I spent the next four days working out, as best I could. I had the endurance to run five miles straight, but I hadn’t regained the speed I one had before being shot and operated on so much.  My fears about the coming academy stretch were active, particularly at night.  I could no longer sleep at night like I once had.  Instead of sleep, I stayed up in the dark, peering out of windows and listening for movements or any odd sounds in the night.  I waxed the fire-engine red Volks, and it sparkled, its chrome wheel covers so bright in the morning sun that they appeared to be made more of glass crystal than highly polished chrome plating.  I was going to go to work on the Bronco and give it its first-ever waxing until I polished one small spot on a front fender.  I stepped back and had an epiphany.  The Bronco was partially meant to be a stealthy vehicle, well-muffled but powerful.  A vehicle of silent death.  I smiled at the thought.  I had no intention of killing anyone ever again, but I couldn’t scrub the killing of humans fully from my mind no matter how hard I tried.

Drinking alcohol didn’t help.  It only made things worse, as it seemed to magnify my emotional reaction.  I had to totally quit, which I had, to my wife’s welcome relief.

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