The quiet after a storm is something that only comes for those making it though. Particularly violent storms may have high causality rates.  For those completely unaware of the weather forecast, what may seem like imminent relief may only be the eye of a hurricane. I can only imagine how much more unsettling harsh storms were before we had weather reporters. Before then, people were forced to be attentive to the subtleties of weather prediction out of necessity. Do we ever hear anyone talking about the pressure falling besides the weather man on TV nowadays? Do people even know what that means? What would we do if our easy access to weather information was suddenly torn away?

Emm and I were curled up with our pillows on the hard police station floor, feeling as though we had just weathered a storm. Looming like storm clouds in the distance was the realization that until Joe was behind bars, we very well may be in the eye of a hurricane. The thought was unsettling, but our desperate need for sleep tucked that ill thought away for the moment.

Sometime between 8:00am and 9:00am, I don’t really know because I stopped caring about the time, an officer came in to talk to Emm. After going over the nonsensical frantic texts from Joe –one particularly funny one was “Asshold” (Emm and I giggled trying to visualize what such a word would really mean)—the officer informed us unmarked police were in the area, and Joe’s car was still parked. He suggested we go get some sleep, and felt my cabin would be plenty safe.

Emm and I were barely conscious when he had walked in the room. As he began talking, I reached into the styrofoam left over box to retrieve one of the two remaining slices of pizza. Of the few items we carried with us, the pizza seemed like one of the more important ones. I didn’t particularly care I was half asleep, looked a mess, and was gobbling cold mushy pizza in front of this man. Any of these concerns just seems trivial at this point. Emm glanced over, and quickly decided to join my efforts to finish off the dinner we started around 10 hours ago. As I was eating the last few bites of my slice, I couldn’t help but wonder if Emm had grabbed the last piece because she was truly hungry, or was afraid I would have eaten it too if she didn’t act quickly. Either way, I had every intention to eat the last slice, and was somewhat relieved when Emm grabbed it.

We gathered our bags, pillows, and haggard bodies then stumbled toward the car to our awaiting pups. All they knew was they were on a car ride, and they like car rides. At times their excitement had to be controlled, but their lack of sleep worked in our favor.  I don’t remember much about the way home. Emm was driving. I do remember warning her, after we turned off from the main highway onto the back roads, that the idiot drivers on this road don’t think people go home at this time of morning, and tend to hog the road. Not a minute after I informed Emm, she said I was correct as she trepidly passed a sloppy driver on their way to work.

Even though we knew Joe was (almost certainly) stuck in town, we were still watchful as we pulled up to the cabin. After we locked the cabin up tight as a drum, we attempted to get some real sleep. Emm’s phone was still ringing with calls from Joe, but every now and then it would be the police station on the on other end.  My once very curious to know what the police were saying self became very complacent, and I told Emm to wake me if they caught Joe. Sleep would be mine.

But sleep did not come easy. I was in and out, tossing and turning, waiting for Emm to alert me that someone was banging on the door. Much to my relief, sometime around Noon, Emm shook me awake and told me they had caught Joe and he was in jail. Apparently he became so desperate for his car that he risked going back for it; the plain clothes officers made a quick arrest. And just like that, it was over. I mumbled some words of relief (Emm probably had no idea what I said), and made a quick call to QB before I turned over and slept very solidly for another 3 hours.

When I woke, Emm was talking to the police station, giving them more details and whatnot. I only half paid attention to her conversation. I was drained. The storm had passed, and we all were present and accounted for. Wow, what a ride.

As I had done just 24 hours prior, I made my morning shake. I also made one for Emm. She loved it. We tried to keep the conversation focused on the future rather than either the previous night or possible endings in parallel worlds. Wrapping up breakfast, we decided it was time to return Voo to his own home with his own bed and his own toys. Emm was still processing this sudden life change. I secretly wonder if she doubts any of the decisions she made.

I decide to follow her back to her apartment, back to the scene of the crime(s). We left the cabin in separate cars, which would normally be normal, but after spending the past 24 hours in close proximately, it just felt a little weird. With another large sigh of relief (I couldn’t seem to get enough of these), I turned on the radio as we pulled out of the driveway.

Do you know how songs mark places in time, taking you back to certain moments in your life? Some songs take me to one specific memory as if they are acting as tabs in a large filing cabinet. Others have a few different moments that compete for my full attention. The song, “Smooth Criminal”, by Alien Ant Farm not Michael Jackson, first takes me back to the month before I left Mississippi to move to Virginia. QB and I ran our own computer service shop, and I was there after hours trying to find songs to listen to on the long drive up. I instantly loved the style and sound of that song, it was a great driving song. Hearing it takes be back to that uncertain but promising exiting time in my life. Now I also have a different, scarier memory associated with that song.

As I was following Emm and the beginning lyrics reached my ears, reverberating throughout my being, every single hair on my arms instantly rose. A cold chill ran down my spine, and I shivered despite the hotness of the car not yet cooled by the air conditioner. It was a warm day for Virginia, but it still had nothing on Mississippi.

24hrs ago our “adventure” started. My mind was still whirling, plucking out random powerful details from the night before, focusing only for a moment before moving to a different yet similar thought. The song came to an end, and I was grateful no blood was shed in our situation. The crazy and unexpected events ended up having only lasting mental ramifications. Those are easier to fix than say, being dead.  Even ALCOR can’t save you if a criminal hides your body in the woods for animals and worms to eat.

No, think happy thoughts. Think happy thoughts now. My mind turns to the story, and I become slightly removed from the situation as I hide behind the position of story teller. Healing has begun.

Annie, are you OK
Will you tell us that you’re OK
There’s a sign at the window
That he struck you
A crescendo, Annie
He came into your apartment
He left the bloodstains on the carpet
Then you ran into the bedroom
You were struck down
It was your doom

Annie, are you OK
You OK
Are you OK, Annie
Annie, are you OK
You OK
Are you OK, Annie
Annie, are you OK
You OK
Are you OK, Annie
You’ve been hit by
You’ve been struck by
A smooth criminal

~Alien Ant Farm