It was strange. I recognized him right away – though of course I think anyone my age would have, whether they were a reporter or not. But at the same time he was so different than I imagined. Certainly different from the pictures they’d run in the papers, back in the day. He was tan, for one thing, and though his hair still clung to his head in black, shiny commas, it seemed to be slick with honest sweat, rather than oil, or rain, or other fluids.

“Thank you for coming, Ms. Hillman,” he said politely (too politely?). ”My ranger station is less than a mile this way. I am glad to see you have brought sensible shoes.”

“Er, yes,” I said, displaying the dazzling Hillman wit. “Shouldn’t you have a hat?”

“Left it at the station. Never could get it to fit right.” He gave a small, encouraging smile, which was surprisingly uncreepy. I wondered if he practiced.

“Ah, right then. Lead on.” I said. As he turned back toward the forest path I shot a parting glance at my BMW, all alone in the gravel parking lot. If he did decide to try something – I go jogging every morning, but there was no way I could outrun – I scuffed my foot against the gravel, knocking my thoughts back on course. All that mayhem had been literally decades ago, and he been declared not guilty by reason of mental defect. Since then he had been treated by some of the keenest medical professionals in the country, been declared sound by his probation and review boards, and been given a clean bill of health by prestigious specialists such as Doctors Niemann and West. So I had nothing to worry about.

Nothing.

I hesitated only the barest moment before following him into the shade of the pines. I hoped he hadn’t noticed. Hoped it hadn’t made him angry.

We walked in silence – it was a short path, but a little rough; not conducive to conversation. He had a sort of graceless, lumbering gait, but as I watched him I realized that he always seemed to lurch in just the right way to maneuver around poking branches, and that his plodding feet made surprisingly little noise on the leaves and rocks as we walked.

His ranger station was an honest-to-goodness log cabin, complete with a wooden lookout tower on stilts. Thankfully it had stairs, rather than the traditional ladder; I followed him up to the top. The view was incredible – forest stretching in nearly every direction, blue-grey mountains seeming to float on the horizon. It smelled nice too, clean and fresh. Pine fresh, I suppose. There were two wooden chairs and an ice chest on the observation platform – he sank down into one of the former and fished a root beer out of the latter, twisting the bottlecap off with ease.

“I also have water or fruit punch, if you like,” he said, offering.

“Water, please.”

He tossed me a bottle and closed the cooler lid, and then, well, you could just see the tension leave him as he looked out over the forest, a satisfied smile creeping over his lips. He looked… peaceful.

I took a sip of water and fished out my recorder.

“Are you ready to start?”

His eyes regretfully left the treeline to focus on me “Yes, of course. How exactly does this work?”

“Since this is just our first interview, I’d like to keep things very casual, informal. I have some questions, but feel free to talk about whatever you’d like to talk about.”

“Okay,” he said, with a doubtful note in his voice. It almost sounded as if he were expecting treachery, and for an odd moment I got the sense that I was the threatening one here. But I blinked and it was gone.

“Well, first off,” I said, without missing a beat “Let’s talk about this place. When you were released, I don’t think anyone anticipated you joining the Park Service.”

“I surprised myself as well, but it’s really been a natural fit,” he said, his voice filling with (practised?) confidence. “When I became free I knew I wanted to give something back to society, but I also knew it was important that my first job be a little off the beaten track. I know the public is still adapting to the idea of me being a free man; they’re not quite ready to see me in line at the supermarket, or in the bleachers at a game. And I think the solitude out here has been good for me as well – after decades of treatments and evaluations and security wards, it’s nice to have a little space to myself.”

“I remember an interview you gave during your treatment, where you talked about pursuing medicine…?”

“Ah, yes, well. I was still young then, and I think I suffered from a bit of forced perspective. When everyone you meet is a doctor, it’s easy to form the idea of becoming one yourself. I won’t deny that I still find medicine interesting; I think everyone with a body does, but I don’t believe it’s really my calling. Despite what you might hear I don’t have any natural aptitude for the subject, and I suspect my condition would prove a barrier in many respects.”

“Have you noticed any such barriers among the Park Rangers?”

“Not at all. There was some uneasiness when I first signed on, of course, but I’ve found my colleagues very willing to accept me on my merits, rather than my appearance or unfortunate history.”

“Is it true you put a grizzly bear in a sleeper hold?”

“Not even slightly,” he laughed, and his laugh was full, and natural. “The truth is I just stared him down while my colleague, Ranger Anderson, shot him with a tranquilizer.”

“Still, there aren’t a lot of people can stare down a grizzly.”

“Actually, not very many people know this about me, but I’ve always thought of myself as something an animal lover. I was born in the wild forests, you know. Nothing as luxuriant as this,” he said, indicating the landscape with a giant sweep of his hand. ”But a true wilderness nonetheless. I couldn’t stay long, of course, but it definitely had an impact on me; the songs of the birds, the calls of the wolves. I feel very comfortable in the natural world.”

“Do you ever think about revisiting your homeland?”

“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” he said, his face clouding over slightly. “I am remembered even less fondly there than I am here, and they are are not so forgiving, nor as trusting of psychology… and of doctors. But I try not dwell on it,” he said, brightening again. “After all, why borrow trouble? I am happy here, and grateful for the fresh start. No reason to go digging up the past.”

“On that note, I understand there is a still a legal action pending on the basis of burial rights for –“

“I’m terribly sorry, I’ve been asked not to comment on any ongoing litigation.”

“Can you at least say if the state’s ruling on organ don–“

“I really cannot, so sorry,” he said, seeming genuinely apologetic, but resolute.

“Perfectly understandable. You said earlier that your first job needed to be off the beaten track. Do you see yourself working outside the Park Service in the future?”

“I admit, I initially thought of this as a stepping stone, but having recaquaninted myself with the peace of the forest, it’s hard to think about going to work in a cubicle, or even a city.”

“So you’ve found your niche?”

He grinned slightly, unthinkingly, and my heart skipped a beat.

“I dislike thinking in such limiting terms. I prefer to say that I am truly happy here, whatever the future may hold.”

“Has your station been affected by the recent fires?”

“Not this time, though just after I was assigned this post I had bit of a near miss. That whole western horizon was smoke and flame. Hard to look at it. I’m still not very fond of fire, and the smell of woodsmoke remains a little unsettling to me. I received some excellent help at the Institute, you understand, but you know how those childhood memories can linger. Still, it is a natural part of the forest life cycle, so I try to adapt. We are just guests in these woods, after all.” He rubbed his neck absently “Besides, the fires were sparked by lightning, and I can hardly bring myself to resent the energy of a good storm.”

“Fair enough. Tell me, have you responded to any of the thousands of marriage proposals you received during your incarceration?”

He winced “Please, ‘treatment’.”

“I am sorry; during your treatment?”

“Not as such. I do appreciate the sentiment, of course, and the interest, but, well. Would you accept a marriage proposal from a total stranger via the post?”

“I guess not,” I chuckled, with only the slightest trace of deliberation.

“Just so. Which is not to say I’ve ruled out the possibility of love – but all things in their time. For now, simply being alive is enough. The privilege of being… in the world is all that I could ask for.”

“Inspiring words.”

“I hope so, Ms. Hillman. I really do. I know I’m a symbol of terror for some, but I dream that one day I will seen as a symbol of hope. Hope that even the most wretched existence may become beautiful. Hope that things can always get better, no matter what.”

“Eloquently put. I understand you passed on a Harper-Collins book deal shortly before your release – have you given any further thought to writing?”

He laughed again. “Not until just now, Ms. Hillman”

“Guaranteed bestseller, mark my words.”

“I suppose I do have a certain amount of time on my hands.” He smiled.     

“Does your family ever visit you out here?”

He grimaced just slightly, though on that face it was clouds darkening a cliff wall.

“Family remains… difficult. I’m not even sure if family is the right word for what we are, but no, no visits. We’ve exchanged letters from time to time, but think there might just be too much… dark history between us.”

“But you did decide to keep the family name, even after your release.”

“That I did. It’s the name everyone knows me by, for good or for ill, and even if my father and I have our differences, there is still respect. And debt. I’m still just Adam to my friends, but in truth I can’t imagine abandoning the name of my father.”

“I am sure he appreciates it.”

“I have always hoped so,” murmured Frankenstein’s creation.