Day 817: 5 Minute Freewrite CONTINUATION: Wednesday - Prompt: well

Captain Josiah Thompson, therapist at Roanoke's Veteran's Administration hospital, was instantly worried as he looked out of the window and saw his most challenging patient parking.

He knew Colonel H.F. Lee by this time – nine months since he had returned home to Lofton County from active duty, nine months in individual therapy although slow to get started … men with high-functioning PTSD could always find something else to do, and do well, other than to do the work to actually get well. Colonel Lee was, at the same time, the absolute best case and worst case Captain Thompson had ever seen.

But then, things had gotten serious in the new job – police captain – and Colonel Lee had buckled down to both group and individual therapy, because he recognized a number of his limits. The depression was very bad, but that made the colonel a danger only to himself. But the rage – nothing had been more dangerous to anyone in Virginia than a Lee in his rage for a long, long time. The British had found that out with Colonel Lee's great-great-great-great-grandfather, Colonel “Light Horse” Harry Lee in the 1770s. Colonel Lee's Confederate great-great-great-uncle, though he lost his war in the 1860s, needs no introduction or explanation of his destructive power.

Colonel H.F. Lee was driving furious. There was a precision about the angles he cut in the parking lot, just as there was in his clipped, double-time march – “the Angel of Death” was in his full and terrible radiance. The last time Captain Thompson had seen him like that, powerful men in the police force in Big Loft had started dying or wishing they were dead in short order – five commissioners in as many weeks.

That was nothing new. Although it was unofficial, the generals who carelessly had walked Colonel Lee's Unit 6 into an ambush on a mission known as Five Bright Nine had fared the same way.

Captain Thompson prayed a quick prayer, and also thanked God he couldn't turn pale because of his rich African American hues. Colonel Lee had been doing so well recently … he had ceased his 27 years of grieving his late wife, had rediscovered his masterful musicianship, had reconnected with all those who loved him and made new friends and a new love, and had written his letter of resignation from the Army, meaning that he felt confident that he could manage full civilian life.

All that progress – in danger. Someone had messed up, and triggered the Angel of Death.

“Lord, please have mercy on whoever that fool was, and help me know how to back Colonel Lee off of doing in whoever he plans to do in!” Captain Thompson prayed as he heard that clipped double-time march coming down the hall.

Not that you would know unless you knew. Colonel Lee had nothing against his therapist, and always presented calmly and cordially in public to everyone he encountered. He was as gentlemanly and soft-spoken and mild-mannered as ever – angelic – which was why nobody was ready when he flipped the script and did the death part. This also left Captain Thompson to have to do the equivalent of digging for clues in a minefield.

“So, Colonel Lee,” said the brave therapist after the pleasantries were over, “how go the plans for the retirement party?”

“Well – sometime in January,” he said calmly.

“Are you still thinking of doing a double, and also leaving the police force?”

“I had allotted myself 12-18 months in total to be there,” the colonel said, his voice darkening just a little, “but, it is becoming more of a possibility that I will go in January. I would go now, but there is unfinished business.”

“Your appointment as interim division commander for the Blue Ridge precinct?”

“That was but the symptom of a far greater problem to be dealt with.”

Colonel Lee's eyes kindled, and his face began to turn rosy.

“A far greater problem?”

Colonel Lee considered his words for a long time.

“Captain Thompson, have you ever encountered a patient you can't help?”

“Yes.”

“Why is that?”

“The patient has to be ready for the help and ready to work toward his or her own healing – if not, there is nothing I can do.”

Colonel Lee paused again, but his face turned plum, indicating the extremity of his anger.

“Big Loft is that patient that will not be helped,” he said. “One would think the Ridgeline Fire and all its terrible aftermath would have been enough, but no – the powers that be wish to extinguish the light and influence of the one man who has stood up to lead it right. They are after Commissioner Scott's head now. Never mind that there is no one else who can combine his offices. Never mind that the truly good men and women of BLPD, who labored in darkness under his predecessors, now have hope even in the midst of the dark times we are in. Big Loft is wedded to its own destruction, and will assure its doom by breaking the heart and spirit of Winfred Scott.”

Captain Thompson waited a long, long moment before speaking. Colonel Lee was ferociously loyal to the people he respected, whether above or beneath him in rank. He would not be dissuaded from that; it was part of who he was.

“When you say doom, Colonel Lee, what specifically do you mean?”

“There comes a moment in time when the wicked are only worthy of the wrath of abandonment to their fate. I will not stand for this. Neither will those I have influence over. If Commissioner Scott is forced out, we will all go out with him, and we will let it be known why! There is much that I know about Big Loft that I have not said – but I will! We will!”

“Let it burn, eh?”

“If the Ridgeline Fire was not sufficient warning and it wishes to tempt Hell still further, yes!”

Captain Thompson narrowed his eyes.

“How soon we forget the true casualty count of the Ridgeline Fire, Colonel, before we say we will let the rest burn!”

Colonel Lee froze, and then began to shake – an indication of the violent emotions within him making a profound adjustment as his mind grasped all the ramifications of what had been communicated to him.

Captain Thompson remained silent for ten minutes as Colonel Lee lost composure and then regained it, the rage going out of him and being replaced by humble sadness.

“You are right. How soon we forget. How soon I forget that I am now working to become more and more a man of peace. It is so easy for me to go back to war … so easy when I see people I respect being warred against.”

“Colonel, let me tell you this. You have made a lot of progress in the last four months. Remember what happened to the commissioners before the one you respect so much.”

“I remember everything and regret nothing, Captain. Jail time is too good for the two still living.”

It would be a mistake to think Colonel Lee's rage, once roused up, went away easily – the key was to help him not have it be in control, but it was always there in the face of corruption.

“Fair enough, Colonel. That was basically a civil war among police officers, and you handled it as such. Yet for the future, remember: you are a man of peace now. Remember the conversations we had about what it meant to you to have had night terrors for 27 years about wanting to set the Ridgeline Fire, but then to actually participate as someone getting innocent people out of the way of it – as an agent of mercy. This was a great breakthrough for you, Colonel. But remember: those are privileges reserved to men of peace.

“Remember also how it was given to you to get the men from the Blue Ridge precinct out of their collapsing station – if you hadn't inspected, every man there would have died. Did they deserve it? Yes. Yet, what were you called to?”

“Mercy. Peace.”

Captain Thompson smiled.

“I always read your chart and pray, Colonel, because your history says you've been fighting hard odds and dangerous people for 30 years – even before the Army, homegrown high school terrorists learned to fear the name of Lee, and that's how you got to the Army anyhow. You're really good at being the Angel of Death – you're gifted as a warrior, and for 30 years out of your 45, you have certainly made the best of your gifts. Could you shake Big Loft to its foundations? Yes. Are you called to that now, no matter the reasons for your rage?”

“No. No, I am not. I am called to be a man of peace – God help me!”

Captain Thompson paused a few moments to let Colonel Lee continue his private prayers, and then asked, “So, how is Grandmother Selene this week?”

Colonel Lee at last smiled slightly.

“She wants peace,” he said, “and it was easier than I thought to uphold my calling with her.”

“And Ms. Maggie?”

Colonel Lee's smile became radiant.

“Peaceful,” he said.

“You intend to keep it that way, I trust.”

“Until death do us part, just as soon as I can shake loose from BLPD.”

“Well, that brings us back to January – you don't have to leave in protest, Colonel. This is what we are working on: you can do things because they make for your peace, and for your new calling as a man of peace. You don't have to fix it all. You need to get well, Colonel, and you have been making great, great progress. You do not have to be in any job or any position that will hold you up from that. It is all right for you to reset your life to complete the necessities remaining at BLPD and not take on any more, and then leave and build a life of peace in accord with the calling you have from God now.”

Colonel Lee considered this carefully, and Captain Thompson added a further thought.

“There once was another Colonel Lee, who, faced with the possibility of a civil war, said openly that he wished to remain in peace, and perhaps grow corn in his old age. He never would. He allowed other people to give him a promotion he did not need and convince him to do what he knew would never work, because he felt such a duty to those around him to defend their interests … although those interests were indefensible. That Colonel Lee had to learn the hard way, but you know, that Scripture that you love as much as he did says, 'There is a way that seems right unto a man, but …' .”

“The end thereof is the way of death,” the great-great-great-nephew of General R.E. Lee said gravely. “I see your point, Captain Thompson. I will consider everything that we have discussed carefully and prayerfully.”

“I know you will, Colonel. You are making great progress. We know that to a point, the rage comes with the PTSD because of the ways that started, but something to think on when there are clear moments: remember that now, you are called to peace. Someone needs to build for the good in Big Loft. Someone needs to comfort and restore all the people that have been collateral damage. That is the work of men of peace – and women of peace, a work that I understand Mrs. Maggie is always doing.”

Colonel Lee smiled again.

“Always,” he said. “I certainly do need to keep getting myself together – she's not having any loose cannons setting fires and letting things burn around her!”

“Good woman – I guess you will have to get it all the way together, because after that retirement party, there is supposed to be an engagement announcement!”

“You know I value efficiency. I might do my birthday, my retirement, my engagement, and if you stick around, my wedding on the same day – I still must have goals to overachieve!”

They laughed, and the last of the rage went from the room.