Adrian tore out the hospital doors as fast as he possibly could run. His security detail tried to follow, but lost him along the way. It was now around 5:30 PM and it had begun to rain. Images of his life with Natalie flashed through his mind as he ran interspersed with thoughts of tracking down and tearing the throat out of the perp.
He knew George Washington University Hospital was close to the White House but was somewhat confused by the DC street patterns. Should he turn right, or should he turn left? "I'll find it." He said as he ran.
"What am I doing?" he suddenly thought to himself. "It's after five now and all Federal Buildings were apt to be closed. I will track him down at his home." He thought. "But where? Just where do you think you're going, Monk?"
The irrationality of his quest was pushed aside as he continued to run. It felt good to run. He had so much anxiety coursing through him like electrical currents through a wire, running helped dull the pain and confusion and anger that he felt at that moment.
He came to the intersection of L street and Massachusetts Avenue and bowed over to catch his breath.
"Where to now, Monk?" he thought as the rain fell harder and the dusky sky began to turn dark.
He ran along Massachusetts Avenue trying to think why the perp had done what he had done. It usually boiled down to one of two things, love or money. Either he had some relationship with the girl that he needed covered up and Monk had gotten into the way, or there was a money angle. But would he really go through all the trouble of hiring a hit man and killing two people, and possibly a third all to cover up an affair? In his world, affairs were common, and few seemed to dim the political prospects of anyone in D.C. these days. It had to be money.
Money. Filthy lucre. The love of money is the root of all evil. "This guy almost killed Natalie for the want of money?" His anger began to boil. His feet pounded the streets as he picked up speed. Massachusetts Avenue became Mt. Vernon Place and then turned into New York Avenue. By now, night had fallen. The cold rain was a contrast to the hot tears that were streaming down his face. Adrian was driven by a seething anger of what had happened to Natalie, by a seething anger of the world and the evil therein. His heart pounded hard as he ran with all his might. He had no idea where he was going at this point. He just knew he had to go. This felt like doing something. In his head he began to imagine dark scenarios where he would take the assailant out in violent, painful ways.
At 9th street he again bowed over to catch his breath. He had been running for miles, and while still physically fit, his system was becoming overloaded at the pace. He leaned against the barrier on the overpass bridge, coughing and taking in huge gulps of air. He looked around and used his sleeve to wipe his face. At this point, he had no idea where he was, so he decided to take 9th street North where he could maybe find a place to ask for directions.
He began to walk along the city streets, aimlessly wandering along the way, the anger and pain still pumping through his veins. Suddenly, from out of the darkness came two teenaged boys bent on mugging him. Bad move.
"Hey, Mister. Where you think you're going. This is our neighborhood." The smaller of the two said. Adrian started to turn the opposite direction but was met by the larger of the two. The larger boy grabbed him by the collar, but before he could do anything else felt the impact of Monk's fist planted firmly on his jaw. The smaller of the two tried to jump on Adrian's back but Adrian broke free, grabbed the teen by his collar and hair and began slamming his head into a street sign.
The teen broke away and turned to his cohort and said "Man, let's get out of here. This dude is crazy." The teens took off, as Adrian, with a bloodied hand and a face covered in rain, sweat and tears continued on his way.
By now, he was walking almost in a daze. Out of energy and not knowing what he would do next. He continued walking until suddenly his feet stopped outside a small brick building with a handmade sign on it bearing the words "Bethlehem Baptist Church."
Bethlehem Baptist? He was in Brentwood. This was where Preacher said he was going that night. Services were still going on, so tired and physically exhausted, Monk stumbled in through the back door and took a seat in the last row.