Chapter 1: Meet the Marlows

The commotion originating from outside of the office was more than normal chatter. When he heard his secretary scream, he knew his first impression was the correct one. As he stepped out of his office, he could see the looks of shock and horror emanating from the employees being lined up against the opposing wall, staring back at the intruder standing beside the secretary's desk. That's where Jack Harrington, disgruntled former employee, was wielding a shotgun, menacing it back and forth from one employee to another.

He couldn't make out what Harrington was yelling, but it was obvious the man was extremely agitated, which helped, in part, explain the presence of the shotgun. Harrington was focusing on the staff on the other side of the room, which gave him an advantage. He was able to take advantage of Harrington's blind side to get within a few feet, poised just beyond the secretary's desk. The advantage was his until it wasn't – until a secretary averted her eyes and alerted Harrington to his presence. Harrington brought the shotgun around quickly and aimed for his chest, pulling the trigger just before he was able to complete his attack. The shotgun blast threw him back against the desk before slumping to the side on the floor. Blood was pouring from his chest. When he looked up again, he was looking directly into the barrels of the shotgun. Just before Harrington pulled the trigger again...

... I woke up.

My bedside alarm clock indicated it was just after four in the morning. I rolled over onto my back, sweat beading on my forehead, my breathing accelerated.

I wasn't there when my father, Mark Marlow, was killed. In fact, I really had no idea how close my dreams were to the reality of my father's death. What I did know was gathered from the police reports and testimony by witnesses during the murder trial, which was more than enough to feed my rather fertile imagination. I had been five years old at the time, and really didn't understand a lot of the trial, but Jack Harrington's face would not be a face I would ever forget. Harrington was a soulless killer. Putting it simply, his face portrayed no amount of remorse, regret or any real human emotion during the entire trial. Harrington had been put away for life, but his image had ruled my dreams for years.

I slumped back into my pillow, trying to calm my mind. What day is this? Saturday morning. Anywhere I have to be? Early? Other than some basic lawn maintenance and some household chores, I didn't really have any commitments. With a part-time housekeeper, the chores really didn't amount to more than making my bed and picking up my room anyhow. And while Maria did a great job maintaining the house, my mother refused to hire anyone to take care of anything outside. Lawn, pool and car maintenance were all mine, although she did have a pool cleaner drop by once a week and a landscaper once a month.

I glanced over at the clock again – seven minutes past four. Adrenaline still pumping, it was an easy decision not to go back to sleep. "I'll bet none of my friends have trouble sleeping in", I was thinking as I tossed on a t-shirt, running shorts and socks before grabbing my running shoes and heading downstairs and through the kitchen towards the door to the garage.

I had three different routes mapped out covering two, five and seven miles. Before stepping outside, I left a note on the table for my mom and Maria, indicating which route I had planned to take, in the event they happened to notice I was not there when they woke up. I grabbed the pepper spray from the workbench in the garage before heading out for the seven-mile route.

The half-way marker would occur just past the center of Middlefork Reservoir Dam, near Richmond, Indiana, where we Marlows – my mother Sharon and I (my name is Phil) live. I could spend a few minutes there awaiting sunrise, and meditate a bit before heading back to the house. Although the running was somewhat boring and repetitive, it did make me feel good physically and helped me focus. The rhythmic steps drew me into a semi-meditative state that helped calm my mind. The running and the meditation were just a couple of tools that my ... friend? ... trainer? ... therapist? ... had taught me the past three years after the two 'incidents'. Although thinking about the incidents didn't make me happy, knowing that I now had tools to help cope for the rest of my life, did.

Sixteen minutes later, I had arrived at the dam. A small pier pierced the reservoir to the west of the dam. At this time of day, the area was deserted. I sat near the end of the pier, dropping into my mediation posture, Indian-style, palms up and resting on my knees. Meditation is not something I had yet mastered, as I still found it took several minutes to clear my mind. Thoughts of my dad; the dream I had; the fight when he was eight; my being banned from organized baseball when I was twelve; meeting Ken, my martial arts master; learning about meditation; girls; turning sixteen soon. Calming my mind was like trying to herd cats!

And then they faded into the background. I had been focusing on the color of the lake as my other thoughts drifted away. I didn't know how long I had been in this state before noticing how the hue of the lake was changing as the first rays of sunlight began streaming through the tree line in the distance. Within a few seconds, I began to feel the pier vibrating with movement. Someone was joining me. Without turning, I knew who was approaching.

"It's been awhile since you've been up this early, hasn't it?"

I released a lengthy sigh and turned to face my mother.

"Yeah. Been awhile."

"Bad dream again, or something else?"

"Dream, mostly," I said and turned back towards the lake. "I'm having a hard time quieting my mind."

Mom sat down beside me and put her arm around me while resting her head on my shoulder. She was also dressed in running shorts and a workout shirt.

"Anything you want to share?"

I paused to take in the moment. This was my mother. She had raised me by herself, sacrificing everything since my father, her husband, had died. All of her energies over the past ten years had been focused on raising and providing for me, her son. Going back to school to get a good job, raising me, along with grandma and grandpa in a house full of love; surviving the tough times I had brought to her as I fought through seemingly uncontrollable anger and then helping me discover an outlet through martial arts and meditation. She was a rock for me and easily my best friend. She had established early that no subject would be left on the table; no discussion was off-limits, which was something I had tested early and often while attempting to push the boundaries.

Now that I was getting closer to becoming a man, I started working to payback some of what my mother had given me. Our conversations had been almost exclusively about me and my needs as I had grown. Now I was able draw her out more, bit by bit; what her needs and desires were; dreams and aspirations. She had promised early that their conversations would be open and honest. The last test really was not for me, but for her. How much was she willing to share of herself to her only child? She was certainly my best friend. I felt like I was transitioning into that role for her as well. We needed each other and our relationship was growing as I developed the maturity to allow it to do so.

Chapter 2 »