Megamorphosis

By Donald G. Brooks

How did I become who I am?

Many have asked this, probing the vast expanse of the mind.

Barry, a streetwise criminal from Columbus, Ohio, never asked. At age twenty, he knew who he was and how to get what he wanted. It was like that until he was on the business end of Eds .357 revolver. Ed knew who he was and had what he wanted, until he found himself stripped of everything important. Shirley struggled as a single mom of two teens, following the loss of her husband eight years ago. She longed for companionship once more.

Ed and Shirley understood the loss of family. Barry never had one. The three were strangers but share a common bondthey had been robbed of the affections of a complete family. Individually, Ed, Shirley, or Barry could not envision a pathway to overcome their misfortune. Collectively, they possessed ample skills to move their lives in a wholly new, exhilarating direction.

When Ed makes a questionable moral choice that will profoundly affect Barrys life, Shirley acquiesces. It ultimately affects the future of all three. An unlikely trio at the beginning, they initiated a daring adventure.

The mind is magical. It can change people. Utopia can become reality, but only if they permit it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Mar 20, 2018
• ISBN: 9781546228844

Donald G. Brooks

Don Brooks began publishing his writings late in life. His first novel, Once More from the Beginning, was published in 2012. This family autobiography reveals their struggles, dysfunctions, persistence, and their survival. Don and Pat Brooks, lifelong residents of Warrick County, Indiana, have been married for 52 years. They have two children, Brent and Rebecca, and six grandchildren. From an early age Don wrote short stories and poems. As a 14-year-old freshman he produced and directed a class play. He credits his Aunt Anice as his inspiration. As children he and his eight siblings would sit spellbound on the back porch of their rural home as she spun stirring stories long into the night. “Would that I could return to that time, creating from my feelings the stories that my heart was so full of,” he comments. Don has written two novels and four short stories since retirement. His genre is Family and History. Every family has a story. It matters little its shape, size or color. It’s theirs and deserves to be shared. Don has proven it true.

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© 2018 Donald G. Brooks. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 03/16/2018

ISBN: 978-1-5462-2871-4 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-2872-1 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-5462-2884-4 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2018901890

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Table of Contents

Dedication

Prologue

1     Used Up, But Still Breathing

2     Searching for Normal

3     Getting Away

4     Developing a Strategy

5     Looking at Oregon

6     The Great Escape

7     New Man – New Life

8     Returning to Normal

9     Ghosts

10   Vanishing Point

Dedication

I dedicate this work to my amazing family, Pat my wife of 54 years, who overlooks my limitations and applauds my successes, Rebecca my daughter, who in addition to being our princess, designs, edits and proofs my work. Last and equally significant, Brent my son who inspires me to be the best I can be.

Prologue

Somewhere between the last faint shadows of dusk and the first pale orange of dawn, magic happens. It is connected, yet for us it is completely new. Of such is the human brain. Its tabula rasa state is the mind of all mankind.

At birth, other than being tissue, the mind is without form and void of information. It immediately begins writing feelings, emotions, and values to its hard-wired memory. The data is shaped and reshaped by stimuli. What it hears and sees it adopts and repeats. Incoming data, contrary or in opposition, is accepted or rejected depending upon one’s predisposition. Circuits and values first established will not be easily changed. Replacement data is judged suspiciously when compared to first-learned beliefs.

The continual flow of information to a child is provided by his caregivers, some of whom are neither caring parents nor caregivers. When selfish or emotionally-damaged people tend a child, they produce another generation of depravity.

All creation reproduces after its kind. This story is about people who attempted to stop that cycle. Through it they found purpose and meaning.

Chapter One

Used Up, But Still Breathing

E dward Brighton was a retired neurosurgeon. The Ohio Health Riverside Hospital had let him go at age 64. That was two years ago. More accurately he was forced out. He lived alone in his home in Urbana, Ohio, 20 miles from the hospital. Evelyn, his wife of 36 years, had died three years ago of liver cancer. They had no children but their son, Wesley.

This evening was quiet. Ed stayed up longer than usual in hopes he would sleep better when he eventually went to bed. The boredom and emptiness of his existence wore on him. The hospital had been his life, and with no other involvement, he struggled to find anything meaningful. He had reached the place where he didn’t want to be with people, which was what he needed most. He wouldn’t have admitted it, but he suffered from depression.

At a quarter till two in the morning Ed awoke. He lay there unable to sleep; events from the past four years raced through his mind along with unanswerable questions. His wife’s side of the bed was empty, and it still plagued him. His son whom he had worshipped was gone.

Even though he wanted to continue at Ohio Health Riverside, the board had insisted he leave the group and enjoy life. He had earned it, they told him. He had never felt so alone and worthless.

In an effort to return to sleep, he rolled over repositioning himself in the huge bed. Sleep wouldn’t come.

He was about to get up when he heard downstairs a crack or a pop. He couldn’t decide which. He tried to imagine what it might have been. Nothing made sense. Unable to sleep, he determined to go down and look around. Then he heard a bump that sounded like something striking a piece of furniture or colliding with a wall. At that he sat straight up in bed. Someone was down there.

The evening before he had left his safe in the bottom drawer of the desk unlocked. The safe held $27,000 in cash as well as a few pieces of Evelyn’s jewelry. That added to his deepening concern.

Adrenalin surged. Wide awake, barefoot, and in his pajamas he quietly stepped to the dresser across the darkened room. Reaching into the top drawer and feeling around his hand found the barrel of his gun. Gripping its handle in his right hand, he carefully and silently moved out his door and down the hall. More muffled sounds were coming up the stairs. The stairs of his older home had a history of squeaky treads which worried him. To prevent the noise, he stayed to the far left of each tread, hoping to avoid discovery.

It worked. Within two minutes he stood at the door of his library watching a shadowy figure rummaging through his desk.

A man with an LED penlight, emitting a bluish color, methodically searched through each drawer. Following one more drawer, the man would find the unlocked safe.

Ed continued, closing the distance between the doorframe and the intruder. He pulled the hammer back on his Smith & Wesson .357. The sound was so piercing it startled him as well as the intruder.

Tensions peaked; the man turned to Ed, shining the intense light into his eyes. The moment of decision was now. Ed, not able to see clearly, held off firing hoping this moment wouldn’t come. For fear he could wait no longer, he began to squeeze the trigger.

The ensuing shot’s resonance was like a bomb in the otherwise silent house. The flash of the muzzle was bright, enough so that he saw the assailant’s face for a millisecond. Once more darkness swallowed the room, followed by the crash of an overturning chair as the intruder tumbled to the floor. Out of the shadows came the sound of soft moaning and an occasional childlike whimper.

Ed struggled to adjust to the frightening reality of what he had just done. He had no idea if the man was armed. Still blinded by the flash, he reached back toward the wall searching for the switch to the ceiling light. With his gun re-cocked and pointed into the darkness, he turned on the light.

At first he didn’t see the man who had fallen to the floor just beyond the desk. Six feet or so to the right rested a small handgun.

Convinced the burglar was disarmed, he quickly stepped forward. He laid his own gun on the desk, far enough away that it was out of reach.

He could see clearly now. It was a young man. He was folded up on his right side, writhing in pain. He looked seriously injured from the gunshot. A tremendous amount of blood oozed onto the carpet from between the man’s fingers.

Ed was overcome with terror. He had been badly startled by this stranger, but even more startled by what he had just done.

Trembling, Ed bent over the man. His facial features surprised Ed. They were similar enough he could have passed for a twin of his deceased son, Wesley, right down to the Romanesque nose. His hair as well was the same in length and black and shiny as anthracite coal. Around his neck he wore a heavy chain connected to a gold medallion about the size of a half dollar. Ed imagined him to be a street gang member from the tattered, ill-fitting clothing he wore.

Ed stood, finding himself growing faint. He reached for the corner of the cherry desk to stabilize himself. Following several seconds, he emerged from his stupor and realized he must call for an ambulance and get this man to the hospital.

Picking up the intruder’s gun, he placed it on the desk near his own. Reaching for the phone he dialed 911.

911, what is your emergency? a woman’s voice asked.

He seemed not to know how to begin.

Stuttering for a moment he replied, "A man’s been shot at 713 Bon Air Drive. We need an ambulance.

Are you in Urbana? she questioned.

Yes, that’s right, Ed answered.

After a pause the voice continued, An ambulance has been dispatched. Can you provide me any additional details such as the victim’s condition?

Give me a moment, Ed replied. He knelt to examine the man’s wound and condition. Pulse is 160. Breathing is rapid. In more detail he added, The bullet entered the right abdomen, likely damaging the kidney or liver, and perhaps the right renal artery.

Without moving him, I can’t be sure, but I believe it exited the back. Bleeding is profuse, but I’ve staunched it somewhat. His pulse is far too high. He is semi-conscious and likely to go into shock.

The ambulance left about two minutes ago from Springfield, sir. It should arrive within five minutes. Can you stay on the line with me and explain what happened?

By that time the Urbana police were responding. Their shrill sirens could be heard off in the quiet night air. It sounded like two or more cars.

Yes, replied Ed. I heard a noise downstairs. Taking my gun, I went down to find the man with a penlight rummaging through my desk. He turned toward me. I couldn’t see because of his light and in panic I fired once. There may be more I can recall later, but I believe that covers the basics of what you wanted, isn’t it?

Yes, sir, that’s helpful. I believe I hear sirens in the background. Am I correct? she asked.

Yes, that’s right, he replied.

Sir, will you stay on the line and ask an officer to speak with me when possible?

Yes, he agreed and set the receiver on the desk next to the guns.

Once more he knelt to check the man’s condition. The face was losing color. He was unconscious now, definitely in shock.

Ed rose when he heard the police at the door. Quickly he moved to unlock it. The police made their way inside, and Ed directed them to the victim. One officer began to examine him as Ed spoke to the other.

The 911 operator is on the phone wanting to speak with one of you, Ed told them as he pointed to the phone.

Ed took a seat as EMT’s entered. He was shaken beyond words and felt he couldn’t stand any longer. He found himself, eyes fixed, staring at the man now on a stretcher being carried from his house.

When the EMT’s were gone, the two policemen remained, questioning Ed for more than 30 minutes. To Ed it seemed he recounted the story repeatedly before they were satisfied.

One patrolman noting Ed’s dazed condition asked, Dr. Brighton, are you going to be okay?

Ed nodded yes as he lay back into the couch.

We’d like to look through the house and take pictures. Then we’ll be on our way. We need to take your gun with us as well. You can pick it up in three to four days.

Ed didn’t even respond. His eyes were fixed on the blood-soaked carpet. It was 3:30 a.m.

Eight months earlier Ed’s son, Wesley Brighton, age 22, had died following a motorcycle accident. He had lain hospitalized, clinging to life for three months. This event stirred feelings of that awful scene once more.

Exhausted, he returned to his bedroom, took four one-milligram tablets of estazolam, and lay across the bed.

The next day he awoke at 12:30 p.m. It seemed a horrendous dream. The biting reality of it still stung. Moving around that afternoon he was wiped out and unable to think clearly. When he entered the library, the sight of the blood-soaked carpet removed all doubt. He hastily called the carpet store where Evelyn had purchased their carpet. He asked them please to come and replace it as quickly as they could. He wouldn’t return to the library until that was taken care of.

Late that afternoon he struggled with whether or not to phone the hospital. Following two hours of inner turmoil, he relented and called