Anger Management Ch. 01

"Just try not to think about it. Hey, what's worse than waking up at a party and finding a penis drawn on your face?"

Dylan chuckled. "I don't know, what?"

"Finding out it was traced."

Dylan's laughter echoed through the pipe. "Hey, you don't have to stay with me. I'm sure you have other things to do."

"Right now, I have absolutely nothing better to do. I'm staying here until you're out of there." He hadn't had much interaction with Dylan until the accident. Even though Dylan was in his late-twenties, Dave still referred to him as "the kid" because he began working for the mine right out of high school. He was a hard worker, but so cocky and full of himself that Dave did his best to avoid him. Since the accident, however, he had grown fond of the kid.

Dave kept his word. For fourteen days straight, he spent most of his day communicating with Dylan through the PVC pipe. He made sure that he received fresh food and water, sent him dry clothes, relayed messages from his family and the general public, and provided him with books and an iPod pre-loaded with his favorite music.

"Hey," Dylan said at one point, "can you send me a newspaper? I need to look for a new job."

"New job?" Dave responded. "You already have one!"

"Dave, I hate to say it, but you can take this job and shove it up your ass."

The sound of Dave's laughter caused Dylan to laugh as well.

"I'm glad you're keeping your spirits up."

"I have no other choice," said the kid. There was a long pause before he spoke again. "You know, every time I hear that drill, I brace myself for this cage to collapse."

"Don't even think that way, kid."

"It's okay. I'm not afraid anymore. I was scared to death when it first happened. I thought I was gone for sure. Then, when you guys were blasting, I thought, this is the end. But now I feel a strange sort of calmness. If I die, then so be it."

"You're not gonna die, kid."

The silence punctuated the cool night air. Then Dylan spoke again. "I never told you this, but your wife was my senior year English teacher."

"No shit! Really?"

"Yeah," the voice said at the other end of the pipe. "She was super nice. My favorite teacher, actually."

"Well, I'll have to tell her that the next time I see her." His thoughts instantly returned to the conversation he had earlier when Jessica claimed she didn't know any of the trapped miners. Did she simply forget? She had so many former students, it seemed likely she didn't make the connection.

It was 4:54 AM when Dylan was finally freed from the cage. He was transported through the tunnel to a medical station that had been set up at the base of the vertical shaft. After a thorough check-up, he was ushered to the surface on a wheelchair. Dylan insisted on standing and walking once they reached the entrance. He was nearly blinded by all the lights from the cameras.

He walked through the door to the uproarious applause of the assembled crowd. His mother and father ran to him and embraced him warmly as tears streamed down their cheeks. For not the first time since the accident, Dylan allowed himself to cry as well. He then faced the cameras, punched his fist in the air in celebration, and walked over to the punch clock, where he comically inserted his timecard and punched out for the final time.

***

Life returned to normal. Dave took a week off before returning to the job. When he did, he was faced with answering and endless number of questions from law enforcement investigators, corporate lawyers, and lawyers from the families of the three victims. He was particularly irritated by the questions from one of the lawyers, who insinuated that Dave had put his men in harm's way.

"You're the Underground Manager for the Bakersfield Mining Corporation, isn't that right?" the pompous prick asked.

"Yes, that's my official title," Dave responded.

"Part of your job is to ensure the safety of your workers."

"Yes, of course."

"Did any of your workers, at any time, express their concerns to you about the stability of Stope 925 in Sector 7-G?"

Dave paused for a moment and consulted with his company's attorney. He took a deep breath before responding, "Stope 925 was deemed safe."

"Not according to a report written by an expert in rock mechanics; a mister Glenn Sharrock." He produced a paper from his dossier and placed it on the table in front of Dave.

Dave glanced at the paper before returning his glare to the attorney. "Our own expert disagreed with that assessment."

"Right," the attorney responded. "And that expert's assessment came within days of the collapse. Mr. Patterson, were you pressured by your superiors to move ahead with the plans to mine Sector 7-G?"

The corporate attorney whispered into Dave's ear, but he pushed him away. "Not at all," Dave said.

"Are you aware that the company's production was behind schedule? That Bakersfield was drowning in $77 million in debt? How much profit would you say your company would have made if you had been able to continue mining that sector?"

"We're done here," the corporate attorney said.

Dave stood and abruptly thrust his finger at the lawyer. "You can go fuck yourself."

***

The next several months were a living nightmare for Dave and his family. Someone leaked the inspection report to the media, and they ran with the story. They camped outside of the fence surrounding the mining facility and harassed anyone who entered or exited for a quote. Corporate lawyers directed the employees to keep their mouths shut, but several anonymous quotes made it into the papers - many of which lay at least some of the blame on Dave. He was even given a cute nickname by the press: the "Butcher of Bakersfield." Soon enough, camera crews began camping outside of his home, harassing him and his family.

Dave's superiors hounded him throughout each day, demanding paperwork and a thorough paper trail dating back more than a year. Any document that mentioned Sector 7-G or Stope 925 required a full written report by Dave and anyone else mentioned in the report. Before long, Dave began receiving anonymous threats against him and his family.

The stress took its toll on Dave's psyche. He found himself reverting to some of his old habits. His temper teetered atop a trip-hammer. The slightest provocation sent him into a fit of rage. He punched holes through walls and destroyed whatever inanimate objects were unfortunate enough to be within reach. He lashed out at his co-workers, his supervisors, reporters, and the endless parade of lawyers that infested his work environment on a daily basis.

Worst of all, he began to lash out at his family as well. Jessica tried to get him to talk through his issues, but he refused to speak to her about it. "My home is my sanctuary," he would tell her. "I don't want to talk about this shit in my sanctuary."

He began berating her for insignificant reasons: dirty laundry on the floor, errands unaddressed, and dinner not prepared on schedule or to his liking. He lost all patience with Bryce, and hardly had any interaction with him that did not involve shouting into the boy's ears at close range. Even "Daddy's little girl" Haley wasn't spared from his wrath.

When Dylan called him, out of the blue, and extended an invitation to meet him at a bar for a drink, Dave quickly accepted the offer. Any opportunity to get away from it all was welcomed. Perhaps in a darkened bar, he could actually blend in and no one would recognize him. He hadn't spoken with Dylan since the day he was rescued. More than a year had passed since then. It would be good to reconnect with the kid.

He spotted Dylan seated at the end of the bar and made his way toward him. "Hey, man, it's good to see you," he said, giving him a warm embrace. "How the hell have you been?"

"I'm good," Dylan responded. "Really good. Actually, never better."

Dave grinned from ear to ear and clapped him on the back. "Oh, man, that's awesome. I am so glad to hear that."

"How about you?"

Dave groaned. "Not so good. Corporate's been breathing down my neck. And all these fucking lawyers are constantly hounding me." He paused for a moment. "Well, shit. I just realized I probably shouldn't be talking to you, should I?"

Dylan laughed. "It's okay. We won't talk about the case. I promise."

Dave signaled to the bartender and ordered a beer. "Right, okay. So, you're doing good. That's great."

"I'm not gonna lie, the first few weeks were pretty bad. I couldn't sleep. When I did, I'd wake up in a panic, thinking I was still trapped under those rocks. I really thought I was going insane."

"Shit," Dave said, taking a swig of beer.

"But then, one day," Dylan continued, "it all changed. I woke up in the middle of the night after another one of my nightmares. My heart was racing. I was sweating bullets. I felt like I was having a panic attack. Then...all of a sudden...it all just went away. Instantly." He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

"Hmm," Dave said. "That's strange."

"I know, right? But remember when I was trapped, and the two of us were talking, and I told you that at some point I just felt a strange calmness come over me? Well, the same exact thing happened that night. And Dave, I don't know any other way to explain it, but I truly believe I was touched by the hand of God."

Dave snorted and shook his head. He had considered himself to be somewhat religious up until the day his father died. At that point, he decided that no just god could ever have allowed that to happen, and therefore god could not exist - at least, no god worthy of his worship. "Well, you know, whatever works for you, man. I'm happy you found a way to bring you some peace."

"But that's just it," Dylan said, leaning closer to his friend. "I didn't find it. It found me! That very next morning, I picked up the Bible for the first time in my life. I joined a church. Dave, I've never been religious a day in my life, but I joined an actual church! I was baptized just last week. I have accepted Jesus Christ as my personal lord and savior."

"Well, good for you," Dave said with a smile. "Really, I mean it. I'm happy for you."

"Thanks, man. That means a lot. But now I have to do something I don't want to do. Trust me, man. It's the last thing I want to do, but it's the right thing. In order to fully allow Jesus into my life, I must absolve myself of all sin, own up to my past sins, and face whatever judgment He has planned."

"We've all sinned, kid."

"Yes, but some of my sins not only hurt myself and damaged my soul, but hurt others as well. Dave, I've been wrestling over how to tell you this, but the only way is just to come out and say it. Five or six years ago, I had sex with your wife, Jessica."