by Steven Swaks
“Your boys found the head,” Delano said, hands in his pocket.
The young man was as white as a McDonald’s napkin before usage. Sweat trickled down his forehead. “I… uh… I… found the mother’s… uh…”
“Spit it out, son.”
“Her head’s in the kitchen…” he said in one breath.
“We cleared the kitchen. There was nothing,” Berkley said.
“Her head was… is… uh… on a shelf… in… uh… in the refrigerator…” Aaron Boyle ran outside, heaving with a hand on his mouth.
“This keeps getting better and better,” Delano said without arousal.
“We can clear EMS,” Berkley announced on the radio.
An officer staging inside gladly escaped the house and strode to Captain Johnson, “You guys are canceled.”
“You didn’t find Gina?” Johnson asked.
Alex and Ben walked closer to listen to the update.
“We found her in the garage. She hung herself.”
“Wait,” Ben said, “we need to call her, she might still be alive.”
“Trust me, she’s dead–”
“How would you know? You’re not a medic.”
“She’s dead. She’s been dead for a few days. One quick look at the body, and anybody could tell you that.”
Ben relaxed. “Who even called 911?”
“A neighbor saw the mail piling up by the front door. She said that wasn’t like them, and their car hadn’t moved in days. They didn’t even move it for street sweeping. There’s a parking ticket on the windshield.”
Alex and Ben drove in silence back to the station. They hardly said hi to dispatch, some new girl in training with the lead dispatcher looking over her shoulder. They didn’t care. Their daily routine was shattered. They hadn’t responded to a chest or abdominal pain, a minor traffic collision, or a fainting at the gym. Gina was dead. They couldn’t get over it.
They sat on recliners facing a black television screen in the small break room.
“What just happened?” Ben asked.
“You know what happened,” Alex said.
“It’s not like her to do that. Gina was depressed, but she was no murderer.”
“You don’t know what’s going on in people’s heads. Maybe she snapped. She lost it.” Alex said.
“She chopped her mother’s head off. That’s not even a murder, that’s… rage. Who does that?”
Pecan Pie
“Did you know Gina Hawkins?” Jessica asked her sister.
“Never met her.”
“Everybody is talking about it.”
“That’s the first time this kind of stuff happened in this hell-hole, that’s for sure,” Tracy said playing Call of Duty on her bedroom television.
“You don’t seem very upset about it.”
“Why would I be? I’ve never met her.”
“But, it’s so sad.”
“Thousands of kids die in Africa every day, and you don’t seem to wet your pants about it.”
“It’s not the same,” Jessica said sitting on an armchair by the window.
“How’s that? It’s terrible when it’s here, but nobody cares if it’s far away?” She shrugged, “That’s church for you.”
“Don’t say that.”
“Sure, I won’t say it, but I still think it.”
“I can’t save the world, whether I like it or not. I try whatever I can from here, but those kids are more anonymous, and Gina was almost a neighbor.”
“Whatever you say, sister.”
“I have to go to Dina’s,” Jessica said with a defeated look on her soft face.
“Dina’s? Why?” Tracy asked before shooting an enemy. “Got ya!”
“I have to buy pies for the counselors’ meeting tonight.”
Tracy exaggerated a laugh. “That’s funny!”
“What?”
“You have to appreciate the irony.”
“What irony?”
“We’re talking about starving kids, and your little church group is going to stuff themselves with pies. That’s hilarious.” She shot another German soldier in the World War II French countryside. “Cool, I made it to the village.”
“We’re having a meeting for the Cubbies. Some of those kids don’t even have both parents in their homes, or they live with their grandparents. Some of them are bullied in school or have no friends. The church is the only safe place they have.”
Tracy shrugged.
“I don’t see you doing anything to help out the community. You spend your day on that stupid game.”
“Be careful, sister. Judging is a sin… and so is anger.”
“Anger is not a sin if it’s for an injustice, and I’m not angry.”
“Sure, and I’m a nun.”
Jessica unconsciously glanced around her sister’s room to find something to lock on, an object to help her focus on positive thoughts away from her growing frustration. There was nothing. “I have to go.” She walked out of the room and closed the door behind her.
Tracy paused Call of Duty. She looked at her bedroom door draped with a purple veil. She looked at her controller and resumed her game.
Dina’s Diner had a peculiar atmosphere Jessica loved. The restaurant felt warm and homey. From the instant she walked in, she smelled the sweet aroma of fresh-baked croissants and pies. Even if she didn’t drink coffee, she enjoyed the bitter scent floating in the air.
The dining room could have used newer and more powerful light bulbs, but the customers liked it that way. They enjoyed what made Dina’s, the food, the old movie posters on the wall, down to clattering dishes in the kitchen. Some of the old timers spent hours in the booths over a slice of blueberry pie and a bottomless cup of homebrewed coffee, chatting about anything that crossed their nostalgic minds.
“Hi, Jessica!” bubbly Amanda said from the other side of the counter.
“Hi, Mrs. Walker,” Jessica said without her usual fervor.
Amanda Walker wiped her hands on a towel. “What is that little voice?” She asked striding toward her.
“It’s nothing.”
“Come on, young lady. I’ve known you long enough to see there’s something going on. Old Barney over there could even tell if he was not asleep in my booth.”
Jessica briefly smiled.
“Talk to me. Is it that sister of yours?”
“No… she is… so… I don’t know. She can’t stand the church. She always makes me feel guilty about everything.”
“It’s that old sister’s rivalry. You have to be patient with her. She’s still trying to find her mark.”
Jessica hardly nodded.
“Give her some time. I know that she’s going to come around some day. Trust me.”
“I hope.”
“I know what’s going to make you feel better!”
“What?” Jessica asked looking at the woman.
“You have to try my pecan pie. Take a slice and tell me what you think.”
“This is so nice of you, but I don’t want to take advantage.”
“What advantage? Are you kidding me? You’re helping me. I need your expert opinion!”
Jessica’s eyes lit up.
Amanda Walker stepped away for an instant.
Todd, the young construction worker, entered. He lowered his blue hood and glanced around while heading toward the counter. His eyes landed on young Jessica Miller. He had seen her before, at that very spot.
The young woman before him had a charm he could not pinpoint. She was pretty, but there was something else about her. She looked sweet and gentle, an angel among the crowd.
Todd walked to the cashier so conveniently located right next to her. He wanted to approach her like a relaxed human being and strike a conversation. That would be after he found something to say… but nothing came out. Yeah, something to say… he had to find something… anything. His mind was blank, a ten pound blob of yogurt sloshing within his skull.
She turned as he stopped next to her and smi
led to be polite.
Amanda Walker came back with a dessert plate and a small slice of pie. “There you go, honey!”
Jessica thanked her.
“You know what? With all that talking, I didn’t even ask you what you needed!”
“Oh, yeah, uh, could I have a lemon meringue pie and a French apple pie, please?”
“You got it! Take a seat to eat your slice, and come back to get them when you’re done.”
“You are so kind.”
“Don’t mention it! What about you, young man? What can I get you today?”
“I need four coffees and eight muffins, ma’am.”
“Right away!” Walker strode to the glass display.
Todd gazed at Jessica. “You like pies?” You like pies? Seriously? She was eating a slice of pie. What kind of lame pick-up line was that? It wasn’t as bad and cheesy as saying that if he could rewrite the alphabet he would put "U" and "I" together, but it was still up there.
She didn’t know what to say, “I do.”
Two-word answer. Things could not get much worse, or perhaps they could. She could have thrown the pie at him. What was he supposed to say to feed the conversation? “Is that a good apple pie?”
“It’s a pecan pie… it’s crushed pecan on top.”
He couldn’t even tell the difference between a pecan and a crumbed apple pie. Dumb, dumb, dumb… recover… find something to say… now, find, find, find… There was nothing, a big arctic whiteout of nothing.
“There it is, young man!” Walker called him holding a disposable tray with the coffee cups and a filled brown paper bag.
Todd paid. He had one last chance, one last move to impress the damsel. Impress? What was he thinking? It would be a world class accomplishment if he did not make a complete fool out of himself. He picked up his food and drinks.
It was all in slow motion. His head swiveled in her direction. He wanted to say something. His heart was racing like an alpine skier. He opened his mouth. He knew words would come out. Nothing did, not a sound, nothing, Sahara-Desert nothing.
Jessica looked up, her fork in midair on a stalled climb to her mouth.
His upper and lower lips gathered in a crushing blow to his self-esteem. Girls were a different species. Talking to a girl was like trying to talk to an alien life form. Maybe not, he would have had a better chance to communicate with E.T. Resigned, he escaped the diner under the boos and laughter of an imaginary crowd.
Left Lane
“I have to say, I love sitting for hours on a street corner,” Ben said looking at an empty and wet mall parking lot spreading in front of him. The sun had set two hours ago on what used to be a busy shopping center.
“The other rig has been busy. We need to cover both areas.”
“Thanks for explaining to me why we are here, Alex.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Do you know what they got?”
“Abdominal pain and a fall in a convalescent home before that.”
“Goody, adrenaline must be pumping…” Ben said without emotion.
“Do I sense some sarcasm?”
“Me?” Ben pointed at his own chest, “Never. But think about it. When was the last time we got a good call?”
“You mean, a bad call?”
“Yeah, a good bad call,” Ben said with a smirk.
“Aside from Gina?”
“Gina? We didn’t do anything. We didn’t even go inside the house. That doesn’t count.”
“Fine. Let’s see…” Alex raised his hand to his chin.
“That’s exactly what I’m talking about. You have to think about it. It’s been what? Three months since we had a truly challenging call out of the ordinary neck pain, back pain after a bogus TC, or even an ouchie in the tummy.”
An alarm rang on the dash-mounted laptop with a dispatcher calling at the same time. “Stone Falls Engine 61, Engine 63, Engine 64, Truck 61, Battalion 61, Medic 61, Medic 63, traffic collision, White Cove Avenue and West Tree Street, Stone Falls PD en route.”
The same information flashed on the screen. “That’s a bad one,” Alex said reading the details.
“Why? What do you have?” Ben turned his primary lights and powered the growler on without activating it.
“It says two-vehicle traffic collision, PD involved, cut and rescue, severe injuries.”
“PD is involved?” A tight grip squeezed his chest. Police, fire, they were all a big family going to each other’s houses for barbeques during the summer. They witnessed their kids growing together and watched the game on Sundays.
The next six minutes was a break in time. Red lights flashed, the siren and growler wailed to gain some extra seconds. Drivers mostly pulled over. A few ignored them for an instant, their radios blaring music in the night.
This call didn’t belong to the realm of routine. PD involved, cut and rescue, severe injuries, it was very clear and straightforward. It would be bad. They didn’t voice it, but they wondered who the officer was. They ran through a few names without saying it, Jameson, Detective Delano, Boyle, Berkley, down to Chief Burns. It was a logic of war. Who would walk out unscathed?
Ben slowed down at the last intersection before turning onto White Cove, a wide four-lane avenue with a narrow and grassy center divider. At 9:10 in the evening, there was little traffic in this residential area, only a few residents coming home from a run to the supermarket or a late day of work at the office to catch a well-needed promotion.
The night was serene and almost beautiful. Tall street lights reflected on the wet pavement beside large palm trees. Comfortable homes spread further up the hill, their residents mostly unaware of the unfolding drama.
Alex and Ben didn’t know the details either. Soon, they would. Flashing red and blue lights danced a mile away down the dark street.
Another set of red lights flashed in their rear view mirrors. Ben slowed down as he approached the crash. The entire Stone Falls Police Department was there with multiple cruisers swarming the scene. Stone Falls Engine 63 was hiding the bulk of the accident on the opposite side of the street. Plastic and metal debris were strewn across the boulevard as if the vehicles had exploded on impact in what looked more like a plane crash than a car accident.
Ben looked a few feet in front of him to avoid driving on sharp fragments and puncturing one of the ambulance’s tires. He carefully maneuvered around Engine 63 to be as close to the victims as possible. Light white smoke was bellowing from the other side of the fire truck.
“Oh God,” Alex muttered.
“Medic 61, on scene,” Ben announced on the radio. “What?” he asked his partner without looking at him.
An unbearable stench of burnt hair and flesh floated in the air. “There’s a charred body on the road.”
Ben looked up. A human shape was lying on its back in the middle of the street, one hand straight up in the air. Dark boots and the bottom of navy blue pants were mostly intact, but the top half of the body was charred in a black and white leathery texture. A bulky mass of melted plastic hung on the waist. “It’s a cop.”
A firefighter was dousing remaining flames out of what was left of the police cruiser’s engine compartment. The front of the Dodge Charger was smashed in a mass of twisted and charred metal dripping foamy water.
Alex and Ben jumped out of their ambulance. They picked up their gear, and strode toward the center of all the attention, a second vehicle fifty feet away on the other side of the police car. On a conventional call, they would have ignored the DOA, but they couldn’t. The duo slowed down as they walked by, but they couldn’t recognize who the medium-sized body was. The victim was most likely a male, but that was all they could tell from the hairless and smoldering head.
They walked around the police car pushing their gurney amidst puddles of radiator fluid and plastic debris. What was already a heart wrenching scene became worse. A crossover–or maybe a sedan, they couldn’t even tell what it was–had been hit on both sides by the front section. Ho
w was it even possible? A few firefighters in full yellow turnouts and helmets were working in the back of the car. There was nothing to do in the front. The driver and passenger, an older couple, were deceased in a mass of mangled bodies and dashboard. A lone arm hung out of the car.
A firefighter waved at Ben, “Medic!” Ben gazed toward him. “Over here!”
Ben snapped out of his daze. He became a technician, a miracle worker. Immobilize, assess the patients, treat the obvious, do not ignore what you do not see, pack up, and transport. He walked beside the firefighter who was trying to pry open the back door. He clutched the door with his gloved hands and pulled as hard as he could. Time was of the essence. With two fatalities in the front, the rear passengers were automatically considered trauma patients. Ben didn’t even know who they were.
As the fireman continued working on the door, Ben shone his light into the mangled car. The spectacle was heart-wrenching. Two young girls lay on their seat, still restrained by their seatbelts.
One of them was about eight years old. A laceration gashed her forehead, smearing blood on her face and her long curly hair. She turned her head to Ben, “I don’t feel good.”
“Don’t move, sweetie, ok? We’re going to take you out in a minute.” Ben looked at the firefighter working on the door. “Did you try the other side?”
“The door’s completely jammed,” he said before pulling one more time. The twisted door opened in a crunching metal complaint.
The firefighter dove into the car and held her neck between his hands. Ben put on a cervical collar and quickly worked to extricate her. Another two paramedics stepped into the car to take care of her sister as soon as the eight-year old was out.
Alex and Ben wheeled her away from the mangled cars, the gurney’s thick rubbery wheels rolling on glass and small debris to the back of the unit.
The once quiet street had become complete chaos with multiple police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances crowding the boulevard. A small group of onlookers started gathering on the opposite curb. They tried to get a better look, thirsty for a bloody break in their sad daily routine. Onlookers speculated on what had happened, erroneous information quickly becoming certainties.