My thanks as always go to those who look after me and find the holes I seem to leave in the storyline. To the Beta readers that give so much of that precious thing we call time and my editors that continue to point and laugh. Thank you all.
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I woke with a start; my eyes had already scanned the room for threats before realizing that I was at home. Exhaling what little oxygen I had left from my lungs and swinging my legs out of bed, my body stank of sweat. When I looked up and walked towards the book on the dresser, I flipped a few pages over and even smiled. Ten days since the last nightmare, I must be getting better.
Feeling like it was pointless trying to sleep again and just heading for the shower felt like the right option, and yet my instinct was to put on my running kit. That's when I truly smiled, it was four in the morning, the temperature was close to freezing and that opinion was already backed up by snow as far as the eye can see. Or in this case, the view from my bedroom window.
Sensing that my run was becoming dangerous, I cut a good half the circuit off my normal route and thanked my lucky stars that I hadn't even twisted an ankle on the way around. Two hours later I was showered, dressed and holding my travel mug in my hand as I walked to my car and headed to work.
Although the office had windows, I barely looked out all day. I left that to the office grapevine to tell me how the weather was doing. Running, and, of course, the drive to the office in it was bad enough, without the reminder of what I had to look forward to later. I had finished my meeting with my boss at two that afternoon, it was also then that she announced that she was shutting the office, as of now, so that we all had a chance to get back home rather than being stranded on the freeway.
Head office wasn't going to argue with her. General Alison Thomson (retired) was a force to be reckoned with in this office. Rumor had it, and seeing her in action I could believe it, she knew where all the bodies were buried and no one at Langley wanted to rock her boat. I left about an hour later; my boss was still in, she may not always have been the first to arrive in the morning, but you could always count on her being one of the last to leave.
The snow was churned up really well around town, and yet the snow crews still hadn't ventured out into the countryside too often. I was still a couple of miles from home when I reached the lights, the car behind me was doing everything he/she could to get past me. The only thing slowing that down was the ice on one side and the banked snow on the other when it came to places to try and pass me.
Seeing the gap gave the driver the impetus they needed and my ears picked up the spinning of the tires as they tried to accelerate away from the lights, those same lights that had barely turned from red. With my driver's window slightly open I picked up on the noise quicker than the driver of the car that had just left my side. The truck's horn reverberated around the area. To me, it was too little and way too late.
The truck skidded through the intersection, catching the car side-on and spinning it into the wall on the other side of the junction. With the aid of ice hiding under an inch or so of snow, every wheel on the truck locked, the driver was just along for the ride. His cab twisted with the blow to the car and jackknifed into the trailer that was now on its own spin through the lights. My eyes took in the scene before me as the mind made a quick calculation on who looked likely to survive this night.
Only when the twisted wreckage of the truck came to a stop did the fire start and engulfed the cab in a ball of flames. Whatever the driver of that rig had in his cab only fueled the flames, turning the evening into day again. The car wasn't much better; the driver's side of the car took the brunt of the damage, but it wasn't worried about sharing the crumpled mess that was now the car with the stone wall it had hit.
What few panes of glass left intact exploded out of the rig as the fire took hold, the driver had to be dead, no one could have survived that fire raging inside it. With my cell in my hand I called 911 and gave them my location, as well as a brief description of what happened, the nice lady on the other end tried hard to control the conversation, however my attention was on what was left of the car and anyone in it.
Knowing that the emergency people would glean enough information from what I had said, I did the one thing they hate: I hung up. I got out of my car and ran the last few yards to the car, trying door handles as I worked my way around the wreck. The engine was smoking and some strange crackling sounds were coming from the engine compartment. With the hood bent at an odd angle, I could see sparks as now bare wires bounced off of the engine block, and that alone worried me greatly.
The driver was already dead, the huge block of stone sitting on his chest made that a quick confirmation. The man in the back seat moaned and I let out a sigh of relief that something could possibly be saved from this mess. The door still refused to give, so climbing in through the now missing back window was my only option. His pulse was weak and he seemed to try to shrink back from my hand on his neck.
Luckily kicking the door outwards proved a success, well, after the fourth try that is. That's when I got out and pulled the old man out with me, resting him against a tree a safe distance from the carnage that surrounded us. This one person was the only one alive and my doubts lingered on how long that statement would hold up. He was in a bad way, and I suspected that all I could do was keep him company until he passed.
The old man's head rested on my lap as I held his hand. I don't think either of us felt the cold at the moment, too much adrenaline being shared between us.
My words offered some comfort, I hoped. "Help is on its way, hang in there."
He gave my hand a slight squeeze and attempted a smile. "You did more than most when you got me out of the car, but please don't take me for a fool."
It was the air of authority in his words that made me pay attention. I was in so much of a hurry getting the guy out of the car and away from the reminder of what had happened to his driver that my mind slowly answered so many of its own unanswered questions. That car was built to protect the people it carried. No wonder I had to give it some hefty kicks to get the damn door to open.
He coughed and I held down on the chest wound; his own hands held mine when he coughed. He looked at me and we both knew, even though we could faintly hear the sirens echo up from the edge of town, they were still too far away to keep him alive.
One of his hands left my wrist and he reached up to hold tightly on my suit jacket. "She's going to come for you."
He pulled air into his lungs and that strange rattle sound was heard by us both.
"She'll blame you for this, not me. I'm sorry but I know she will."
The noise of the sirens almost obscured what he said next: such was the life ebbing from him and his need to say whatever it was just placed too much of a demand on that tenuous link he had left with life.
"Hush little baby." The hand holding my jacket pulled me down so I could hear better. "Remember. Hush little baby."
The hand relaxed just as the fire truck and ambulance came to a skidding stop alongside me; the sheriff's car swung out and blocked the road. What followed was an awful lot of shouting and the paramedics checking both the man on the ground and then me; given the amount of blood I seemed to have on me, I could understand why.
I also made a point of paying attention while I watched and listened from the sidelines with some amusement and bewilderment. When they ran the plate on the Lincoln, it came back owned by a company in the Caymans. The ID from the dead driver got them the name of Martin Parks, ex-forces and now a private investigator. His side arm was state of the art for a private dick, but he had a license to carry.
Once the paramedics pronounced me very much alive, one of the deputies took me to his cruiser and sat me in the back so I could at least stay warm. Both the deputies had worried looks on their faces and I could understand why; too many things about this situation didn't add up. Another cruiser pulled up and a sergeant got out, he went into a huddle with his friends and occasionally one would look my way.
They also seemed to think I had some of the answers, so the sergeant told me they were taking me to the station. I wanted to go in my car since there was no damage to it, but they pronounced it part of a crime scene and that alone made me laugh. It seemed I was the only one laughing; this was nothing more than an accident, the result of ice and hurry. But as the radio chatter increased and the answers still eluded them, it looked like I was going to be helping with their enquiries at the station. No, something else was going on here, and I was perhaps too close at the moment to realize what it was.
Back at the station, I did something that came from instinct, and a fair amount of preservation. If you sit still and keep your mouth shut long enough, people seem to forget you're there, so I sat, watched and listened whilst remaining silent. The situation at the junction was escalating towards confusing at an unprecedented rate. The old man had no ID at all. They ran his prints when we got back to the station and got nothing, so the sheriff enlisted the help of the FBI, and that's when it all went to hell.
By then, of course, I had given my statement twice and had to surrender my clothes for analysis. I suppose with the amount of blood I had over me they would want to confirm whose it was. Since I couldn't think of a place for them when I took them off, other than the trash when I got home, I was more than willing to get out of them. There was no way that amount of blood was coming out in the wash.
The picture of the old man went on the wire and the FBI, ran it through their facial recognition system. Using that sitting silently and listening intently thing, I heard it took all of ten minutes before the bells and whistles on that machine went off.
I was once again placed in an interrogation room and retold my story for the third time to two state troopers who walked into the sheriff's office and told them they had taken over this investigation pending the arrival of the FBI, it was starting to look like they didn't trust the local boys and girls with this investigation. Two hours later, four suits wandered in and conferred with the troopers before the troopers themselves left and the suits took over part of the sheriff's office until further notice.
By then I figured I needed to start looking after number one and clammed up when I was once again taken into the same interrogation room as before. Hell, I was almost sure the seat was still warm from the last time I was here.
He was one of the intense ones, the kind you looked at and he knew all about you. This one seemed to make it a competition on who spoke first, I helped him with that.
"I'd like to make a phone call."
"You haven't been arrested, Mr. Davis."
Why did I feel he was using a well-rehearsed script he had in his head? "Then give me my cell and my personal belongings back."
"I'm afraid they are evidence in an ongoing investigation Mr. Davis."
My take on this, so far, was that the intense one was using a real loose grip on the law to keep me here. This was also starting to turn into a staring competition again. "So, I'm not under arrest?"
He smiled; man wasn't that a mistake. I could tell a fake smile as well as a fake laugh.
"We would like to think you're helping us with our inquiries, Mr. Davis."
