Chapter 1: Have I Been Here Before?

It felt good to stretch his legs again after leaving A&W and the riotous celebration. His legs were starting to cramp up after the final game of the season. He had run the ball three times for touchdowns besides throwing for ten completions and three other scoring drives. ‘Too bad the UW scouts weren’t around for that performance,’ he grumbled to himself as he jogged through the foggy dusk. The fog rose from the Duwamish River that flowed quietly next to the road he ran on. He shuddered thinking about the recent grisly discovery of the bodies of several young women who were found nearby — victims of the ‘Green River Killer’ who was presumably still at large. He remembered the hysteria that gripped the region as recently as last Spring when everyone was convinced that a killer lived in their neighborhood. He zipped up his Letterman jacket and slowed his pace as he approached another bridge that crossed the infamous waterway. For a second, he regretted not taking advantage of the offer to drive him home but he remembered the stiffness in his thighs and calves and picked up his pace once more. He lived less than a mile from the restaurant and it was a simple flat road. He was a dedicated runner and typically jogged five miles on the weekends, whenever his parents weren’t tripping out about the latest body dump discovery.

At that moment he felt as if he were living his life to its fullest. He was breezing through his Junior Year with a 4.0 average. His curriculum was loaded with AP classes as well as Pre-Calculus, a senior course but one he was able to take on as part of the new district Pre-College Pathway (PCP) program. When he began 12^th grade next Fall, he would be commuting between his high school and the Green River Community College. Upon graduation, he would have his Associate in Science as well as his diploma. And with any luck his coach would get the UW scouts to review his tapes and score him an athletic scholarship to compliment the Academic ride he hoped to apply for next year. His Dad was always driving him to aim to apply himself more and push himself harder. He only offered encouraging remarks to his sister Veronica who got an academic full-ride to WSU in Pullman. Ronnie always seemed to shine in the eyes of their dad. But in Peter’s case, he was always slow to praise and quick to criticize. His mom was the stay-at-home sort who rarely made the effort to attend a game or practice. They lived well on his dad’s salary from Weyerhauser where he worked as an executive. Peter held a part-time job at The Old Cannery House furniture store in Sumner and hoped to work full-time during Summer Break to earn enough for a computer. He had his eye on the new Sharp 80486 with Windows 3.0.

His reflections were interrupted by the sound of a car racing up behind him. He felt and heard the vehicle approaching and saw his shadow stretch out before him from the bright glare of headlights. He had just left the bridge with its divided median that protected pedestrians — and jogged just inside the white line marking the left shoulder. He was initially unconcerned because he was running into traffic and felt no danger from cars on the opposite side of the road. Then he heard the bone-chilling screech of tires skidding on asphalt and turned back just in time to open his mouth in shock as the white van plowed into him head-on. His last thought before the devastating impact was the absolute certainty — that he had been here before.

When he was next aware of his surroundings, he could not understand what was happening or why he felt horrific pain throughout his entire body. The lights were so bright that they hurt his ... eye. He couldn’t see out of one eye for some reason. And the sounds — beeps, alarms, voices raised in apprehension, some shouting. He was lifted by several hands and then dumped roughly onto another surface, the lights got brighter and the shock made him cry out — or try to. He ended up gagging over something in his throat that prevented him from screaming. There was a terrible stabbing pain in his side. More voices yelled over him and he felt himself moving as if he were riding on a wagon or sled. The lights faded and he felt dizzy, nauseated, and racked with agonizing pain. More bright lights and different figures standing over him. His vision was blurry from tears but the voices seemed calmer. He was in an operating room and once more the sense of déjà vu crept into his befuddled mind.

‘How can I be reliving the same nightmare?’ he asked himself over and over as he lay in the hospital bed recovering from the multiple surgeries, they had to perform to save his life. Both of his femurs were repaired with metal frames protruding from his thighs. His right arm was similarly pinned and suspended by ropes from a frame. Metal rods also protruded from his hip and pelvis. A tight plastic collar encircled his neck to prevent him from moving his damaged cervical spine and his head was held firmly by a metal halo contraption that rested on his shoulders. The worst part was the chest tube, a hard piece of plastic tubing that they stuck between his ribs and into his chest to reinflate his lung and drain away the blood. He had a tension pneumothorax that would have certainly killed him before he even made it to the hospital — if the EMTs hadn’t stuck a needle into his side to relieve the pressure. Every part of him hurt even though they kept him heavily drugged. He couldn’t even pee by himself as there was a tube going into his penis to drain his urine.

Just a few days prior, he was in the ICU with his head lowered to help keep his blood pressure stable until they corrected all of the internal bleeding. Now he lay in bed with his head elevated 90 degrees. He couldn’t move anything but his left arm and even that was covered in a hard cast from his wrist to his elbow. The front half of his room was decorated with several hand-drawn posters, and there were tables covered with flowers, balloons, stuffed animals, and get-well cards from practically everyone in the city. He vaguely remembered a few visits from classmates and many adults he couldn’t recall ever meeting. His mom came and spent several hours with him each day for the first week but then her visits tapered off to once or twice a week. He saw his sister once and he was told that his father had stopped by twice while he was asleep.

When the lawyers started coming by, he began having more recollections of a previous ... dream. How could he know and anticipate what they were telling him and why they were vying for the chance to represent him in a lawsuit? His TV was never turned on but someone had brought in a portable CD player and FM radio and he remembered the news breaks so clearly that he could almost predict them and the songs that were playing in the background. Several attorneys left business cards with him on his bedside table but it was next to impossible to check them out without causing pain to lance through his hips, back, and chest.

During his second week of hospitalization, on a Wednesday he got an expected visit from his girlfriend, Brittney. She peeked nervously through his door and saw that he was awake. He met her eyes and already knew that she had moved on but wasn’t sure how to break it to him. He heard the whispered voices of several other girls that she had brought along as backup. They remained in the hallway as she reluctantly stepped into his room. This was another moment of clarity in which he recalled losing his shit on her and sending her fleeing in tears. He sighed regrettably this time, having no desire at all to relive the drama. He was resigned to the moment and it seemed almost inconsequential to him that it had to be replayed once more.

“Hi Peter,” she said softly as she moved closer to the side of his bed. He was able to open both of his eyes once more but the heavy brace around his skull restricted his vision to what was directly in front of him with limited periphery.

“Hi,” he replied with a harsh voice.

“You look terrible.”

He grunted and winced in pain. “I feel worse.”

“I’m really sorry, that this happened to you,” she murmured. “The entire school was in shock over the whole thing.”

“Look ... Brit,” he started.

“I can’t believe you survived! They said you died on the table...” she blurted.

“Brit...” he tried again and she stopped talking to face him.

“I know why you are here,” he said softly. “And I get it. I’m gonna be crippled for the rest of my life and that is not what you signed up for when we started going out.”

She began shaking her head and tried to object but he waved his left hand to stop her.

“It’s okay,” he stated firmly. He felt no sense of anger this time, only rational acceptance. He felt much older than the girl who stood beside him. “Look, if it helps, tell them that I broke it off, okay?” He met her eyes again and saw tears threatening to spill from them. “Tell them I am wallowing in self-pity and lashed out at you screaming and bawling and threw you out of my room.”

She didn’t reply. Instead, she just looked down at her feet and pursed her lips anxiously as she considered his words. Then she sniffed and reached over to touch his cheek, snatching her hand back quickly after the brief contact. Without another word, she just nodded and turned to leave. The door closed softly behind her.

After she was gone, he considered how different the encounter was from his odd recollection of another distant memory. It almost seemed as if he were watching an old movie about himself — but played by a much older actor. Sometimes he recalled the events clearly and other times he had no memory at all of them.

One unexpected event played out just a couple of hours after his ‘second’ breakup with Brittney. He was resting with his eyes closed, trying to anticipate what was going to happen when a familiar voice invaded his introspection.

“Hey, Shipley!” a young masculine voice called from his doorway. He opened his eyes to see his best friend Alan Shoemaker standing nervously in the doorway. “Are you still in a coma?” Alan was a year older than him but still a sophomore — even though he was easily as smart as every other junior in Peter’s grade. His Korean mother refused to let him skip a grade. He stood eye-to-eye with him at five foot, ten inches, but carried more weight around his mid-section. His stocky build, sharp mind, soft Asian features, and thick Coke bottle glasses all served to present him as a total geek.

“Hey Al,” he replied evenly. “Come in. I think I have a small break in my busy schedule to spare a few moments.” He pronounced it ‘Shed-jewel’ with a mock accent to lighten the mood.

Alan grinned and held the door open. “I didn’t come alone,” he said as he stepped aside to allow another friendly figure to enter. Kathy Parsons was another one of his ‘nerdy’ friends, except she was a Senior and probably (if barely) as smart as he was. She would be graduating this year at 17 as a Valedictorian. She was taller than either of them by an inch and had a wiry thin frame that was notably distorted by mild scoliosis and an inverted sternum from a genetic condition called pectus excavatum. She had Native American features and claimed to be from Puyallup Indian descent. While she was far from beautiful in the Teen Vogue sense, Peter thought she had exotic features that made her pretty to look at.

The two of them lifted his spirits as soon as they entered the room. At first, he thought it was because he craved companionship but then he realized that this visit deviated from his ‘expected outcomes’. It was unexpected and wholly unpredictable.

They both seemed hesitant as they came to stand on either side of his bed.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he told them somberly. “David Hasselhoff ain’t got nothing on the new Peter Shipley.” He tried not to wince as he chuckled at their disbelief at his ebullience.

They almost seemed relieved by his candor and Alan began shaking his head slowly from side to side.

“No, dude,” he said with mock severity. “You look more like a used-up crash-test dummy that got tossed in a dumpster and set on fire.”

Kathy gasped at his harsh analogy but Peter laughed hard enough to cause a painful groan.

“Oh God!” he gasped. “Don’t make me laugh anymore, please. That hurt.”

“Sorry!” his nerdy friend replied contritely. Then his eyes brightened. “Hey, I brought you the latest issue of MAC World and PC Mag.” He held up the magazines.

Peter gaped back at him through his black eyes. “Oh great! Thanks, man,” he snorted. “How do expect me to read a fucking magazine when I’m strung up like a puppet?”

Alan looked stricken by his words but he bristled when Kathy started giggling. “Maybe you can hold it and turn the pages for him, Shoe,” she quipped.

“Hardy-fucking-har,” he grumbled back, “Assholes.”

“Seriously though, thanks for the magazines,” Peter conceded. “I think I can manage to read them if I get my nurse to raise my knees a bit.”

“You’ll love this issue,” Alan replied eagerly. “It’s all about the 80486s and the new Pentium processor that they are about to release.”

Something shifted in Peter’s mind as he continued to struggle with the overlapping memories that plagued his present. His expression must have reflected his confusion because both of his friends asked him if he was okay at the same time.

“Huh?” He shook it off (figuratively). “Uh yeah, just have these ‘spells’ now and then,” he explained as he muddled through another distant memory of his mom and him meeting with a stern-faced lawyer at his bedside. Some German-sounding name.

“Hey, Kat?” he said looking her way. “Can you grab those business cards on the table beside you?”

She looked over and picked up four cards, looking each over curiously.

“Can you read off the names?” he asked.

“Let’s see,” she said. “Olsen, Bradley Attorney at Law,”

“Toss it. Next?”

“Swartz and Zegler...” That was the guy. He remembered how the well-dressed lawyer stood at his bedside and talked over him to his mom and how they agreed to the terms of his services.

“Toss it. Next?”

“Marconi, Zales & Kraft...”

“Toss it. What’s the last one?”

“Bales, Scott W.,” she mused as she held it up for him to read.

“That’s the one,” he said. “Can you do me another favor? Use that phone to call him and hold the receiver for me to talk to him?”

She seemed genuinely pleased to be able to help him as she took the phone and punched the numbers into it before holding it to her ear. Once it started ringing, she placed it as close to his face as she could.

“This is Scott,” a voice said near his ear. “How can I help you?”

“Hi Mr. Bales, this is Peter Shipley, the kid who got run over a couple of weeks ago,” he replied.

“Oh yes! Mr. Shipley. I’m happy to hear from you,” the lawyer replied excitedly. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m getting better every day. Hey, listen ... is there any way I could meet with you? Soon?” he asked.

“Why certainly, I can be there in less than an hour. Have you and your mother decided to go ahead with litigation then?” Peter could sense the eagerness in his voice.

“Yeah, um. Well, I was hoping to speak with you about that before we discuss it with her. I understand that I am a minor but I just want to talk about some stuff first. Is that okay?”

He could sense the sudden hesitation in the man’s voice. “Um. Well, I suppose I can try and answer any questions you may have. Of course, this will be purely a casual visit,” he stated.

“Great! Thanks so much. I’ll see you when you get here.”

“Sure thing. Bye” The line clicked and the call ended.

He nodded slightly and Kathy placed the receiver back on the table. “Thanks.”

“So, what was that about?” Alan asked.

“I just need to set the narrative for this whole lawsuit thing, so that I don’t end up getting screwed,” he replied. “And I can see now that I need a computer more than ever. Since I won’t be getting around on my feet anymore.” They had already removed his right leg about four inches below the knee. His left foot was kept bandaged but he saw the blackened toes whenever they changed the dressings and he knew it would be amputated before long.

There was awkward silence after his remark and he regretted making his friends uncomfortable. “Look guys, that was just gallows humor,” he assured them. “I really appreciate you coming by to visit. And thanks for the magazines too.” He yawned feigning exhaustion. “Can you guys come back soon? Like tomorrow?”

They took the hint and agreed quickly. They promised to return the following afternoon and left him to his thoughts. He considered the nagging memories of a different past and wondered if he could reshape events this time to offer him a more favorable outcome. It was certain that he had nothing to lose for trying.

“Look, Mr. Bales, I love my mom to death but I don’t think her head is in the right place at the moment with everything that is happening,” he said as the door closed behind the nurse who had come in to check him over and let him sip water from a straw.

Scott Bales, Attorney at Law, sat next to his bed in one of the ugly institutional orange seats they provided for visitors. He was 27 years old and had passed the State Bar less than 2 years previously. While he claimed independence he still worked under the partnership and guidance of his father who was cutting back his work time to travel more. Scott stood six feet, four inches tall, and sported an athletic build. His wild red hair seemed to defy any attempt to groom it and his clean-shaven face made him appear far younger than he was. Peter liked him from the moment they met.

He cleared his throat to dispel the awkward silence. “I am very sorry to hear about your dad abandoning you guys like that,” he offered as he sat straight. “I know Corcan Wise will serve your mom well during the divorce. We went to Law School together at Gonzaga.”

“My dad is an asshole,” he growled under his breath. “I hope she takes him for everything she can get. It’s not like he can’t afford it as an executive with Weyerhaeuser.” He felt his voice start to fail and Scott instinctively reached over to grab the water pitcher with the straw in it. Peter nodded appreciatively as he took another long sip. “Thank you,” he gasped after swallowing. “My mom used to work for our family dentist as a secretary and scheduler, but I don’t want her feeling like she has to go back to work over me, you know?”

The young attorney nodded. There was something about this injured young man that struck him as different. He wasn’t just lying there whining about his injuries and screaming for revenge. He seemed mature for his age and seemed more concerned for his mom’s welfare than his own.

“I’m sure she will get to keep the house and he will have to pay her some form of alimony so that she doesn’t have to worry about grocery money or electricity bills,” he continued. “And he will have to pay some amount of child support for me at least for the next three years.”

“Hmm, I’d be willing to bet that — with your disability, he will be providing monetary support well into your 20’s,” Scott replied.

“And that is pretty much what I was hoping to talk with you about in regards to the lawsuit,” Peter began. “My point is that we will be fine financially from the get-go, so I wanted to ask about how you would go after Johnson Controls for damages and liability. Do you think they will settle quickly out of court or try to fight it, and how will any award be payable to us?”

This was not the type of conversation he expected to be having with a fifteen-year-old. He wondered again at the calm and educated structure of the boy’s words. “Oh, I do not doubt that they will settle,” he replied confidently, “And very quickly. I’d be surprised if they weren’t pacing outside in the parking lot waiting for the opportunity to speak with you. This is all the more reason for you to retain an attorney quickly so that we can shelter you from all the nonsense they will promise and not deliver.”

“I will talk to Mom after this meeting,” he replied. “For now, you can consider yourself retained. You mentioned before that your fees would come out of the settlement, correct?”

Scott nodded as the impact of the statement sunk in. “Yes of course. It would be immoral and unethical to expect you and your mother to come up with retainer fees at a time like this.” He paused and leaned forward. “Peter ... may I call you Peter?” he asked receiving a nod. “I get the impression that you are far better versed in these proceedings than a typical young man of your age.”

“I hate to sound like I’m boasting but I am well ahead of my peers in education,” the boy replied trying to sound more like a teenager. “I am already a junior in high school and my entire curriculum is ... was AP studies.”

The attorney considered this. He was impressed with his (soon-to-be) client’s intellect but still felt that there was more to the lad than met the eye. “So, tell me what you hope or expect to come out of all this,” he prompted.

Peter thought about his next words carefully, knowing they would likely decide the entire outcome of the litigation. “Knowing that we will be okay for now, I am thinking about my future.” He hesitated for emphasis, “Or rather ‘our’ future, because — one day I expect to be taking care of my mom instead of the other way around.”

‘Good answer,’ the attorney thought growing more impressed with his client by the minute. “Go on.”

“Okay, now speaking hypothetically — we go in asking for some great gob of money,” he said lifting his hand and pointing to the water pitcher. The lawyer stood and helped him to take another drink. “I don’t know how much you will make for your part but assume we wind up winning a sizeable chunk of money — say $750,000 or so.”

Scott found himself doing some instant calculations in his head, considering the initial demands, negotiations, fees, court costs, taxes ... He quietly applauded the young man for his astuteness, nodding for him to continue.

“Since we don’t have to worry about the basics, I can think of just a few immediate concerns that will have to be addressed during our negotiations,” He grimaced as he tried to shift to a less uncomfortable position. “I won’t be able to walk, so there are a couple of things right off the bat that need to be done. I won’t be able to climb the stairs to my old room so our living room will need to be retrofitted for my handicap.”

This took the young attorney by surprise and he pulled a legal pad from his briefcase to begin taking notes.

“Our house will need to be made wheelchair accessible with ramps and countertops that I can reach to provide for myself. I can’t think of everything off the top of my head but things like cooking food, taking a bath or shower, etcetera — these are all things that Johnson Controls should have to provide.” He waited while the attorney wrote down his thoughts.

“You know, Peter,” he said looking up from his pad. “Your mom is going to have to convey you to and from your appointments and such. She will need a car or van that can accommodate a wheelchair.”

He could see the excited gleam in the young man’s eyes as he realized the truth of that.

More than ever, Peter was glad that he chose this man to be their attorney. They spoke for over an hour as they discussed his immediate future and goals.

“I was hoping to attend UW on a Football scholarship but that is dust in the wind now,” he added without a trace of regret or self-pity. “I am still hoping to attend college though and for that, I will need a computer — a good one.” He gestured with his hand at the magazine lying open on the bedside table. “I dog-eared the page that has a model I’d kill for.”

Scott stood and reached for the PC Mag, thumbing through it. The Toshiba 80486 with the thin profile LCD monitor was a beauty. He nodded agreeably and made another note on his tablet. He glanced at the MAC World beneath it. “Are you into programming?”

“Yeah. Alan, Kat, and I have a dream of creating and selling PC games one day,” he replied. “You will meet them sooner or later; we are pretty tight. We have already been working on a program written in C.”

“That’s pretty impressive. You are really into computers then.”

“Oh yeah. I think they are going to propel us into the new millennium and I intend to ride that rocket into the stratosphere!” He coughed painfully but declined the offer for more water. “Which sort of brings up another topic I was hoping to get your advice on.”

The young attorney had just put his notepad back into his briefcase and sat up. “Oh? What is that?”

“Instead of just getting a big old chunk of money that is going to sit in a bank account earning crappy interest — I was hoping to invest a part of it, a good-sized part.”

He had been preparing to leave but now his interest was piqued and he settled back into the hard seat. “What have you got in mind?”

“I want to buy stock in some of these companies that are starting to make breakthroughs in technology and computing. I need to set up an online brokerage account but I need an adult to sign off on it for me. Once it is established and funded, I can manage it on my own. But for now, I need someone like you to help me set it up.”

“You are talking about a limited power of attorney then,” Scott replied.

“Exactly, I know you are gonna ask, so let me just say that my mom is the last person I can ask ... well, next to my fucking father.”

“Why is that?” he asked curiously. He already knew he would agree to it because he sensed something progressive about the young man that he very much wanted to watch over.

“Mom is clueless about this sort of thing and what I want to do, goes against just about everything she knows or stands for. The church we attend is ... still in the dark ages and when it comes to forward thinking and independence...,” he left his thought unfinished but the lawyer knew exactly where he was coming from.

“Okay, so we set up an account with someone like Charles Schwab, Fidelity, or Edward Jones — that’s who my father uses...”

“I was thinking about E-Trade,” Peter interrupted. “They are an online broker and their commissions are way cheaper.”

Scott frowned at him. “You’re not planning on being free and loose with the whole day trading thing, are you?”

“God no!” Peter replied. ‘Not yet anyways,’ he thought to himself. “I plan on buying the heck out of companies like Microsoft, IBM, Intel, Apple, AMD, and that new database company Oracle.”

“Microsoft, eh? You know my dad knows Paul Allen,” Scott mused. ‘This kid has a head on his shoulders.’

“Can you get me his autograph?” Peter replied wistfully.

“Mom. Those parasites are not looking out for anyone but themselves. You can’t let them talk to you without a lawyer present!” Peter almost yelled at his mom later that afternoon.

“Honey, relax,” she replied sounding cross over his tone. “First of all, I am an adult and am capable of talking to anyone I like. Second, I didn’t agree to anything. And third, you need to stop worrying about this and let the grown-ups deal with it. You have to focus on healing your body and getting better,” she held his water pitcher tightly in her hands and kept trying to get him to drink.

“Mom, stop!” he snapped angrily, regretting it immediately. He sighed. “I’m sorry, I’m not thirsty right now. And I know you are trying to do the best you can with the cards that we have been dealt. I love you and appreciate everything you are doing.” He took a deep breath as she hesitantly put the pitcher back on the table. “Look, I just want to be a part of this, okay? I may just be a kid but I am pretty smart. You always brag about that to the ladies at church, don’t you?”

Janet Shipley was 43 years old and carried herself like she was channeling June Cleaver and Florence Henderson. She sniffed. “Boasting is a sin, rooted in pride.”

He smiled as she calmed herself. “So is gambling but you still play Bingo every Saturday evening,” he snorted, then smiled, “It’s not a sin to be proud of your genius son,” he added, grinning as she rolled her eyes. She took his hand and he squeezed it.

“You know what those nice men offered?” she asked excitedly. “They want to pay for all of your college education! Isn’t that wonderful, dear?”

He sighed. “Of course, they did, Mom. And they should,” he muttered. “Did they mention how I’m going to get there and back? Did they offer to help with prosthetic legs when the time comes? Are they willing to pay for my time in the hospital that isn’t covered by Dad’s insurance?” He knew he had already gone entirely over her head with his questions and he could see by the haunted look in her eyes that he had hit upon the very fears that were keeping her awake at night. He squeezed her hand once more.

“Look, Mom. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this stuff. I know that you have too — but you are being crushed by everything else that is going on. So, I want you to just take a moment and listen to me, okay? As an adult. Can you do that?”

She regarded her son lying in his bed with all of the hardware, wires, tubes, and monitors—trying to see the handsome young man he once was. Tears sprang to her eyes as she held his hand and nodded. “I’m listening baby.”