Brad couldn't go back to Las Vegas-- there was no way
he could face Melanie after the way he had acted. He
finally made it back to Los Angeles a few days later a
broken man. He'd uncovered what was undeniably the most far
reaching military conspiracy in history, and he couldn't
publish the story. What could have been a Pulitzer Prize,
was now nothing more than a haunting memory. It was the
greatest newspaper story of the century, and Brad couldn't
write it.
It turns out, the anguish kept him from writing
anything. Of course, he tried to return to the Herald, but
security threw him into the street. He held a job writing
erotic letters for a porno magazine for a few weeks, but
even they fired him because every dime he earned went
straight to the liquor store. Brad would have been better
off dead. Dandridge knew it.
Yet, telling me his story, seemed to help Brad. It was
as if a tremendous burden had been lifted from his soul.
The three days I was with him were rough-- we went through
the dry heaves, shakes, alcohol withdrawal-- but he made it.
I knew that if I could get him back in the saddle, get his
mind on writing and off booze, he'd be okay.
As it turns out, I had stopped in Wyoming on my way to
Los Angeles for a job interview with a small town newspaper.
I called the editor to ask if he'd made his selection, and
he told me he'd narrowed it down to two other guys and
myself. He agreed to meet with Brad the following day, and
offered him the job on the spot. As he was unemployed, had
lost his car and apartment, and had already hocked
everything he owned, he told the man he'd start immediately.
It was okay, though, because I didn't 4really5 want the job
anyway.
Out of curiosity, I went to the Los Angeles public
library and inquired about Don Ralston. They told me that
he broke his leg one weekend and never returned to work.
When I asked if they knew where I could reach him, they said
they thought he'd reenlisted in the Air Force. A friend of
mine in Army Intelligence looked up his name in the
computer. He said he was stationed at Alamogordo, and
suggested I inquire no further-- national security and all.
Brad's doing rather well at his new job, in fact the
newspaper has expanded to serve four counties now. The
editor lays the credit square on Brad's shoulders. He told
me that Brad has brought a style and flare to the state of
Wyoming unlike any he'd ever seen and he wondered what he'd
done to deserve such a gifted journalist.
By the way, I visited him about two months ago when he
married one of the most beautiful women I've ever laid eyes
on. She works in the marketing department of a local
electronics manufacturer. I talked to her boss at the
reception; he said the girl was incredible. Not only did
she have a Master's from UNLV, but she was able to predict
market trends and customer's needs almost as if she were
psychic. I just hope the IRS doesn't ask Brad where he got
the nine thousand dollars he used to pay for their wedding
and honeymoon. I'm sure Brad and Melanie will be very happy
together.
Brad's been doing some research into the mysterious
cattle mutilations that have plagued the west these past few
years. I wish him the best of luck. Of course, he never
published his story about the alien, just as he'd promised.
But then, he never promised that I wouldn't publish it.
|
Go to Story Index |
Email Douglas Bunger | Go to Home Page |
Go to Next Chapter |