Digger - The Doctor Will See You Now by Clifford Beck - HTML preview

Chapter 13

Two weeks after his dismissal, Ryan arrived at his childhood home, visiting his mother. The ghosts of memory still drifted from room to room but oddly, Ryan managed to ignore them. While his mother was glad to see him, she knew why he never visited and his unannounced visit immediately prompted her concern. He asked her to sit and choosing his words carefully, informed his mother that he was taking a break from college due to the pressure of the workload. Upon hearing this, his mother knew there was a problem and likely had little to do with the workload. She also knew that he would never be willing to move back into the house. But as a mother, she felt it was necessary to make the offer anyway, and as expected, he refused. Upon further discussion, Ryan also informed her of his intention to move. He just wasn’t sure where he would be going. However, he promised that when he found a place, he would let her know.

There were, of course, a few key details he left out. But he felt that half a truth was better than a complete lie. “Well, at least you have the money,” she said. That was true. With almost half a million dollars, he could do whatever he wanted, go wherever he wanted. But one thing that money can never buy is purpose. One need only look past the dollar signs in order to find it.

Ryan left after about half an hour and returned to his apartment. In spite of not knowing where he would end up, Ryan began packing. He had spent months living the life of a monk -- disciplined and ordered. Now, his life was anything but that. He began searching the Portland press classifieds for a quiet, out-of-the-way apartment, somewhere far from any college campus. Preferably, some place outside the city — away from people. But he could find nothing. It wasn’t a matter of money. Ryan just wanted to be left alone, even if it meant living off the grid for a while. He didn’t want to waste his time moving, only to find himself surrounded by people. No matter how few.

Without the obligation of studying, Ryan spent a great deal of time walking through the cemetery -- day or night, rain or shine. He craved the solitude, but it was too close to the college. He knew there were other cemeteries in the Portland area, and Ryan went to great lengths to find all of them. Of particular interest was the Eastern cemetery near Congress and Washington Avenue. Upon arriving, he discovered the gate was secured by a lock and chain. A passerby asked him if he was trying to get in, and he reacted as a child caught with his hand in a cookie jar. “Um, yeah,” he answered.

The stranger informed him that he needed to go back across the street and into an old bookstore. The clerk would give him the key to the gate.

Having returned with the key, Ryan freed the lock and chain from the steel bars of the cemetery gate. Its hinges creaked loudly as he opened its left side, and as Ryan walked in, he felt himself slip back in time. Immediately, he noticed that the designs on these gravestones were vastly different from those of Evergreen. Off to the back right corner, Ryan saw a small group of stones that looked older than the rest. Upon closer inspection, he saw the ancient hand-carved images of the skull and crossbones. This carving was on most of the stones in that area. The oldest of which was dated 1703. Ryan sat on the ground and marveled at its ancient design. He knew nothing of its significance but was curious enough to want to learn more. Later, he would search online for a history of the carving.

By this time, a few weeks had passed, and early spring was approaching. Ryan was finding it more difficult to look for a place to live that was far enough from people yet close enough to stores and other necessities. At this point, he began thinking it might be better to buy a house, as he wouldn’t have to deal with landlords or unannounced visits from maintenance workers. He would be left alone. At first, the idea of homeownership was a bit frightening. But considering what he had in the bank, he likely could afford, at least, something livable, and the first place he began looking was Gray.

Gray was a small, sparsely populated area, well away from Portland. It was filled with stands of pine, oak and elm trees. And with the exception of the wind and the occasional chatter of wildlife, Gray seemed to be a very quiet place. But the houses were directly along the roads, and Ryan was hoping to find something a little more off the beaten path. He didn’t want to deal with even occasional traffic or neighbors, and concluded that a life of isolation was necessary if he was to study full-time. He wanted very badly to get back into the good graces of UNE and be allowed to continue with his career. But Gray was not his only option. Southern Maine was peppered with small towns, and if there was property for sale in any of them, he was quick to take a look.

The next day, Ryan found himself sitting at his kitchen table, paging through one of his textbooks. He was having difficulty finding a place to live that was isolated enough to suit his needs. If he bought a house, he alone would be responsible for maintaining it, and Maine winters were especially harsh. This was even more true in Maine’s small towns, but Ryan believed that a good plan would be key to getting through winters alone. Putting away his textbook, he picked up that day’s copy of the Portland Press. He scanned through the list of apartments for rent and found nothing of interest. Turning to the real estate section, he looked through the listings until one particular property stood out. It was located in the Lake Sebago area, and upon further reading, Ryan discovered that instead of being on the lake, this property was further back into the woods. Another feature of the property was that the ad listed it as ‘for sale by owner’. Ryan considered this to be advantageous, as he wanted to deal with as few people as possible.

So without contacting the owner, Ryan drove out to Lake Sebago. He used Google Earth to locate the house and quickly concluded that it was a strong possibility for purchase. Following the directions from Google Earth, he found the property with few problems. Turning left off the highway, Ryan followed the two-mile-long access road leading to a rustic log cabin. The road stopped abruptly at the cabin’s north side. There were no other vehicles in the area, and the property was moderately disheveled due to lack of maintenance. The access road was unpaved and heavily lined with pine trees. The cabin itself seemed to be in the middle of nowhere, resting quietly amongst the dense greenery of the abundant forest. A trickling stream could be heard nearby, and when the sun was just right, its flickering reflection could be seen through the overgrown blueberry bushes surrounding the cabin. The pines were old and tall. Some, well over 40 feet. Ryan briefly thought about what it might be like to grow his own food. But the woods were heavily laden with pine trees, making the soil too acidic for anything except what grew wild. Ryan walked around the property, inspecting the walls and windows of the cabin, looking for places where the wind might find its way in. Peeking in over a windowsill, he noticed the cabin was empty. Relieved by the fact that he wouldn’t be surprising anyone, Ryan continued circling the cabin. He looked in every window, making a thorough examination of the floors and walls. Given the style of the house, Ryan expected something more primitive, but the floors turned out to be hardwood and the walls appeared to be drywall. All things taken together, Ryan concluded that the house was perfect, that no one would even know he was there, and he could stockpile food and other items. This would be necessary as winter would eventually make its approach.