Indian
I felt like a fugitive, which I suppose in a way I was, a fugitive from my former life.Surprisingly, I slept soundly and didn't wake up until the sun roused me. I waited until the restrooms open and freshened up and hit the road again. I simply followed the highway, going South and East until I reached the sea, three states away from where I had started my journey. Here, in the small town I found myself, I would start my life over.First things first. Well, there were a lot of first things. I needed a place to live, I needed a job, I needed a doctor. Amazingly, my luck seemed to have changed with travel, because all three fell into line, one after the other. A casual remark by one of the county's deputy sheriffs led me to a perfect small apartment, the converted coach house of a sprawling old house owned by a delightful elderly couple. Not only did they make me feel welcome, they put me in touch with the owner of a local grocery store who needed a bookkeeper. Mr. Shaptner, the store. I then typed up a letter of confession, admitting that Barbara and I had been drugged and that all and any sexual contact between us and Martin and Ian was under the influence of the drug, which they had administered. I knew that they wouldn't sign it, but they didn't have to.I made one last check that the ultrasonic remote control worked on the camera and then played back the recorded scene. It wasn't perfect, about a quarter of the image was obscured by the boxfile but it was more than enough. I put on my labcoat and dropped the remote in my pocket. Then I phoned martin and Ian and asked them to come to my office as soon as possible. I printed out the confession form and left it on the desk. Ten minutes later, the pair of them, having met up outside, came in to my office."Thanks for coming boys, lock the door behind you." They exchanged puzzled looks; they obviously realised that I wasn't under the influence of the drug. "So, what's up Doc?" Martin sniggered at his own little joke..
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