The only way to identify who was who was for Scott to live as they did. And so he did. He stopped flying, riding the bus, or staying in even the most inexpensive motels. Instead, he hopped freight trains, rode his thumb, and slept under the stars or tucked into a cramped space somewhere. The men and women who lived on the fringes of society looked out for each other and communicated through what they called the hobo network. Someone always knew something, or someone. Where to find a safe place to sleep, where the best place to hop trains was, or who might have an extra can or two of food.
When Scott found someone that he knew would benefit from a stay at the Oasis, he bought them a bus ticket to Middle Falls and gave them enough money to eat on the journey. He knew that some cashed the ticket in and smoked or drank the proceeds, and he was okay with that. He wanted to extend the hand of possibility to those who needed it. It was up to them whether they accepted the opportunity or not.
Enough did that a steady stream of “Scott’s people” found their way to the Oasis. Word of Scott’s largesse and scouting trips spread along the hobo network. No one knew his full name. They just called him the Angel.
Chapter Fifty-Nine
Scott enjoyed his scouting trips more than he ever had his other life’s work, but he still did his best to combine the two.
By the spring of 1990, though, he was forty-one-years-old with the body of a seventy-year-old man. Sleeping in doorways or around a fire outside the city limits was fine, but he found he was having a harder time standing up straight after he did.
A reputation is a wonderful thing, though, and eventually word spread when he was in town and he found that he didn’t need to actually bed down beside them every night. He knew he wasn’t the only one who was hurting from that lifestyle, though, so that only increased his urgency in getting more people back to Joe, Sam, and the Oasis.
Eventually, Scott sent so many on that Joe and Sam had to apply for new permits and build more bunkhouses to accommodate the stream of veterans. They encouraged Scott’s evangelical work, though, and told him they would keep building more buildings until they either ran out of space or money.
Whenever he needed a break, he headed back to Middle Falls and stayed at the Oasis. When Joe saw that Scott was returning regularly, he built him his own cabin, placing it inside the trees that ringed the buildings for a little privacy. Scott only asked for one thing—a front porch he could sit on like he’d had a lifetime before in Vermont. Joe was more than happy to accommodate the request. The porch opened out onto a small meadow, then the tranquil duck pond. It finally felt to Scott like he was living his own Walden dream.
For the most part, Scott skipped the vigilante duties he had once embraced. His body was too broken to be able to do what he had once done.
Still, he kept his notebooks. Whenever something came up that he thought he could still handle, he left his little cabin in the Oasis and hit the road once more.
One of those happened in October, 1994. Joe and Sam gave Scott a ride to Portland, where he caught a flight to Charlotte, North Carolina. He left his weapons at home. He knew he wouldn’t need them this time.
In Charlotte, he rented a car and drove a little over an hour to John D. Long Lake, a man-made lake in South Carolina. He drove around the lake, found the boat launch, and parked. He got out of his car and surveyed the surroundings. He hiked around until he found a spot where he could be essentially hidden from view, but could still see the boat launch.
He paced off the distance between his hiding spot and the launch. Seventy-five feet. He certainly didn’t have sprinter’s speed these days, but Scott judged he could run that far when called upon.
He drove to the nearby town of Union, and found a small motel.
Scott had hoped to combine this one last job with finding a few more lost souls for the Oasis, but as he drove around Union, he knew that was unlikely to happen. It was the kind of small town that took care of its own. It was far enough off the beaten path that it didn’t attract a lot of itinerant vagrants.
He grabbed a burger at Dairy Queen and vowed to start eating better when he was off the road to stay. He knew he had a full day the next day, so he gratefully crashed in his little room next to the highway.
The next morning Scott was up early, as usual. He knew that what he was there for wouldn’t happen until later, but not unlike his very first job, he felt nervous about this one. He stopped at a convenience store, bought two bottles of water, a sandwich and chips, and a cup of coffee to jump start his brain.
He drove back to the lake and looked around. He didn’t want his car to be seen from the boat launch, so he drove it half a mile away and parked it in a spot that would look like someone had taken off for a hike.
He grabbed the equipment he had brought with him, along with his food and drinks, and hiked to the spot he had scouted out the day before.
By 11:00 a.m., everything was set up and in place. It was a Monday, exactly one week before Halloween, and the lake was deserted. Scott sat for hours, watching for vehicles, but aside from one pickup that cruised in then turned right around, there were none.
Finally, at 3:45, a maroon Mazda four door rolled in and came to a stop.
Scott took a deep, calming breath.
He moved to the edge of his cover and waited.
The car idled for several minutes, smoke curling up from its tailpipe. Finally, a young brunette woman opened the door. She leaned inside and fidgeted with something. Scott didn’t hesitate. He began to run.
The woman stepped back from the car and stood mute while it rolled toward the lake, slowly picking up speed.
Scott sprinted. Through the back window, he saw the tops of two car seats.
The driver’s door was still open, swaying as the car bumped over the approach.
Scott planned to get there before the car hit the water. He didn’t make it.
The car slowed a bit as it hit the resistance of the lake and Scott managed to catch up. He dove for open door, leaped inside and slammed on the brake. Cold water rushed in and filled the front of the Mazda up over the seat. Scott jammed the car into Park, pulled the emergency brake, and turned to look in the back seat. Two boys, one almost a baby, the other only a toddler, were looking at him with wide frightened eyes. The youngest was crying.
Scott clambered out of the driver’s side, making sure to unlock the back doors as he did. He threw the back door open and got the smallest of the boys loosened from his car seat. The older boy had somehow managed to get out on his own.
Scott did his best to smile reassuringly at them. He reached out his arms to the older boy. “Come on, champ. Let’s get you out of there.”
Scott’s world turned upside down as the woman threw herself at him, beating at his face.
“What are you doing to my children! Help! Leave them alone! Police!”
Scott righted himself, picked the woman up, and threw her into the water. He knew she was desperate and didn’t know what she would do next.
The oldest boy screamed “Mommy!” and tried to clamber across the seat. Water continued to rush in.
Scott grabbed both boys and hurried them up the launch to dry land.
The woman had picked herself up and chased after them.
She plucked the two boys up and screamed, “I’m going straight to the police!”
“No need,” Scott said. He pulled the cell phone he had bought for the trip from the pocket of his coat. He had stored it inside a plastic zipper bag in case he had needed to go into the water. He opened the bag, dialed 9-1-1 and said, “Hello. I just watched a woman try to drown her two children in John D. Long Lake.”