Heartbeat
HEARTBEAT
FAITH SULLIVAN
Copyright © 2013 Faith Sullivan
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination, or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States of America.
No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
Cover image © Yuri Arcurs /
PhotoXpress.com
Edited by Mickey Reed at
ImABookShark.com
To K.M.
CONTENTS
CRASH!
The force of the impact is jarring, but it doesn’t completely startle me. A split second before the SUV hurtles into Grandma’s driver’s side door, I catch a glimpse of it in my peripheral vision. Grandma isn’t so lucky.
“Are you okay?” I gasp.
“I think so,” she says, moving to unfasten her seat belt.
The driver of the SUV is already outside of his vehicle inspecting the damage. It is a miracle Grandma isn’t trapped behind the steering wheel. She is able to open her dented car door. She struggles to stand, wincing in pain. The passenger in the SUV is already on his cell phone, probably calling 911.
I don’t want to get out of the car. It is a February afternoon. The temperature is hovering in the teens. The wind is whipping through the movie theater parking lot as snow flurries begin to fall. I crouch down in my seat.
Why did this have to happen?
I don’t want to deal with a guy who drives like Rambo, taking down every elderly woman in his path. Maybe if I close my eyes, it will all go away.
A speeding police car with lights flashing arrives on the scene.
Do they really need to make such an entrance? They probably just left the donut shop down the road. No need to give in to the sugar rush.
Grandma slowly sits back in her seat as Rambo’s father comes over to our car.
“Ma’am, are you all right?” he asks.
“I don’t know…I’m awfully sore,” she says, rubbing the back of her neck.
“It’s not a good idea for you to be moving around. Why don’t you just sit back and stay as still as you can. The police are here now. Let me go and talk to them,” he says.
He strides into the wind head-on as his son bends down to analyze the damage to his front fender.
Really? He can’t even come over and see if the old lady he hit is okay? He has to send his dad? Way to be a man.
I lean forward and open the glove compartment to find the insurance information and registration card.
“Here comes someone now. Are you able to roll down the window, Grandma?” I ask.
“I think so…let me see,” she says, hitting the power button.
“How are you doing, ladies? Anyone seriously hurt?” asks a female police officer, her blonde curly hair blowing around her head like a tornado as the wind begins to increase.
“Well, I feel a little banged up,” Grandma replies.
“Look straight ahead, and keep your head against the headrest. Do not move a muscle. I don’t even want to know what happened. We’re going to give you an incident report that you can fill out later and drop off at the station next week. For now, just sit tight until the ambulance arrives,” the officer says with practiced authority.
“I don’t think I need an ambulance,” Grandma says.
“Grandma, it’s better if you go and get checked out at the hospital. Just to be sure,” I insist.
“Listen to your granddaughter. We’ll all feel better if you let them examine you,” the officer responds.
“Okay, if you think it’s necessary,” Grandma sighs.
“Try to relax. I’m going to talk with the other driver. Remember, don’t move,” the officer commands.
“Yes, officer,” Grandma replies meekly.
“Well, I guess they don’t want our paperwork,” I grumble.
What a mess.
We just wanted to get out and enjoy a movie without having it end in disaster.
It is the first time in a week that I have left the house. I’m still a little weak after what seemed like a never-ending bout with the flu. Last weekend, I was in the emergency room sick as a dog. Looks like this weekend is going to be more of the same. Except this time, I won’t be the patient.
This wouldn’t have happened if I had been driving. But the wind was so fierce that Grandma didn’t want me getting sick again. So she told me to wait at the entrance of the theater and she would pick me up. I ran from the theater entrance to the car, yet I still felt chilled to the bone. I didn’t notice anything amiss with Grandma. Everything seemed fine, until she plowed through an intersection without stopping. That’s all it took to land us in this predicament.
I look up as the ambulance pulls into the parking lot. A lanky guy with scruffy blonde hair and a face full of stubble jumps out…without a jacket…wearing short sleeves.
Is he crazy?
We’re practically living on an ice planet, and he’s dressed like it’s a summer day.
And he’s going to be the one taking care of my grandmother?
I think he’s the one who needs to get his head examined.
I watch him through the windshield as he follows his two older co-workers over to the police. Snowflakes stick to the black shirt of his uniform.
Great, they have some crazy guy who doesn’t look much older than me running the show. Perfect.
Luckily, one of the other paramedics approaches our car. He gently opens the door and looks at Grandma. He must see a lot of horrific things in his line of work. At least in this case there’s no blood or massive injuries.
“Hi, my name is Charlie, and I’m going to be taking care of you,” he says, with a smile.
Grandma nods.
“Oh, now don’t go moving on me. I need you to stay nice and still while I examine you,” he says in a soothing voice as he looks into her eyes with a mini flashlight. “Everything seems fine, but as a precaution, I’m going to put this neck brace on you. Then we’re going to put you on the stretcher and take you to the hospital.”
As Grandma is awkwardly fitted with the brace, I glance over at Mr. Short Sleeves. He’s not even shivering.
Just another endless day on the job…these twelve-hour shifts are murder. How much longer until I can go home?
The clock on the ambulance dashboard reads 4:03 p.m.
Great, two more hours…
I don’t mind when we’re busy, but sitting around a gas station parking lot isn’t exactly what I signed up for.
A call comes through the speakers interrupting my inner gripe session. “We have a two-vehicle crash in the parking lot of Crown Theater off Maria Boulevard. Closest unit please respond.”
Sitting behind the wheel, I grab the comm. “10-4, unit 365 responding.”
“Adam, please try to curb your enthusiasm. You know I don’t like having my coffee breaks interrupted,” jokes Charlie, my co-worker.
He is close to retirement and my get-up-and-go attitude, never fails to amuse him. He has seen a lot over his thirty-plus years as a paramedic, and I hope that my sense of humor will still be intact when I reach his age instead of having blood and death burned into my retinas.
“C’mon kid, let’s roll,” adds Tommy, another veteran on the staff. He is quieter than Charlie but no less professional when it comes to answering a call.
I turn on the overhead lights and ease into traffic. No need for the siren since we are only two minutes away and no major injuries were reported. It is probably the usual fender-bender with bruised egos and heated tempers.
I turn right at the light and aim the ambulance down the road. The movie theater is next to the new shopping center. Traffic is busy, but it’s nothing to worry about. I can already see the police cars by the theater.
Jeez, did they really need three cruisers for a minor crash? Looks like they’re having a slow day, too.
I inch onto the scene as a gust of snow nearly obliterates my vision.
This is going to be fun.
“All right, let’s go and get a handle on the situation,” Charlie says. “I’ll talk to the cops. Tommy, take Adam with you and see if anybody needs immediate assistance.”
“Should I bring any of the equipment with me, boss?” I ask.
“Yeah, you can start with the neck brace. We’ll see if we need to bring out the stretcher,” Charlie responds.
As Charlie greets the cops, Tommy and I get our first look at the crash. The SUV looks fine, maybe a bent fender, if that, but the driver’s side door of the black sedan resembles the Incredible Hulk’s punching bag.
I hate when people driving smaller cars become the crash test dummies of larger vehicles. It’s not a fair fight. Not by a long shot.
“The two men with the SUV look fine. They’re out and walking around. But it looks like something’s up with the old lady in the car. See how that cop is hovering over her?” Tommy asks.
“Guys, come here for a minute, will ya?” Charlie calls.
We jog over to where Charlie is standing. He is talking to a cop whose face is covered in acne scars. I don’t usually notice things like that, but the guy looks like a pepperoni pizza.
“You guys are first on scene, so if the lady wants to go with you, you’ll be the ones to take her to the hospital,” the cop says. “The other three aren’t complaining of any injuries, so it’ll just be her.”
I glance over again at the car and catch the girl staring at me.
Is she shaking her head?
I hope she’s not talking the driver out of seeking treatment. Big mistake. So many times an accident victim is still in shock, coasting on adrenaline when these things happen. It’s an hour or two later when the real pain sets in.
“You continually amaze me, kid,” Charlie says.
“And why is that?” I ask.
“We’re in the middle of a blizzard and you’re standing there like it’s the Fourth of July. I might be old and feeble, but would it kill you to wear a damn coat every once and a while?” Charlie asks.
“Old? Feeble? Glad you finally admitted it, old man,” I joke.
“Watch it,” Charlie warns.
“Well, if you fellas are done horsing around, I’d be much obliged if you could take a look at the victim. I wanna get outta here, the sooner the better,” says the pimple-faced cop.
Charlie turns around and rolls his eyes at me. Tommy is already hurrying toward the car.
“What do we have here? Officer, what’s the situation?” Tommy asks, as he reaches the female cop. She is still standing guard over the elderly lady, who is clearly injured.
“Looks like possible whiplash, but you’re the experts,” she says. “I’ll leave it to you to examine her. I’ve been trying to keep her from moving her neck.”
“Excellent, we’ll take it from here,” Charlie responds.
Since I am still in training, I step back and watch as Tommy takes the neck brace from my hands and gives it to Charlie. Charlie is such a pro in these situations. He always knows how to keep a victim calm and get the job done.
I chance another quick look at the girl. She is extremely quiet, no doubt taking it all in. At least she’s not causing a fuss or getting in the way. Looks like we’re all headed for a ride to the hospital.