Suspect Wanted

I rented a home briefly in the old section of Cambridge, Massachusetts during October, November and December 1993 while my wife was receiving medical help at Harvard University’s proton beam treatment center. I started each week day by getting my daughter up, fed, dressed and off to kin- dergarten. My wife would be asleep on my return from the school, and I would park the car, check on her, and then slip out the door again for a five-mile walk, then home again to work from a home office until it was time to take my wife to her daily treatment at either Harvard or Massachusetts General Hospital.

This one morning I had the television running while my daughter ate her breakfast and listened as Boston police were talking about the case of a local manhunt. I don’t recall now exactly what the man was wanted for, but that it was an intensive manhunt and they were searching the general Boston area.

I turned off the set and went about my routine, finally out on my morning walk. I had a route that I walked every day – the same streets, the same turns. I had it timed so that I knew I had walked the five miles. This morning I stopped on the sidewalk and wondered about the manhunt that  was going on in the area. I wondered to myself about exactly where the guy was, or if he was in the area at all. Now at this point I don’t recall that it was a voice at all, but a sense inside myself that I could find him. I started walking.

At the first corner, I turned a different direction, straying from my normal path. I just kept walking on instinct somehow, not really sure where I was going, and walking along streets that I had not been on before.

A short while later, I walked down a street and stopped at a point where it bent to the left, and a side street moved off to my right. I stopped at that spot and looked to my right at the homes built one after another along the opposite side of the street. My eyes stopped and fixed on one of the homes.

“He’s in there. He’s hiding out in there. He’s so very nervous. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do.” All of these thoughts entered my mind.

I stood on that corner and watched the home, all of the window blinds pulled down. It looked closed up, like no one was living there, or no one wanted you to see inside, or someone inside didn’t want any of the morning sunshine to come in. I stood there a few minutes, long enough where I felt nervous that someone might think I’m suspicious standing in one spot for so long. Maybe the man inside might see me. I starting walking again, taking the bend to my left, walked a short distance, and then returned along the same path so that I could stop and take one final look at the place.

Along the walk back to the house I felt a little silly, wondering why I had stopped at that house, and then approximating the odds that I had actually found the guy. Later I drove my wife to her daily appointment and mentioned the incident to her.

Hours passed and my family had finished dinner. There was a television playing in the background. My wife had turned the evening news on. They were reporting how they had found the man that they were looking for, and television cameras were outside the home showing exactly where, in the old section of Cambridge, he had been hiding.

I took a look at the television screen, and there it was. The same house.

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