul said, The tourniquet will work better if it’s not over your trousers. With deft hands, Paul shredded a frilly purple dress into long strips of fabric. As he tied them together he noticed that even in his agony, Officer Tim here was eyeing the handle of his pistol protruding from underneath a pile of dresses. This guy, he must not realize that if he grabs his gun and shoots me, he is going to bleed out and die right here in this shabby little thrift store. Paul knotted several strips of fabric together and wrapped the fabric around the back of the Tim’s leg. He was in the middle of tying the knot when Tim and his wounded leg with him began to pull away.

Seriously? Paul said.

Tim paid him no mind however, as he dragged himself with his right arm toward the gun. Paul wound the fabric again and pulled down on the ends of his tourniquet knot hard, with the sort of force it takes to slow down the flow of blood in a dying man’s leg. It had been a long time since he had been premed, but a simple tourniquet was the sort of thing that anyone could do if they had the materials.

Tim’s finger tips were just brushing the grip of his pistol, when Paul decided he should do something about it. Paul vaulted over the wounded man and kicked the revolver away; it slid out of Tim’s reach and nestled firmly under the tangle of used dresses. Not ready to give up Tim grasped Paul’s ankle and tried to wrestle him to the ground. Paul looked down at Tim in disbelief. Just give up man Paul thought, I am not worth dying for. Paul reached down and pulled the nightstick from Tim’s waist.

Paul cocked his arm up and readied himself to deliver a blow, to the downed officer. The realization of being beaten down was enough to cease Tim’s struggle. It was as if all in one moment his thoughts left Paul and returned to his injured leg.

I am going to go now. Please don’t try to stop me or I will smack you with this thing. Paul said. He waited for a moment to make sure that Tim had heard and understood him. Finally Tim nodded his head in agreement. I don’t want to hit you with this, Paul looked at the nightstick and for the first time realized he was holding the wrong end of it. But if I put this down and you go for you gun again I swear to god I will pick it up and beat the fuck out of you with it. Tim again nodded in agreement.

Paul tossed the nightstick aside and stepped away from Officer Tim, almost slipping in a puddle of blood which had formed around the man. The blood had soaked into the edges of the piles of clothes that surrounded them. It’s going to be close, but if the ambulance gets here soon he should be ok. At least I hope so. As if on cue he heard the blaring sirens of the approaching ambulance. Paul looked out the front of the store and saw the emergency vehicle screech to a halt in front of the building.

Keep putting pressure on it. Paul said as he moved to the front of the store. Hopefully the door has a simple deadbolt or two and I can let the EMTs in through the front door Paul thought to himself. I am going to unlock the door and then I am out of here.

The front door was made out of glass with a steel handle, and Paul could see the EMTs getting out of their ambulance through it. Paul was suddenly conscious that he had blood up to his forearms on both hands. I hope Officer Tim doesn’t have hepatitis. Paul had his hand on the deadbolt and was just about to unlatch it, when four squad cars skidded into the parking lot.

I don’t think you’re going anywhere. Officer Tim said, his voice sounding muffled and strained.

I think you may be right. Paul answered.

Eight officers poured out of the four vehicles with all the graceful movement of a carefully choreographed stage play. Seven officers drew weapons one officer drew a bullhorn. Feedback from the bullhorn squealed as the commanding officer, a rail thin young man who seemed to be in defiance of every police officer stereotype in existence, drew it to his lips.

The bullhorn officer, Stephen Albrecht, was young he could scarcely have been older than Paul’s thirty two years. Despite being slender he looked healthy, with clear complexion and wavy brown hair. He was all set to speak into the bullhorn, as though he had the first few words planned out, when he saw Paul behind the glass doorway, bloody hands raised near his head. Officer Albrecht may have first thought that Paul was surrendering, upon closer inspection he saw that Paul’s hands were reaching for the lock on the door.

Please hold your fire! Paul shouted through the glass.

The officers with guns drawn shuffled nervously as Paul slowly put his hands on the knob for the deadbolt. Officer Albrecht was at a loss for words, as though the situation was not playing out the way he had imagined it in his head.

I am unlocking the door, to let the EMT’s in. Yes I know you have to chase me, but you have a man down in here please see to him first, he’s lost a lot of blood. Paul stopped and thought for a moment, it seemed like he should have more to say, but nothing came to mind. Here goes nothing.

Paul unlocked the bolt and shoved the door open, a cool morning breeze slapped his face, but he had little time to enjoy the fresh air. The cadre of officers was charging the front door.

Paul had never considered himself to be a particularly fast man, nor really all that athletic. In fact in high school, he had been cut from the track team, and the football team and several others. His older brother had been the athletic one, something that really bothered him as a young man because his brother never really seemed to appreciate it. Bill never could understand the struggle it was when the mind was willing but the body wasn’t able. It was so easy for Bill that he didn’t even seem to enjoy his athletic prowess, the typical invincibility complex that young adults carry with them. For him it all came easily. Despite not being fast though, Paul was about to move quicker than he ever had to this point in his life.

There was commotion behind him that he couldn’t see but could very well imagine. Police pouring in through the double door entrance, some with guns on him, some probably in awe and disbelief of the situation. The police would be followed by the EMT’s, probably carrying a board, likely scared shitless. Vista Ridge was a small town; this sort of excitement was rare. Of course all that Paul actually heard was foot sets followed by ‘freeze!’ and the thud and crumble of mortar as a single shot buried itself in a brick near the window he climbed out of.

Chapter 4

Paul knew he had to move quickly despite his aching legs and ankle. In a matter of moments he knew the police would be back out the front door and charging around the side of the building. This was a quaint town and he knew that as soon as they saw him it was going to be all over. He wouldn’t be able to outrun them; he had to find a place to hide. Paul heard them coming and his heart sank, the alley he found himself in stretched on fifty feet in either direction. There was no way he could make the far corner before they saw him. The dumpster on the other hand…

It smelled terrible. Thankfully there was a soft pile of clothes to land on that were too worn to be sold by the thrift store. There was also large black hefty garbage bags filled with garbage from a restaurant that shared this same back alley. It smelled like what could only be described as stale fried food and death. Paul buried himself in the thrift store clothing castoffs and hoped that the police didn’t check the dumpster. As the moments passed Paul started to wonder just what it was he was planning to do should he get out of this dumpster and out of this town. He hadn’t planned on leaving Green Valley when he had it just sort of happened. He was planning on leaving the loony bin that much was certain, but he had planned on doing it legally. Circumstance had forced his hand. He had his daughter to think about now. The smile when he thought of his daughter was just fading from face when he heard the footsteps on the pavement fly by. The sound snapped him back to reality.

Like Bastion in The Never Ending Story, Paul lifted the lid of the dumpster with his head in order to peek out. The alley was empty, but he knew they couldn’t be far. There were almost certainly still officers inside the thrift store as well. This was in addition to whoever Green Valley was going to send, and though he hadn’t seen anyone yet Paul was certain he would soon.

Escaped mental patient, the idea might almost be funny to me if I didn’t know for certain, that I really do belong there.

Paul wondered how long it would be before he started seeing the types of things that had landed him in Green Valley Mental Hospital. His scheduled round of morning meds he was most certainly going to miss. Pretty soon, Paul knew he would be unable to distinguish reality from fantasy.

Making as little noise as possible and with as much grace as he could muster, Paul climbed out of the dumpster. The fresh morning air was a relief for his nostrils, though he could still smell the stale fried chicken in his aura. Paul hopped over the small concrete wall that separated the Then and Now thrift store and the cluster of buildings adjacent to its rear. One of the buildings had its rear door opened and Paul could see into the kitchen, of a coffee shop. Not only could he see but he could smell into the restaurant. He had not planned on eating till he was safely away, or at least as safe as he could be under present conditions. The smell of bacon frying overpowered any lingering odor that Paul smelled on his body and he was immediately aware of how hungry he was.

As Paul took in the sight of the coffee shop from the front side of the building he was struck by the notion that the place had no name. Where a marquee had once been there was a large rectangle of black paint, with white block letters on it. The letters spelled out, ‘Diner’ and nothing more. It was the kind of place that only locals go; anyone passing through town would hit the chain of fast food joints out by the highway. This meant that there would be mostly or only regulars here and that could be trouble. The power of hunger was too much though, and he entered the building despite his trepidation.

The one hundred seat establishment was about a quarter full, though most of the patrons weren’t in their seats. Groups of people from several tables were grouped together talking in solemn tones. There were also a few people by the window craning their necks to try to get a view of what was happening down the street.

They all just heard sirens and gunshots; of course they are going to wonder what had happened.

The diner was far from a dive, but it certainly needed to be renovated. The booths were made out of particle board with faux wood paneling that appeared to be several decades old. The padding on the seats and back rests were cracked in places with make shift tape jobs fixing the problem until more permanent solutions could be found. Despite the shortcomings it was clear that the proprietor of the place ran a tight ship. The place was clean and the dishes and flatware looked new.

From the coat rack next to the door hung various light jackets and a few heavier ones, it was fall now and there was a chill in the air during the early morning hours. Plastered against the wall at the foot of the coat rack was a dark blue windbreaker that looked as though it had been there for quite some time. Paul kneeled down and scooped up the jacket and threw it over his shoulders. The police would know what he was wearing and