Dark Justice

by Brandilyn Collins

  “Anyway, I’m sure your friends were right, Mom, the woman and baby must have flown.” I tried to keep the defeat from my voice.

  Mom made a point of continuing to look out her window. “You don’t really believe me.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  We rounded another curve, admiring the scenery. I hoped Mom would let the subject drop. The wild pull of the ocean had given way to an open field. “We should call Emily when we get home. She’ll want to hear—”

  “Look!” Mom’s finger jerked toward her side of the road. My gaze flicked to follow her gesture—and landed on a small gray car, gone some distance off the pavement and flipped onto its passenger side. I gasped.

  “Oh, dear, there’s a man!” Mom’s voice quivered.

  He lay on his back in the grass. Unmoving.

  It happened so fast, we’d passed the scene before I could react. My foot hit the brake. I steered our car off the road and onto grass, carving to a halt. Turned off the engine and grabbed out the keys. I couldn’t leave them in the ignition with my mother around. “Mom, you stay here, okay? Don’t move. I’ll run back and check on him.”

  I bounded out of my Ford Escort, dropping my keys in the pocket of my coat. Then I remembered my cell phone. I whirled back and opened the rear door to fish it from my purse.

  “You think he’s okay?” Mom was turned around in her seat, her face pinched.

  “Don’t know, I’ll see.”

  My cell phone fell into the same pocket as my keys. I ran toward the man and sank to my knees beside him. He looked to be in his late seventies, his face gray. On more than one occasion a patient in the cardiologist’s office in which I served as receptionist had collapsed in the waiting room. I was used to helping the infirm and elderly. My heart ached for every one of them, even as I snapped into a no-nonsense, medical mode.

  “Sir?” I placed the backs of my fingers against the man’s neck and felt a pulse. “Sir, can you hear me?”

  His eyes fluttered open. His mouth moved to talk, but no sound came.

  “Do you hurt anywhere?” I checked down the length of his body. His legs looked normal, nothing torqued at an odd angle. Had he been thrown from his car? I glanced at the vehicle. The open window of the driver’s side gaped up at the sky. Could he have been thrown out of such a small space? Maybe he climbed out.

  The man’s lips tremored. “M–my . . .” He lifted a shaking hand and slid it over his heart.

  “Your chest?”

  “Unhh.” He winced.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and punched in 911. The man’s hand raised, reaching for my wrist.

  “Nine-one-one, what is your emergency?”

  “Auto accident on Tunitas Road, off Highway 1. One victim, male, late seventies. He’s outside the car, lying on his back. Complaining of chest pains. I see no other obvious signs of trauma.”

  “Is he breathing?”

  “Yes. Trying to talk.”

  “All right, stay on the line, please.”

  The man’s cold fingers fumbled for me. “Lis . . .”

  “It’s okay, it’s okay.” I grasped his hand. “Help will be on the way. I’ll stay with you.”

  “Nnnn . . .”

  “Shh, it’s okay. Let’s have a look at your chest.”

  I eased his arm toward the ground and fumbled one-handed with the buttons on his coat. His hand shot up and grabbed mine again. “Lisss!”

  His strength startled me. Abject fear etched his face. I stopped all movement.

  “Ma’am, ma’am?” The woman’s voice came through my phone.

  I held the man’s hand, my eyes on him as I pulled the cell close to my ear. “I’m here.”

  “Is he able to move his legs?”

  The man’s fingers tightened over mine. “Pleease . . .”

  Such fear in his eyes. I’d seen it before in a patient who knew he was dying. Did this man feel that? I tried to give him a reassuring smile, but it came out twisted. “Shh. It’s all right.” Into the phone I said, “I don’t know. When will you get here?”

  “Help’s on the way from Half Moon Bay. Five to ten minutes.”

  The man gasped in breaths. “Raaaalll . . .” His fingers sank into my palm, his determined expression shooting right through me. He must be feeling himself slip away. Did he have a final message for someone? If so, I would move Earth to deliver it.

  I knew I was supposed to stay on the phone. Report what vital signs I could. But this panicked man was alone and terrified, and I was all he had.

  “I have to put the phone down for a moment,” I told Emergency. I laid it on the grass without waiting for a reply.

  “Raalll . . .”

  With both hands, I grasped the man’s fingers. Shifted my body so he could see my face more easily. “Ral?”

  His head tried to nod. “Ral . . . ee.”

  “Raleigh?”

  “Unhh.” His nails sank into my skin. “In . . . Ral-leigh.” The last syllable sank like a sigh.

  “In Raleigh.”

  “Yeah.” Tears sprang to his eyes, as if he couldn’t believe he’d gotten it out. My own eyes watered in response. His emotion rolled off him like fog, wrapping around my shoulders. Making me shiver.

  Pain crimped his face. He closed his eyes, a tear running down each temple. “F-find. Please. S-save.”

  Find what? “Okay.” I nodded. “I will.”

  He looked at me once again, his gaze piercing. “Prom . . .”

  “I promise.”

  “Im . . . port . . .”

  “It’s important?”

  “Uh.”

  “Is he okay?” My mother’s voice drifted from behind me.

  Oh, no. I half-turned. “Mom, I wanted you to stay in the car.”

  She gazed down at the man, her cheeks red. Her hat was about to slip from her head. “Oh, the poor thing.”

  “Mom, please.” Anxiety edged my voice. I couldn’t trust her here. What if she wandered out into the road? I let go of the man’s hand, fumbling around to face Mom, still on my knees. “Please get back to the car.” How long until we saw the ambulance? The police?

  “No, I want to help.”

  Movement from the man rustled from behind. He grasped the left side of my coat, his fingers plucking at my pocket.

  “Mom, listen to me.”

  But my mother had no intention of listening. She slipped to the man’s other side and awkwardly lowered herself to the ground. I shuffled back around to face them both. At least Mom was right in front of me.

  The man’s hand fell back to his chest. His mouth trembled.

  “That’s all right now, you’ll be all right.” Mom’s words crooned. She placed her hands against the man’s cheeks. “‘In God I trust; I will not fear. What can man do to me?’ That’s in the Bible, you know.”

  He managed a tiny nod, his gaze latching onto my mother’s face as if it were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

  “My daughter works in a big, important doctor’s office. She knows what to do.” Mom leaned closer to him. “She’s a little stubborn sometimes, but you know children.”

  No response. The man was struggling to breathe.

  “What’s your name?” Mom asked.

  “M . . . Morton.”

  “Hi, Morton. I’m Carol. This is my daughter, Hannah.”

  Morton’s breathing grew worse. That scared me. I snatched up my cell phone. “Hello? You still there?”

  “I’m here. What’s happening?”

  “It’s getting harder for him to breathe. We need help now.”

  A pause. “They’re en route and should be there soon.”

  I’d never gotten Morton’s coat unbuttoned. He could have a wound, maybe from hitting the steering wheel. Or what if he was bleeding internally? Having a he
art attack? Not that I could stop that. I threw the phone down again. “Morton, I need to look at your chest.” I reached for the top button, but his arms were in the way.

  He wound his fingers around Mom’s small wrist. “In . . . Raleigh.”

  “In Raleigh?”

  “Ye . . .”

  She tilted her head. “What’s in Raleigh?”

  “K . . .”

  Mom frowned at me. “What’s he—”

  A siren wailed in the distance. Thank God. I grabbed my phone again. “They’re here, I’m hanging up.” I punched off the call and dropped the cell into my deep pocket.

  I smoothed Morton’s hair. “Hear that? Help’s almost here.”

  His glassy eyes turned toward mine. The gray in his face drained to white. “Don’t t-t-t . . .” His jaw snapped up and down, uncontrolled, his voice sounding panicked. “Tell.”

  “Don’t tell?”

  His eyes closed in a yes. “Any . . . one.” He gripped Mom’s wrist harder, as if his fingers could force into her what he wanted to say.

  I could feel the dire need flowing from him. I knew Mom felt it too. My mother and I glanced at each other, shaken to the core.

  Mom began to cry. “Oh, you poor man.” She patted his cheeks, her words spilling out as they did when she was overwhelmed. “Don’t tell anyone—okay, we won’t. We’ll come see you in the hospital, and you can tell us all about it. Help him, Jesus, Jesus. Help this poor soul.”

  The siren grew loud. I pushed back on my haunches and saw a fire truck round the curve. It veered off the road a little below us and ground to a stop. The siren died away as two men jumped out. A white sheriff’s department car pulled up behind it. Men from the fire truck gathered equipment kits and ran toward us.

  Morton’s eyes popped open. He pierced me with a final look. “Be . . . careful.”

  I pushed to my feet. My mother didn’t move. “Mom, you’ll need to step back now so they can work on him.”

  She brushed her fingertips across the man’s forehead. His eyes were closed again, pain pinching his face. “I don’t want to leave him.”

  “You’ll have to.” I moved around Morton’s head to take her elbows.

  The firemen reached us. The first fell to his knees on Morton’s other side and nodded to me. “What can you tell me?” He was already reaching into his kit for equipment.

  “He’s still complaining of chest pains. I don’t know much more. His name’s Morton.”

  The other fireman ran around to our side.

  “Come on, Mom.” I pulled her to her feet. “We have to get out of the way.”

  With obvious reluctance she shuffled backward with me. We moved some distance away and huddled together to watch. A breeze picked up, whistling a dirge around the parked vehicles. Mom shivered. I put an arm around her thin shoulders. We couldn’t see Morton’s face anymore. Could only watch the back of the fireman closest to us.

  A portly sheriff’s deputy hurried from his car and over to Morton and the first responders. “Ambulance is on its way,” he told them.

  “Be careful.” What did Morton mean?

  The few other cars on Tunitas Road were slowing down, the drivers rubbernecking. A second sheriff’s department vehicle arrived. The deputy hopped out and waved drivers on.

  Mom was sniffing. “I feel so sorry for him.”

  I squeezed her shoulder. “Me too.”

  “We’ll help him, won’t we.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Of course we will.”

  “He said Raleigh. North Carolina?”

  “I guess. Maybe he’s from there.”

  “What’s in Raleigh?”

  He had tried to say it. A word starting with a K. Maybe a hard C. “I have no idea.”

  “Someone important, he said. I think it’s his daughter.”

  “His daughter?” The responders were taking vital signs. One reported findings into a radio. The sheriff’s deputy stood over them, watching. He gave me a quick nod, and I nodded back.

  “Yes,” Mom said. “She’s a lost soul. He hasn’t seen her for the longest time. He wants to tell her he loves her.”

  “I see.”

  “So sad.”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll have to go to Raleigh and find her. Bring her back to him.”

  My throat tightened—for more than one reason. I gave Mom a shaky smile.

  “We’ll do that, Hannah, won’t we? He wants us to.”

  “Okay, Mom.”

  She held onto me, her body small and vulnerable. I hugged her back, resting my chin on the top of her purple hat. The breeze blew harder, and Mom shivered more. I rubbed her arms. “You’re cold. Want to get back in the car?”

  “No. Morton might need me.” She stuck her hands in her pockets.

  She would be upset all evening. Perhaps pace the house, restless. In the morning she may have forgotten these events. Or not. If the latter, she’d latch on to every detail she could remember. Again and again she’d insist on going to Raleigh—all the way across the country—to find Morton’s daughter. No amount of talking would persuade her that the daughter’s existence had sprung from her own mind. That the woman may well not even exist.

  Dorothy, Mom’s caretaker, would have to deal with it while I was at work. I’d face it when I got home.

  I hugged Mom harder, wanting to cry for her. For me. For the man we could do so little to help. How horrible this was, to see someone struggle to survive. How fragile, our lives.

  “Be careful.”

  Another siren approached. Soon an ambulance pulled up, a man and woman jumping out. Now four voices mingled over their patient, exchanging information. Equipment clinked. What was it like to be Morton, flat on his back on the ground, looking up at unknown faces, his life in their hands?

  Another vehicle engine sounded behind me. I turned to see a Channel 7 news van pull off the road.

  “Oh, no.” I gaped at the van. “How’d they get here so fast?” They must have been in the area already.

  The sheriff’s deputy gazed at a man jumping out of the van, camera up and ready. A woman followed. Looked like a reporter. The deputy mumbled something under his breath and strode past us in their direction. He threw words at me as he walked by: “Can you stick around until they’re done here?”

  “Yes.” I knew he’d want my contact information. But I did not want to end up on the evening news.

  The deputy hurried on. “You can only film from where you are,” he called to the reporter and cameraman. “I’ll need you to stay back.”

  I glanced at Mom. She hadn’t even turned around, her gaze fixed on Morton. The first responders had moved aside, the paramedics fitting a collar around his neck.

  “What are they doing?” Mom sounded protective, as if she couldn’t trust them to help her new friend.

  “They can’t move him around very much in case he’s got a spinal cord injury. The collar is to protect his neck.”

  “He’s going to live, isn’t he?”

  My throat tightened. Morton could be someone’s husband, father, grandfather. “I sure hope so.”

  One of the paramedics ran to the ambulance and readied a gurney. Next he carried over a backboard and laid it on the ground. With care they moved Morton onto it. They and the firemen lifted Morton up and began carrying him toward the gurney.

  I flicked a look over my shoulder. The Channel 7 camera was filming.

  “I want to say good-bye.” Mom pulled away from me before I could stop her. She trundled after the paramedics. “Wait! I want to see him.”

  They didn’t stop. I went after her.

  “Wait! Please!”

  From the corner of my eye, I saw the camera swing toward Mom.

  The medics reached the gurney and laid Morton, still on the backboard, upon it. A young
-looking man turned to my mother. “Ma’am, we need to go.”

  She brushed past him, determined.

  “Ma’am—”

  Must have been something in Mom’s eyes. The female paramedic gazed at my mother, then shook her head at her colleague. “One second.”

  Mom reached Morton’s side and bent over him. I could see his face. His eyes were still closed. Was he even conscious?

  “I remember,” she whispered. “We won’t forget.” She patted his head.

  I looked to one of the men from the fire truck. “Where are they taking him?”

  “Coastside in Moss Beach. It’s the closest hospital.”

  “Is he going to make it?”

  He bunched his lips. “Don’t know. I don’t like how his breathing sounds.”

  “Okay, let’s go.” The female paramedic nudged Mom away. I slipped to my mother’s side and eased her back from the gurney. The paramedics placed Morton into the ambulance and shut the doors.

  Mom clutched her hands to her chest, watching. Trembling.

  The camera turned from us to the ambulance.

  One of the men from the fire truck nodded to me. “Thanks for your help.”

  “Sure.”

  Another breeze kicked up as the ambulance pulled onto the highway and turned back toward the coast. The heady scent of grass and dirt swept over me. I glanced back toward Morton’s small car, still on its side. How crushed it looked. The harbinger of death.

  A sudden sense of doom sank talons into me. I wanted to be away from this scene of disaster and the rolling news camera. Safe and quiet in my home with my mother.

  “Let’s move back a little from the road, Mom.” I took her elbow.

  “Wait. I have to watch him as long as I can.”

  We gazed at the back of the ambulance until it disappeared around a curve.

  “Okay.” I nudged her arm.

  She looked at me, her eyes still shiny with tears. “Can we go home now?” Her lips turned down, forlorn.

  “Yes. Soon as we talk to the deputy.”