OKAY, SO THIS is my last day of this week-long blog. I think we’re almost done here. I’ll probably need to tie up some loose ends and make sure my therapist is still reading these entries.
I’m back at the Tim Hortons, at Shanley and King. It’s not too busy, but the drive-thru is pretty crowded. There was a long line of cars as I came in here. No one seems to mind me sitting in the corner with my laptop. It’s not the most comfortable place to blog, but at least it’s sunny, and the coffee’s good.
I’m eating a Canadian Maple donut. It’s like a Boston Cream, but has maple on top, instead of chocolate. Now that’s damn tasty.
One of the more humbling aspects of this case is that not only am I bad at tailing suspects, I’m terrible at noticing when I’m being followed.
The RCMP followed me. Sure, I knew that. I figured it would be easier than calling them when and if I found Wendy. But to not notice Mary following me? I guess I was just in a hurry. Of course, it could have been the residual side-effects of the drugs in my system. And the radiation poisoning.
I probably shouldn’t have been driving.
So, to finish up, the RCMP was there to save the day. The canister was retrieved, and the paramedics examined and released me. The gunshot was more of a scrape than a wound. They ran a dosimeter over me and concluded I was okay, but that I should keep an eye out for symptoms like bleeding gums and skin sloughing off. Then they said they were just kidding.
If you want the technical stuff, I heard a little of it. Something about an improperly rated container … one designed for medical isotopes, not spent fuel. Using lead instead of tungsten lining. None of it was supposed to be used for storing or transporting decladded uranium oxide pellets. They’d rated the leakage at something huge, but I couldn’t tell you the difference between a rad, a gray, a sievert, and a becquerel. It was enough to give me the equivalent of three CT scans in a matter of minutes.
They told me to take a couple of days and rest. And shower for about an hour. And to burn my clothes.
On the upside, they told me I helped prevent a radiological catastrophe, and possibly an international incident or terrorist attack. That was nice.
And, well yeah, that’s why I’m writing this blog. Apparently, my therapist says, getting shot and watching two others brutally murdered in front of you can be pretty traumatizing.
You don’t say.
Now that I’ve laid it all out, I feel better. It probably won’t help with the nightmares, but time will tell. My paranoia hasn’t subsided. And there’s still the matter of my two interrogators having access to my wallet and knowing my name and address. And that I still carry an old Blockbuster Video card for whatever reason. Whether they used any of that information, or passed it along to their superiors, no one can say.
Like I need another excuse to sit with my back against a wall.