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                                           Attack on Bull Frog.”

    Chapter 1: Meeting
    Chapter 2: The re-meeting
    Chapter 3: Small truths revealed
    Chapter 4: The challenge of danger
    Chapter 5: The pursuit
    Chapter 6: The next day
    Chapter 7: The trail To the real Danger.
    Chapter 8: An interlude of Safety. Meets Bonnie and it escalates
    Chapter 9: Temporary Solution, Mystery solved
    Chapter 10: The Children.
    Chapter 11: The next step for Bonnie.
    Chapter 12: Preparation for the future

    Darmano Deitius, that’s me. Call me Darma.
    Clinton Gilbert, Bonnie Gilbert’s husband.
    Kylie 11 years old, Michelle 9, Brenda 7 ½ and Jamie who is 5, all Clinton and Bonnie’s children.
    Joe, no last name, my trusted helper and assistant.
    Jon Blum, formerly known as “Francis Lilly,” the original founder of an old pharmaceutical company named Elizabeth Lilly
    Pharmaceuticals now known as Bull Frog Pharmaceutical.
    Moham Rodriguez and Robert Fullman are flunky gunmen for Blum.
    Detective John Race, a good cop.


The other day, in 2005, I was thinking of write a book. The next day, a good friend suggested that I should write a book. I figured this was
enough of an act of fate, and I should act fast To Not offend the gods or whatever controls fate. It could Also be that two great minds think
alike and share thoughts and both arrived at the same idea separately. I like the latter idea.

So here it is.

Chapter 1: Meeting

My name is Darmano Deitius. I was doing volunteer work down at the Renaissance Clinic (I owned it). It was an old retail business that I had
purchased and converted To a clinic. The neighborhood it is in used To be thriving but now was run down and deserted after dark.

It was a hot Tuesday evening when she walked in across the highly polished floors. Just because the neighborhood was down did Not make
it okay for me To suffer living and working in an unkempt environment. Besides a messy or dirty environment was a distraction as it took
away from the beauty that could be found almost anywhere.

She was young but Not too young. You could See she’d been around if you made a few guesses and could read her mind. Her hair was
short but Not too short. She looked athletic, tanned and firm. No mind reading To See that.

I watched her as she walked in and gracefully sat down. The fan turned overhead and created a light breeze in the room. It was Not enough
To break the grip the humidity held on me.

But the sight of the swank blond gave me chills despite the heat. Just remembering the sight of her gives me chills every time I See her in my
mind which is frequently.

As she sat there, I wondered why a woman with this much class would come To the clinic for help.

We normally deal with the down and out, that are addicted To the latest recreational concoction the psych’s have sold To the doctors and
their public, the guy on the street, other Americans. When I purchased the building, I had a going medical practice across town in a more
affluent area. But I wanted To do more so I used my resources To try To help those less able, less fortunate. I wanted more time To do
research and my medical practice was too demanding of my time. So I turned the cash cow over To a partner and lived off the income.

She was different from the normal clientele. Her blue eyes were Not drugged but were afire and knowing.

Calmly, she spoke. She told me she was there To help a friend. She introduced her self as Bonnie.

I wondered who the friend was. Was it her man or a relative? Or was she really just helping someone?

I asked, “Who is your friend?”  I asked Not knowing if she would actually tell me or lie To me as so many have in the past. I could See she
answered truthfully.

She told me the friend was her estranged husband, Clinton.

I Thought To myself “why do you want To help your ex?”

She went on as if she were getting my thoughts. “We were married for twenty years with children in the last 12 years, four, all girls.”

She did Not look To have borne four children. She could have been a teenage except the stress and suffering of her life showed behind the
troubled baby blue eyes. Again, I shivered inwardly.

This lady created an effect that had nothing To do with who she was or what she had done. She was a work of art in motion. Why would a
man with a woman like this need To drug himself?

“What’s happening with your husband?”

She told me that he was a good man with a good heart but he permitted an evil To surface and drugs only played a small part of this.

She went on, “He uses drugs when he feels bad. He doesn't want To hurt those that are close To him, yet he does. He is at effect of his
environment and even on good days, he remained at effect and took this out on those closest To him. He acted out his evil on his children
and me. We trusted him and were dependent on him.”

Most women that have husbands on drugs are very critical. She seemed To See the situation for what it was. He had a weakness and was
Not controlling it. For the sake of their four girls, she wanted To help him. It was clear that she was the stronger person the relationship. What
surprised me was that she had allowed four children To be born into an unbalanced relationship with no reasonable hope of pulling it out.

Again, intuitively, she spoke, “We had decided Not To have children after 8 years of unhappiness, and then I found myself pregnant. This
gave a brief surge To our marriage. And then once it started, it was like a flood and three more came before I regained my senses.”

“With each new child, his occasional use of drugs became more frequent and he would Not come home and we would worry about him. That
brings us To now. Our marriage is Not working and I can’t tell if it is drugs or if he’s hiding behind them, but I've got To try.”

I looked at her and told her, “The chances are Not good for his recovery. The very weakness that caused the problem is the most difficult
thing for someone like Clinton To face. So your question about is it drugs or is he hiding can be answered yes. It is both. But it starts with a
problem he is Not facing.”

She Thought about this for only a moment and said, “I have To try for the children. If he is beyond hope, I have To know I've done all I could
before I abandon my children’s father. I don’t care what it costs. I have plenty of money my parents left me. Can you help me?”

I Thought about trying To help him longer than she Thought about answering my question. Did I want To extend the resources of the clinic, my
resources and the public’s resources, most important, my time, To help this mother, father and four children?

Normally, the chances of recovering from drugs are about 20%. No one will tell you this as cost charged by most institutions and clinics is
very high and very profitable. My facility is non-profit and we take in cases for free when the families can Not afford To pay. So I had almost
nothing To lose by telling the truth and my time To save.

I Also felt that being honest is the best policy because To promise hope where there is little is To betray the very families I hope To help. My
view on helping had become tainted with the repeated failures I have observed with the traditional methods used by doctors and clinics. The
cures were often as bad as the problems and resulted in no cures.

I told Bonnie that Clinton’s chances were one out of five and he had To be the one To make it happen.

With a sad face, she said “Isn't there anything better than that?”

I looked at her and decided To take a chance but Not the normal chance in my industry.

“Yes, there is. Over on the west side there is a small clinic. It does Not use drugs or the traditional therapy. They use vitamins, exercise and
sauna. I don’t know the actual figures but they boost an 80% recovery.”

I went on. “Once I met a graduate of their program. He was competent and alert. Actually, he came across To me when we met as being in
better physical condition than I was at the time.” Jokingly, I told Bonnie that I still was a bit ahead of him as I could read minds and the
graduate couldn't.”

She laughed at my suggested mind reading abilities. But chance of recovery sparked a twinkle in her eyes that hope will give a person.

I gave her the phone number and address of the clinic.

As she left, while there was no reason To think this, I did Not believe I had seen the last of this woman. In our short time together, we had
achieved a pretty basic understanding. I liked the feeling she created when she smiled.

Fate was kind To me or I willed it To happen.

About a week later, Bonnie called.

She told me “I Thought you would want To know I had checked Clinton in To the clinic on the Westside and everything looked good. He
made excellent recovery faster than expected.”

I told her “That’s great!” thinking she just wanted to be acknowledged for doing the right thing.

She went on, “The program seemed to be working great when Clinton came home and announced to me that he was seeing another
woman. He said it’s all my fault that he taken to using drugs.”

He told her, “Now that I am breaking the grip of the drugs you drove me to, I can see the only way to be free is to get a way from you.”

Bonnie explained to me, “His words were a dagger into my heart but was a relief too. He wanted out and this would make it easy.”

She went further, “He feels that the girls will do better with me and that having a new “mommy” around would upset them. He wants me to
have full custody of all four girls.”

I thought he was irresponsible.

She told me that they had separated on Thursday and the divorce papers were already drawn up and signed.

Because of his other woman, Bonnie had been in a very good position. Clinton was wealthy on his own. Similar to Bonnie, he came from old
money and really did not have to work. There was no argument over money, the home or the children.

Clinton was walking away from 20 years of marriage, a good woman, four children and a home. Strange but the only observable problem
was him and his blaming others for his problems.

I responded, “Bonnie, I don’t know what to say. I feel responsible because he got better, seemed to be beating the drugs and then breaks up
your marriage.”

Bonnie replied, “It was only a matter of time. The marriage has been dead for years. I've carried it on only for the children. It’s been a living
hell pretending for so long.”

Her sadness and relief tugged on my mind. I became brave. “Would you consider going to lunch with me to discuss your plans?”

There was no reason for her to say yes but there really had been no reason for her to call. Perhaps there were gods or she just was being
nice because I had tried to help her without a profit motive. I had not even gotten any data from her to use for future contact, rather
unprofessional as a sale technique.

She told me “I’m not ready for a lunch date right yet. I’ll call you.”

With this, we said our good byes and I thought that was the end. Women never called me back and usually, I didn't want them to.  I had a
strong feeling again that I would hear from her as I wanted to. I like to think there is more to life than random motion.

Time passed. I decided that I was going to close the clinic to devote more time to my research. I too felt that I was living a lie, pretending,
giving hope with there was so little. And I knew there were better programs

From time to time, I thought of the intriguing blond named Bonnie. It seemed she must be thinking of me too as I could sometimes see her in
different surroundings, feel her thinking and wondering.

The clinic was scheduled to close on April 15. I thought it was kind of a joke to close up at the end of tax season.

Click here to read Chapter 2: The Re-meeting

The following are a couple paragraphs:

On April 14th, I was at the clinic doing a few last minutes things before the rest of the furniture and records were packed up when the phone
rang. I had to look for it amongst the boxes and seemly endless debris that the move was creating. “Ah, there it is.”  

It was Bonnie. My heart leaped up into my throat. I recognized her voice at once as she had been on
my mind often. ...

Click here to read Chapter 2: The Re-meeting

Stories by Carl
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