Shawn Inmon - The Vigilante Life of Scott McKenzie

He faced a dilemma each day as he watched Earl work. He knew that every day, the cancer inside him was growing. But, he also knew that getting him to go to the doctor and discovering it earlier had only heightened his suffering and in the end, prolonged his life for a few weeks.

He made the decision to not say anything, but it tore at him.

Once they had built that everything Earl had sketched out, Scott spent a few hours every day in the basement, going through the exercises his physical therapist had given him and listening to Earl tell him stories about what life had been like in the period between the two World Wars.

Earl had been a little too young to fight in WWI, and too old to fight in WWII. He had enlisted anyway, and had spent four years working in the motor pool at Fort Lewis, Washington. Four years was enough time to be away from the girl he loved, so after his honorable discharge, he returned home.

While Earl told stories and worked on other projects, Scott sweated. Six months after he woke up in this life, he was in better shape than he had been since the fateful day he had gone on patrol in Vietnam.

Emotionally, he was doing better, although he wouldn’t have said he was cured of what ailed him. Unexpected noises still made him jump and break out in a sweat. The nightmares and crying out in the night still happened, but the intervals between them grew farther apart.

He realized that in each life, he had awakened with a fresh start. Each time he had opened his eyes back in his grandparents’ home, he didn’t have the physical craving of an addiction to drugs or alcohol. It was the emotional pain inside him that had driven him to seek them out and become addicted again and again. This life, he vowed to stay away from both.

His first goal was to get in good enough shape that he could still apply at the academy and pursue the dream of becoming a police officer.

In June, he watched Cheryl graduate from high school for the twentieth time.

I think I deserve a medal for listening to all these speeches once, let alone this many damn times.

He was tempted to sneak a transistor radio and an earpiece into the ceremony so he could listen to the Cubs play the Cardinals, but he refrained.

He applied to the academy the next day. Sergeant Berkman had been right about at least one thing. Having the U.S. Army on his resume did help him get accepted, even if he didn’t have the promised MP training.

Scott applied himself to the classes more than he ever had in high school, and he excelled.

In the end, his physical limitations were simply too much. There were certain standards that every graduate of the academy had to meet—the ability to lift and carry weight, completing an obstacle course—and he couldn’t do it. What was worse, he had to be honest with himself and realize that no matter how hard he worked, he would never be able to.

He would have to find another avenue to fulfill his dreams.

It was mid-October, 1973. Earl Bell had received his cancer diagnosis and knew that he was dying. He was doing everything he could to get things in order. As he had done in previous lives, he met with his attorney and went over his will to make sure that Scott and Cheryl would receive the house and whatever money he had.

He sat in the living room drinking coffee and watching the winds of autumn blow in. The leaves had already turned amber and orange and quite a few had taken the plunge to the ground. He watched Scott on the ladder outside, putting the storm windows up. It was a job he and Scott had always done together. He was too weak to help this year, though, and sat watching instead.

When the job was finished, Scott came in, sniffed the air and said, “Coffee in the afternoon, huh? What are we rich folks or something?” He poured himself a cup.

Earl snorted a small laugh at the idea of them being rich folks, but it died quickly. Scott joined him in the living room and they sat for a few minutes, watching the weather.

Finally, Earl said, “So what’s next, then?”

“Oh, I suppose I need to get up on the roof and make sure all the flashing is ready for another winter.”

Earl shook his head. “No. I mean, what’s next for you?”

“Oh. Well, that question’s a lot harder.”

“It always is.”

“I guess I don’t have a real plan yet. All my life, I wanted to be a police officer. Now that I know that’s out, I haven’t figured out what I’m going to do.”

“I know you’ll be okay financially. You two will have the house, and it’s paid off. You’ve got your benefits from the army, too. So, you’ll never starve. Still, a man needs something to do. A reason to get out of bed in the morning.”

“Any ideas for me?” Scott was genuinely curious.

“None that are of much use. Have you thought of going to college for something? You’ve got your GI Bill to help you out with that.”

“I was never much of a student. I know I need something, though, you’re right.”

“Find something you love. Me, I loved working with my hands. I enjoyed going to work every day, finding new challenges. If you’re lucky enough to find something like that and someone you look forward to coming home to every night, you’ve got the world beat. That’s what I had.”

Scott noticed a book open on Earl’s lap, in place of his usual newspaper. “What are you reading?”

“Not much. Just picking up a few of the books I’ve read over the years and looking at them again. This one is In Cold Blood, by Truman Capote.”

“Never heard of it.”

“You’re young. There’s a whole lot of things you’ve never heard of. Doesn’t mean they’re not worthwhile.”

TWO WEEKS LATER, EARL Bell was dead. At the very end, he smiled at Cheryl and Scott and said, “I’ll miss you both, but don’t fret about me. This is good. I’m ready to go.”

For many previous lives, that time period between Earl dying and Christmas was a waiting game. Scott was letting time pass so that Cheryl could tell him she was getting married and he could tell her that he was moving on. Now, he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do. He could let the two of them move out into their own place while he stayed in this house, but that felt wrong. Three bedrooms called out for a family, not a young bachelor.

By the time the inevitable Christmas conversation came, he had decided to move out and start fresh. Cheryl argued with him and asked him to stay, but he had no interest in sharing a house with newlyweds.

He moved into a small apartment on the edge of town while they were on their honeymoon. He picked up a few sticks of old furniture and some dishes at Goodwill and was mostly settled in before they returned. The only thing he took from the house was his clothes, his Purple Heart, which Earl had given back to him just before he passed, and the stack of books sitting on the table next to Earl’s chair.

If they were good enough for him, they’re damn sure good enough for me. Can’t see much of a reason to get a television set, so I’ve gotta have something to pass the time.

His first night in his new place, he wandered around, lost despite the cramped surroundings. He finally settled on the couch and plucked the top book off the stack he had brought with him. Again, it was In Cold Blood.